Page 2 of Savage Sin

We all see the body, but more so the state of the lifeless frame. Black jeans, a black long-sleeved Henley and black steel-tipped biker boots have me thinking my worst fears have come true. There’s not a day Rage isn’t dressed in the same clothes. From the looks on my men’s faces, they share my fears.

I take a minute to let the deep purr of the motor work loose the knots of dread choking me from the inside.

Blackness washes the color out of everything except the pool of blood spilled over the yellow line and into the dirt. I grind my teeth until my back molars ache.

I tip my head back so the falling rain and a silent prayer can cleanse me of a few sins to make room for the damage I will do to humanity if this is Rage.

“Let’s get this over with so I can get back to Nova. She’s worried until she is sick and I don’t want her going into premature labor over this shit.”

Riot drops a hand on my shoulder and pulls me up short. “Hold up, Ares. I feel you. I do. We all want answers, but take a breather. Don’t rush into this. Take it from me. Prepare yourself to see something you will never erase from your memory.”

I turn and look at Riot. Fears of seeing his wife explode while trapped in the trunk of a car linger in the pits of his eyes. My Savage brother lingers on the razor thin edge between death and life even now. I feel for him, but this is no comparison to his past horrors.

I shake his hand off. “Why wait? It won’t change the outcome. It’s either him or not, right?”

“Have it your way.” He raises his hand and lifts a heavy shoulder in a shrug, knowing I’m right. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you, brother.”

I grunt my acknowledgement of his warning.

I cross the road, not bothering with pleasantries. Genesis’ runners don’t have a polite bone in their body anyway.

“Hey, it’s ’bout damn time you fuckers decided to join me. Thought you’d just sit there all night.” A cigarette bounces between the runner’s lips as he speaks. Black eyes scan me from the bottom of my asskickers all the way to thefuck offlook I’m wearing as a greeting.

I ignore him and crouch. My boots crunch in the loose gravel and dirt. Dragon walks up behind me, Riot on the other side. Wolfe hangs back, knowing that we need a minute. He’s not been with us long enough to know Rage like we do.

“I knew the fucker would die before me, but I thought I had some time to bargain with the devil.”

Dragon drops to my level. “Prez, we don’t know for sure. You can’t tell shit from the back of a bloody head.”

“The dirty blonde hair is a major fucking clue.”

He nods and releases a heavy sigh weighed with pain. “You want me to do it?”

I glance up and meet his eyes. I know what Dragon is asking. Dried blood mats clumps of hair together on the back of the dead man’s skull. Or at least parts of the skull still intact. A gun in the mouth and a pulled trigger will be the manner of death on the certificate. I scrape my hand along my jaw and shake my head. Not yet.

“Suicide isn’t Rage’s style. This was personal.” My voice is tight, dry. Iron bars encase my chest. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. In all of our long talks over the last four decades, Rage never talked about self-harm.

Instead of focusing on the body, I drill down on the surrounding area until I find the strength to turn the body over myself.

There are no tire marks, footprints or disturbed earth surrounding the body. From every angle, it looks like it just appeared out of nowhere with no other traces of human life.What the hell happened here?

I turn my focus to the man leaning against his bike. “Did you see who did this to him?”

When I don’t get an answer, I rise to my full height and level a steeled look on the runner who hasn’t moved from where he leans on his bike, dragging on his cigarette. Instead of working his mouth to answer me, he continues to give himself a manicure with a five-inch blade. I drop my gaze and consider his bruised knuckles in silence. Did he beat this man before using the guns I see tucked under his arms to blow his brains out? The possible answer has my gut clenching.

Smoke snakes around the runner’s head to disappear into the night sky. Tonight is not the prime time to push my patience. I walk over to him and grab the blade out of his hand. That gets him on his feet. The second he thinks he can take me on, and puts the toes of his boots in front of mine. Wrong move. I turn his blade against him.

Surprise and the sharp flame of pain make him gasp when the tip bites into flesh.

Light from the bikes slashes across my humorless smile. “I see I have your attention. Let me ask again. Did you see who did this, or was it you?” I take his fingers and hold them up. “Got blood under there? And these bruises? Where did they come from?”

Thin lips peel back in a snarl to reveal nicotine-stained teeth. “I heard you. But I don’t have to answer shit, so fuck you, Russian. You came to see a body. See it and let me do my thing so I can get paid.”

My grin turns sinister. This little fucker thinks his big guns and the fact he’s an assassin for powerful mafia men will keep me from burying him in a shallow grave. He’s got a lot of attitude for being outgunned. And I’m not including my brothers in that assessment.

I twist the blade a fraction deeper. Drops of blood turn into a steady flow. A little more pressure and this time it sends him to the tips of his toes. I’ve done a lot of roaming in my years and met many people. Some were good, or tried to be. Most didn’t bother caring enough about someone else to even try. The runner has an aura of death about him that puts him in the latter group. It shimmers like the reaper’s claws are deep in his hide, and the only escape he can look forward to will be brutal. No doubt the same fate he’s given a lot of sorry souls. If I’m the source of his death, so be it.

He sputters and coughs. “Hey, hey, what the fuck, man?” He thrashes and tries to back away, but his bike blocks him from running. Dragon and Riot serve as another wall on either side of me.

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