Read Online Shattered by LS Silverii - Free Book Online
Authors: LS Silverii
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
the gorgeous girl ringing the register. She winked. He glanced at the State Trooper smacking gum right over his shoulder. Hard, judging eyes. Neither were amused.
St. John dropped the coin change in the plastic tip bucket and scooted toward the restroom.
“Outlaw,” called the cop, “I’m gonna need to talk to you.” He waggled his forefinger like a disciplining parent.
St. John held the door halfway open. “You’ll have to wait unless you want to hold my dick while I piss. I got a bad back, and this thing is heavy.” St. John glanced at the checkout girl, appreciating her broad toothy grin and youthful giggle. He shoved the door shut then kept his voice low.
“Agent Chu, what the hell you doing here?”
“Hey, St. John. Lawless knew neither he nor Voodoo could be seen anywhere around here without getting busted. I flew up last night to help out. This shit is big, big, big. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His eyes widened as he spoke. His Asian accent grew more pronounced with varying degrees of excitement.
“Fury is dead. Head on with a big rig about twenty miles back.”
“Sorry to hear.” Chu snorted.
St. John clasped Chu’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m real broken up about it, too.”
A loud bang interrupted their reunion. Both agents jumped. “Outlaw, what you doing in there? Ain’t no place to escape.” The trooper’s tone bore resentment laced with anger.
Chu’s eyes rolled. “What’s he want?”
“Probably about the crash. Jammed the interstate up pretty good,” St. John said. “I only know we’re heading to Sonoma County. No plans to stop until we get there. Whoever Gray Man is, he has the weapons stashed out there.”
“Thanks. Anything else?” Chu asked.
“Yeah, don’t trust messages from Jeff Graham’s cell phone. It’s in someone else’s hands.” St. John punched him in the arm and kicked the wedge from beneath the door. The skinny state trooper almost flopped through the threshold.
“What y’all been doing in there?”
Agent Chu wiped his lips and smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The lawman stumbled back into the candy display. “What?”
“You know what they say about once you go Asian, don’t you?” Chu stood almost on top of the trooper until St. John had cleared out.
St. John burst into the sunlight. Squinting, he circled his finger to signal Justice they should mount up and head out—quick. Both bikes kicked gravel and dust before the trooper managed to goosestep to the gas pumps.
They blasted along without words until they were deep on I-70. With still over a thousand miles to go, very different thoughts burdened each warrior. St. John kept a renewed eye out for his surveillance cover-team though he saw nothing except Justice emerge in his side view mirror.
“What the hell happened back there?”
“That trooper tried to corner me in the bathroom. I shoved him into the display and hauled ass.” St. John pounded his chest.
Justice laughed finally. “Maybe he wanted a blowjob.”
St. John didn’t think that shit was funny, but feigned a smile for Justice—he’d just lost another blood brother to a violent death in less than a week after all. He lay back in his saddle and allowed the curl of hot highway grit to bathe him while his mind again drifted.
St. John didn’t understand the depth of conflict he felt about loyalties to the federal agency and the Savage Souls. Had he, himself, become a victim of the Stockholm syndrome? His hammer-sized fist slammed against his thigh. No fucking way that was true—he wasn’t a hostage. But in a way, he was captive. Enslaved by a bureaucratic system no longer representing the ideals he’d raised his right hand to serve and protect.
His experiences with The Savage Nation weren’t that much different, except they weren’t wrapped up in an over-inflated scope of authority. Their mission was pure and simple—live free or die. He associated more with that ethos than the agency’s bullshit
St. John dropped the coin change in the plastic tip bucket and scooted toward the restroom.
“Outlaw,” called the cop, “I’m gonna need to talk to you.” He waggled his forefinger like a disciplining parent.
St. John held the door halfway open. “You’ll have to wait unless you want to hold my dick while I piss. I got a bad back, and this thing is heavy.” St. John glanced at the checkout girl, appreciating her broad toothy grin and youthful giggle. He shoved the door shut then kept his voice low.
“Agent Chu, what the hell you doing here?”
“Hey, St. John. Lawless knew neither he nor Voodoo could be seen anywhere around here without getting busted. I flew up last night to help out. This shit is big, big, big. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His eyes widened as he spoke. His Asian accent grew more pronounced with varying degrees of excitement.
“Fury is dead. Head on with a big rig about twenty miles back.”
“Sorry to hear.” Chu snorted.
St. John clasped Chu’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m real broken up about it, too.”
A loud bang interrupted their reunion. Both agents jumped. “Outlaw, what you doing in there? Ain’t no place to escape.” The trooper’s tone bore resentment laced with anger.
Chu’s eyes rolled. “What’s he want?”
“Probably about the crash. Jammed the interstate up pretty good,” St. John said. “I only know we’re heading to Sonoma County. No plans to stop until we get there. Whoever Gray Man is, he has the weapons stashed out there.”
“Thanks. Anything else?” Chu asked.
“Yeah, don’t trust messages from Jeff Graham’s cell phone. It’s in someone else’s hands.” St. John punched him in the arm and kicked the wedge from beneath the door. The skinny state trooper almost flopped through the threshold.
“What y’all been doing in there?”
Agent Chu wiped his lips and smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The lawman stumbled back into the candy display. “What?”
“You know what they say about once you go Asian, don’t you?” Chu stood almost on top of the trooper until St. John had cleared out.
St. John burst into the sunlight. Squinting, he circled his finger to signal Justice they should mount up and head out—quick. Both bikes kicked gravel and dust before the trooper managed to goosestep to the gas pumps.
They blasted along without words until they were deep on I-70. With still over a thousand miles to go, very different thoughts burdened each warrior. St. John kept a renewed eye out for his surveillance cover-team though he saw nothing except Justice emerge in his side view mirror.
“What the hell happened back there?”
“That trooper tried to corner me in the bathroom. I shoved him into the display and hauled ass.” St. John pounded his chest.
Justice laughed finally. “Maybe he wanted a blowjob.”
St. John didn’t think that shit was funny, but feigned a smile for Justice—he’d just lost another blood brother to a violent death in less than a week after all. He lay back in his saddle and allowed the curl of hot highway grit to bathe him while his mind again drifted.
St. John didn’t understand the depth of conflict he felt about loyalties to the federal agency and the Savage Souls. Had he, himself, become a victim of the Stockholm syndrome? His hammer-sized fist slammed against his thigh. No fucking way that was true—he wasn’t a hostage. But in a way, he was captive. Enslaved by a bureaucratic system no longer representing the ideals he’d raised his right hand to serve and protect.
His experiences with The Savage Nation weren’t that much different, except they weren’t wrapped up in an over-inflated scope of authority. Their mission was pure and simple—live free or die. He associated more with that ethos than the agency’s bullshit
Similar Books
