by LS Silverii
As his hand nudged her knee, it sent a tremble of heat up her spine. She wiggled on the wood to shake the sensation, but never moved her knee. They stared at his fingers that dangled over her jeans. Simultaneously both looked up into each other’s eyes. His warm smile lit her hope that he was a decent guy—not another brother.
“I’m a good judge of people, and you give off a vibe of being a good person. Let me help you, Abi.”
“I hate that name—don’t call me that again. Justice calls me that after he’s raped me. He thinks it makes me feel less angry about what he’d done, but it fucking pisses me off.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. His hand was now placed soundly on her thigh.
She covered his hand with hers. “You didn’t know, so no need to be sorry.”
They both studied their hands. Neither pulled away—both smiled awkwardly. She felt her heartbeat increase—thudding in her chest, and suddenly regretted that he’d watched her suck off Sue. She was glad that she’d insisted on a quick shower before their bike trip though—sort of washed away the filth of who she’d become—but it was never enough to make a difference.
“I need to apologize for asking you about Gray Man last week. You couldn’t know that devil, but I was desperate for answers on a situation I had to handle.”
She twirled her longish hair. “Who is he?”
“Another biker who roams the country setting up bad shit against other bikers. Justice thinks he’s the one who double-crossed him with some Vegas wise guy.”
“Ricky Geneti.” She about shit herself, and regretted the second his name escaped her lips.
St. John’s eyes shot up. His glare stung deep through her façade. “How the fuck do you know Ricky Geneti?”
“Who?” she asked and tried to move away.
His grip tighten against her inner thigh. “I want to know who the fuck you’re working for or I’ll expose you as a plant. I’m also sure Sue will want to know about whatever it was you stole from him.”
Abigail struggled against his vice hold, but was unable to escape his grip. His face, once sincere and kind, had morphed into an angry hulking threat. Her hand ran along the curve of her hip until it reached the rear of her jeans. Fingers wrapped around the grip. She jerked the pistol from her pants.
“Let me the fuck go,” she ordered. She shoved the Glock 9mm weapon within inches of St. John’s crooked nose. “I’ll blow your head off.”
Chapter 14
One might think the cold night would be a welcomed reprieve from the extreme heat of the day, but in Fury’s situation that would be wrong. The fourth day in the Box had left him weak and discouraged. Justice evidently hadn’t figured out what to do with him yet. Those left in the Box a long time usually starved to death or died from the elements. Fury was determined not to allow either of those to be his fate.
The Box was just that—a box. Constructed at the bottom of a steep hill, it sat less than ten yards from the club’s compost heap. The chamber was five feet by five feet and only stood four feet high. It was purposefully designed to prevent an adult from lying flat or standing straight. That alone was maddening. The solid oak beams were reinforced with rebar and long wood screws. The roof was capped with corrugated sheet metal. The solid door and the opposing wall had square openings of about six inches long by three inches high. The floor was dirt that covered the cement foundation—there’d be no tunneling under and out. It was a replica of something Justice had designed during his days in the sandbox working covert CIA operations behind enemy lines.
Fury’s ears perked up at what was possibly human conversation—or his hopeful imagination. Quiet from fatigue, he pressed his head against the opening. Ignoring the creepy crawlies that nibbled on his earlobe, he strained to capture the conversation.
“Boss, what you going to do with him? Can’t just leave him in that damn Box too much longer.”
That sounded like Toad.
“I’ve got no idea. Don’t want to kill him. Fuck, he’s my own flesh and blood, but I caught him sucking a cop’s dick. You know how fucking disgusting that is?” Justice’s voice carried clearly down to the Box.
Toad knows just how good cock sucking feels. We blow each other all the time while he’s on perimeter guard duty.
“I can’t imagine boss, but if you don’t do something soon, we might have to shovel up another grave. So many damn cops sniffing around the joint, it might cause grief. I see ’em passing all day and night.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Justice said.
