Page 8 of Empire of Savages

After retrieving my order and thanking the girl, I weaved through the waiting crowd. Stepping back out into the warm sun, I started the return trip to the garage. I sipped at my coffee on the walk back, enjoying the way it chased the alcohol from my blood and cleared my head. Less than twenty yards from the shop, I saw Bliss standing out on the sidewalk.

“Bliss?” I called, picking up the pace.

“Thank God, you’re back!”

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

She shuffled on her feet, and I heard a sharp popping sound. Looking down, I noticed glass on the pavement. Hustling to Bliss, my gaze swept the damage that had been inflicted on the glass door that led into the office for the shop. The whole pane had shattered, leaving more glass strewn over the tiles. Inside, in the middle of the floor, was a brick.

“Bliss, what the hell happened? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine. I heard glass shattering and came downstairs.”

I mentally calculated how much it would take for me to make the repairs to the door.

“You want me to call the cops?” Bliss asked.

The cops were the last people I wanted around here. “No. It’s fine.” Handing her the tray of drinks and pastries, I stepped carefully into the office space. Fragments of glass were everywhere, skittering away from my shoes as I moved farther into the room. Crouching beside the brick, I turned it over.

“Jesus, is that blood?” Bliss asked over my shoulder.

“Looks like it.”

Her turquoise eyes flickered from the brick to my face, then back again. “Who the hell would want to do this?”

I had a very good idea who it was but I kept it to myself. Standing, I stared at the mess I would have to clean up before I began ringing around for glazing companies that worked on the weekend. Maddox was behind this—I knew it deep in my gut. What I didn’t understand was why in the hell he was suddenly so desperate to get his cash.

Bliss pushed my cup into my hand. “Here, get caffeinated. I’ll grab a broom.”

Chapter 3

Nick

Freedom.

It was something I’d been chasing for the last five years.

Something I’d been dreaming about while I was caged behind these bars.

But it was in this last week that the drive to get out of these cursed walls had turned the fire in my belly into a raging inferno. Thoughts of revenge were my constant companion.

“Sobolev,” CO Styles called from the front of the pod.

Throwing my winning hand onto the stainless-steel table, the guys seated around it groaned. I rose from the metal seat and walked over to Styles.

“Pack your shit. It’s time to go.”

My revenge stretched out like a cat inside me, digging its claws into my muscles and skin as I walked back to my cell for the last time. My cellie was stretched out on his bunk, his nose buried in a book.

“Is it time?” he asked, lowering the paperback so I could see his eyes.

I’d been bunking with Oklahoma for the last two years. As far as cellies went, he was one of the better ones. When you had to spend twenty hours a day inside a six-by-eight-foot box witha guy, you didn’t need a talker, or an asshole. Luckily for me, Oklahoma was neither of those.

“It’s time.”

Placing his book down, he sat on the edge of his bunk, resting his elbows on his knees. Clasping his hands together, he said, “I hope the next guy isn’t a cunt like you.”

Normally, a statement like that would make me laugh, but since finding out D had been murdered, I’d lost the ability to find humor in any situation. And honestly, if it was anyone else who’d called me a cunt, I would’ve shanked them before I left, but Oklahoma was different. He had my back, just like I had his.

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