Filthy Savage (Satan's Saints MC Book 3)

by Bella Love-Wins

  “What point? That we should’ve killed that smug son of a bitch when we had the chance? You had to either flash money, threaten to expose some juicy secrets, or have one of your people hold someone at gunpoint with your goddamned arsenal of weapons. And now like magic, Angel, Nancy, the kids, and Kade’s family are all safe. That’s what you’re telling me? Don’t expect me to believe that.”

  “You made it here in one piece and didn’t have to confront or fight a soul, correct?”

  “True.” I rake frustrated fingers through my hair. Every cell in my body is still on alert, wanting and needing to fight. This anti-climactic resolution courtesy of Vincent and his connections may have eliminated the threat, but I’m not satisfied. “What about Nance and the kids? Are you sure they’re safe?”

  “They are.”

  I shake my head. What I want to do is turn back time and make all of this go away. “I hope so… if anything happens to the kids, it’ll destroy her.”

  “I won’t let that happen. We won’t.”

  “Are you sure it’s over? What about Giovanni? We already know what kind of out of control bastard he is. Has someone put a leash on him too? I swear, if that man comes anywhere near me or anyone I care about, I’ll personally put him down. I don’t care who his dead mafia ex-boss father was, or how much fucking cred he’s racked up. He’s done enough to Sabrina and Silas, then Tate, and the Saints. Fuck, he was even behind the Los Diablos who kidnapped Jordan and locked him down for months like some insignificant nobody. The kid is Governor Bain’s son, for fuck’s sake, and that still didn’t stop Giovanni. Look, all I’m saying is if he comes around again, he’s going down permanently. Fuck the consequences. He needs to pay for his part. And someone in his family needs to pay for everything that’s happened. For Mom and Dad, for Kade’s father, for what we’ve had to deal with. Even for Angel.”

  “People have paid, Axe. Rest assured that they have, but don’t ask me for details.”

  “What’s with you tonight, and all this talking in code?”

  “Honestly? I’m protecting your ass. The less you know, the better.”

  “So you’re protecting me, huh? And what about Angel? You know I’m no stranger to violence and being caught up in dangerous shit. But it’s not the same for Angel. She may be taking things in stride, but this ain’t the kind of life she’s had up to now.”

  I catch sight of Vincent narrowing his eyes as he studies me carefully.

  “You care about her,” Vincent says. “Wait, it’s more than that.” Then he smiles. “Silas was right. You’re fixing to get wifed up! Axe, you’re making the old man proud over here, son. Are congratulations in order?”

  “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you and Si?” I bark. “It ain’t like that.”

  “Like hell it ain’t.” Vincent raises his eyebrows and his lips curl up in a grin. “What do you kids call falling in love these days? Let me see if I remember. Oh, right. Whipped AF, right? Who’s the best man? I should mention I haven’t been one for a while…since Reagan was President.”

  I shoot him a glare. “I’m serious. She’s not even remotely interested in signing up for all this…baggage. But anyway, getting back to the point, we need Giovanni off our ass for good.”

  “He’d have to be crazy to defy us again.”

  “That fucker lives for crazy, but you’re telling me he’s under control. It’s all over?”

  Vincent picks up the cell phone on his desk and throws it over at me. “Phone your sister. Talk to Kade. Call Silas. They’ll confirm.”

  “All right, fine. I’ll pass on phoning them. You know I trust you. I just hope you’re right.” I stand up and start for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Vincent asks. “I’m not done yet.”

  I wave my hand above my head and turn around, but keep walking backward out of the room. “Tell me in the morning. I’m beat. By the way, I’m crashing in my old room, if that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s exactly the way you left it,” Vincent answers, smiling. “But Axe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Silas and Sabrina want me to give you a quick message.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Two words. Background check.”

  I just laugh. “Night, old friend.”

  “Goodnight, kid.”

