by LS Silverii
“Seals, don’t be like that,” Voodoo called out.
He spun like a tornado. Sinister eyes peered into her soul. Both fists clenched as his body steeled in the heat of anger. “My fucking name is James St. John.”
Chapter 12
“We got problems, Justice.” Rage leaned toward his brother as they crashed onto the clubhouse sofa.
Justice realized he’d distanced himself from his brothers over the last several months. The central recreation area was stocked with three pool tables, music and flat screen televisions—all stolen of course. Hanging out with the general membership was his way of reconnecting.
“What now?” Justice massaged his fingers against his scalp.
“You know the old shopkeeper at the general store? The one you like to fuck with?”
Justice laughed. “Yeah, that simple old timer.”
“Well, seems he ain’t that simple.”
Justice craned away from the backrest, his deep-set eyes questioning. Rage’s prominent brow overhung his nose, kept his eyes in shadow. But his typical observe-rather-than-do expression was welded onto his face. “He’s got hidden cameras all in and around his place. He got tired of punks and fags messing his shit up after dark, so he scored a high-tech system with infrared cannons that light up the night like a sun.”
Justice fell back, fingers mashing against his chin. He growled, “He got Fury and Officer Bart Crane in the act. And I guess he got me too,” he said. His thickened palms slammed against his thighs as he exhaled. “Does Perez know he got this video?”
“Not sure, but my digital cloud intercepted it. His grandson is messaging his pimple-faced classmates from Mystic High School. He’s trying to work up the courage to either blackmail us or post it to go viral. Either way, he seems like a little douche bag.”
“Let’s pay him a visit and help him decide what to do with that video.” Justice rocked forward to greet three of the brothers, but Rage pulled him back onto the couch.
The eldest brother appeared unexpressive and socially detached. Wrinkles etched his large, flat forehead. Plain features and a deadpan expression met Justice’s concerned look, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I got more. Maybe we should take it outside.”
The president circled his hand and shouted for everyone to clear the room, “How’s that?”
Rage halfway grinned. “I also intercepted communications from our clubhouse to an IP address in northern California. I think it’s Gray Man’s account, based on the chatter.” He hesitated, waiting for Justice to signal for more if he was interested.
Justice felt a twinge of nausea loosen his gut as the reality of another rat in the club settled, which would truly make life shitty for him. He struggled out of the tattered, threadbare sofa. Deep breathes filled and escaped his lungs as he paced the dim lit room. “What’s the context?”
“Discussing the deal that Geneti started. This person is connected to that Vegas wise guy, and says they want it to play out,” Rage said.
“Why?”
“Revenge against the Savage Nation.”
Justice’s body shook with a flood of adrenaline. “Who’s sending the messages from here?”
Rage dropped his head and averted his eyes. “Don’t know. Yet.”
“Shit, Rage. How can you not know?”
Rage stood and walked toward the hallway. “I got my suspicions, but you’ve got your cock buried so deep in her that I never get a chance to find out.” He turned and walked down the hall.
Justice stormed out of the house, skipping two or three steps on his way off the porch. He headed toward the bike shed. Abigail was still in the hospital, but he’d find out once and for all. His mind toiled while fingers fumbled with the combination lock. The clink of stainless steel signaled he was free to enter.
“Hold on Bro, I’ll join you,” Sue called out.
“I’d rather roll solo, but thank you.”
Sue pushed the button to activate the corrugated door’s system of chains and pulleys. The door lurched and jolted until it cleared the opening.
“You might go solo but I don’t like the look in your eyes. I’ll stay far enough back so you won’t know I’m there and won’t get into any shit.”
Their big bikes roared to life with the patented Harley Davidson V-Twin patter that trumpeted through extra loud exhaust pipes. Once on the open road, Justice gunned it. Endless ribbons of black lanes ahead spelled freedom. The rushing wind whipped disheveled hair, while his skin was pushed back to expose a kid-like grin. It was like pumping life back into his soul.
