Blood and Grace – Book of Legion – Badlands MC Read Online J.A. Huss

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC Tags Authors: J.A. Huss Advertisement

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I kiss her, softer now, tasting whiskey and somethin’ uniquely her on her tongue. When I pull back, her eyes are heavy-lidded, barely staying open.

"Let's clean you up and get you to bed," I murmur, reaching behind her for the soap. Then I lather her body up. I clean Savannah Ashby like it's a religious experience.

Then I wrap her in a towel and lead her to my bed. She curls up next to me, both of us still wet, still naked. And immediately falls asleep.

But I don’t.

I lie next to Savannah, watching her chest rise and fall. The drugs Marcus pumped into her are still workin’ their way out, making her sleep heavy like death. Every few breaths, I touch my fingers to her neck, just to be sure. Just to feel that pulse.

I brush hair from her face, careful not to wake her. Sleep's the only peace she's likely to get for a while. No matter how this vote goes, when she wakes up, everything changes for both of us.

I press my lips to her cheek, soft as I can manage. She doesn't stir. Doesn't even twitch.

Then I slide from the bed and dress in silence. Jeans. Boots. T-shirt. My cut goes on last. Sliding it over my shoulders as I look down on my sleeping woman. She's curled on her side now, hand tucked under her cheek like a child. The blanket's slipped down, showing the black marker across her tits. PROPERTY OF DEMON.

If the vote goes wrong, it won't mean much.

I leave, pulling the door closed behind me, and take the stairs slow, each step pulling at the knife-edge pain in my ribs. With all the attention on Savannah, not to mention the drinking and a pain pill that Diesel slipped into one of my shots several hours back now, I actually feel pretty good.

But it's fake, this feeling.

The pain will be back before I know it. Physical pain I can deal with though, losing Savannah this morning would be something else altogether.

Outside, the sky's turning that particular shade of Montana gray that comes right before the sun breaks the horizon. The air smells like dew, and dust, and the leftover exhaust from all the bikes that roared in through the night.

I light a cigarette, inhale deep enough to make my ribs scream, and look at the line of motorcycles against the garage wall. Every patch has been called in. Every fucking one.

Forty-seven bikes. Forty-seven votes.

Men stand in clusters near the church hall, smoking and talking low. They go quiet when they spot me. A few nod. Most just stare, faces blank as prison walls.

They know the rules. No lobbying. No pressure. No buying votes with promises or threats. The church vote is sacred—one of the few things we treat that way.

Doesn't stop the weight of their judgment from pressin’ down on my shoulders like hands trying to force me to my knees.

I finish my smoke and flick the butt into the gravel. Time to face it.

The church hall door creaks when I push it open, like it's warning me to turn back. Inside, Brick, Ledger, Chains, Diesel, Ratchet, Roach, Havoc, and Butch are already moving around, setting up chairs in rows, pulling the long table to the front of the room.

Diesel spots me and breaks off, crossing the concrete floor with his heavy steps that always sound like someone's about to get their skull caved in.

"There he is," he says, slapping me on the back hard enough to make me hiss from the screaming comin’ off my ribs. "Ready for your big moment, brother?"

I nod, not trusting my voice yet. I've never asked for anything from the club. Never stood up and made my case for shit. I took my beatings, did my time, kept my mouth shut, and earned my patch with blood and silence.

Today I'll use my voice.

For her.

There are only three people on this earth I love—Mercy, Destiny, and Savannah. As my sisters, and as long as they are under twenty-one, Mercy and Destiny are automatically protected by the Club now that I’m patched in. Whether they want it or not.

But girlfriends are a whole other matter.

You gotta earn that protection. Because girlfriends, sex partners, even wives—they're very, very different than little sisters. They're risky. A hole in what otherwise might be tightly woven armor.

Did Savannah do enough last night to convince them? Was her submission satisfactory?

That's all that performance was. Submission. Will she follow my orders? Will she do what I tell her to, just because I tell her to?

"You know what you're gonna say?" Diesel asks, lowering his voice so the others can't hear. His eyes are serious under that permanent scowl.

"Yeah," I say, though I don't. Not really. I just know I'll say whatever I have to.

"Make it good," he says, and there's something in his tone that sounds like a warning. "Lots of brothers pretty upset about an Ashby under our roof."


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