“You can never go wrong with your colors. Other than that—nothing else matters. SFFS,” Sue said.

“SFFS indeed,” St. John repeated as required. They gripped forearms and shook as warriors did.

Justice smashed the frail wooden door into shards of splinters and slats, “What’s this shit about you attacking Vengeance?”

St. John’s pulse spiked. “That’s bullshit. Motherfucker started his shit, and I ain’t gonna put up with it.”

“You know the punishment for attacking a blood brother?”

“I could care less. I can see now why the old guard has had enough of this blood brother bullshit,” St. John said. He’d drawn a crowd on the porch, but there was no turning back now. His temper had struck boil. “You want loyalty, but you screw everyone else to protect your kin. Then why the fuck don’t y’all ride nomad and leave the brothers to be brothers—not your family’s lackeys.”

Justice and St. John were evenly matched in size, except the president had highly specialized CIA training that taught him to kill quick. St. John knew that and besides just being a bad ass, he figured Justice had the home field advantage. St. John didn’t budge though. His eyes watched Justice’s fists, and knew his best chance of defending himself from the skilled fighter would be in close, where Justice couldn’t deliver punches or kicks. He felt his chest vibrate as a growl rumbled deep inside.

“You know what, St. John? You’re probably right.” Justice stood straight up and away from St. John. His giant paw slapped him on the shoulder. “Get your gear, you’re going with Mercy and Vengeance.”

He threw his hands up in surrender. “No way am I going anywhere with that asshole.”

“Don’t push it, boy. You’ll do as I say, or you’re out on your ass.”

St. John debated whether the hell he’d been through and the constant crap he had to take was worth the outlaw lifestyle. But he also realized being jumped out meant more than a beat down from the boys—they’d collect the two Savage Souls tattoos from his skin.

“Yeah right, but once we’re out on that road and he fucks with me, I’ll destroy him.”

“You’ll do as your told, so get your shit ready to head out to the Vegas chapter. Mercy will brief you on the way,” Justice ordered.

“That’s almost an eight hundred mile run. What’s going down?”

“Listen, I’m sending you because oddly enough I trust you. And if you get yourself killed in action, it’s no big loss.” Justice laughed uneasily. “There’s a young warrior named Dragon Mike who reminds me a lot of you—fearless. I made him the chapter boss. He’s catching grief from the old guard. I want you to watch his six. Understand?” Justice never blinked. St. John read the big man’s body language more than his words. There was more going on here—much more.

“You trust me, huh?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t send you with my blood if I didn’t.”

“Do something for me?”

“I guess I owe you for this mission. What ya got?”

“Have the boys lay off Abigail.”

“She’s property, no can do.” Justice took his hand off of St. John’s shoulder.

“Then pray your blood brothers make it out on their own. Because once the shit starts, and you know it will, I ain’t lifting a fucking finger to help anybody but Dragon Mike.”

“You got moxie, Opie. No one ever challenges me and lives to tell about it.”

“I’m not challenging you. I’m being honest with you. I’ve earned my rockers, and will lay my life down for you or any of these brothers,” St. John raved, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward his patches. “You’re the first real family I’ve ever had, but I’m not going to be disrespected.”

“Opie, consider it done.” Justice’s tone shifted to sincerity.

“Then stop calling me Opie.”

Chapter 13

“The bitch is back,” Toad broke squelch over the walkie-talkie to warn the club’s membership that the police chief has passed the compound’s entrance.

“She solo?” asked Fury.

“Yep, but she looks pissed. I offered her a friendly wave and she shot me the middle finger instead.” He laughed.

Fury’s signal told the others to lock down their operations. Besides a lucrative arms trade, the Savages controlled the illegal drug networks across the nation. Colorado’s marijuana legalization created a wrinkle for that market, so they focused on legitimizing businesses in the mainstream markets to capitalize on the abundance of monies floating in and out of weed shops. Of course, every customer was offered the harder drugs such as cocaine, meth and heroin—weed was the gateway drug after all.

“Want me to stash her?” Tito asked with a hand wrapped around Abigail’s throat.

“Can we trust you?” Justice looked into her muted eyes.

She nodded.

“Good girl.”

Abigail babbled something inaudible as Justice marched out of the front door to confront Chief Jennifer Perez. The sun was bright as always, but it was the lack of humidity that caused his lips to chap. Leaned against one of the twenty posts supporting the wide front porch, Justice feigned a smile as the chief’s Chevy Tahoe crawled over the gravel driveway.

“Howdy, Sheriff,” he said, sneering.

“I’m not the Sheriff, and you know it.” Perez, easy to agitate, snapped back.

“Not yet anyways, right. For now you’re just the chief in po-dunk Mystic, Colorado, population 4553.”

She squared the baseball cap and tugged it across her brow. “I’m happy where I am, outlaw. I think it’s you that feels ousted. What happened, Chicago kick your country-hick ass out of the big city?”

“No, baby, I chose Mystic. We love it here, don’t ever plan to leave.”

“Well, I’m not your baby, and leaving Mystic might be more up to me than you realize.” Fingers tapped the butt of her holstered weapon.

Justice brushed both fists back from his copper belt buckle to his hips. The move exposed his pair of pistols that hung beneath each arm. “I’ve got work to do, Perez. State your business and be on your way.”

“Seems a pack of rat cowards that looked a lot like your bunch attacked an innocent motorist outside of Las Vegas. Wore the same cross and shit patch that you do. Their rockers even read Savage Souls. Killed the driver and his three-year-old son. Where were you about two months ago?”

“Let me see, two months ago, huh? Probably hanging out around here with the only real lawman in this county—Sheriff Roger Reed. What else you got, baby? If you want to join the club just ask. You ain’t gotta keep lurking around for attention.”

“Fuck off, outlaw,” Chief Perez barked. Boots slid closer to the porch steps, her tan-colored uniform shirt pocked in sweat, “People around town said they saw a woman, about mid-twenties a few days ago, asking how to find this place. Ain’t seen her since. You wouldn’t be running human trafficking would you?”

His gaze shifted to watch Vengeance, Mercy and St. John’s bikes kick up dust along the main trail back to the highway. Full rucksacks strapped onto the back of their saddles showed they’d embarked on their twelve-hour trek to address the Vegas chapter’s betrayal.

“Where they headed?”

“To town for ice cream.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you, outlaw? I’ll show you who’s smart,” she said as her thin index finger poked him in his rock-hard abdomen. “Now you got the feds sniffing around about those murders on the highway in Nevada.”

Feds, huh? Maybe she’s too dumb to realize she just let the cat out of the bag.

“Is that her?” Perez craned her body to the left and peered around Justice’s wide body. He spun around to see the curtains drop closed. She stepped onto the porch and meandered there while peering into each big bay window.

He chewed the inside of his cheek while contemplating a strategy to fade the heat. If Perez found any reason to enter the clubhouse, she’d sniff until discovering it all. “You want to talk to her? She’s just here looking for work.”