I’ll go fucking crazy if I have to spend another night in this hellhole.
“I’m sure he won’t be dealing with that cop anymore after this shit.”
Toad’s voice was welcoming to Fury. He allowed a bubble of emotion to bolster his hope. He had an ally who had Justice’s ear.
“That’s for sure. I’m going to kill that cop myself just to be sure. I want to know everything Fury told him.”
“What if Fury ain’t the rat?”
“Good question. Then I’ve killed a cop for no good reason other than being my own brother’s cock port. After that, I start to figure out who it really is.”
“I hope you know I’m here for you, boss.”
Fucking suck up.
“Toad, you’re a loyal warrior. That’s why I put you in charge of perimeter security. Keep up the good work, and keep them damn feds out of my hair.”
Fury’s heart sank. They weren’t in love, but he respected Bart Crane and knew the police officer deserved better than to die at the sinister hands of his brother who specialized in sustaining his victim’s life until he begged for death. He fell back onto the hard dusty surface.
Fury dozed off but awoke crumpled within the confined space. He’d learned to not jump up when awakened, as his skull crashed against the solid beam construction of the ceiling. Hearing noise, he blinked to focus as he scurried away from the door. The lock jangling was distinctive. Sometimes the brothers would come by and rattle the lock to fuck with him, but as his detention grew longer and the external conditions more serious, the brotherhood stopped hazing him.
But this wasn’t the sound of a rattled lock—it was a lock unlocked.
“Fury, it’s Toad. You okay?” His scratchy voice tried to whisper through cigarette-scarred pipes.
“Toad? Am I dreaming?”
“No, its real. Too fucking real. I’m chancing my ass for this, but if you don’t save Bart, Justice is going to torture him to death.”
“How do you know its Bart?” Fury remained against the back wall, in the shadow. His body was weary, but his mind was still sharp. His intuition screamed it was a set up.
Toad yanked back on the door that piled dirt behind it on each opening. “Seriously? Think you the only Savage he’s sucking off?”
His feeble fist struck the earth, though he knew Bart was as much a whore as the outlaws were. There wasn’t much difference between cops and bikers—one just pretended crime was bad.
Toad helped him up. Fury’s body had been folded almost double for almost four full days—it’d take some effort to straighten up. “Toad, I owe you.” He patted his shoulder. “SFFS.”
“Yeah, don’t mention it. There’s a bike down at the end of the hollow. Just follow the tree line over there for about half a mile and you’ll see it. Push walk it as far as you can before jumping the crank.” Toad’s eyes were ablaze with adrenaline over helping his friend and betraying his boss.
“Can you call him to say I’m coming?”
“Hell no. Rage has everything under watch—even our cell phones,” he said, pretending to hold a phone to his head. “Fury, this place is a powder keg. You’ve been stuck in the Box for the last three days but the Nation is under serious attack.
“What are you blabbing about?” Fury’s intensity returned at the mention of his beloved OMC under threat.
“Feds crawling all over this place about the gun deal. I think they know about the man and his baby in Vegas, and Chief Perez is just itching to shov
e something steel up Justice’s ass.” Toad’s portly midsection jiggled as he became more animated.
“What’s this shit about a rat on the inside?”
“Justice thinks it’s you. I hope you ain’t a rat, Fury. I just hope you ain’t.”
Fury tried to shake him, but Toad’s bulk and Fury’s weakened condition resulted in an awkward embrace. “What do I do? I can’t run off, but I’m no good to the brotherhood stuck in this box.”
“You know I also heard your brother, the lawman down in Louisiana, got shot a few nights ago.” Toad’s tone changed from panicky friendship to a baleful braggart who enjoyed delivering the news.
Air escaped from Fury’s lungs, and he collapsed against the metal roof of the Box. “When, how?” he asked as he dropped to one knee. He rubbed his fingers through his thinning black and grey ringlets of greasy hair.
