Both bodies were spent, though she continued to shudder beneath Sue’s touch. His nose buried into her soggy shock of dyed black hair. “Thank you, baby.”
“You still want in?” Justice asked from his chair just outside the ring of light.
“You kidding? Think I’d go through this shit and want out,” her words slipped out. Her tummy knotted because she answered out of a twisted truth more than a desire to avenge Jack’s murder.
“Good girl—just one left. It’s Rage’s turn.”
Knees against the floor caused her back to twist in an awkward bend. The medieval-style stocks might’ve been more comfortable, but immobility was their goal. She wasn’t going anywhere. Her mind raced with wonder at what Rage might do to her. Could his cock be even bigger than the one she just creamed all over?
Her eyes lifted to watch him—the others had moved into the darkness. Anxiety swept over her. Why had the others left? Still clothed, she smelled a combination of gasoline and diesel on his jeans. Her eyes blinked back fear as they focused on the tattered black leather boots that scuffled across the tile. Sounds filled her ears, but with nothing she recognized. Rage was setting up some type of device behind her—but what?
Her right ear lifted to the faint sound, but she wasn’t able to turn far enough to see what made the noise. Her naked ass squeezed as tight as it could, considering the monsters that had abused it earlier. Without knowing what he was up to, she began to bend and jerk with fear over what Rage might fuck her with.
She screamed as the sharp sting of a tattoo needle tore into her unblemished flesh.
“Stop. What are you doing?”
Her crying eyes sought Justice, but only his crossed boot wagging in the shadows, “Baby girl. I always mark my property.”
Chapter 11
Thursday morning came early. Justice grabbed his plate of breakfast from the club’s resident old lady. He pushed through the screen door and filled his lungs with the crisp freshness of pristine air, bacon and eggs. The Rocky Mountain foothills made for perfect company while finishing breakfast on the back porch.
Perched at almost eight thousand feet in elevation, Custer County was steeped in a history of agriculture and mining. The land remained unscathed thanks to the many national parks and forests. It was a long way from Chicago, and even further away from Turtle Bayou, Louisiana.
The rocking chair’s rhythm was never interrupted as the same screen door creaked open before slamming shut.
“Mind if I sit with you?” asked James St. John.
Justice nodded toward the empty chair. “Free country.”
“Thank you, but didn’t you say that nothing’s free in this country?” St. John laughed uncomfortably.
“Hell, glad someone’s paying attention.” Justice cracked a grin while shoveling food into his mouth. “You the brother from last night, right?”
“Yes, sir. I was in church. I asked about the rift between the old and the new brothers. Why don’t you just kick out the disloyal ones?”
“Too many of them, and it’d be too easy. They were once loyal to someone before me and even before the last big boss. They can change—with the right motivation. Also, the fact that they’re so loyal to the old prez shows me they have the capacity to be loyal. I’m going to use that to my advantage.”
The younger biker lapped up his food and stopped short of licking the plate clean. A sense of connection sparked with Justice. He liked St. John, but just couldn’t put his finger on why he didn’t feel he could completely trust him. Justice also understood it was within his nature not to trust most people.
Justice tossed his empty paper plate into St. John’s lap, “How bout you clean this mess up?”
“Yes, sir.”
Justice looked twice at him. “I’ll call you Opie. You look like the kid on Andy Griffith.”
St. John grimaced, “How about you don’t. Unless I get to call you Sheriff Andy Taylor.” He tried to laugh through an awkward situation.
“Maybe not. Shit you look more like the Hulk then some dopey kid anyway. What the hell you juicing with?” Justice imitated injecting steroids into his biceps.
St. John flipped him a thumbs up sign, “Weren’t you Special Forces or something like that?”
“You writing a story on my life, or a police report?”
St. John’s expression flattened. The chair bolted backward as he shoved it across the wooden surface. The younger man jammed both paper plates into the trash and moved toward the door. His light-complexioned cheeks flushed red. He said nothing. Justice leaned forward in the rocking chair to call him back. He watched as St. John stopped to hold the door open for Abigail. They exchanged bashful glances.
“Hey boy,” he barked.
He saw the agitation in St. John’s eyes, and knew enough about leading soldiers to mold the spirit of a loyal man.
“Son, we don’t extend courtesies to pigs or properties. You’re a Savage—act like it,” he commanded—St. John and Abigail dropped their heads.
“Get over here.”
Abigail shuffled in bare feet to stand next to Justice’s chair. “What happened to calling me your baby girl?” Her aimless eyes dark, and empty.
“This is what baby girls do for daddy.” His tone became harsh, as his long, tatted arm flailed beside his chair to latch onto her. Justice also noticed St. John hadn’t left yet. It pissed him off to think he was spying on him.
“Get over here, Opie.”
St. John’s movement was stiff and reluctant. “What?”
“You want to watch me, then stand there and watch me.”
Justice snatched her by the throat and drove her onto her knees. Abigail whimpered with quivering lips that fell open. He shoved her mouth over his cock—his glare never broke from St. John.
“You want some of this pig?” His finger clawed into Abigail’s jawline and cheeks. Dull blue eyes blasted wide open as he twisted her fire-red face toward St. John. Grunts escaped her mouth—he shook her skull. “Shut up, bitch.”
St. John looked away. “No, I don’t.”
Justice felt a flash of rage burn across his chest. Abigail was thrown down onto the oak slats of treated wood. She curled into a fetal position.
“Maybe you ought to go see Fury. He’ll suck your dick,” he spat with disdain over the escaped words.
St. John shook his head and walked away.
* * *
The paved section of trail had ended about a mile back and to the east. Not made for off road biking, the blood brothers needed the privacy more than the bike maintenance. Surrounded by blankets of pine, spruce and fir trees, the evergreen forest loomed across giant swatches of shrub covered fields.
They’d cut their massive V-Twin engines before the narrowest section of path, but wildlife scattered in every direction as their seven hundred pound Harleys coasted down a slight decline.
Justice pushed his dusty riding goggles atop his forehead. “Boys, we got to solve this shit. The Savage Nation’s still divided over leadership and word about losing a quarter million bucks has spread. If they start to organize back East, we might lose key networks for our distribution operations.” Justice’s wrinkled brow revealed a rare state of distress as his words eked between strapped lips.
“I’m working with the information from Geneti’s computer. The pilot scratched himself out with that .45 caliber through his own mouth,” Rage said. “The download and e-mail sent from Geneti’s account right before we got there is still in the hopper. My buds from old Army Intel days are trying to put a name to the e-mail account.”
“Thanks, Rage. How about you, Sue? Anything on where our cash travelled?”