by LS Silverii
“Was that a sexual assault? I think I might have to arrest you for that assault, outlaw,” her voice raised but shook as she fumbled for her handcuffs.
Justice heard the door behind him, and jerked his head. Abigail smiled as she bounced onto the porch.
“Hi, looking for me?”
* * *
The grove of pine trees allowed both women shade and privacy—though neither doubted they were being monitored. Abigail struggled to keep it together as she felt her rail-thin body shiver amidst the Chief’s dispassionate glare.
Muddied blue eyes blinked as quick as her mind raced through scenarios. She’d delivered herself to the Savage Nation to get revenge on the bastards who murdered her son, but something gnawed at her.
“Honey, you got something you want to tell me?” Perez rubbed her hand up and down along Abigail’s upper arm.
She recoiled from the Chief’s touch. “No, I’m just here looking for work like Justice said.”
“I didn’t see you in town earlier, but you look nothing like the beautiful women people described days ago. What happen to you, drugs?”
Abigail folded her arms against her chest and bit on a jagged nail. “Ain’t never used that shit my whole life. Won’t do it now.
“Sorry, you just look like you been through hell and back.” Perez’s earlier attempt to act concerned faded as Abigail saw her true intentions surface. It was obvious she hated the Savage Souls—but so did she.
Abigail shuffled from one foot to the other. Her bare feet felt the prick of pine needles. She considered the Chief’s words, but fuck it—fuck her. An awkward jerk of emotion spilled, and Abigail pressed a fist against her lips. She’d buried her son over two months ago—no time to grieve, rage seethed instead.
Chapter 14
“I heard what you said, baby girl. I’m proud of you.” Justice brushed a ringed finger along her sharp jaw. Unwashed black hair fluttered over his calloused knuckles. He looked pleased by his latest acquisition. They’d walked into the kitchen toward the rear of the old B&B.
“Thank you, sir. I’m happy I pleased you,” Abigail’s words arrived robotic—void of humanity. Justice noticed the lack of passion. It was what drew him to her—fearlessness, or insanity.
“Baby girl, daddy’s going to take care of you tonight. Why don’t you go get into my tub and relax. I’ll get you some fresh clothes and good food.”
“Whose coming with me?” her voice sounded frantic, almost gun shy.
Justice lowered and leaned in close. “Alone. You get to be alone—you deserve it.” He ran his hand gingerly across the top of her head. Expressionless, he knew she’d been broken—now to mold her to please the Nation.
“Thank you.”
Justice called out to Mercy’s old lady who’d stopped by the clubhouse to tell him goodbye before his Las Vegas road trip. Liza Boudreaux had given birth to four of Justice’s nephews and nieces, but she rarely stopped by the den. He knew she didn’t approve of Mercy joining the club, but with four mouths to feed and one daughter’s medical treatments, Mercy couldn’t make the monthly bills to even save their modest home.
“Would you help our new sister, please?”
“Sure, Justice, but please treat her better than the last ones.” She laughed while patting his cheek.
“Deal, sis-in-law.”
“Let’s go, young lady,” Liza said.
Abigail’s head dropped as she fell in line as told. “Am I supposed to fuck you too?”
“Ewe, no. What’ve they done to you?” Liza’s glower slashed to Justice.
He ignored her.
“Why you limping?” Liza was the only one who’d seemed to notice her injured ankle. Her comment didn’t go unnoticed—Justice watched her gimp to his room.
* * *
The serious glint in Rage’s glare signaled news—probably bad news. He waved for Justice to follow him out back. Both brothers looked around and walked down the steps, away from the building. The crumpled papers in Rage’s trembling hand demanded Justice’s attention, but there’d be no conversation until they were alone.
Justice snatched him by the shoulder. Rage’s temples were marred with thick pulsing veins just below the red skin shrink wrapped tight against his skull. “Enough, dude, tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“Big trouble. I think we got a rat inside.” He shook the paper in Justice’s face.
“Explain.”
They both quieted until they realized the car’s engine belonged to Liza Boudreaux. She’d headed out.
