Shattered
Page 1
SHATTERED
Savage Souls Series
Book 4
LS Silverii
Dedication
This fourth book in the series is dedicated to those living the life and causing no harm.
Acknowledgements
This series allowed the opportunity to incorporate my experiences as an undercover agent as well as what I’ve learned through my studies of human fringe behavior. I appreciate all of my brother and sister law enforcement officers who walk the jagged line daily. Those who keep the faith despite the frayed conditions have my eternal gratitude.
The writing community is amazing for surrounding each other with genuine support. These wonderful people generously support and mentor me without hesitation. I thank you for your time, talent and truth. Liliana Hart, Jean Jenkins and Danielle Dauphinet.
Thanks for being a Savage Souls reader. To show appreciation for joining me on this outlaw adventure, I’m giving away Sterling Silver Biker Pendants. Each episode in the series has a unique piece of biker jewelry that symbolizes that book. Enter by clicking the link below and you might become one of the Savage Nations Most Wanted Prize Winners.
forms.aweber.com/form/32/368041932.htm
Product Warning
ABOUT THIS SERIES:
**Please note this book is dark romance and deals with adult themes. Recommended for mature readers only**
This story unfolds over five volumes.
Copyright © 2015 by L. Scott Silverii
Kindle Edition
SilverHart Publishing
Vicious: Savage Souls Series
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance it bears to reality is entirely coincidental.
Produced by LS Silverii at SilverHart Publishing.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Product Warning
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Links to my Other Books
Excerpt from Redemption
Chapter 1
St. John was jolted from the rarity of sleep. Justice roared through the Savage Souls’ clubhouse like a monster. His uncontained wrath ensured no one’s safety, especially the club pledges without standing in the Nation. Until the pledges earned their patch, full members were free to use them as they wished. Pledges—or probes as they were also called—were considered less than human. Even the club’s old ladies outranked them.
Stumbling from his bunk, St. John tugged on blood-splattered jeans and crept barefoot along the hall. He looked down into the smoke-filled commons area. Through the dim lighting and cloudy marijuana haze, Justice pointed a cannon of a handgun at two newbies. Both bikers had joined the national headquarters chapter in Mystic after transferring from the beleaguered Las Vegas chapter.
“Who killed him?” Justice screamed. Tony and Chomps writhed with pain, but mostly terror. They’d taken an ass whipping that wasn’t done yet. Both looked as if they wished they were back in Vegas.
“I don’t know,” cried Chomps. Sweat covered his face and dripped off a matted, gnarled beard along his round jawline.
“One of you might survive this—the other won’t. Which will it be?”
Tony’s chest rattled. He, too, was soaking wet in a sweat and blood concoction. “We don’t know, boss,” Tony chimed in for survival’s sake.
“You fucking rats just came here from Vegas—home of the traitors. My blood brother was murdered, and his club colors were draped over your ape hanger handlebars. You know something, and you’re damn well going to spill it.” Justice swept the 50 caliber Desert Eagle pistol back and forth between them. Each ducked away from the barrel but weren’t able to maneuver much with their hands above their heads in surrender.
St. John’s gut twisted into a knot. He turned his head as a rush of bile slammed its way through unbrushed teeth. He blinked through watery eyes to see long, rusted spikes had pinned both bikers’ hands into the wall. Fresh red still trailed over what looked like pints of dried blood. They’d been tacked there for a while.
What the fuck was going on? Where was Abigail?
St. John spun back toward Justice’s room. Breaths hitched deep in his chest as creaks of the old hardwood floor broadcast his every step. The door was ajar, but he hesitated at the threshold, afraid of the sight that might await him. If Justice was torturing two innocent brothers, then who knew what he’d done to her. He steadied himself for the shock and peeked around the corner. There she was.
Abigail lay sound asleep.
“Thank God,” he said softly.
She stirred.
“Abigail,” he whispered.
Her eyes, swollen from a lack of sleep but otherwise unscathed, opened. “James?”
“Are you okay? Shit’s turned rotten here. You might be in danger.”
“Meet me in the bathroom,” she said, motioning down the hall.
St. John waited until he heard a light rap against the thick wooden door. Abigail slipped through the slight crack. She lunged for him, clung to his neck with both arms. He felt her rigid torso turn to tremors of sobbing quakes. He stroked her hair and tried to hush her cries. The violent tension downstairs rose thick as volatile vapors in a mineshaft—one spark and everyone was a potential victim.
“Do you realize what’s going on in the commons area?”
Resolve replaced tears. He felt her straighten and her muscles ease up a bit. A quick swipe at her light blue eyes and she sat on the vanity with an air of confidence St. John hadn’t seen in her before.
“Yeah, I know what’s going down. Those two are getting what they deserve. They killed Rage last night. The Vegas chapter sent them as hit men.” She delivered the string of lies as easily as she spoke the alphabet.