  Finishing up the last of my hand-rolled cigarette, I put it in the retro styled waste collector outside Vincent’s front door. I shove my hands into my pockets. The fucked-up adrenaline rush of the past few days just will not subside, even with Vincent’s update last night. Something still prickles against the back of my neck. I’ve been bracing for impact, ready to fight, almost eager to get my hands bloody. Before Vincent’s news, I was prepared to destroy everything and anyone who threatened me and mine. Now, the weight should be off my shoulders. It’s supposed to be over, but my gut has a hard time believing the worst is over for my family.

  Almost overnight, my idea of family has somehow been resurrected. Before all this chaos, I had Vincent and the Satan’s Saints. For a long time, I believed they were more than enough. I’ve been so wrong for almost allowing my kin to slip away. Reconciling with Nancy has lifted a mammoth-sized weight off my shoulders. I can actually picture spending much more time with my niece and nephew. Maybe in time, me and Kade might learn to tolerate each other too, if we both have enough alcohol in our systems to look past the whole Los Diablos versus Satan’s Saints deal.

  One outcome I was not expecting is that my image of family has begun to include that pretty little curvy vixen still sleeping upstairs. Sure, she’s a mouthy, smart as fuck, blonde bombshell, and the whole dominatrix thing she’s into is a little out of control. She told me flat out that she isn’t interested in anything more than a bit of sexy fun now and then. But hell, Angel has calmed the turbulent, riotous storm in my head. I haven’t had the nightmares or a single flashback since that night I shared my childhood horror story with her. Just the thought of letting her out of my sight causes my chest to tighten. I close my fists so tightly that any second now, my nails will draw blood from my palms.

  “Hey.”

  I spin around to face Angel, and have to smile. She’s now dressed up in a tailored black dress with designer pumps to match. My bet is Nancy must have picked out the preppy, nouveau-chic designer outfit. It practically puts a glowing neon sign over Angel’s head that says, “Hey! Look at me! I’m not from around these here parts!” at a time when it would have been imperative to blend in.

  “What?” Angel asks as I keep on staring without saying a word.

  I pull her into my arms. “You’re gorgeous. So, what’s up?”

  “I’m going to work. Can you give me a ride?”

  “Now? You know it’s Sunday, right? Public libraries are closed today.”

  She nods. “I know, but I’d like to check on how much work has piled up for me since we took off. You told me yourself that your friend, Vincent, took care of everything. I may as well get over there and find out if I still have a job. Oh, on the way, can we stop at my place for a few minutes? I need to see Jet, Spencer and Marley. If my neighbor hasn’t already put them in a kennel because of their quirkiness.”

  “No problem at all, but are you sure you want to rush off to work so soon?” I ask. “You should rest a bit, you know? Settle the nerves down, and all that.”

  I wonder whether Angel sees right through my feeble attempt to keep her around a bit longer. Business as usual for the two of us means that I’ll be back at the clubhouse or taking care of security gigs for the Saints. Angel will be home at her apartment, and back working at the library. Having things go back to normal means we’re about to go our separate ways.

  “I’m fine. I think getting back to my routine will probably help me get past it more quickly. Plus, my car’s still parked at work. Oh, that reminds me. Do you have jumper cables?”

  “I’m sure I can find some.”

  “Thanks. It’s been acting up lately. I’ll need to get i
t off that lot before it racks up a fortune in parking fines.”

  “If you want, I can get someone from the clubhouse to take a look at it for you.”

  “Really? God, that would be such a help. Thanks. So can we go now?”

  I lean forward and brush my lips against hers. “Sure thing.”

  27

  Angel

  One even inhale of library air at the front entrance is all it takes for me to ground myself into my old reality. The combined scents of old and new paper, ink, glue, and of library patrons and staff all assault my nose. It’s a welcome that reminds me that this is one of the few places I can and will always call my home away from home. So why do I have to use all my willpower to blink back the sting of tears threatening to fall as the rumbling, throttling sound of Axe’s bike fades away behind me in the distance? Since when does letting anyone go or leaving anyone’s side feel this awful?

