Broken - LS Silverii Page 0,25

stress on the body before engaging in a fight. An experienced MMA champion, St. John wouldn’t back down to a threat, blood brother or not. His tenacity was what got him through the pledge phases while he served as a prospect in south Florida.

“Not a problem, but you ain’t going to sucker punch without getting it back,” he spoke slowly to emphasize the point. Others gathered. St. John felt the tension building to a dangerous tipping point—unfortunately, it was against him.

Mercy shoved his way through the brothers and stood between the two. St. John wasn’t afraid to fight Vengeance, but he knew the ass whipping he’d take from the other thirty who’d take up for him.

“Vengeance, drop a tab and chill. Justice messaged that they’d be back soon. Said he had a job for us,” Mercy said.

“Whatever. I’m out of pills—got anything?”

“Man, you know I went sober two years ago. Got four kids to support.” Mercy clicked his tongue against his teeth. St. John shook his head at the news of him having four children.

“Opie, take a walk,” Mercy ordered.

“I’ve had enough of that stupid name.”

Mercy sneered, “Whatever, Opie.”

St. John stretched out his hand toward Abigail. She buried her face between her knees and ignored him. “Okay, but she comes with me,” his voice dropped an octave.

“No, she stays put like property is supposed to. Line up boys—time to fill this pig with cum.” Vengeance glared across the dimly lit space as if to taunt St. John.

St. John felt the shoves and pushes from the others. He looked back in disgust as the brothers did as ordered. He noticed Abigail between the bikers as she readied her open mouth for more sex. Her eyes had faded back to dead hollow.

* * *

“Opie, what the hell’s the matter with you now, son?” Justice asked. His HOG still hot from the run out of the mountains, he tossed St. John the keys and motioned for him to service it. Justice went inside.

He held out his hands for two other sets of bike keys as Sue and Rage brushed by. St. John nodded.

“Hurry it up, rookie. You’ll be heading out soon,” Sue said.

“Where am I going?”

“What’s the fucking difference? You do what you’re told. Got a problem with that?” Rage leaned into his chest. His eyes were red and crusty from the bike run, and he smelled like marijuana.

“I want to know what to pack.” St. John shuffled one step back to show deference to the eldest of the blood brothers. He knew he’d catch hell because of Vengeance—he didn’t need two of those bastards to contend with.

“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