Salvage (Savages and Saints Book 3)

by C. M. Seabrook

  I’m not sure what I’ve just agreed to, what he expects. But whatever it is, I don’t want to say no. Right now, I just want him. His strength. His security. His belief that everything is going to be okay.

  He crawls in bed beside me. Lying on his back, he reaches out and places one arm under my head, then tugs me close.

  I ignore the sensual hunger stirring inside me, the warmth that starts in my belly and spreads through my whole body.

  This is so much better than being cuffed to the damn bed. And even though I know the dangers of allowing him this close, I just want to lay here, in his arms, just one night surrounded by him.

  But as I lay there, I know one night will only leave me hungry for more.

  He takes my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.

  “God, you feel so good,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “This is where you belong, Lor. Tell me you feel it, too.”

  I do, and it sends a surge of fear through me. Because not even facing Farkas is as dangerous as giving my heart to this man. And if I let him have me tonight, I know there will be no stopping it–I’ll be his.

  His body is different now, harder, more defined. But it was always more than just a physical connection. It’s like our souls are intertwined. Like with a single touch, he calms all my fears and fills all the little, broken crevices of my heart.

  “I do,” I finally admit, tracing the ridges of his abs, wanting to feel every inch of his skin against mine.

  He cups my jaw, tilting my head so I’m looking at him. In the darkness, I can barely see his face, but I can feel the hunger in his gaze.

  My brain and heart cry out warnings, but my body erupts with flames of desire, and they lick at my skin, intensifying the ache between my thighs.

  I want him so damn bad. Want him to kiss me, and touch me until I’m mindless with the need, until the past and the nightmares are obliterated. I know he has the power to do it. But I might as well carve my heart out and hand it to him on a silver platter if I let him have me.

  “Eleven years...” he whispers, trailing the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “God, Lor.”

  I can feel myself trembling against him. The way he holds me is both gentle and possessive, and I want so much more.

  “Kiss me,” I whimper, even though my brain protests.

  He groans before his mouth covers mine, his tongue slipping over my lips, tasting, taking, and depleting the last remaining ounce of self-preservation I have left.

  Terrified to breathe, to do anything that would put an end to the moment, I submit to his kiss, his touch. Pleasure races through me, the feel of his lips moving against mine, sending shockwaves ripping through my body.

  I strain to get closer, straddling his large thigh, needing the friction.

  “God, Lor,” he groans roughly, flipping me on my back and pinning me to the mattress with his large frame, the hard length of his cock pressing against my hip. His mouth is back on mine and he says against my lips, “We shouldn’t.”

  “I need this. To...” I swallow past a whimper as his palm cups one breast over the fabric of the t-shirt. “I need to feel.”

  I arch my hips, rubbing against his thigh, my thong already wet with need.

  His breath is harsh, labored, and I can feel him holding back.

  “Please,” I beg, even though I know I’ll regret it tomorrow.

  He grips my ass, pulling me closer, surrounding me with the warmth of his body, his thigh firm against my pussy, making my clit throb, an aching torment that needs a release.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, his mouth lowering to my neck, his light scruff rasping against my sensitive flesh. His hands are rougher now, desperate, curving over every inch of my body. “You feel so damn good.”

  When his hand slips under my thong, cupping my pussy, I hiss in pleasure. His fingers stroke against my opening, and I wither beneath him. My clit throbs, aches, and I know I’m already so close.

  “Come for me, sweetheart.”

  I do. My head rolls against the pillow, my hips jerking. The walls of my pussy clench and spasm around his fingers, and an unwilling cry rips from my throat.

  “I won’t lose you again,” he growls against my mouth as my orgasm continues to pulse, wave after wave of pleasure that seems to never end. “That’s a promise, Lorelei.”

  There’s something primal in the way he says it, something that wraps around my heart like he’s claimed me. But I don’t want to think about the future, about the mark he’ll leave on me again. What I need is for him to fuck me. No emotions. No promises.

  Instead of taking what I know we both need, he rolls on his back, pulling me with him.

  “Damon?” I whimper.

  He presses his lips against my forehead. “Go to sleep, Lor.”

  “But–”

  “Sweetheart, my self-control is just about gone, and as much as I want to be inside you right now, I know you’re not ready. You’d hate yourself and me in the morning. I won’t give you another excuse to run from me.”

  I know he’s right. But it doesn’t stop the ache.

  It also doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stay here. Tomorrow, I have to face my worst nightmare. Even if Damon is able to bring Farkas down, this place holds the demons of my past. It also holds a piece of my heart. The piece I left behind eleven years ago.