Justice peeked into the rearview mirror and saw that Sue had kept his promise. He appreciated his brother watching his six, but he didn’t want company. Sue was the blood brother he felt most close too. He was a Force Recon Marine, and had served his time overseas. He’d also struggled to fit in once he returned home. Had said once there was something about shooting people from a thousand yards in the sandbox that made pumping gas back in Louisiana kinda fucking boring.
He peeked back one last time before revving his Fat Boy as hard as it would run in order to lose Sue but saw the pop of blue strobe lights closing in on them. A quick glance showed he was doing almost one hundred miles an hour in a zone marked for seventy.
Shit, this is the last thing I need.
“Dude, I have no idea where that cop came from,” Justice yelled over to Sue as their Hogs idled on the wide interstate shoulder.
“Me neither. I was trying to keep up with your angry ass.” Sue laughed.
“Fuck. Look who it is.” Annoyed, fists white-knuckled against each palm, Justice marched toward the police cruiser.
Chief Jennifer Perez shoved open her driver’s door and squatted between it and the doorframe. “Stop or I’ll shoot your ass, outlaw.”
Justice smirked, thinking he detected fear.
“Last warning. Stop and show me your hands.” Her voice shook as its echo bounced off desolate canyon walls.
He started forward, propelled by agitation. She’d screwed with his club for months. If she’d just been cool like Sheriff Roger Reed, then there’d have been no beef with her or her small-time force. He was used to dealing with the hard asses from the Chicago Police Department but she’d set her sights on the club and wouldn’t let go. Justice was determined to force his point at this encounter—she’d have to learn to stop fucking with them.
One shot exploded from Chief Perez’s semi-automatic pistol. “I said to stop.”
Hands still by his side—he’d not flinched—he glowered hard into her face. “Have you fucking lost your mind? You’d shoot an unarmed man?”
“I’ll shoot the leader of a pack of cop murderers. You still think this is a game to ride into my town like a bunch of hell-raising Robin Hoods? You might get your rocks off by killing one of your own, but I’ll be damned if you’ll get away with killing Officer Crane.” Her voice leveled off, but the weapon wavered in the crook of the door and frame.
Justice lifted his hands over his head in a sign of surrender. “Why don’t you put that thing away before it accidently goes off again.”
“It was no accident. You think I’m some hick police chief and scared little girl hiding behind a badge? I did my time in Denver before they hired me here. I’ve dealt with assholes like you for years, and you’re not going to bully this town. Me and the fed task force are about to make damn sure of it.”
“So the feds are working with you, huh? Why, you can’t handle it?” He massaged his chiseled jaw.
“I’ll show you what I can handle. Now step back or I’m taking you in and impounding your bike.” She fumbled for her radio microphone.
Justice flexed his hands, rolling his shoulders like a boxer in the ring. “I’d love to see you try.”
She found the button and keyed the mic. “This is Chief Perez. Send me back up right away. I’ve got two outlaw bikers. At this time one is going to jail but is looking to resist.”
“10-4, Chief.”
“10-4, good copy.”
Justice’s skin tingled until it burned from the rage that coursed through his body. His heart race increased. He prepared for a fight. With fists or guns, there’d be a fight.
“Don’t try to intimidate me with that bullshit ambulance crap,” he sneered as he took one wide step toward her.
His body half turned at a hard tug on his right bicep. Off-balance, Justice sidestepped and regained control before launching into a fighting stance.
“Dude, chill out,” Sue demanded. He responded with a prepared stance also. Both blood brothers were military Special Forces, and had never known fear or surrender. Raised in the bayous of south Louisiana, they’d been taught to survive predators and phobias.
“She ain’t going to talk to me like that. She’s nothing but a government puppet in a pretend power suit. Call an ambulance—fuck her.” Justice’s face burned hot with wrath. The Colorado sun bounced off the blacktop. His boots felt like they were melted into the asphalt.
