Filthy Savage (Satan's Saints MC Book 3)

by Bella Love-Wins

I screech the truck to a halt and tug those slippers off her feet, throwing them out my driver side window. “Sorry. Can’t risk it,” I tell her, starting the car again.

  “How do you know your stuff isn’t bugged?” she asks.

  “I just know.”

  We aren’t half a mile up the street when bullets start flying past the truck. Angel flinches and ducks low in the seat.

  “What the hell is happening?” she shrieks.

  I lower my head close to the steering wheel and check my side mirror. Two dark Camaros and six choppers follow. I’ve been expecting them to close in long before this, so this surprise attack is more of a snag, and less than surprising. The Los Diablos are sure to have set up a little hiccup.

  “Get down, hold onto the dash, and stay down!” I shout, yanking the wheel in the opposite direction to avoid getting shot directly on our gas tank.

  The next one goes wide. There’s only that whizzing sound. I zig-zag to stay ahead of them. This road has no exits for at least a few miles, so we need to hang tight and outlast the fuckers.

  “I thought we left the bike behind and took that minivan to get them off our ass! Now we have a truck?” Angel cries out from her position, lowering to the floor between the seat and the console.

  “I’m kind of a hard son of a bitch to miss when you’ve got people looking. And we’re still getting them off our ass, so keep it down and let me focus!”

  Angel gasps as I throw my foot into the brake and abruptly turn the truck, driving off the road and down a two-foot drop of a natural arroyo. Three choppers and one Camaro jump the gap, but the other vehicles playing target practice with my ass aren’t careful enough. They dive right in. No way will those front axles survive that ditch.

  Four down, four to go.

  Still, the chances of getting past four pursuers are slim, particularly since I haven’t had the chance to reach the supply of weapons behind my driver seat.

  “Their aim sucks,” Angel says out of the blue.

  “You’re complaining?”

  “No. I’m just saying. This is why I don’t ever skip out on solid time on the shooting range.”

  “You know your way around a loaded weapon?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Please. I can shoot with the best of them.”

  “Good. That’ll come in handy,” I tell her and floor it, navigating the vehicle through the desert brush.

  We can’t keep up this pursuit for long. That reality hits home quite literally at the sound and debris caused by a bullet hitting and shattering the driver side mirror. When I notice a three-meter wide arroyo with at least a fifteen-foot drop coming into view alongside the path we’re on, I know what needs to be done.

  “Time to make our exit,” I inform her. “Let’s see if this piece of American engineering can fly, or at least hold up against the sudden drop. Hold on. This will be a little bumpy.”

  “I’ll tighten my seatbelt too,” she says.

  “No. Get down on the floor. And cover your head.”

  Swerving the car, I speed up as fast as the truck will go, kicking up a ton more dust as I haul ass over the embankment. My head hits the ceiling as the vehicle crashes down on the other side. It swerves, almost making a full three hundred and sixty-degree skid before it stops.

  Angel lifts her head slightly, checking the back window once I right the truck. “Uh, the Camaro and two of the bikes stopped before the jump,” she says. “Wait. It looks like one of the bikes just doubled back to try again. He may have a good chance of making it over.”

  “Jesus. Can we not catch a goddamned break?”

  “Wait,” Angel says. “He’s down. I don’t see him coming back up. Woot! He bit the dust!”

  “Nice.”

  Angel slides back into the seat and redoes her seatbelt. She fiddles with the radio knobs, searching for a clear station, and stops on a classic country western station. “This will have to do. I see you don’t have XM radio.”

  “If we did, the gunfire would have probably gotten it good.”

  “Hmmm. So where are we going now?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  “You can’t shut me out forever, you know,” she tells me, swatting my hand away when I try to change the music to something more rock-friendly. “We’ll get there soon enough, and I’ll know.”

  “True.”

  “Wait a minute. What about my mother?” Angel asks in a panic.

  “What about her?”

  “I need to call her.”

  “Not now.”

  “What if she’s in danger?” she persists.