“Out in Vegas. Going after some of the Los Jinetes’ hit men. I think they were set up by the old guard that still remain in that chapter.”
“How do you know all of this shit, Toad?”
“I’m in Justice’s good graces. He promoted me to head of the outer perimeter team, so I get to sit in on business meetings after church,” he boasted as his fingers slid up and down along the inner edges of his coveted cut.
“I can’t leave. They need me.” Fury crumpled Toad’s leather vest in his balled up fists. Toad placed his hands over Fury’s knuckles and pried them off of it.
“You better go while you can. But I think you owe me a thank you first,” Toad’s tone lowered to a groan.
“No way. Not now,” Fury snapped at Toad’s solicitation.
Toad rubbed his right hand through Fury’s hair, “Yeah, bitch. Now. I been on guard duty every night since this shit started. Ain’t got my rocks off in over a week.” He tugged at Fury’s mane, “Now’s a perfect time.” Toad’s beady eyes darted across the dark horizon, and then he licked his lips with a naughty sneer.
Fury leaned away, but Toad’s fingers dug into the weakened blood brother’s scalp. Already on one knee, Fury was pulled off balance until he splattered onto both knees. His face was eye level with Toad’s waist.
“This is bullshit, Toad. You’ll pay for this.” Fury tugged on Toad’s metal zipper.
“How about I throw you’re ass back in the Box?” Toad taunted him as he wiggled his hips to get the denims past his hips.
“Fuck off, you wouldn’t dare?” Fury challenged. His right hand now held Toad’s dick. “You better cum fast. I gotta get to Brad to warn him.”
“Baby, suck me like you always do, and I’ll cum just thinking about it,” Toad leaned against the Box. His ringed right hand encouraged Fury’s mouth over his dick.
Fury closed his eyes as he gobbled Toad’s shaft across his quivering lips. He knew his time in the Box had taken a toll on his body. It pissed him off that Toad would take advantage of him in that condition. He relaxed as he felt Toad’s rod stiffen against his palette. Fury moaned as his tongue slid over and around the cock’s head. Hell, he’d been the one to first take advantage of Toad after an all night binge on tequila and cocaine.
Toad’s guttural groans grew louder. Fury slapped his ass cheek to get his attention to the noise. Neither could afford to get caught having sex with each other. Toad made a shushing sound and squeezed Fury’s skull between his strong grip. Fury sat upright as he felt the hard pull against his curly hair. Toad’s fingers ran wild over Fury’s scalp.
Fury knew Toad wasn’t far from an orgasm. He sucked hard—as hard as he could against the head of Toad’s dick and he felt the man’s knees buckle. Fury grinned with a mouthful of flesh sliding in and out of it.
“Come on baby, suck it,” Toad’s words spilled slower, his hips rocked faster. Again, he gripped Fury’s head like an inanimate object. He slammed his meat against the back of Fury’s throat until his navel slapped Fury’s forehead.
Fury dug his fingernails into Toad’s hamstrings, and lurched him into his mouth. He preferred to take a man’s load deep into his throat. He didn’t like the texture of semen that lingered on his tongue. It wouldn’t be long.
“Good girl. Good girl,” Toad brayed.
Fury took no offense to Toad’s taunting. He knew his role in this game. He also knew Toad, who professed to be heterosexual, felt less guilt fucking him if he pretended Fury was a female.
Toad jerked. His thighs quivered within Fury’s grasp. His words stopped making sense, and his hands stopped jerking and began holding on.
Fuck yeah, faggot, cum in me now.
Fury knew what to expect. Toad always had violent orgasms. It seemed like he suffered extreme pain and pleasure simultaneously. Either way, Fury braced himself for a lashing from Toad’s fists.
Fury closed his eyes as moisture filled the corners. He loosened the suction around Toad’s cock and instead lightly slipped his lips and tongue back and forth along the entire stretch of it. The sensitivity seemed to cause Toad to writhe with intense ecstasy. He braced himself for the flood of Toad’s liquid release. Toad collapsed onto the roof of the Box.