“You got no beef with her. She’s just doing her job,” Sue pleaded.
Justice resisted another attempt by Sue to walk him away. “I’ll show her what her job is.”
“Kiss my ass, outlaw. You think I’m bluffing, then try me,” Perez said.
“I’m sorry, Jennifer. I’ll handle him.” Sue’s familiar way of speaking to Perez caught his brother by surprise.
“Thanks, Sue, but he ain’t going to disrespect me like that and get away with it. Bad enough we each lost someone, but I’m not going to swallow his bullshit.” Perez had holstered her weapon. Now she reached into her police cruiser to cancel the backup officers.
“Bro, apologize to the lady. I mean the Chief,” Sue demanded.
Justice pushed Sue’s hand off of his cut and spun back toward his Hog.
“He’s an asshole. I’m sorry Jennifer.” Sue’s apology sickened Justice. He dropped onto the sunbaked saddle and started his ride.
“No one’s sure what happened to Bart Crane and your guy. Promise you’ll be careful out here,” she said in a prominent Hispanic accent.
Justice held his biting commentary as Chief Perez sped away toward the empty horizon.
He slugged Sue in the shoulder. “What the hell was that?”
“What can I say? Y’all fuck for fun—I fuck for purpose.”
“You mean…?” Justice’s voice broke on the question like a schoolboy.
“Yep.”
“Well, that crazy bitch still took a shot at me.”
Sue revved his engine. “You better be glad she didn’t put a bullet through your thick skull.”
Sue straightened in his saddle with a sanctimonious air. He cranked up the remade panhead Hog, and with a preachy tone admonished Justice for wasting his time playing emperor instead of spending his time building relationships to secure his empire. Sue spewed dust and debris as he rocketed away from the wide shoulder.
Justice caught up to his brother, said nothing, and they looked to enjoy the freedom of the road, and possibly freedom from the club. Justice had entertained thoughts of retirement from the Savage Souls on occasion. He’d made his five years of serving with honor, and according to the club’s rulebook was eligible to leave the Nation without consequences.
Those thoughts were quickly dismissed on days like this where the only chance at true freedom existed within the biker society’s margins. He’d also pulled five out of his six blood brothers into the club and could in no way abandon them.
“Ellie’s Outpost,” he yelled over the howling highway noise.
Sue nodded.
* * *
Their bikes wound down as the fat rubber tires rolled gingerly across the stone and dirt parking lot. Justice push-walked his bike the last few yards and backed it up beneath a shade tree.
“Two cold ones, Ellie,” Sue said to the waitress.
Ellie smoothed wiry hair from her forehead. “Hey, big boy. Sure thing.”
“What, you running for mayor of this town?” Justice plopped into an old wicker-back rocking chair.
“Hearts and minds. I thought they taught you that in spook school.”
Justice dismissed his comment with the flip of his fingers. “Different circumstances altogether.”
“How so, big brother? You have a mission, an objective. You want to fight the indigenous population or help them accept your vision so they’ll fight alongside you?” Sue reached across the picnic table to grab the two bottles of beer from Ellie.
“On your tab?” she winked and walked to stand over Justice.
Sue wagged his thumb for him to move. “You’re in her rocking chair.”
“All right, I always offer the chair up to the lady. Our momma brought us up right.”
“Thank you, sonny. I gotta say, you outlaws ain’t so bad after all. Now your old ladies on the other hand are fucking ridiculous.”
The blood brothers exchanged glances.
“The other night looked like they were on the date from hell. Crazy bitch pulled out a gun on your brother outlaw. He laughed it off. So did I. Dumb ass had the weapon pointed at herself—I should’ve asked her to pull the trigger.”
Justice leaned forward without seeming too agitated. “When was this, Ellie?”
“A few nights back,” she scratched her boney finger into her thick tangled mane. “My mind stays cloudy now that it’s legal. You know what I mean. But the boy was a big son of a bitch. Fuck all you outlaws are huge. What, they recruiting from the Denver Broncos?”
