“Vengeance, drop a tab and chill. Justice messaged that they’d be back soon. Said he had a job for us,” Mercy said.
“Whatever. I’m out of pills—got anything?”
“Man, you know I went sober two years ago. Got four kids to support.” Mercy clicked his tongue against his teeth. St. John shook his head at the news of him having four children.
“Opie, take a walk,” Mercy ordered.
“I’ve had enough of that stupid name.”
Mercy sneered, “Whatever, Opie.”
St. John stretched out his hand toward Abigail. She buried her face between her knees and ignored him. “Okay, but she comes with me,” his voice dropped an octave.
“No, she stays put like property is supposed to. Line up boys—time to fill this pig with cum.” Vengeance glared across the dimly lit space as if to taunt St. John.
St. John felt the shoves and pushes from the others. He looked back in disgust as the brothers did as ordered. He noticed Abigail between the bikers as she readied her open mouth for more sex. Her eyes had faded back to dead hollow.
* * *
“Opie, what the hell’s the matter with you now, son?” Justice asked. His HOG still hot from the run out of the mountains, he tossed St. John the keys and motioned for him to service it. Justice went inside.
He held out his hands for two other sets of bike keys as Sue and Rage brushed by. St. John nodded.
“Hurry it up, rookie. You’ll be heading out soon,” Sue said.
“Where am I going?”
“What’s the fucking difference? You do what you’re told. Got a problem with that?” Rage leaned into his chest. His eyes were red and crusty from the bike run, and he smelled like marijuana.
“I want to know what to pack.” St. John shuffled one step back to show deference to the eldest of the blood brothers. He knew he’d catch hell because of Vengeance—he didn’t need two of those bastards to contend with.
“You can never go wrong with your colors. Other than that—nothing else matters. SFFS,” Sue said.
“SFFS indeed,” St. John repeated as required. They gripped forearms and shook as warriors did.
Justice smashed the frail wooden door into shards of splinters and slats, “What’s this shit about you attacking Vengeance?”
St. John’s pulse spiked. “That’s bullshit. Motherfucker started his shit, and I ain’t gonna put up with it.”
“You know the punishment for attacking a blood brother?”
“I could care less. I can see now why the old guard has had enough of this blood brother bullshit,” St. John said. He’d drawn a crowd on the porch, but there was no turning back now. His temper had struck boil. “You want loyalty, but you screw everyone else to protect your kin. Then why the fuck don’t y’all ride nomad and leave the brothers to be brothers—not your family’s lackeys.”
Justice and St. John were evenly matched in size, except the president had highly specialized CIA training that taught him to kill quick. St. John knew that and besides just being a bad ass, he figured Justice had the home field advantage. St. John didn’t budge though. His eyes watched Justice’s fists, and knew his best chance of defending himself from the skilled fighter would be in close, where Justice couldn’t deliver punches or kicks. He felt his chest vibrate as a growl rumbled deep inside.
“You know what, St. John? You’re probably right.” Justice stood straight up and away from St. John. His giant paw slapped him on the shoulder. “Get your gear, you’re going with Mercy and Vengeance.”
He threw his hands up in surrender. “No way am I going anywhere with that asshole.”
“Don’t push it, boy. You’ll do as I say, or you’re out on your ass.”
St. John debated whether the hell he’d been through and the constant crap he had to take was worth the outlaw lifestyle. But he also realized being jumped out meant more than a beat down from the boys—they’d collect the two Savage Souls tattoos from his skin.
“Yeah right, but once we’re out on that road and he fucks with me, I’ll destroy him.”
“You’ll do as your told, so get your shit ready to head out to the Vegas chapter. Mercy will brief you on the way,” Justice ordered.
“That’s almost an eight hundred mile run. What’s going down?”
“Listen, I’m sending you because oddly enough I trust you. And if you get yourself killed in action, it’s no big loss.” Justice laughed uneasily. “There’s a young warrior named Dragon Mike who reminds me a lot of you—fearless. I made him the chapter boss. He’s catching grief from the old guard. I want you to watch his six. Understand?” Justice never blinked. St. John read the big man’s body language more than his words. There was more going on here—much more.
“You trust me, huh?”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t send you with my blood if I didn’t.”
“Do something for me?”
“I guess I owe you for this mission. What ya got?”
“Have the boys lay off Abigail.”
“She’s property, no can do.” Justice took his hand off of St. John’s shoulder.
“Then pray your blood brothers make it out on their own. Because once the shit starts, and you know it will, I ain’t lifting a fucking finger to help anybody but Dragon Mike.”
“You got moxie, Opie. No one ever challenges me and lives to tell about it.”
“I’m not challenging you. I’m being honest with you. I’ve earned my rockers, and will lay my life down for you or any of these brothers,” St. John raved, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward his patches. “You’re the first real family I’ve ever had, but I’m not going to be disrespected.”
“Opie, consider it done.” Justice’s tone shifted to sincerity.
“Then stop calling me Opie.”
Chapter 13
“The bitch is back,” Toad broke squelch over the walkie-talkie to warn the club’s membership that the police chief has passed the compound’s entrance.
“She solo?” asked Fury.
“Yep, but she looks pissed. I offered her a friendly wave and she shot me the middle finger instead.” He laughed.
Fury’s signal told the others to lock down their operations. Besides a lucrative arms trade, the Savages controlled the illegal drug networks across the nation. Colorado’s marijuana legalization created a wrinkle for that market, so they focused on legitimizing businesses in the mainstream markets to capitalize on the abundance of monies floating in and out of weed shops. Of course, every customer was offered the harder drugs such as cocaine, meth and heroin—weed was the gateway drug after all.
“Want me to stash her?” Tito asked with a hand wrapped around Abigail’s throat.
“Can we trust you?” Justice looked into her muted eyes.
She nodded.
“Good girl.”
Abigail babbled something inaudible as Justice marched out of the front door to confront Chief Jennifer Perez. The sun was bright as always, but it was the lack of humidity that caused his lips to chap. Leaned against one of the twenty posts supporting the wide front porch, Justice feigned a smile as the chief’s Chevy Tahoe crawled over the gravel driveway.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” he said, sneering.
“I’m not the Sheriff, and you know it.” Perez, easy to agitate, snapped back.
“Not yet anyways, right. For now you’re just the chief in po-dunk Mystic, Colorado, population 4553.”
She squared the baseball cap and tugged it across her brow. “I’m happy where I am, outlaw. I think it’s you that feels ousted. What happened, Chicago kick your country-hick ass out of the big city?”
“No, baby, I chose Mystic. We love it here, don’t ever plan to leave.”