unconcerned monotone voice. “What’s your name?”
“James St. John, sir.” He had an unwrinkled face with longish hair brushed to the side, he looked like he could take care of himself. Justice recognized him as the chapter transplant from Tallahassee, Florida.
“You turning in your colors?”
“Never,” St. John said.
The air in the room made a sucking pop sound as the doors were jerked open. Jorge stood there, covered in blood. Slabs of inked skin flopped limp in his grasp. Blood dripped from the recovered tats.
“What the fuck, Jorge?” Vengeance had a look that was all eyes and teeth.
Justice, still pissed over the way Vengeance fucked up the Geneti kidnapping, heard the vehemence engrossed in his blood brother’s tone. The erratic behavior caused Justice to further distrust his own kin. He wondered whether Vengeance had run a line of dope before church began. He had the look. Elongated features stressed behind redden skin signaled he was back on the junk.
Jorge froze. An odd expression blanketed his swarthy complexion. His chapped lips dropped open, but he looked as though the experience of skinning Tommy Cloud had freaked him the fuck out.
“Jorge, pull it together,” Justice spoke in an unthreatening tone. His CIA training had taught him how to identify personalities and problems with them. Jorge was on the verge of a blood lust. If not controlled, he’d possibly seek the taste of it again—soon.
“We caught her.” Jorge gasped.
Rage stepped between Jorge and Justice. “Caught who?”
“This bitch.” Jorge snarled as he heaved a tall, thin woman across the threshold. Short black hair dangled over her battered but angular features. Moist blue eyes pierced through dark bangs.
“Who the fuck is she?” Rage tramped toward the girl. His fist rent against the empty air. “This is fucking church, bitch, are you insane?”
“Yes, I am insane.”
Chapter 8
His chamber was dark. The murmur of Black Sabbath’s music rumbled low in the background. Justice liked his room cold—cold enough to hang meat. He heard her struggling. The sound of flesh tapping against the icy, bare wall told him she’d been secured. A light was dialed to cast a glow over her stretched frame. Justice watched her strain to tiptoe over the sawhorse that sat split between her thighs. She fought to keep the tension off her wrists in suspended metal cuffs. They twisted against the stainless steel chain links attached to the ceiling.
“What are you going to do with me?”
Justice ignored her question. He remained in the shadows and watched—but his pulse quickened. His thumb and middle finger sandpapered each other. It was a tick or a habit or an involuntary technique he’d developed to keep his mind in the present. He had the habit of drifting back into combat or other traumatic events that provoked a violent reaction inside his body and mind. A simple act like rubbing his fingers together stopped the psychological drift.
“Answer me, damn it. I came here for you. Is this how you treat your treats?” She curled her full ass forward as her exposed pussy touched the sawhorse
Anger streaked through him. Who the fuck was she to order him? Justice was highly trained, but also highly volatile. One step closer to the breach of shadows and his breath turned to smoke as it mixed with the cold air and yellowish track of light.
“You motherfucker, say something,” she taunted.
Her naked body dangled from the shackles, but she’d seemed to grow accustomed to the bite of the metallic rings into her wrists. Small breasts looked even more so with both arms forced above her head. Solid erect nipples rose prominently. Matching stainless steel bars with balls were set in each pierced nipple. The cold temperature made them more firm. Justice thought he saw humidity collected across the bars.
Flawless skin without a single tattoo began to shimmer with a slight coat of moisture. Justice grinned at the chill bumps that covered her body and knew it’d be extra sensitive to the touch of his hand or his belt. Which one, depended on her attitude—so far it had been shitty.
Always on high alert, the last few days had his suspicions on hyper-drive. Fucking with the Las Vegas chapter and the rip off of a quarter million bucks had him on a razor’s edge. And now, during the Savage Nation’s sacred night of church, this bitch tries sneaking in. The faraway look in his eyes distorted his heart-shaped face. Usually composed, stress affected him.
“Say something or let me go. I’m tired of your fucking game of hide and seek.”
Justice