Justice’s sharp glare was evident even beneath the shaded patio. Strung bulbs cast an eerie spell of shadows across his somber expression. “What’d she look like? It’s important.”
Ellie had an odd way of smoothing her hair from her face. She pressed the flat palms of each hand against her hair instead of using her fingers to brush strands back. Justice thought it made her look much older than she probably was.
“Hell, what do all your whores look like—meth-thin with greasy hair, no meat on her bones and cheeks so hollow they meet in the middle. That sound like anyone you know?” Ellie leaned in.
“Can you be more specific?” Justice demanded.
Her body stiffened at his stern tone. “I don’t want no shit from you boys. I just don’t know. She had hazy-colored hair in need of dyeing. Please don’t make trouble for me.”
“Momma, no one’s going to bother you. I didn’t mean to raise my voice to you.” Justice softened his tone.
Her hard features unstiffened and dull eyes rejuvenated with a few last sparkles. A dusty smile cracked across a leathered face, teasing for his delight. Justice was touched. He clearly read the life of pain she’d endured and the millions of shitty reasons for sticking to this dump in the mountains in her sullen expression.
It was the thin, corroded wedding band she wore around her finger that had caught his eye while she smoothed her hair down. He then realized that she could never leave the dream she and her deceased husband built together. He dug in his pocket and handed her a wad of hundred dollars bills. “This is for the beer.”
The blood brothers eased their bikes up to the highway and waited for a heavily loaded logging truck to pass, along with the back pile of vehicles trying desperately to pass it.
“That shit was cool, Justice.”
He nodded. “Least I can do. You fuckers probably been drinking her dry for years. I also want her to remember shit next time.”
Sue shook his head. “Not me. She likes having me around. Seriously, though, who you think was here with the gun?”
“I’ve my suspicions.”
“Care to share?”
“Not now. Can you use your trick fucking to get Fury out of the pokey? Things are going to ramp up soon, and I want to circle the wagon with blood brothers.”
Sue stood over the custom gas tank of his bike and thrust his hips forward to simulate fucking. “I’ll take one for the team if I have too.�
�� He laughed. Justice smacked him on the shoulder and imitated it too.
“Hearts and minds,” Justice said.
Sue gunned the accelerator as an opening approached in the parade of traffic. “Pussies too,” he yelled over his shoulder.
Chapter 13
It was well into the earliest of morning hours when St. John returned to Mercy Grace Hospital’s nursing station. He knew the too-tired-to-care attitude of nurses working the graveyard shift. As a cop, he’d had the same feelings. His delivery of coffee and donuts turned long faces into semi-grins as he slipped through the waiting area toward room 143.
His intuition tugged at him. Usually right, he’d learned to trust and stop resisting it. He eased the heavy door open. The bed was empty. He looked at the floor beneath the closed bathroom door—there was no light on in there. With knotted guts, he whipped around and stormed to the nurses’ station.
“Abigail Black, where is she?”
The older looking nurse looked up sharply. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately.”
“Ma’am, I didn’t break in, I was allowed in. I need to know where she is—it might be her life’s at risk.”
Thick-framed bifocals slid further down the bridge of the woman’s reddened nose. “You’re not here, so I’ve got nothing to tell you.”
Her late-night, shitty-ass attitude set him off. He gripped the counter ledge until the veins and muscles stood out in his arms. The two images inked into each forearm stood out—a threat. “Last chance. Even thought you just pressed that alarm button, before anyone gets here to help I will have snapped your skull from its spine,” he whispered.
Her bifocals fell onto the metal clipboard as she rummaged around the desk. “Abigail Boudreaux was discharged to the care of her husband, Vengeance Boudreaux, about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Are you shitting me? How could you let her go?”
“No I’m not, and she requested it. Took her gown and her backpack and waltzed right out of here with her husband.”
