Savage Savior (Savage People Book 3)

by Charleigh Rose

  “What?” I grit. “She’s been through too much. The last thing she needs is a piece of shite like me making things worse. You don’t know about her past.” Quinn filled me in on some of it, and if I hadn’t already killed her da, I’d do it all over again.

  “Apples and oranges.” He shakes his head again. Holy shite, I’m going to fecking end this wanker if he doesn’t stop with this rubbish. “You’ll see what I mean. It’s okay, Carter. It’s going to be okay.”

  I don’t like his answer. He’s talking like I haven’t done anything wrong, but I know I did. I know I fucked up. The worst part is, I want to do it again.

  We hear a thump outside the door, and my eyes snap up to Cole’s. He nods and slips out quietly. I put a finger to my lips, warning the bastard in front of me to keep his trap shut. Cole returns a moment later, shaking his head dismissively.

  “Just some club bunny looking for the bathroom. Made about seventeen wrong turns.”

  “Help me! Heeeelp!” this motherfucker screams, knowing his last chance of getting out of here unscathed just walked away.

  Anger makes me squeeze my thumbs harder into the Italian lad’s eyes.

  “Where’s Stefano?” I let out a toxic hiss.

  He wails so hard the walls rattle.

  “Fine. Fine! I’ll tell you. Goddammit, I’ll tell you. Just stop this already!”

  He gives me the full address in a heartbeat. I make a mental note of it.

  I still squeeze his eyeballs out, though.

  Sorry. Had a bad day.

  Four long weeks have passed since Carter came to my rescue. Four weeks of confusion and haze. Carter never contacted me again after he dropped me off at my apartment. He didn’t say goodbye or call afterward. But now there’s one of Graham’s soldiers standing at the entrance of my building twenty-four seven, protecting me.

  He does a day shift, and another guy replaces him for a night shift.

  Every day. Day in and day out.

  I’m not allowed to leave.

  I don’t want to leave.

  I have nowhere to go. I call Carter…a lot. I’m not proud of that, but there’s nothing else I can do. Jade came to visit a few days ago, so pregnant I thought she was about to burst, and tried to cheer me up. Told me that once everything is over with the Italians, Carter will see that no one else is coming after me, and my life will get back on track.

  But I don’t want it to.

  I have nothing to live for. I don’t want to go back and work at Hot N’ Bothered. It was only meant to be temporary, anyway. The only thing I liked was working next to Carter, Jade, and Selene.

  I think the worst part is that he stopped visiting me. Following me. Maybe even wanting me. It’s like he cut all ties. I can’t reach him on the phone, and I don’t feel him looking at me at night. He doesn’t stop by my window, doesn’t climb up my balcony, and definitely doesn’t use his key anymore. I thought I was unhappy before, but this? This is like living in the dark your entire life. You’re comfortable there. You’ve accepted it, because you don’t know any better. You don’t know what you’re missing. But then one day, you feel the sun on your face and you know that you can’t ever go back to the dark. Except the sun goes away again, before you ever really had a chance to enjoy it. Now, I know what I’m missing. Carter is my sun, my light, and I can’t go back to a life of darkness.

  All I seem to do is sleep and cry. I’m not hungry anymore. Even the smell of food makes me sick.

  I hear a knock at the door, but I don’t even budge. I don’t want to see anyone, and it’s probably one of Graham’s men letting me know that he’s starting his shift at my door. I curl further into the corner of my couch with a big blanket and Gia snuggled into my side. She must sense that something happened, because she’s not as much of an asshole anymore.

  The pounding continues, harder this time. “Listen, Rapunzel. I know you’re busy being all sad and locked in your tower, but I have a seven pound baby sitting on my bladder. If you don’t open the door, I’m going to pee right here on your welcome mat, and that would just be plain rude.”

  I roll my eyes and wrap the blanket around me as I head to the door. Jade has been coming over, trying to force-feed me and get me to talk about what happened. So far, she’s zero for zero. She even came over on Christmas, but I couldn’t bring myself to even say his name.

  “What?” I growl grumpily as I swing the door open.

  “Don’t give me that look. I get a pass. I’m part of the club.”

