Read Online Shattered by LS Silverii - Free Book Online Page B

morning.
    St. John turned in the other direction while he grabbed his bedroll and boots before Justice would notice. The miniature tracking device Chu had slipped him in the bathroom back in Grand Junction had rubbed against the inside of his leg the last fourteen hours. He needed a break from it and to change the batteries.
    “We’ll take back roads the rest of the way. It’ll take most of the day to navigate this terrain on these mules and on foot, so don’t expect to get there before dusk.”
    The tension in his neck and shoulders ceased as water rained down over St. John’s head from a small pool from a backed up stream. Long hair swung across and in-between his lips. He hesitated, his head hung low, and groaned that the ache in his stretched neck and spine was back so quick.
    “We’re supposed to sneak along back country roads, and then up to a secret stash location on Harley Davidson motorcycles?” St. John’s voice hinged on mutinous. “Do I really have to tell you how fucked up that plan is?”
    “No.”
    “Then what?”
    “You’ll know when the time comes.”
    St. John threw the canteen against a pile of rocks. Water shot from the open spout. “I’ve had enough of this secret squirrel bullshit. I get that Gray Man is fucking badass. If he wasn’t, we’d just drive up to his door and kick the damn thing in. I’m willing to put my life on the line for you, Justice, but not if you don’t trust me.”
    Justice craned over slowly and retrieved the empty canteen. “There you go asking about trust again.” He handed the water container to St. John. “If something happens to me, it’s better you not know everything. There’s more at stake than guns and money. This psycho is beyond anything we’ve dealt with—even considering the wacked out fuckers we dealt with at the CIA. Trust me, I trust you. I also want to spare you a brutal hell if anything happens.”
    St. John’s t-shirt and cut were draped across his saddle while he tried to wash away the last twenty-something hours of road grime. The cool stream refreshed him, but his chest tightened at Justice’s words.
    “Dude, you’re starting to freak me out with what you’re not telling me. It sounds like you’re walking us into more than a crate of stolen guns.” He reached for his shirt, but Justice moved in front of his bike.
    The big boss dropped his broad, well-defined jawline into his palms. His hard masculine look of authority faded as weary eyes moistened and distanced to a thousand yard stare.
    St. John didn’t dare touch him, but called his name and snapped his fingers until Justice blinked back to look at him. He noticed Justice’s thumb and middle finger sandpapering each other.
    “I think I know who Gray Man is.”
    “Fuck, boss, you’ve been holding out on me all this time?”
    “No, only said I think I know who he is. The way Chief Perez described the autopsy to Sue—there’s one man I know who killed that quick, that evil.”
    St. John reached around Justice’s frozen stance to grab his clothing. He hurriedly shoved his foot into the boot with the concealed transponder. He wasn’t sure how well the federal biker task force would be able to trace him off road, but he had to try.
    “Tell me what to expect.”
    Justice pressed his forefinger against his right nostril, and forced air and snot out onto the ground near St. John’s bike. “Ahhh, damn sinuses driving me crazy out in this dry region. Always fucked me up in the Middle East too,” he complained. “What to expect? Pray it’s not him, but expect that it is—but pray it’s not.”
    “Then why the fuck are the two of us walking into a trap? We got hundreds of brothers within a day or so’s ride. We can smash one man’s ass, can’t we?”
    “Yeah, sure.” Justice kicked at dirt to cover the patch of ground he’d slept on. His shoulders slumped and hunched forward. He looked defeated and unsure. “Let’s get going.”
    St. John drug his leather cut