  Sucking in a breath, I allow the library entrance doors to close behind me on their own and I straighten my stance. I’m being foolish. It’s time to wake up and settle into reality. Curating information, sorting books according to good old Dewey Decimal system classifications, stacking shelves, organizing our online holdings, and spending time in that swivel chair behind the circulation desk. This is my life, not what I’ve been through for the past several days. And yes, it’s true that I don’t need to return to work this quickly. I don’t have to be here right away at all. Checking my emails and drumming up stuff around here will keep me busy. I much prefer staying here, though, in my comfort zone between these four library walls. It beats the emotional turmoil of having Axe take me home. Why? Because if I did that, I’d also have to deal with my feelings for him, and the likely ordeal of saying goodbye.

  Goodbye for good.

  Our lives might’ve been thrown together these past few days, but that’s the point. Circumstances thrusted us into the same messed-up situation. I was leverage for someone powerful who believed that taking me would make Axe weak, would give them something to hold over him. And they were right, even though they should’ve been dead wrong, even though we barely knew each other and didn’t have a clue that the other existed even ten days ago. But now, the danger’s long past.

  Axe has no reason to stick around now.

  I have every reason to let go.

  Except, I can’t.

  Not without turning my back on it all.

  Which is why I’m here in my comfortable bubble at the library.

  It’s step one of turning my back.

  In this temperature- controlled knowledge-heavy, logic-packed space, life is a lot less personal. It’s way easer to grasp onto what’s simple and real, and to bury this irrational, overly complicated emotional turmoil that’s happening in and around my heart.

  I take a seat at the main desk and log into the shared computer. In the middle of replying to the first message in my inbox, a sound from the back of the library echoes down the wide hallway.

  “Pattie-Jean?” I call out, hoping it’s my friend from Archives. Like me, my colleague also has a tendency to come in after hours to keep this place going.

  No one answers. I go quiet, my body tensing as I try to stay perfectly still and listen more intently. A scratchy sound comes from the stacks near the back entrance. Ignoring the small hairs raised at the back of my neck, I leave my desk, lips pressed together in a tight frown as I take a walk back there to make sure. But on my way over, the distinct rustling of clothing comes from directly behind me. I swivel around quickly and stare back at the same spot where I was sitting at the main desk. No one’s there either. Nothing about this is funny or entertaining, and now, my heart is stuck in my throat.

  Forcing in a long, deep lungful of air, I take a glance in each direction. Maybe it’s just the air conditioning. I try to calm myself off the panicked ledge I’m on, forcing the logic side of my brain into action. There has to be a simple explanation for all of this—or maybe Axe was right that my nerves are still through the roof on account of the trauma it was subjected to during the tense, adrenaline-filled past few days. I mean, those men tried to grab me right outside the library that night.

  Sighing, I mentally kick myself for not simply agreeing to Axe’s suggestion to take a look around. With a forceful swallow, I gulp down the nervousness that’s made my throat dry and head back to the circulation desk. I’ll call him. He’s probably not too far away. I’ll just butter him up with platitudes and tell him he was right. It probably won’t take much coaxing to get him back here, so I pick up the desk phone and reach into my purse for his number, ready to let him do what he’s done so well for the past few days.

  “You do not want to dial out on that phone, Blondie,” a smarmy voice breathes out above my left shoulder. “Let me see those hands.”

  I don’t have time to move an inch when a pair of heavy hands rests on my shoulders, encouraging my obedience. Shit. Scared out of my mind, my hands raise skyward in panicked compliance with zero effort on my part.

  “Wh-what do you want?” I stammer out the question on shallow breaths.