  “Your phone call can put her in danger. Just relax. I’ll make sure no one gets to her. Make yourself comfortable over there. We’ll be driving for a while.”

  Glaring at me like I’m the enemy, she huffs out a long exhale and rests her head on the seat back. “I am so not sleeping with you, ever again.”

  “Suit yourself, Angel.”

  Sex is the last thing on my mind at the moment, although the image of actually sleeping beside her makes my chest tighten. I may have fucked a shit ton of women, but I sure as fuck didn’t sleep with them. Yet where we’re heading, that’s sure to happen eventually.

  Except, for the next little while, it’ll be on my terms, and it’s Angel who’ll have to grin and bear it.

  16

  Axe

  I grip my burner phone in one hand. I stare at the thing with my arms outstretched as if I expect it to go off like a bomb and blow me all to hell. And I have good reason to. The person I have to call next is sure to give me hell. I hate the idea of speaking with her, but I have no choice. We’re out of options. I can’t involve the club anymore without potentially getting the Satan’s Saints and the Los Diablos back into an all-out war, and I can’t use a Saints MC approved safe house because the Los Diablos will see right through the plan.

  There’s only one other option, and to take that route means I have to make the call now, before Angel wakes up inside the pickup truck and starts looking for me. Apprehension comes over me. Christ, how am I even going to spin this so it doesn’t look bad? There’s no goddamn way I can pull it off. I run both hands through my hair and exhale, which does nothing to get rid of a nagging headache drilling a hole through my skull.

  I unfold the sheet of paper, staring down at Nancy’s name. Time to nut up or shut up. Keying in her number, I only hesitate for one more moment with my finger hovering over the little green phone symbol. So what if we haven’t seen each other in years? Who cares that the last time we talked was a few Christmases ago? That’s better than nothing. Never mind that I only ended up speaking to her because I got obliterated on Jaeger and impulsively answered her annual holiday phone call, which I usually just let go straight to voicemail. The fact that I’m calling her now is probably progress in her eyes, even if my motivations are a little fucked up. Okay, very fucked up.

  With a grimace, I press the little green button and shove the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?” Nancy answers.

  Jesus Christ, does she have to pick up so damn fast? My sister is so prompt for everything—everything except for acknowledging what we went through as children. It shouldn’t be a surprise to me that she can’t even let the phone ring twice. I start to choke up from a sudden stab of pain. Maybe I can just hang up now and forget all about it. Even if she has caller ID, she won’t know it is me on this burner phone.

  “Hello?” Nancy repeats. “Is anyone there?”

  I look around nervously. I still have an out because she has no idea it’s me. Her tone is neutral, but that won’t last long. She can’t keep her emotions in check where I’m concerned. But I can’t let that stop me. I need her.

  Leaning on the wall beside the restroom of the Chevron gas station, I go for it. “Nancy.” I clear my throat, rubbing my free hand along the side of my jeans. “It’s me.”

  “Oh. You. Of course, it’s you, Alexander,” she declares.

  Her voice is hollow and cold, not that I should
’ve expected anything different. I can’t stop myself from pressing lips together. This is the last conversation I want to have while keeping my eyes peeled on the parking lot in case danger’s lurking. I try to convince myself that I’m just being careful, but deep down, I know the truth. Under normal conditions, I’d take any fucking distraction right now, even being shot at, to avoid this call and the person on the other end of this line. But I know I’m not making this call for my own ass. It’s to help Angel. I’ve got to look out for her best interest. It’s not about just me anymore.

  “Alexander,” Nancy calls out my first name again, even though she knows I hate being called that. She’s always been a control freak that way. “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah. I am.”

  I check out the truck at the front of the building. There’s still no sign of Angel waking up. She’s probably exhausted after the last fourteen or so hours of chaos we’ve had. She’s fought off Los Diablos member, thwarted her own kidnapping, witnessed fights and being shot at, then she left everything behind and drove all night.