“The e-mail from Ricky Geneti’s computer was sent to another address just seconds before we got there. It was the blonde bitch who jumped out of the back window. The IP address for that e-mail comes back to an address in Las Vegas. An apartment not far from where we intercepted Geneti.”
“Easy enough. Send Dragon Mike to the apartment to find out who lives there.”
“We did. The place had been burned to the ground. Not a trace and the residents claim they never knew anyone who lived there.”
“How can we not find a stupid blonde bitch?” Justice seized the papers from Rage. His eyes scanned them, “Fuck, she knows everything.”
“We’ve got other problems Lil’ Bro, I think the feds are onto our ass.” Rage waved his arms wildly.
“Chief Perez slipped up with the same intel earlier. I’ll pull the plug on finding those guns if I got to, but we can’t afford to let that quarter-mil walk.”
“Or maybe she didn’t slip up at all. I know she acts like big bitch, but she’s finding herself on a limb in this town. We’ve greased enough palms and sponsored kid recreation teams until they’re no longer sure if we’re Satan or St. Peter. Just like Desert Storm—hearts and minds.”
“Hearts and minds is right.” Justice checked his watch. He knew Abigail needed to have both of hers tended to. There was something about her that he was drawn to and yet, cautious of. Her limp also added to his caution.
Could she have been the one?
“Rage, tell me why you thinking the feds are here?” he asked, pulling back his flannel shirtsleeve to expose his watch again.
“Remember I told you about the digital cloud I set up over Vegas and the military base to intercept social media chatter about the money or weapons?”
“Yes, fucking brilliant, but yes.” Justice smattered the sweat from his forehead. He let out a whistle.
“Well, I also set a much smaller one over Mystic. Shit ass cops gossip as much as high school cheerleaders. Between texting their wives and girlfriends, I don’t know how they get shit done.”
Justice’s size fourteen leather boot smashed into a pile of chopped firewood. “What’re they saying?”
“Seems they’re crawling all over Custer County. They know we lost something but not what. They also know we killed Geneti and his three-year-old son, but got no witnesses. Seems the boys mother saw it, but she disappeared.” Rage’s eyes narrowed as he twisted his torso like a tank’s turret to look for wandering ears.
Justice walked away—his heart pounded at the reality of having his cherished freedom stolen by a corrupt government and its band of unlawful federal agents. His mind struggled to put distance between the last several weeks and the facts presented.
Closed eyes, he forced his memory to serve him. He’d been on that highway, and he saw the woman. He’d also seen a woman jump from Geneti’s second story condo and scamper away. They were the same woman. He smashed his right fist into his left palm—how’d he miss that. Who was she? He’d not seen her directly on either occasion, but he’d soon recall everything else about her.
The replaced screen door flung open. Justice looked up at the sound of heavy footfalls hurrying across the wooden floor.
“Justice, come quick. It’s that blue-eyed bitch,” yelled Rocket John.
Justice’s heart raced. He sprinted to the bottom of the steps. “What about her?”
“She slit her wrists in your bathtub.”
* * *
The three Savages rolled their hogs at a steady clip along State Highway 50. Traffic was light, and they stuck close to the posted speed limit. Heavily armed with guns and explosives, they couldn’t afford even the simplest traffic stop.
St. John enjoyed the open road time. Although he hated Vengeance, he didn’t have to interact with him while they trekked along the highways. His face into the sun, the thick leather vest snapped over his torso kept the beating wind at bay as they cranked back on the accelerators while trapped in a cluster of cars.
Vengeance backed off and coasted alongside St. John. “We get stopped by the fuzz, you’ll put a bullet in him. Understand?”
“Why?”
“Because there’s one up ahead. He’s your responsibility.” Vengeance scoffed as though he looked forward to killing a cop.
St. John debated his options as the Harley Davidsons quickly approached the marked state highway patrol cruiser. Bottom lip throbbed as he bit into it over anxiety that ate away at him. He hoped the officer would just let this one pass. He backed off to intercept the officer if he tried to initiate a traffic stop. His stone-cold gaze met the trooper’s mirrored sunglasses and smirk. The lawman never moved.