St. John sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and clamped teeth down onto it. He hadn’t seen that one coming. Now, more than ever he knew Abigail was up to something. This was no poor girl needing a dysfunctional family’s protection. Who was she working for? Only the CIA or a private group would send an assassin to infiltrate an operation like the Savage Souls.
“So they killed Rage, huh? How’d they pull that off? Drive him to an abandoned warehouse out in the desert and shoot him in the face? Maybe run over his skull on their way out of the parking lot?”
Abigail’s confident expression waxed cold—almost deadpan. She mumbled something but then her mouth dropped open to suck in air. “How?”
“You want to tell me the truth about those two?”
“You gonna rat me out after all we been through?” She never blinked.
“You’re up to something, I just don’t know what it is yet. Some shit ain’t kosher—you’re either a spy or a regular citizen hell bent on revenge.”
She splashed water from the sink onto her face. “I just can’t say, that’s all there is to it. Maybe in another life, but not in this cursed one.”
“Your call, Abigail, but once Vengeance gets involved and Justice realizes you were handed off to Rage, then Tony and Chomps won’t look so guilty. Have you seen what they’re doing to them? Can y
ou even hear their screams?” St. John couldn’t believe her calloused disposition toward the two innocent men.
She patted wash water from her face with a cotton towel then used it to dab away a fresh floods of tears. “My blood is on your hands if anything leaves this room.” She opened each of his hands and touched the tip of her middle finger into each palm.
She uncrossed her legs and let out a sigh, “Those two tried raping me last night once I got back. Viper was shooting pool with them and warned them to back off. He told them about my being attacked but he didn’t have the balls to say who did it.” Her shoulders defiantly straightened. A thousand-yard stare dulled her eyes. “Instead they thought it’d be more considerate just to shove their nasty dicks down my throat. Justice hasn’t declared me his old lady, so officially I’m club property.”
St. John shook his head in disgust. He made a face hearing her words and the calm acceptance with which she delivered them. Outwardly, she was a naturally beautiful young woman, but inside he saw a torn, tortured soul. His spirit ached for her, the depths of pain she obviously felt that remained unknown to him.
“But where did Rage’s cut come from?” He wanted her to confess. He’d push her until she cracked.
“You have your secrets too, St. John. Funny thing about where I grew up—sports were king. Even if you didn’t play or watch them, the sport of betting money was king.” She stared hard into his face.
“What’s that mean?” He felt his face redden.
“I watched a lot of football. SEC football.”
Chapter 2
Justice stood beneath an outdoor shower. The former bed and breakfast had an empty swimming pool that now held garbage and motorcycle parts, and a series of outdoor showers for sunbathers and trail hikers. The old war veteran who’d donated the estate to the Savage Nation would flip in his coffin had he known the state of disrepair. Although Justice’s military center demanded an orderly interior, he knew when to pick his battles.
Another brilliant Colorado sun shone against his closed eyes. Warm water, heated within the rubber hose, drizzled across his forehead and ran down the length of his colossal frame. Sun kissed his tattooed skin, but he soon felt tears rise, mixed into a confluence of cleansing and grief. The wrath he’d exacted against two brothers wouldn’t fill the void of losing his blood brother, Rage.
Justice spit liquid from his nose and mouth. The weight of the world seemed to press against the back of his skull as he dropped his head. Long hair draped forward and clung to his cheeks. He watched the tide of red run from his skin and across the hard dirt. A recent drought left the soil impermeable—the blood pooled red at his feet.
What had he done to this club, to his family, to himself? Thoughts fell back to his career as a CIA spook. He’d been blessed as a natural leader. The feds sharpened that skill to give him the ability to manipulate other countries, tribes or soldiers. Still, with all that training he’d failed to conquer a rag-tag band of misfit rebel bikers looking for meaning in an uncivilized, civilian world.
“Justice. It’s time we had a talk,” Sue announced.
Justice nodded but didn’t move from beneath the flow of water.
“There’s too much for one man to handle,” Sue said. At Justice’s growl, his hand came down on his brother’s shoulder. “Even an exceptional man like you.” The muscles beneath the inked tribal bands, Mexican sugar skulls, Latin phrases and the club’s sacred passion cross all twitched to life.
“You trying to take my chair at the table?”
“Hell no,” Sue barked. “I’m trying to help you keep it. This shit is going to draw and quarter you. The gun deal gone bad, this Gray Man ghost, Toad and that cop dumped on our property, and now our very own blood brother shot in cold blood by Savage Souls patch holders. Not to mention the fucking feds and Chief Perez.”
Justice allowed the water to continue even after it turned cold. Tears streamed into his grown-out beard, and was something for no one else to see. Weakness would mean the end to his rule. That’s what their daddy had taught them—cry and get a spanking for crying—cry some more and the punishment became severe until crying seemed like laughter in light of the pain.
