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

Advertisement

We stare at each other for a few moments, all three horses getting anxious. Stomping their feet.

Colt cuts away first, swings up onto his horse. "You're out of your depth here, Kane. You need my help. I'm not asking you to be nice about it or even grace me with a fuckin' thank you because Savannah is my sister. My blood. And we both know how you'd act if it was your blood on the line. You'd forgive an ex-con biker if your sister loved him."

I don't say anything back because… he's right. But I don't want to admit that either, so⁠—

"Can you even ride, Legion?" Colt asks, sneering down his nose at me from atop his horse.

I spit blood into the dirt. "I'll fuckin' manage."

Then I swing up too, he grabs Cassia's lead, and we bolt down the mountain.

The horses move like ghosts beneath us, silent across Ashby land. Colt leads, I follow, my body a temple of pain and my mind a slaughterhouse of revenge. Every step jolts my broken ribs. Every heartbeat pounds inside my head.

The north ridge rises against the twilight, a black shape cutting into purple sky. The cabin sits nestled in pines, windows glowing yellow.

"No horses," Colt whispers as we dismount. "Cash and Wyatt aren't here."

Good. Two less bodies to put in the ground.

We tie the horses. My hands shake—not from fear but from something darker. Something rising. I've spent three years in a cage learning to control it, but now I feel the lock breaking.

"Legion," Colt grabs my arm. "Remember what I said."

I shake him off without agreeing to shit.

We don't waste time with stealth. The door splinters under our combined weight, wood cracking like bones. Inside, the smell hits first—antiseptic, sweat, and something medicinal.

And there she is.

Savannah lies on a bed, wrists bound with plastic ties cutting into flesh. Her eyes are wide, unfocused, drugged but on the verge of alert. Her dress—the same one from the silo—is wrinkled and stained.

Marcus stands over her with a fucking syringe.

Our eyes lock. His widen with recognition, then fear.

"You're not supposed to be⁠—"

I don't let him finish. My body becomes a weapon, launched across the room. I hit him with the force of every dark day in Whitefall, every night I dreamed of her voice, every second she's been in this nightmare.

We crash to the floor. Something snaps beneath us—his arm, maybe his collarbone. The sound feeds something primal in me.

My fist connects with his face. Once. Twice. A third time. Each impact sends blood spattering across the floor. His nose caves. His cheek splits. His teeth crack against my knuckles.

"Legion!" Colt's voice sounds miles away.

I keep hitting. Four. Five. Six. Blood slicks my hands, warm and satisfying. I feel nothing but the rhythm of destruction. Seven. Eight.

"This is for touching her," I growl, landing another blow. "This is for drugging her." Another. "This is for thinking you own her."

The next hit lands with a wet crunch. Marcus gurgles beneath me, face unrecognizable. Something in my chest breaks open—not a rib, but something deeper.

The demon they named me for, clawing its way out.

"LEGION!" Colt's voice cuts through the red fog. "THINK ABOUT SAVANNAH!"

I pause, fist raised, blood dripping between my fingers. I turn to see her watching, eyes glassy but fixed on me.

There's a soft pop and hiss. Marcus's body goes slack beneath me as Colt's tranquilizer dart finds its mark in his thigh.

"Get off him," Colt hisses, pulling at my shoulder. "He's done. Look at her. Look at Savannah."

Her name breaks through. I push off Marcus, leaving him crumpled on the floor, face a ruin of blood and bone. Still breathing. The senator's son lives.

For now.

I move to the bed, finding a scalpel on a metal tray beside it. The sight of it—clean, precise, meant for her skin—makes bile rise in my throat. I use it to slice through the zip ties binding her wrists.

Her skin is raw underneath, bleeding in places where she fought against the restraints. Bruises circle her ankles. Her lip is split at the corner. But her eyes—they find mine, recognition flickering through the drug haze.

"Legion," she whispers, voice cracked from disuse or screaming. I don't want to know which.

"I'm here." I gather her up, one arm under her knees, one supporting her back. She weighs nothing. "I've got you."

She starts to cry then, silent tears tracking down her face. Each one feels like a knife between my ribs as I carry her from that room.

"We're leaving," I murmur against her hair, keeping my voice low and steady despite the rage still burning through me. "You're okay now. I've got you. Nobody's gonna touch you again."

Outside, the night air hits us. Clean. Cold. Real.

I lift her onto Cassia, who stands perfectly still, like she knows. Savannah's fingers curl weakly into the mare's mane.


Advertisement

Advertisement