  “The club?”

  “Yeah, the kidnap club. Only the coolest of the cool get kidnapped.” She winks.

  I huff out a sardonic laugh. Only Jade.

  “Take this,” she says, shoving a bag of whatever she’s going to attempt to shove down my throat and sprinting for the bathroom.

  Come in, Jade. Make yourself at home, Jade.

  I toss the bag down onto my kitchen counter and catch a whiff of sushi. My stomach turns, and I barely have time to twist around and angle my face over the sink. My stomach is empty of food, so I mostly puke up bile. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I rinse my mouth, then turn around to find Jade, her arms crossed over her pregnant belly, her perfectly plucked eyebrow arched in accusation.

  “What?” I mumble, dragging the back of my hand over my mouth.

  “How long have you known? Does he know?” What the hell is she talking about?

  “How long has who known what?”

  “That you’re pregnant.”

  “I’m…what?”

  And down I go.

  “Hey, stranger.” I hear a sickly-sweet voice behind me. I’m at Hot N’ Bothered, but I don’t want to be. I want to be with Quinn, but I’m not a selfish man. Never have been. So, I leave her alone. I’m just sorry I made things more complicated and hurt her by giving her false hope. I turn around reluctantly, my eyes skimming over the generic, all-American busty blonde. Missy or Melissa or some shit. It’s funny, I don’t even remember her name, but I remember her words.

  “I’ve gotta say, honey. I thought you’d be better at this. I mean, you’ve got the package, but your moves need work.”

  Bitch.

  I glance at her and then back at my drink. I’m sitting at the bar, on call in case Graham needs me to deal with some shite. I don’t want a conversation. Least of all with her. Looking at her now, I wonder why the hell I even cared what this tart thought about me and my skills in the sack. Truthfully, I know it was deeper than that. I know it runs a lot deeper than that. Too many years of not being touched by anyone at all. My ma never touched me, not even a hug, not even to pick me up when I cried my bloody eyes out as a toddler. My da never did either. No grandparents, no family, and the Catholic school I went to was the kind of school where boys prayed not to be touched, if you know what I mean. So, other than getting into bloody fights as a teenager with other young lads like myself, I never quite touched a person until I was sixteen. Sloppiest first kiss ever, and I didn’t even enjoy it. After not being touched for so long, too much touching just felt wrong.

  And so, I carried my lack of physical experience with the other sex—and at all—for quite some time. When I got to the States, I binged on women, making up for lost time. Missy or Melissa was right at the tail end of said binge. She got her knickers in a twist when I wouldn’t let her touch me, and apparently, I crossed the line at kicking her out afterward. Now, I realize that she most likely lashed out because I bruised her massive ego, but at the time, it fucked with my head. I wanted Quinn. Even then, I knew she was the exception. I couldn’t risk blowing it.

  So, you probably see why I have zero fucking fucks to give about this woman right now.

  “Do I know you?” My voice is dry, intentionally sounding as bored as I feel. She looks hurt for half a second before her features morph into anger. Now, she looks determined, and that’s not good for me. Missy/Melissa puts her overly augmented lips next to my ear, and I literally cringe away from her.

  “Maybe you
’ll remember my mouth,” she whispers in what she must think is a seductive voice.

  “Nah, I’m not much for venereal diseases.”

  “Didn’t stop you before.” Her pitch is rising into dolphin sonar levels. Yeah, she’s definitely mad.

  “So, you’re saying you do have STDs?”

  Botox Barbie huffs and stomps a foot, like the spoiled brat that she is.

  “You…I…No!” she replies, flustered. My goal is to either piss her off or confuse her until she walks away. Whichever comes first.

  “Listen, Melissa—”

  “It’s Mandy!” she interrupts.

  “Whatever. I’m not interested, and even if I was, this,” I motion between the two of us, “is never going to happen. It was one night, and I was plastered. Build a bridge, Blondie.”

  “Why would I build a bridge?”

  Is she serious? I give her a blank stare.

  “To get the feck over it.” Isn’t that an American saying?