“Lucky motherfucker. Would’ve been his last day.” Vengeance howled.
“Maybe lucky for all. We got a long way to go still,” yelled Mercy.
“We hit I-70 up here at Grand Junction,” Vengeance hollered back.
About thirty miles later they slowed for a right turn onto 24 Road in Grand Junction. Mercy made the light, while Vengeance waited to turn right on red after traffic cleared. He did, and disappeared from St. John’s sight.
St. John ripped through the red light but kept straight. Cars blasted their horns as brakes screeched to barely miss his bike. He sped up until he got to G Road. He lightly tapped his brakes while he laid the bike close to the curve in a right-hand rotation. He gunned it until he reached Arrowest Court. His wrist stroked back on the leather-coated accelerator handle. He hit an abandoned dead end.
Abandoned except for the three dark navy vehicles—typical federal Government issues. Six cops in identifiable khaki pants and four with mustaches leapt from behind air-conditioned interiors. Weapons drawn, eyes concealed behind reflective sunglasses. Strain across each face, their heads swiveled as though scouting for more outlaws. They looked as surprised by St. John’s sudden appearance, as he was of theirs.
St. John sighed. There was nowhere else to go and no one else for miles around. His worries turned to Mercy and Vengeance—they’d soon come looking for him after they refilled their tanks—maybe before. Leave no Savage behind wasn’t just for military and police—it was the way of life for the Savage Nation.
His Fat Boy model HD crept over the cracked cement cul-de-sac, cautious about approaching the four men and two women agents. He killed his V-Twin about ten feet from them—their weapons were still drawn but at a lowered ready-gun position.
The female agent approached first. She ripped the large lens frame from her fatigued-face and planted herself about three feet from his front tire.
“Well if it ain’t Special Agent Louis Seals.” Her lips stretched into a wide smile.
“Hi Voodoo. Good to see you and Lawless are on the case,” he called out to Task Force Agent Krystal “Voodoo” Laveau.
Lawless Boudreaux, the seventh of the other six Savage Souls’ blood brothers, worked as a captain in a south Louisiana investigations task force. He and Voodoo had both been reassigned to the Department of Justice’s outlaw biker task force because of their inside knowledge of the other six Boudreaux brothers.
“I’m James St. John,” he said. “Until this undercover operation is done, I’m always James St. John.”
CONTINUED IN DAMAGED – BOOK 2
About the Author
LS Silverii is a highly decorated law enforcement officer from Cajun country with over 25 years of heart-racing experience.
Broken is the first in the Savage Souls Series. The dark romantic suspense series takes you behind the badge and into an often-unknown world of outlaws to experience the raw rush and ruggedness of true alpha heroes.
Connect with me online:
www.silverhartwriters.com
facebook.com/CopsWritingCrime
twitter.com/silverhartllc
If you enjoyed reading Broken: Savage Souls, I would appreciate it if you’d help others enjoy this book, too.
Recommend it. Please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers’ groups and discussion boards.
Review it. Please tell other readers why you liked this book by reviewing it. If you do write a review, please send me an email at [email protected] so I can thank you with a personal email. Or visit me at www.silverhartwriters.com
Links to my Other Books
Savage Souls Series
Broken – (Book 1)
Damaged – (Book 2)
Vicious – (Book 3)
Shattered – (Book 4)
Redemption – (Book 5)
The Shadow Ops Series
Danger’s Desire – (Book 1)
Danger’s Heat – (Book 2)
Danger’s Passion – (Book 3)
The Cajun Murder Mystery Series
Bayou Roux: The Complete First Season
Bayou Backslide: A Cajun Murder Mystery Series Special Edition
A Darker Shade of Blue: From Public Servant to Professional Deviant; Policing’s Special Operations Culture: A Darker Shade of Blue
Cop Culture: Why Good Cops Go Bad
Sneak peek at Book 2
Damaged
His usual self-assured, commanding mien was vacated for twisted lips and a pinched brow that signaled disapproval. She heard his heels drive into the reconstructed wooden floors. The large glass pane windows were thrust open. Abigail’s skin tingled at the wind swept kisses of a warm afternoon’s breeze. She unintentionally moaned.