  “What do you need?” she demands gruffly. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

  “How would you know?” I ask, checking “Just because it’s been a long time, doesn’t mean you should assume that I’m in trouble. I’ve barely opened my mouth.”

  “Alexander Edward Voltaire, I can put two and two together. I may be your little sister, but I’m not stupid.”

  “It’s Axe, Nance. It’s been Axe since I turned fifteen. Cut it out with the Alexander crap, will you?”

  The silence between us is uncomfortable as always, and neither of us is making an effort, or working to change it.

  She lets out an impatient breath. “Look, after our falling out, there can only be two reasons you would call. One, to apologize and make amends. Two, you’re shit out of luck, and I’m the only help you can find. I don’t hear any contrition in your voice, so it has to be option two. Am I right? What’s the deal? Did the club turn on you, or did you make a mistake there’s no coming back from this time?”

  “Yes and no,” I bite out, barely able to hold my temper, hating it when she’s right. “It’s complicated. The easiest way to put it is I’m on an unplanned security job, and I can’t help feeling it’s connected to us… to what happened to Mom and Dad back then. I know it doesn’t make any sense at all, but I can’t use a Saints’ safe house right now. No one but Vincent knows where you live. Coming to you seems like a no-brainer.”

  “What security job? And how could anything happening now be connected to back then?”

  Nancy is nothing if predictable, even after all these years. I figured those few high points would be the details she’d pick up from our conversation. For a second, I lean my head on the wall, trying to get a grip on my patience because I need her to let me and Angel stay at her house. Just then, the truck door pops open and Angel jumps out the passenger door. She looks both ways—twice—then she starts sprinting across the gas station parking area as though someone’s after her. Or maybe she thinks I’ve left her here. Either way, I can’t keep my grin in check. Subtle, Angel. So subtle.

  “Didn’t Vincent tell you? The MC has gone legit. I’ll fill you in, but the point is I have someone I need to keep under wraps. I need her to stay with you. These fuckers are closing in on all sides, so it would be great if we could speed up this phone chat, skip over the part where you get all judgy or walk down memory lane. We can do all that when I see you in person. Deal?”

  “You haven’t changed one bit, Alexander.”

  “I haven’t, but I hope you have, Nance,” I say, calling her by her pet name. “I’m not holding out any hope, though. We’re a stubborn bunch. Anyhow, can I come by, or are you going to leave me out in the cold this one time that I’m coming to you for help?”

  I can almost feel my baby sister seethe over the phone. My fingers idly tap on the wall as I wait, watching Angel run around in a frenzy, dressed in just my t-shirt and shorts. The idea that she’s not wearing panties or a bra underneath has me hard as a rock. My sister then grumbles about something, which instantly kills my boner.

  “Yes or no is pretty damn simple,” I say, waiting for an answer.

  There’s a whole lot of nothing on the other end of my cell. I take it away from my ear to make sure the seconds and minutes are still counting up, and that the call hasn’t dropped, or that she hasn’t hung up.

  “How far away are you?” Nancy asks.

  Nice. She’s actually considering saying yes, which gives me a whole new headache on top of the current one. I tense up from the possibility that she might agree to this fucked-up last minute plan.

  “I can’t have you coming at midnight,” she adds. “You’ll wake up the kids.”

  My stomach does a flip of guilt at the thought of my niece, Annalee, and nephew, Asher. I’ve seen them all of maybe twice in their lives. That’s pathetic on my part, inexcusable and completely my fault.

  I clear my throat. “I’m, uh, five minutes out.”

  “Awww hell,” she whines. “You’re in my damned backyard, huh? Why’d you even bother calling first? Fine. Come. You’re the one who stayed away all this time, so I’m not going to give you another excuse to bail.”

  “Thank you, sister,” I say to provoke her.

  “But there’s one condition.”

  “What?” I’m already mentally exhausted from just this one phone call. What more does she want?

  “While you’re here, we’re going to sit down and have a talk. I mean really talk. Deal?”

