Broken - LS Silverii Page 0,9
her throat as the bitter taste of the first pill touched her tongue.
Wet eyes blinked back reluctance. Her thin thighs flexed as one foot skidded from beneath the bed. A passing eighteen-wheeler blared its air horn after screeching tires braked. The abrupt sounds scared her, caused her to peek out through the venetian blinds behind the borrowed clothes dresser drawer.
Glassy eyes saw it atop her dresser drawer. She dumped the pills onto her mattress, and reached for her future—Ricky’s home address, and her reason for living—revenge.
* * *
Justice push-walked his Harley Davidson Road King to the curb. He’d selected the cruiser especially for the journey. Besides being comfortable, it had been an offering from the Las Vegas chapter once he was ordained the president over every chapter in the United States and the few new OMC chapters that sprung up globally.
His calloused fingers traced the custom imagery painted across the gas tank. It showed his position within the Savage Souls. The sun promised another scorching hot day, but Justice, like the others, sported their leather cuts without fail. The Western United States was controlled by the Hells Angels, but even they knew the reputation forged by Justice and his headquarter posse.
Outlaw Motorcycle Clubs wearing full-patched vests, or colors, as the bikers called it, into another OMC’s territory was forbidden unless permission was given—a rare event. Known as patched over, Justice refused to consider wearing the “I support Hells Angels” patches while in Big Red territory. They’d kill each other before he dishonored his own club’s colors.
Eyes squinted and a glint of approach through his rearview mirror caused him to sit up. Put together like a brick shithouse, Dragon Mike was young and relatively new in the culture of chaos.
“Mike, I’m counting on you to lead the Savage Nation out here in the desert.”
The former Marine sergeant extended his right hand. “President Justice, I’m still shocked, but I’ll never let you down. You got my blood oath.” Tacky liquid bubbled from his wound. A razor-sharp KA-BAR had sliced through a heavily tattooed palm for his blood oath, and illustrated his sacred commitment to the Savages and Justice.
Justice slipped a thumb across the electric starter button—the HOG roared to life. “Don’t be shocked, just be loyal.”
“Sir, what should I do with Red’s body?” Mike asked. “Starting to ripen the joint.” “Girl still alive?”
“Barely”
“Duct tape both together, and drop them off in either the desert or behind a hospital.” Justice tested the new leader with a choice.
“Really?”
“You’re in charge now, Mike.”
“Semper Fi, sir,” Dragon Mike snapped a salute as crisp as his final day at Camp Pendleton. Justice glared back as the ten HOGs rumbled out of sight toward the Jesse James Airfield. His teeth pressed against the wind with delight as the new local chapter leader held his rigid salute until he could no longer see him.
* * *
The airfield was semi-private. That usually meant illegal shit went down—especially in a landing strip plowed out in the middle of nowhere. Swung gates were left open, and clattered with the collection of thick chain links and heavy locks. Justice stopped before he glided through the unprotected entrance—almost too easy.
His left fist clenched shut and was held above his head to bring the other bikes to an idle. “Spread out. Looking for Rocky Jones, a pilot.”
Shit smells like an ambush to me.
“Bro, I don’t like this. You trusting Red’s word about this guy as the rip-off pilot?” Mercy, his biological blood brother warned.
Justice swiveled his head to cast an eye upon his questioning brother, and smiled with a cocky screw you look that often led to epic fights with his own kin.
Old timers had established the Savage Souls OMC in the sixties. Justice had risen through the ranks immediately after his full-initiation that followed a one-year pledge phase. He claimed the presidency within a few years—although some claimed it was a violent coup that desecrated club honor and tradition.
After he seized office, a sect known as the “blood brothers” arose when Justice recruited his actual family to join him in the Savage Nation. Five of his six brothers pledged the OMC and served in leadership roles at the national headquarters in Mystic, Colorado. Outside the national headquarters, the other Savage Souls chapters were divided in their loyalty and acceptance of Justice’s strong-armed takeover within the fringe society. What was unanimous among every single Souls’ chapter though, was the fear invoked by the blood brothers.
He slapped a massive palm down against the thick leather cut