Page 1 of Savage Sin

One

Ares

The stench of decay and death scar the air.

Desolate and alone are the only two thoughts gnawing at my brain as I point my bike north and ride into the night. Rage died with no one around to help him when I promised I would be his ride or die for life. A lifetime of running together forged a connection we both held onto and used as a lifeline. And now it’s gone.He’sgone.

No, we don’t know that.Nova’s last words to me before I rode out push me away from the black hole I’m close to falling into.

Rolling clouds darken the early morning sky. Misty rain mixes with fog to roll over a back road in Upstate New York. Trees huddle in tight on either side of the road and there’s not another soul in sight.

It won’t be long before sheets of water turn the black asphalt into an endless river of obsidian this far outside the city.

I twist the throttle and my bike grumbles over black pavement. Riot and Dragon flank my sides while another Savage rider brings up the rear. I lean into a curve and roar toward our shared nightmare, leaving the other three behind. They’re not in a hurry to identify our friend’s body and I don’t blame them.

Another curve and I release the throttle when I spot a bike on the side of the road. I drift to a stop, my headlight the only source of illumination at the moment.

I make out a tall, slender man using his bike as a leaning post and working his way through a cigarette. He must be the Genesis runner—a hired gun if you have the right connections and enough money to make it happen. Leather covers him from the neck down in the middle of July, so I understand the sour look on his face. Cracks of lightning catch on the blade in his hand. He’s using it to clean the grime from beneath his nails. Blood or dirt is yet to be determined. I don’t put it past a runner to put a body in the ground just for a paycheck when work is running low. Most don’t carry around a set of morals, and their sense of humor is borderline psychotic. At least with the runners I’ve met. Their bosses have them on a short leash, but in my experience, a man can only be controlled so far.

The runner’s call came in an hour ago and I don’t think I will ever bleach the words from my mind for as long as I draw in air. Or the southern drawl.

“Speak and make it fast.” I move a very pregnant Nova off my chest and cover her sleeping body with a blanket. It’s a couple of hours before sunrise, so I don’t hold back my irritation.

“Yo, you Ares?” I don’t recognize the voice.

I sit up on the edge of the bed and grab a pair of jeans. “Where did you get this number?” I already don’t like where this is going.

“A Chicago mutual. I got a body he says you’ll wanna see, so I’m callin’. That Genesis contract still good?”

Harlon Constantine. Fuck.

“What makes you think the body is one of mine?”

A second later I’m looking at a cut with the Savage skull on the back. My soul fights to leave my body. My fingers tighten around my cellphone until I hear glass crack.

I message back: “The contract is still good. Send me the coordinates.”

I rub at the stab of pain burning through my heart. I wish I could be done with the bloodshed and killing, but as long as I have brothers hell bent on killing their way to the top of the underworld food chain, I will never find peace. Nor will my Savage brothers. And it looks like Rage has paid the ultimate sacrifice.

“What have you done, Rage?”

Days on end of not hearing from him are odd, but to have him vanish like a ghost has dread crushing my chest. He didn’t pull stunts like this when he wrecked himself with Euphoria back in the day. High or not, Rage never failed to be the vice president of the Savages and a friend.

Christ.I swallow my curse and send a prayer up instead, hoping the silence doesn’t mean my best friend and brother in all things but blood isn’t dead.

We recently worked to take down a branch of my family’s sex trafficking ring. I’m not proud of my roots and I’ve worked nearly every day of my life to compensate for the evil they’ve brought into this world.

Riot, my sergeant in arms’ wife, got caught up in the mess alongside my twisted headcase of a brother. It’s a gnarled story of death, deceit and betrayal. I’ll let Riot tell you the ugly truth of it all, but the outcome left us hunting down the vice president of my crew. He is never off grid, but there is nothing but complete radio silence from Rage. No proof of life, no body, and an endless list of people who would like to see him dead. It all points to an answer none of us is prepared for. We’ve exhausted all avenues looking for the bastard. Nobody is sleeping. Nova cried herself to sleep tonight at the thought of our baby’s godfather dead in a ditch somewhere.

And now we are going to see if a random body on the side of the road is our man.

I kick the stand out, but I don’t move my way toward the body. Not just yet. There’s a lot of shit I can take in life, but I always thought I would be the one who ate death’s ticket first. Not Rage. I need a minute to get my legs under me and my head on straight for what I am about to see.

Riot and Dragon roll up beside me, and it’s not long before Wolfe joins. He’s an honorary Savage here to lift a hand. I didn’t intend for anyone to join me on this death ride, but the three of them were already waiting outside by the time I came out of the front door. Harlon had called everyone.

I angle my head toward my crew and then back at the dark form spread out on the edge of the road.

“I see, Prez,” Dragon offers roughly over the purr of our motors.

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