  “I was expecting that. I’m game, but only if you’ll listen, instead of insisting there’s only one right way. If you’re good with parking the pigheadedness, you have a deal. We can talk. I just won’t promise more than that.”

  “I’m pigheaded?” she screeches. “If I’m stubborn, then you’re a goddamned bull in a china shop. One who runs away from his own family and never looks back to see the trail of crap you broke.”

  “Good. Are you done?”

  “For now. See you in a bit, Alexander.”

  The line goes dead.

  I’m impressed. That call actually went a lot better than I expected.

  Next is to handle the panic-stricken, barefoot blonde woman running around haphazardly as though she’s trying to avoid a sharpshooter from making her a target.

  “Hey,” I call out to her. “What did I say about staying put?”

  Angel runs up to me, breathing like she’s run a marathon. She gives me a painless punch on the upper arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going somewhere?”

  “Relax,” I tell her, shoving the phone back in my pocket. “Get back in the truck. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

  She rolls her eyes and points down to her feet. “And shoes, please. Maybe a toothbrush, too?”

  I point at the vehicle, signaling for her to start heading back, and add, “It’s a Chevron station, not a Walmart.”

  “Yeah, I noticed, asshole,” she grumbles and leaves.

  A few minutes later, I return to her with food, our coffees and a bag of whatever travel supplies I can find inside. “Here you go. This is all they had. Don’t go whining about the shitty coffee.”

  Angel starts rifling through the pastry bag. “Thanks. Who were you talking to?”

  I start the engine. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Judging by Angel’s reaction, that answer is not the right one. She takes a sip of her coffee and uses her free hand to fake-pour hot liquid in my lap. I flinch just a little, and she grins.

  “Keep it up and I’ll burn you for real,” she warns me, taking a bite of the donut from the brown bag. “I’m tired of you treating me this way.”

  “It’s for your own good.” Reversing the truck, I roll out of the lot and wait to merge into traffic.

  “That’s the most sexist thing I’ve heard all morning.” She arches her eyebrow and licks frosting off her top lip. “Don’t think I can’t make you pay for it in your sle
ep.”

  “Fuck, that sounds hot,” I tease. “Whatever happened to I’m so not sleeping with you ever again, Axe?” I ask, adding the highest pitched female sounding voice I can mimic.

  She scrunches up her nose and narrows her eyes at me. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. “Whatever.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I was taking care of arrangements for the next stop on our road trip.”

  “Oh. Sounds fancy,” she mocks me.

  “Ready to roll?”

  “Yes please,” she says, and mutters under her breath, “Jackass.”

  I shrug one shoulder and muscle the truck out onto the main road. “I’m the jackass who just saved you, doll. The dickhead you actually like.” I briefly glance over in her direction, turning the rock music station way up. She’s fighting the urge to smile over the pound of base in the speakers, and then her hand casually rests on my upper thigh as though she doesn’t even notice she’s holding onto me.

  Like all the times before, her touch is like fire. It’s hot and urgent, begging for my attention. My jaw tightens. My chest is pounding. My hard-on won’t fucking quit. I’ve never felt like this for anyone else. It’s clear as day what it means, mainly because I’ve seen Cole, then Silas, and more recently, Tate all fall hard for their old ladies. Once they did, they couldn’t let fifteen minutes go by without making it clear these women were their property.

  As her hand rests on my leg, as though I’m an extension of her own body, I crave this woman.

  I’m ready to claim Angel as mine and mine alone.

  “You okay?” she asks, squeezing my thigh.

  All the muscles in my leg jolt and bunch tight, and my cock twitches behind my zipper.

  “Never better,” I grumble, working hard as fuck to control myself.

  Her fingers tense almost imperceptibly on my thigh, and without thinking I snatch her fingers up and bring her palm up to my mouth, gently brushing her soft, sweet skin with my lips.

  “We’re going to my sister’s,” I tell her.

  “Ohhh, nice. A blood relative,” Angel remarks, pulling her hand away slowly. “I can get all the good gossip.”