Semen dribbled onto his chin. Fury licked his finger, “Are we even?”
“Hell yeah, now go.” Toad stabbed his fat finger toward the shadows of the rugged tree line.
“Now go.” Toad stabbed his fat finger toward the shadows of the rugged tree line.
* * *
The street-legal dual-sport bike whined it’s way through the town of Mystic, until Fury was back on the interstate heading northeast toward Falling Hope. Police Officer Bart Crane had worked for Mystic PD for the last four years, but he lived in Fremont County, just north of Pueblo. It was about a thirty minutes haul to his apartment, one Fury had made many times over the last eight months.
Fury was beyond tired—someone could’ve been sitting on the rear saddle and he’d have not known—but he tried his best to watch out for a tail. Honestly,. Finally, he killed the Honda’s 644cc, four-stroke engine and coasted off Peterson Street into the enclosed parking lot at the Foothills Apartments.
Moving in the shadows of the dim lit parking lot he licked dry lips but his parched tongue only scraped away crusted spittle that coated his mouth. Eyes wind burned, he dabbed at them with bug-spattered fingers. He only realized his rancid smell after dismounting, but fuck it—he was there on a mission to save his lover.
He crept up the stairs and clung to the wall before he reached apartment 221. Soft raps with dirt-covered knuckles continued until he heard a rustling from inside.
“Bart,” he whispered. “Its me, Fury.”
He saw the eyehole light disappear as Bart pressed his cheek against the door to check. “You alone, Fury?”
Fury ducked into the threshold as a van pulled into the parking lot. No markings, and painted solid white, it ignited his nervousness like a live electrical wire in water.
“Baby, let me in. Hurry.” His eyes kept darting back to the van—no one exited.
“You know how late it is, you should’ve called first. Come back tomorrow.” Fury saw the interior light return to the eyehole. He tapped his fingertips against the door but his gaze remained downstairs in the parking lot.
“I’ve come a long way to warn you, baby. Please don’t treat me like this. Open the door Bart—I’m afraid for your life.”
“Bitch, you threatening me?” Bart’s voice changed to what Fury imagined would be his official authoritative tone while on duty—though he’d never used it with him.
Fury pressed his face against the living room window to see if he could spot Bart, but saw nothing. He knocked with more force.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I want to see you. Open the door. It’s a matter of life or death—yours.”
“Not now, I said. Try calling first.”
“Are you alone or is there someone else in there?” Fury’s stomach knotted. He was feeling sickly, but now the combination of being disrespected and replaced really weighed heavy on him.
“Go away.
”
“Open the fucking door, Bart, or I’m going to cause all kinds of hell. Right fucking now at the count of three.” Fury looked back over his shoulder once again—still no movement in the van.
“Fuck off faggot.”
“One.”
“Goodbye bitch.”
“Two.”
“Don’t you dare start anything Fury, you’ll regret it.”
“Three.”
The door clicked. It opened. Fury pressed his palms into his vest to straighten it, and entered. The door clicked closed behind him.
“Hello Fury. I’m Gray Man.”
CONTINUED IN BOOK 3
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
facebook.com/CopsWritingCrime
twitter.com/silverhartllc
If you enjoyed reading Damaged: Savage Souls, I would appreciate it if you’d help others enjoy this book, too.
Recommend it. Please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers’ groups and discussion boards.
Review it. Please tell other readers why you liked this book by reviewing it at Amazon. If you do write a review, please send me an email at [email protected] so I can thank you with a personal email. Or visit me at www.silverhartwriters.com
Links to my Other Books
Savage Souls Series
Broken – (Book 1)
Damaged – (Book 2)
Vicious – (Book 3)
Shattered – (Book 4)
Redemption – (Book 5)
The Shadow Ops Series
Danger’s Desire – (Book 1)
Danger’s Heat – (Book 2)
