“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
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twitter.com/silverhartllc
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