Justice’s wrath toward his brothers was illustrated as he tried to speak through lips contorted by emotion. She felt a sense of gratefulness by his protective nature. Without thinking, her fingers dallied. Not for circulation, but for making human contact with the one who took her in and protected her—sometimes.
She’d become a victim of the Stockholm syndrome, where captives begin to sympathize with their captures. She’d arrived with hate in her heart and revenge racing through her veins. Maybe it was Justice’s skill in dominating others, but at times she’d forgotten why she was there. Fuck, at times all she could think about was being dominated. She really didn’t give shit about anything, anymore—or so she thought.
Justice stood beside her—she stroked his thigh with as much motion as she could muster with her arms still restrained.
“Baby, please untie my hands. I’m not going to hurt myself anymore.”
She rolled her hips side to side. Her groin area had begun to warm. She was already so swollen from the repeated sessions from the brothers that her mind blanked on how she could now desire more sex. It was her daddy after all.
He held up one finger and pressed it to his lips—the cell phone to his ear.
She clawed at his leg. His look remained fixed on something far away from whatever was in that room. Finally, he reached beneath the bed to unclasp her right hand’s strap. Abigail circled her wrist and stretched all five fingers until they burned with a flush of blood to the nerves.
Her rocking hips turned into a grind—her hand slid down her belly and onto her clit. She nibbled her bottom lip once her eyes met his wink of approval. He dropped the free hand and ran it across her nipple. Her back arched—mouth pouted for more.
Fingers fumbled for his zipper, and then his belt. He turned toward her, but was ensnared with the conversation. She dug beneath the denim until she wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft. Justice wore no boxers or briefs, so it was one less layer to defeat until she’d freed his manhood. He began to talk less to his caller and grunt to agree more. It felt good to f
eel like she had control of something, even if it was a dick—for the moment, it was all hers.
Justice fumbled his fingers through her matted mane. He tugged at it, and it felt good to have him pet her. She squeezed the ridge behind the big heart-shaped head of his cock. His knees buckled. She maintained the pressure, but pulled back against him. Her circle-shaped hand pressed against his balls, and he delighted at the sight of his full measure suspended above her face. Strings of clear colored pre-cum draped from his meatus.
What a perfect name for the opening at the head of his cock, Meat-us.
He stretched across her nude torso until the left hand was freed. Abigail mouthed a thank you as she flexed those fingers to encourage blood and feeling to return. She held his dick in her right hand like her life depended on it. Her clit throbbed—she waved for his attention from his phone call to ask if she could masturbate. He nodded.
Her right hand stroke never interfered with the circular massage of her left hand across her clit. She thrummed his dick until it grew even thicker and more reddish. Her fist whipped between his balls and the head’s tip. First faster and tightly held and then slow with barely a hint of skin-to-skin contact. Abigail regaled to see her daddy respond to the efforts to please him.
He held the cell above her chest. She looked up, her expression puzzled. He nodded.
“Hello?” her voice was weak.
Justice held out a glass of water. The sight of it caused her breath to hitch in her chest. Her dry heave pressed it out across a dry tongue. Her knees knocked and clamped together as her gut knotted. She released his dick to press knuckles against her teeth as a whine escaped.
Her mind flashed back. The warm, dingy-colored water in the spotty glass reminded her of one of the last times in her apartment before she torched the thing to head east to Colorado.
It was two days after Jack was murdered. It was three days before she’d buried him. It was almost four weeks before she’d surrendered any hope of life. She couldn’t take it out on Ricky Geneti—his worthless ass was dead. It was being hunched over on the edge of her scrawny mattress, watching that putrid tasting glass of warm water bounce every time a fucking eighteen wheeler bound for anywhere but the hell hole of Las Vegas, that she realized she’d try life. If only for revenge, she’d give it one more chance.