  “Carter, let me make you feel good again,” she breathes as she runs her blood red nails up my thigh. And that’s it. I’m out. I stand up, already mad at the world, but now annoyed on top of it that Mandy can’t take a bloody hint, and start to tell her off when Jade comes barreling—well, more like waddling—into Hot N’ Bothered. At first, she looks panicked, but when she sees who I’m talking to, she looks livid.

  “Who the fuck is she?” Always so poised and well spoken, this one.

  “Irrelevant is what she is. What are you doing here? Cole’s not around, and he’ll—”

  “You need to go to the hospital, like now. Quinn needs you.”

  I grab my jacket off the back of the barstool, and I’m already moving toward the door.

  “What the feck happened?! Where were her guards?! I’ll kill them all.”

  “She’s okay, C. Or she will be. She needs you calm right now. Trust me, okay?” Her voice is soft, soothing, but I can’t calm down if Quinn is hurt.

  “Quinn?! That’s what this is about?” Mandy just will not give it up. Why is she still here?

  “You’re turning me down for the slut who tends bar? Is this a joke?”

  I stop in my tracks. I don’t have time to deal with this. If I weren’t a man, I’d knock her ass out. But Jade’s not a man…

  I send Jade a look, and she’s already got her fist cocked back, sending it right into Mandy’s plastic nose. Mandy flies backwards, screeching in outrage and gaining the attention of everyone in the club. I grab Jade by the arm and beeline toward the door.

  “Get her arse out! She’s not welcome here anymore!” I yell over the crowd and the noise to one of the other bouncers. He nods his affirmation, and we’re gone.

  Jade refused to tell me what happened on the way to the hospital, just that Quinn was okay and she needed me. Stiles was the guard on duty, and apparently drove her to the hospital, and then drove Jade to me. I wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp when he drove us back to the hospital because I need someone to blame, but Jade kept insisting that he helped them and had nothing to do with it. It took everything I had in me not to interrogate him the only way I know how.

  Jade told me Quinn’s room number and said she’d wait in the waiting room. I’ve been frantic and desperate to get to her, but now that I’m standing right inside her door, looking at her tiny, frail body, I don’t think I can move. She’s asleep on her side, her hand clutching her stomach. Her nose is red and her lips swollen, like she’s been crying. Her long eyelashes lie on her cheeks, stuck together from tears, but she looks unharmed, if not a little pale.

  I did this. Whatever happened, it was my fault. Twice now, she’s needed me and I’ve failed her. The door opens behind me, and the doctor enters. An older woman, with sleek, silver, shoulder-length hair and a nametag that reads “Victoria Crawford”. She looks at Quinn and then me. Instead of regarding me with suspicion—I am lurking in the doorway, staring at her sleeping patient, after all—she looks almost sympathetic. Now, I’m even more afraid.

  “I’m Doctor Crawford. You can call me Victoria,” she states and extends her hand.

  “What’s going on?” I demand, skipping the pleasantries. Her hand drops to her side.

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll give you two a minute. But, I do need to speak with her, so don’t take too long.”

  I nod in agreement, and she leaves.

  I walk over to Quinn’s bed. Even in a hospital gown, she looks gorgeous. Her scarlet hair a stark contrast from the hospital-white pillow. I reach out and graze my knuckle across her rosy cheek. She startles at my touch, and her eyes shoot open.

  “Carter?” Her voice is thick with sleep or emotion, or maybe both.

  “Aye, I’m here, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

  Quinn’s lip starts to wobble, and her eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head.

  “No, I’m sorry, Carter. You’re going to hate me. I’m so stupid.” She buries her face in her pillow.

  “Quinn, look at me.”

  She refuses.

  Before I can argue, a bloke walks in wheeling some sort of machine.

  “My name is Eric, and I’ll be giving you the transvaginal ultrasound to make sure everything’s okay with baby.”

  Ultra-what? Quinn’s eyes dart to mine, full of fear. She swallows hard. Her eyes are still locked on mine when she answers him with a barely audible, “Okay.”

  “You’re…is it…?”

  She nods weakly. A baby? She’s having a baby? We’re having a baby? The ultrasound tech must realize he’s walked in on a very uncomfortable situation, because he mumbles some excuse about forgetting gel and bails.

