by LS Silverii
Ben tipped the canteen against her lips.
“I’m glad I was able to help you in Afghanistan. It gave you the chance to bring a beautiful child into this world.”
“Thank you, Ben. I’m not sure I have ever said that to you, but thank you.” Batya let go of the indignant pain of that sexual assault; with that said she had closure.
“As long as it’s just us kids chatting,” Ben pointed back and forth between them, “I’m glad you got rid of Boyd and Dunnigan. They were a-holes. I think they turned my mother away from me.”
Batya nodded. “Glad to do it.”
Ben pressed a hand against her shoulder, she pulled back with a look of fright.
“Sorry,” Ben said and shoved both hands in his pockets. “Heinrich is different. He’s not a government drone—he’s evil. Pure, to the core evil. I’ve no idea what he’ll try to do to you. But, be strong. His neo-Nazi rhetoric is stronger than his desire for anything else.”
“Benjamin, Jews have been persecuted and slaughtered for thousands of years. For the love of my God and family, I’m willing to follow the legacy of so many others.” Her eyes filled with tears. She averted her gaze and wiped her cheeks.
“Heads up. Heinrich at three o’clock.”
Batya spoke into the hidden microphone. “Justice, you out there?”
“Always. I’ve got a good eye on the both of you. Do as we planned, and stand where I told you. I’ll need a clear line of sight to make the shot from out here.” Justice’s strong voice remained low and steady.
“Roger that. I’ll take Heinrich’s ride once this is done and neither of you will ever hear from me again.” Ben seemed tense—but who wouldn’t be.
Batya motioned for Ben to come closer. Her heart carried the deaths and pain she’d caused over the years.
“Ben, try to reclaim the life you want to live before you become the victim.”
Ben looked away. His lip quivered and he wiped the wetness from his cheeks. “Please know I don’t hate Jews. Those men I killed in Tel Aviv were monsters and did horrible things to me. They were not of the proud people you represent.”
“I know. Justice explained that.” Her face brightened as she mentioned her husband’s name.
Their earpieces broke squelch. “Its show time,” Justice said.
“Shoot straight my love.”
“Always.”
The big coal-black Suburban barreled straight toward them, braked at the last moment, and skidded passenger side toward them. Heinrich jumped from the driver’s side.
“Batya, the Jew. Killer of my Christian people.” Heinrich announced as if he were a sports broadcaster.
He was tan, his blond hair brushed back with a hint of gel to contain the natural waves. It gave him the appearance of wearing a golden helmet. His pointed black dress shoes stirred up the sandy dust that settled on the hem of his crisp-creased black trousers. Batya noticed the tailored black jacket fit snug, no sign of a gun bulge beneath it. He wore a blood red tie across his left bicep. Inside the white circle of the design was an unmistakable swastika.
“He looks to be alone. Just stay clear once he crosses the kill zone,” Justice whispered.
Ben nodded to Batya. His black eyes saddened with the grief of a friend’s loss. He turned and hurried away.
“Gray Man, where are you going?” Heinrich called.
“My name is Ben, and this isn’t my affair,” Ben shouted as he marched up and over uneven sand dunes.
“Ben, get your ass back. You’re not supposed to leave until it’s over,” Justice snarled like the angriest of beasts.
Ben’s chin tucked toward his jacket lapel. “Nope, you left me to the Greeks, I leave you to the Nazi. Karma can be a bitch.”
“What did you say?” Heinrich barked.
“He’s a coward,” Batya screamed in an effort to regain Heinrich’s attention and draw him back into Justice’s shooting area.
“Damn it, Ben, go back,” Justice demanded.
Ben just shook his head as he climbed into Heinrich’s SUV. Sandy soil blasted into rooster tails as Ben roared away.
“He is a coward, but so are you. I realize I’ve been set up,” Heinrich said. His eyes shifted back and forth. Batya watched him closely.
“Shoot, baby. Shoot him.” Batya spoke beneath her breath.
“Where’s Justice?” Heinrich demanded. His cheeks had drained pale but his hand was steady.
“It’s over, Heinrich,” Batya said.
“Yes, for you.” He bared his teeth.
In a flash, Heinrich reached behind his jacket and swung a pistol in between them. He pumped four rounds of 9mm ammunition into Batya’s chest.
“Grace, Slicha li,” she shouted. Batya collapsed dead into the trunk of the car.
“This is for you, father Adolph,” Heinrich bellowed as he beat his chest.
Heinrich’s head exploded with a single bullet from Justice’s .308 caliber Remington sniper rifle.
And just like that, everyone was gone.
Chapter 27
Bad asses recognize bad asses. There’s a silent acknowledgment that they coexist in a similar space. Until they don’t. That was the case with heading west.
