Page 6 of Sinful Lies
Chapter 3
Tank
Together, Cobra, Reaperand I ride off from the Savage Saints clubhouse heading back to our own turf. We pull into formation as we turn off the dusty gravel road leading away from the Savage Saints clubhouse. I take the lead, Cobra behind me to my left and Reaper on the right. I twist the throttle wide open; the rumble of our engines echoes the screaming in my head. I fucking knew that piece of shit, Ben, was no good. If walking out on Dia didn’t break her heart, then waging war on her husband might.
The memory of the last time I saw Dia rushes into my mind. For years, the fear in her eyes that night has stayed with me. I tried to explain the blood staining my hands, but I couldn’t find the words to make her understand. Things went downhill so fast. Police sirens rose from the street below the open bedroom window and her father burst through the door with a shotgun aimed at my head. I didn’t want to leave Dia, but I had no choice. I had to run. I had to leave her there, tears streaming from her eyes.
I focus on the road ahead, letting the vibration of my bike under me soothe my rage. My mind needs to be on the road and the brothers with me, not the sex trafficking ring and how badly I fucked up with Dia. I twist the throttle wide open, and we eat up miles of pavement on the open road. The long ride is a welcome reprieve from the thoughts running rampant in my mind.
Several miles in, we stop to fill up the tanks and grab a quick bite to eat before returning to the road. As our pack merges onto the country highway, a heavy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Glancing in my mirror, I eye a black truck lagging a few paces behind us. I can’t pinpoint the reason my nerves are standing on end, but it’s the same truck I saw a few hours back and again at the gas station. I keep watch. Cobra, Reaper and I switch lanes and the truck moves along with us. I increase the speed and the truck speeds up. I give the signal to turn off onto a rural road. A quick look in the mirror proves we’re being followed. Only now, the truck has picked up speed, barreling towards us faster than I can react.
Within seconds, the truck passes us on the left. It draws my attention off the road in front of me. I turn my head toward the driver. He glares back at me, lifts his chin with a sadistic grin, and jerks the steering wheel. The truck veers into our lane and stops short. One minute there’s ground under the wheels of my bike, the next air as I low side it to avoid the truck’s bumper. Reaper swerves right, breaking hard, but keeps his feet on the road. Cobra’s not so lucky. The abrupt maneuvering sends him skidding across the pavement.
Reaper and I rush to Cobra’s side. “Fucking hell. You alright?”
“What the hell was that?” Cobra growls, standing up and brushing the debris off his cut. His pants are torn, and he has a nasty road rash, but his injuries seem minor. We can thank the biker gods for that.
“Only one way to find out.” I step toward the truck to confront the driver and it lurches forward, then reverses. This is no accident. This asshole is trying to kill us. I jump back, unholster my Glock, and rack one in the chamber. The truck speeds off as I fire a round shattering the rear window. I fire again, this time the tire blows, slewing the truck sideways into a tree. The sound of crunching metal fills the air.
“Hope you didn’t kill him already.” Cobra flips open his blade, stalking toward the crashed truck.
Reaper and I follow, our heavy boots grinding shards of broken glass into the pavement as we cross the road. I look up and down the empty road, grateful the crash didn’t draw any unwanted attention. If this fucker’s still breathing, we don’t need an audience for what’s going to happen next.
As we come up alongside the truck, the driver becomes desperate. He tugs at the seatbelt, toiling at the jammed restraints, looking for some way to escape. I grip the door handle and he slams the lock down. If he thinks a lock will stop the three of us, he has no idea who he’s fucked with. The butt of my gun shatters the glass when I bring it down hard in the center of the driver’s side window. The driver covers his face with his arm, but nothing can protect him from us. I reach into the truck, grip the back of his head, and slam his face against the dashboard. When I yank his head back, blood gushes down his face.
“Get him the fuck out of there so we can have a talk.” I step back and let Cobra, our Sergeant at Arms, and Reaper pull him from the truck. The driver’s a big guy and he puts up a struggle, but he’s no match for their strength. Cobra reaches in, slicing the seatbelt with a swipe of his sharp blade. Grabbing the man by his arms, he pulls him through the window. With a forceful shove, the man falls to his knees in front of me.
“Who are you?” I ask, bringing my knee up fast against his lowered head.
“Fuck you,” he snarls, spitting blood at my feet.
I not only want answers, but I’m also looking for a fight. I need an outlet for all this rage boiling inside of me. I let him stand up and take a swing. His arm rounding on me, connecting his fist to my chin. My head jerks back and I taste the familiar copper tang in my mouth. His heavy accent piques my interest, but it’s the tattoos on his fingers that catch my attention.
I pull back and level him with a punch backed by my full strength. I watch him fall over, wailing in agony. Blood spurts from his busted nose.
“Get the fuck up and fight me mother fucker.”
The Russian stumbles to his feet and charges at me, headfirst into my chest. When I don’t budge, his eyes widen with fear. The gravity of his fate settling over him. He knows there’s no way he’s getting out of this alive.
“Why are you following us?”
I swing, hitting him square in the jaw. He stumbles backwards and Cobra and Reaper catch him. They hold him up by his arms while I take another swing. “Tell me why you tried to run us off the road and I’ll make this fast.”
My left fist hooks into the side of his face. His blood coats my knuckles, fueling me on. Cobra and Reaper understand I need this. I’m wound so tight that fighting is the only thing that’s keeping me from losing my shit. At least here and now, I have control. Control over this man’s life while my own is a shit storm. I slam my right fist into his other cheek. Blood spews from his mouth as I continue to strike, alternating fists into the torn flesh of his face until his body goes limp. Cobra and Reaper drop his broken body to the ground and add their own brand of punishment. Reaper connects his boot with the man’s ribs with a crushing blow. Cobra, Reaper and I pummel blow after blow into his ribs, stomach and face.
Cobra squats low, dragging his blade across the man’s throat just hard enough to draw a trickle of blood. “You can end this. Just tell us why.”
The man throws his hands up in surrender. “To stop you from making it home.”
I cock my gun and press the barrel against his forehead. ““Who sent you?”
“Kill me already. I’m a dead man if I talk, anyway. I’ll say no more.”
I crouch over him, tipping his chin up with my gun. Anyone who can take a beating like this and still refuse to give up anything useful would rather die than talk. I see the look in his eyes, he’s made peace with his fate, and this isn’t fun anymore. “Fine.”
I bring my gun down with a final blow to his temple. His body drops, convulsing the last sign of life out of him.
I step back, wiping my blood-soaked hands on the legs of my pants and holster my gun. I feel no remorse over the carnage I’ve caused. He deserved our wrath. These are my brothers and loyalty is a code we live by and die by. You hurt a Krymson Destroyer and we will fucking end you. It’s as simple as that.