  “You won’t be around long enough for an answer, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” the male voice says from behind me, seeming intent on hiding his face. But even as he threatens to end me, I notice there are so many reflective surfaces around me. I see glimpses of his sharp jawline, his slender yet imposing frame. Nothing about him is familiar. I’ve never seen this man before.

  Then he jerks his forearm around my neck and I feel the sinewy flesh and bone as he tightens his grip. The move is sharp and rough, instantly choking the life out of me as I try to breathe. My body flails backward, caught off guard by fact that I. Can’t. Breathe.

  My eyes widen and start to water. My hands scrape and scratch the offending arm at my neck, but he’s too strong and I wasn’t prepared for this situation to go from zero to murder with no warning at all. Small black spots dance in front of my vision as I scramble and claw at the arm around my throat. I can’t break his hold. There’s barely enough room to get a wheeze through my throat, let alone a scream. Every second, my eyes grow heavier and my brain struggles to stay alert.

  With what little cognitive function I have left in my brain, I use the only advantage I have left. My body weight. With a slight bend forward, I reel back into the chair as hard as I can, hoping it’ll topple over and take my attacker down with it. That doesn’t work, so I try jamming my shoe heel into the top of the man’s foot. I grind it down with all my weight and the man grunts and swears, but he doesn’t release me. In fact, he clamps his arm around my neck even tighter. I scramble around, bashing into things to throw him off, but it’s no use. Every time he’s caught off balance, he corrects himself and stabilizes his stance again. And unfortunately for me on my fourth desperate attempt, when my body’s turned slightly to one side, he loses his patience and slams my shoulder hard into the top of the desk.

  I barely register the pain radiating out from the spot, not with the adrenaline coursing through me as I fight to stay conscious, to stay alive. But he doesn’t give up either. No, he uses his strength advantage to take it a step further. I feel the chair kicked out from under me as he pushes me against the counter, pressing his body up against me from behind. His hands loosen a little this time, though, and it’s just enough for me to suck in a small breath of air in through my bruised airway. I use every bit of strength to fight back, and when my fingertips happen to touch the smooth, cold, sharper edge of a staff letter opener, hope fills me again. Stretching my arm as far as it’ll go, I clench the piece of metal, ready to hurt, maim, or kill, if it comes to that. Anything to stay alive.

  But I don’t get my shot at using the letter opener.

  The piercing sound of glass shattering somewhere near the front entrance fills the air and my attacker freezes. Both my attacker and I are quickly lifted up. My feet can’t touch the ground under it for a moment, then the grip around my neck loosens, and as I drop to the floor, I glance up in time to
see my attacker’s torso being pelted over the counter. He’s airborne for what seems like a long second, then goes head first into a glass display case, taking the entire thing down with him in an ear-splitting, glass-shattering crash.

  My fingers grip protectively around my neck as I collapse to my knees. I cough and sputter, gasping for air to refill my lungs, suddenly hit with the stinging pain.

  “Are you hurt?” Axe drops to my side, wrapping a protective arm around me as he helps me off the floor.

  “I’m okay,” I answer hoarsely, but it’s my blurry vision and bright spots behind my eyes playing tricks on my vision that I’m worried about. That and the dizziness that makes the room spin. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m gonna kill that fucker for touching you,” he grinds out, rubbing my back soothingly. “I never should’ve fucking left.”

  “No. I should’ve listened to you… should’ve let you stay with me,” I croak out in a raspy whisper, barely able to speak through the pain pulsing in my throat right now.

  “No. This is my fault,” he barks. “This is on me. He only came after you because of me. I should’ve followed my gut.” With no effort at all, he slides his arms around my back and behind my knees. Scooping me up into his arms, he gets to his feet and starts to the door. “I’m taking you home now…with me.”

  I feel a twinge of relief that he’s still willing to go to such lengths for me, but God, I don’t want to be weak either. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes. I do,” he mutters, tilting my chin up so I’d look him in the eye. “You’re not gonna fight me on this. You’re not just my responsibility… you’re mine.”