Justice Boudreaux wheeled the big bike along the hard-packed gravel and dirt path. He lumbered to the locked gate that guarded the rest of the trail to the Old Western Ways Saloon Bed and Breakfast. Shade from the evergreens covered road-worn frame. He took in a deep breath and cast his gaze upward. Light peeked through the canopy, but a calm, cool breeze bathed his bearded face.
Justice gazed back at the line of bikes and pickup trucks. His eyes, wearied by the haul from Chicago, were red with the wind but wet from the memory of his beloved wife.
The Savage Souls Outlaw Motorcycle Club had been through a bloody civil war over the last two and a half years. Those who were committed to life within society’s margins were welcomed to relocate to the new national headquarters in Mystic, Colorado. Those who weren’t would be systematically eliminated from their Chicago strong hold.
Divide and return to conquer was Justice’s tactic. He had a strong crew of loyal renegades. Most were military combat veterans who like him had trouble fitting back into civil society after their tours of duty were exhausted. He looked to those bikers in the front of the caravan, and saluted.
Rage, Mercy, Sue, Fury, and Vengeance Boudreaux all saluted back. His very own family, the blood brothers had joined him once more in a battle the Boudreaux boys couldn’t afford to loose. Only Lawless, the law enforcement task force agent refused, and remained in South Louisiana. This time the Boudreaux brothers wouldn’t become victims to their father or any other bullshit authority figure who used a balled fist or empty, threatening words to strangle power.
Sue climbed out of his truck. He approached Justice and hugged him the way warriors or family do. “I know this is hard on you little brother.”
Justice sniffed back. “Hard can come later. We’ve got a mission to accomplish, and a score to settle with Benjamin Franklin Ford. Today is the birth of our new nation, Savage Nation.”
“We’re here for you, Bro.”
They both looked toward the sound of a soft closing of the truck’s door. Sue patted his shoulder and stepped aside.
Heavy hearted, Justice welcomed the hug from three-year old Grace.
“Grace, come back, baby,” called a pregnant Karen as she cautiously scooted after her.
Justice shook his head. “It’s okay. In honor of her mother, she should be the first one onto this promised land.” He held her hand as he pushed the rusted-gate open.
“Momma,” Grace giggled. “She in heaven.”
Justice turned on his scraped rubber heel. He couldn’t face his legion of biker brothers with the weakness of compassion. It would be the final time he cried for his dear wife, or for the decisions that caused him to end up in an outlaw’s life.
He ran fingers through his hair to loosen the black leather bandana that contained his thick
lion’s mane. Justice lifted his hairy chin and grinned with a sun-kissed smirk as he thought about the path from college football star to Army Delta Special Forces and finally a hot-damn bona fide American hero with the CIA. His grin turned to a sneer.
“Look at me now, Grace.” Justice hoisted Grace into his arms.
This was the life he’d once needed in order to hide from his hunters. Now it was the life he chose to become the hunter. He raised his right fist. The bikes reeled off thunderous rattles from powerful Harley Davidson engines.
Grace scowled and covered her ears. He laughed and drew her curly-head into his shoulder. Yes, he thought, there was still a score to settle with the coward who abandoned Grace’s mother.
Justice would settle the score, but this moment was a celebration of the warriors and the martyrs and the true heroes of American saga—the renegades who throughout history fought for freedom and won or died trying.
“My brothers, welcome to freedom. Welcome to the Savage Souls Nation.”
“SF – FS.”
THE END
Continue along on Abigail and St. John’s adventure.
Available January 03, 2017
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HUNTED: The Final Chapter
Is true love really worth dying for? Then if it is, it is worth fighting for.
James St. John and Abigail Black escaped the barbaric world of the Savage Souls Outlaw Motorcycle Club. Can they now outrun the consequences of their once close association with them?
Being hunted might be a bad thing to some, but to these lovers it means they’re still alive to fight. Fighting for the truth, themselves and each other is when they are strongest.
When outlaws and undercovers collide, can love prevail? If St. John and Abi have a breath in their bodies, all odds point to yes it can. The question is, can they survive the hunt.
About the Author
LS Silverii is a highly decorated law enforcement officer from Cajun country with over 25 years of heart-racing experience.
The Savage Souls 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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Links to my Other Books
Broken – (Book 1) – Free
Savage Souls:
All 5 books in the series are included in Savage Souls
Broken – (Book 1)
Damaged – (Book 2)
Vicious – (Book 3)
Shattered – (Book 4)
Redemption – (Book 5)
Hunted: The Final Chapter
The Shadow Ops Series
Danger’s Desire – (Book 1)
Danger’s Heat – (Book 2)
Danger’s Passion – (Book 3)
The Cajun Murder Mystery Series
Bayou Roux: The Complete First Season
Bayou Backslide: A Cajun Murder Mystery Series Special Edition
A Darker Shade of Blue: From Public Servant to Professional Deviant; Policing’s Special Operations Culture: A Darker Shade of Blue
Cop Culture: Why Good Cops Go Bad