  “I’m sorry,” she starts. I think I’m in shock. A baby. I’m going to be a father.

  “I don’t blame you for hating me. I mean, I hate me right now. I was going to the pharmacy the day that Murray found me, and then with everything else, it slipped my mind. God, it must look like I’m trying to trap you. I know you’re done with me. I won’t ask you for anything, I swear.”

  “Quinn?” I ask exasperatedly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut the feck up.”

  Her big, blue eyes widen as I gather her small body in my arms. Inside, I’m losing my shite. I don’t know the first thing about being a da. But, I can’t deny the sliver of excitement I feel at creating a life with Quinn, of being bonded to her forever.

  “I know you didn’t do this on purpose. I know you’re not trying to trap me. And you need to know something.”

  “What’s that?” she whispers.

  “I’m not going anywhere. You won’t be getting rid of me. We match, remember? I want you. I want both of you.” And I do. They’re mine, even if I am scared shitless. Quinn shakes her head, about to argue. She doesn’t look convinced, but I’ll spend every damn day proving myself worthy.

  The tech walks back in, and we find out that she’s six weeks and four days along, and I see a little peanut with a heart rate of one hundred and thirty beats per minute.

  This is happening, ready or not.

  I wake up to the scent of eggs. An omelet or scrambled. Whatever it is—it makes me want to throw up in my mouth. I stand up on my feet too quickly and too fast and feel the room spin around me.

  Well, shit.

  Dropping right back to the bed like a sack of potatoes, I look around me, examining the room. I’m no longer at the hospital. Carter took me home last night and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said that I’d be staying at his place until while we figure things out. I was too weak to argue. I won’t stay with him just because he feels like it’s the right thing to do. Despite everything he does for a living, I genuinely believe that Carter has a good heart. I also think this baby represents some kind of atonement, a second chance if you will. Carter doesn’t think he is capable of goodness, but he doesn’t see all the things that I see in him. He’s fiercely loyal, protective of those he loves, and has the patience of a godd
amn saint. Those are pretty good qualities to possess as a father, if you ask me.

  When the doctor informed me that I was pregnant, my first reaction was full-blown panic. Panic for my unborn child, panic anticipating Carter’s reaction. But during the ultrasound, when the doctor was looking for the heartbeat, I felt panic for a whole different reason. I panicked at the thought of something happening to this baby, at the thought of it being taken away from me. That’s when I knew. It may have not been planned, but I’d do anything to keep this baby safe.

  My head lands back on the pillow, and I hear the heavy footsteps of Carter’s combat boots. Everything in his room is clean and airy. The central heat is on, and it’s nice and cozy. In fact, it’s a little too warm. And the smell of eggs is killing me.

  “Is everything all right?” he asks, clutching the top of the doorframe with his hands. It makes his short, plain T-shirt ride up and expose his sick six-pack. His arms are way too muscular in that shirt. Is he flexing, or is this just his body’s natural reaction to hugging the doorframe?

  God, being pregnant makes you horny. Or maybe it’s just Carter.

  “I’m fine, just the eggs. The smell makes me want to throw up, but I’m too weak to make my way to the bathroom.”

  Never mind the fact that I don’t even know where his bathroom is. I’ve been on this bed since I got here. Which reminds me—my bladder is about to burst. Carter tilts his head sideways. He is looking at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. He’s no longer in lust with me. He is no longer intrigued or aroused. The fire I kindled in him has disappeared. And what I’m left with—and this I can see leaking from his stormy ocean eyes—is concern and perhaps a little pity.

  Yet again, I have reduced myself to that. The victim. The weak, little woman.

  “I’ll help you to the loo. Let me just toss the omelet to the bin. It was for you, anyway.” And now, I feel like crying. Hormones are a bitch.

  He walks across the room, toward me, and my heart is pounding so loud I can feel the thud between my ears. I shouldn’t want his touch. He rejected me. Threw me away. Told me we can never be together. The only reason why I’m here, in his house, in his room, in his bed, is because he feels guilty. Like he owes me something.