Page 6 of Savage Sin

Dragon takes a clean shirt out of his saddlebag and drapes it over the man’s head. “That answers at least one question. The next is how the hell the other guy with the blood tattoo ended up with a Savage cut?”

I take out my phone and thumb out a text about the body to a detective who doesn’t mind dealing with the Savages before moving to my bike beside Riot’s. He’ll get this cleaned up with minimal questions that require answers from us.

I motion for Rage’s cellphone. “Reaper,moy brat. I hate to bring trouble to your morning. Sorry for your loss. He wasn’t wearing your cut when we found him. My guy will take care of him. After you deal with the body and his family, if you can spare a few, we could use your help.”

There’s a pause over the line.

“I’ll be at your compound as soon as I can.” Sleep roughens his voice, but I know within the hour he’ll be on the road heading our way.

“Spasiba, I’ll owe you. I can smell blood and it’s not coming from the dead Sinner. You feel me?”

I hang up and pass the phone back to my Savage brother who says, “I hate it when you predict the future. You’re usually right.”

I’m not prophetic by any stretch of the imagination, but I know the world I live in and the men and women who walk in its shadows. Namely, my brothers. I’ve been put in a position where I’ve had to kill or be killed.

“We need to get back to the compound. Whoever did this is out for Savage blood.”

We straddle our bikes and tear off toward home. Fear and uncertainty cling to my thoughts. Rage isn’t dead, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a chance he won’t show up dead at some other point. Someone is out to get him. We have to find who that is before it’s too late.

“Where the fuck are you, brother?”

Two

Persephone

Pounding headaches, a dry throat and my heart in my throat are becoming common lately. The queasy stomach is new, though. I press a hand against my gurgling midriff, but it doesn’t help much. It must be the fact that I have only minutes to pull off the biggest info grab of the century before the guards rotate out.

The sun set a long time ago and I’ve been hiding out in the shadows, waiting for the right moment for the last hour, but it feels like decades. “It’s literally now or never,chica.”

When my pep talk fails, I try to breathe through the panic and fear. But nothing can calm my jittery nerves. I’m sure I won’t draw another deep breath until me and my sister are safe from the monster inside our home. My step-father entered on the coattails of our father’s murder and that is the same way he will leave, damn it. Even if it’s by my hand.

Not out of revenge or blood thirst, but out of survival. The Castel reign is over. And I’m okay with that. My father was a terrible human being. But what I’ve witnessed in the last three weeks proves that when you cut off the head of a beast, two will grow back in its place. And in my case, it’s Joaquin Cortes and the monster rising alongside him,el Ruso.

Darkness encases the private hallway in either direction. I wait. Listen. There’s afiestagoing on at the pool house. Flares of upbeat Cumbia music carry through the night air. The erotic blend of accordions, flutes and drums seamlessly eases into a sultry Salsa. Though I try to ignore the party, I am painfully aware of the deep connections being forged under my dead father’s roof. And not by some outsider, but by the man he considered his best friend.

I spit on his name and everything it means.

It makes me sick to see all these corrupt politicians, white collar billionaires and untouchable criminal under lords all vying to see who can kiss the Cortes ring first. It made me sick to see it with my father and still has the same effect now.

Three days ago some powerhouse Russian made my step-father a deal. A handshake and a sick blood oath later and they are celebrating their twisted unity with copious amounts of booze, dick measuring and women. I don’t know how my mother can just stand by and allow herself to be so boldly used and disrespected.

I check my watch and listen again for any signs of someone in this part of thehacienda. I can’t count on my step-father being distracted for long. Guests or not, anyone can set their watch to my step-father’s routine. Rounds with his security team at nine, a late dinner at ten and by eleven he’s at his desk doing whatever men of his nature do—ordering hits, checking on shipping containers of sex slaves, holding auctions with members of some society. I don’t know all the details. But I’m going to change that. Tonight me and the whole damn world will know the evil doings of one Joaquin Cortes.

Pangs of sorrow for my mother hit me in the chest, but she let this happen to her. Right now, I have to focus on what I can control, not the shitty life choices of others.

This whole Colombian kingpin meets Bratva criminal under lord is a disaster waiting to happen. It’s an unholy marriage of two demented assholes who will bring a lot of death and destruction to many. I refuse to stick around to see the dead bodies stack up. Or worse, find myself tied to the bed and bred.

Focus, Persi. You can do this and then find peace.

Murderous revenge leaks into my blood despite my little pep talk. Feeling the weight of a thousand stones in my gut, I run my fingers along the rustic cement wall to keep myself grounded and my senses on high alert. The fifty-year-oldhaciendasits in the middle of a twenty-acre ranch outside of Houston in a small, no name Texas town. There are close to twenty rooms and as many bathrooms. And unlike mosthaciendas, it has a basement that reeks of despair and death. I know because I’ve spent time tied to its walls. Cortes likes to call it retraining. I called it cruel punishment for not coming to heal like a good bitch. My sister did that and regrets every minute.

Nothing but red Spanish tiles, hand-painted mosaics and empty space fill the long hallway in either direction. I don’t remember a time when armed guards didn’t monitor the halls, but tonight there isn’t another soul in sight. It took weeks of planning and waiting for this chance and I can’t blow it.

After a few moments, I ease the large door open enough to slip inside. Hinges grind under the weight of the thick oak wood.

I pause.

One second.

---