“Okay, my blood brother. One step at a time, and we’ll get back to our feet. You’re the only one in the family I can count on—truly count on.” The words scalded his lips. Sue’s deadly sin was envy, and he’d snatch the presidency in a heartbeat if he ever saw Justice flinch from a power play.
Justice’s advantage was that Sue’s ex-wife was still alive and since they’d divorced, her testimony in trial was permissible. Thanks to her hating his abusive ass, she’d keep him on a leash. He also knew how committed Sue was to his two children. Mostly, his USMC code of honor would prevent him from doing anything to break the light in which his kids saw him. Justice had relied upon Sue’s family ties to keep him in check before, and would use it again.
“I say we follow through with Gray Man to complete the gun deal,” Sue suggested.
Justice slammed the hose to the ground, “Fuck, why does everybody know about Gray Man, but we don’t do shit about him?”
“We’ll take care of his ass. Rage had gotten a hook on his location and e-mail. He traced the guns to northern California, but someone inside the clubhouse was communicating with him to try to finish off the deal. That’s probably what brought Gray Man down here from Sonoma County. I say we head out and get our shit back—maybe even kill that asshole for what he did to Toad.”
Justice wiped a dingy towel across his face and chest, “You think he killed Rage too?”
Sue kicked at the pooled pond of blood and water, “Don’t know, but it don’t matter. We’re going to kill this ghost either way.”
“I’ve already told St. John to prepare the logistics for heading up to California. It’s going to take a military-like operation to grab those guns, and make sure the feds don’t get them first.” Justice finished dressing and tossed the used towel at his blood brother. “Let’s call a tight circle and start the plan.”
“What about Fury?”
Justice nodded yes.
Sue dropped his gaze. “You know I’m going to have to pull some serious strings to get him out?”
Justice grinned, “What were your words my brother—hearts and minds? I expect you’d do anything you could to save your brother.”
Sue arched a brow as his hand sandpapered across his granite-hard jaw, “She’s not that bad you know. This might really look bad on her to let a suspected murderer free.”
Justice dropped his worn leather motorcycle boots. Anger seethed inside him but showed as disappointment on his face. His body felt as hard and heavy as a tank turret as he turned to face Sue.
“Are you fucking serious? You dare defend a pig over your own brother’s freedom?”
Sue crossed and uncrossed his arms. “I just don’t want her hurt.”
Justice stepped to within an inch of Sue’s face—nose to nose. “I thought I sensed weakness, so I did a little digging. Those fuck videos of you and that freak will do more than hurt her—they’ll destroy her. Unless she’s looking for a new career in porn.”
Sue’s fingers curled around his blood brother’s leather cut. He tried to shake him. Justice reacted too quickly and snatched him back.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Sue barked.
Sinister reached a new low in the look Justice gave him. “Go get your brother out of jail.”
* * *
A half an hour past dusk, darkness settled over the Savage Souls’ clubhouse. They assembled in the area normally used for church. No one spoke as the club’s old ladies gathered their cleaning supplies and shuffled out of the room.
Fury slumped in quiet and humbled. It was obvious to St. John that he still grieved the loss of his lover, Officer Bart Crane. Mercy, Sue, Justice and Vengeance circled him and the blood brothers wept silently—Rage would be mourned and missed by each. A high-ranking club official’s funeral would require much planning. Thousa
nds of brothers were expected, not to mention the military honors he was entitled to.
“We’re at war,” Vengeance howled as he turned from the gathering and smashed his boot to collapse a metal folding chair. His blood red eyes, streamed with the tears of an ache that ran soul deep. “There’ll be revenge on the motherfucker who killed our brother.”
St. John felt knots twist between his shoulders as he replayed the desert scene leading to Abigail blasting three rounds into Rage’s head at point-blank range. He’d seen what Justice did to two unjustly accused brothers—only God knew what he’d do to Abigail. He debated confronting her with the truth of his undercover mission. Would she understand his role as a federal undercover agent, or rat him out to the Nation to save her ass? He still couldn’t put a finger on it, but he trusted her—felt a deeper connection to this uncommon house mouse.
Justice shoved both hands in his pockets. “Lets not drag this shit out. I want Gray Man dead. I want our guns recovered. I want us to stop warring with each other and reclaim the glory of the Savage Souls Nation.”
Justice preached a message of redemption like an old-school tent evangelist. The blood brothers clapped and barked in agreement.
St. John dipped his head. Shit was going to ramp up quick, and he was screwed without his agency behind him.
Like pack wolves hungry for prey, the blood brothers recommitted their love for each other. St. John felt the overwhelming sensation of unity as he watched these embattled warriors cling to the only thing in life that mattered—family.
He wondered if Agent Jeff Graham, who was also once as close as a brother, was doing okay. St. John’s self-imposed exile from Graham continued to tear at his spirit. His suspicions grew over Graham’s involvement and whether the Vegas ambush was legitimate or contrived. He had to know. It was an unsecured line, but St. John fired off a quick text message to Graham.