  That’s why I have to leave, because I know I’ll never be able to fight them both and win.

  Chapter 9

  Damon

  My nerves are frayed as I watch Lorelei pace the living room, her gray-blue eyes darting suspiciously to the men and women who have set up camp there.

  “I don’t know why you won’t let me go with you.”

  “I’ve already told you, it’s not safe.” To do my job effectively, I need to know no harm can come to her, that there’s no chance Farkas could strike out.

  I also don’t want the hunger that rages through me–the insatiable need to touch her, to protect her–get the better of me. This is too important, and I can’t afford any distractions.

  Once Nolan is safe, then I’ll claim what’s mine. And after last night, I have no doubt she’ll submit. It just might take time and patience. Both of which I have in spades.

  “He’s not calling.” Lorelei stares at the phone on the kitchen table as if she can will it to ring.

  “He will.” I place a hand on her shoulder, feeling some of her tension ease as she leans back into my touch.

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “It’s only noon. We–”

  The phone vibrates, rattling on the table with an incoming call. Hooked up to a recording device and a tracker, Blake Weston, a member of the Harristown Police Force and an old friend of mine since we were in the academy together, is about to attempt to trace the number.

  She jerks to pick it up, and I remind her, “Just relax. You need to try and keep him on the line.”

  “I know.” She takes a deep breath before flipping the phone open and answering. “Hello?”

  “Lorelei?” I hear the woman’s voice through my headphones.

  “Mom?” Lorelei frowns and looks at me.

  “It’s so good to hear your voice.” The woman’s voice is sugary sweet. Fake. And I know whatever this is, it’s all part of Farkas’ scheme. One we hadn’t rehearsed or planned for.

  I can see Lorelei falter, her bottom lip quivering. I motion for her to keep talking.

  “Is...” She closes her eyes and reaches for the chair in front of her, knuckles whitening as she grips the back. “Is Nolan with you?”

  “He’s such a good boy.” There’s a small pause. “I’ll admit, I was angry when I found out about him, that you kept my grandson from me all these years. But we can put all that under the bridge now. Be a family again. Just bring the money and all will be forgiven. You have it, right?”

  Lorelei’s face is red and she opens her mouth, but no words come out.

  Shit.

  I take her hand and squeeze it. Th
is is just another one of Farkas’ mind games, but I can’t tell her that. All I can do is will her to keep talking.

  “Y-yes. I have it. Where do I meet you?”

  “There’s a blue warehouse on Twenty-Third Street. Be there in two hours.”

  “And Nolan will be with you?” she adds quickly.

  Silence.

  “Mom?”

  “Of course. But I want you to come home. Bring the money and all will be forgiven.”

  “Forgiven.” She chokes on the word, her voice raising an octave. I squeeze her hand in warning. “Okay. Two hours,” she adds.

  The call ends and I glance over at Blake. He gives a small shake of his head, and I know we didn’t get the location.

  Lorelei sits numbly, and I take the phone from her.

  “You did good.”

  “She...” Her whole body is trembling. “She thinks this is all my fault.”

  “It’s a game. She was messing with your head, that’s all. We’ll bring her in, too.”

  “What if Farkas doesn’t show up?”

  I have a bad feeling he won’t. The fact he had her mother call sends out all sorts of warning bells blaring, but we have to continue with the plan. Already, calls are being made, the men and women preparing for what they have to do.

  Sara Cunningham nods at me from across the room. She’ll be acting as Lorelei. While up close she looks nothing like her, she’s relatively the same build, and with a baseball cap and large aviator glasses, she’ll pass from a distance.

  That’s all we need to lure Farkas and his men out.

  Crouching, I place my hand on Lorelei’s leg. “The most important thing is Nolan’s safety.”

  “But what if they don’t bring him? What if–”

  “Sweetheart, I know you’re scared.” I’ll admit, so I am I. I’ve had more than a dozen what ifs float through my head all morning. “But I need you to trust that these people know what they’re doing.”

  She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth but finally gives a small nod.

  I hear the front door open, and a few seconds later I see my sister come into the kitchen. Her dark eyes are wide as she takes in the scene. This morning, I called her and told her everything, knowing Lorelei would need someone to be here with her. The next couple hours will be hell.

  Lorelei frowns when she sees her. There’s something that looks way too much like betrayal in her eyes.

  “Quinn is going to stay with you. You can trust her, Lor. I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “I should be going with you.”

  I stand, kissing her forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

  She reaches for my hand. “Call me. As soon as you have him.”

  “I will.”

  Quinn fidgets when I approach.

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course.” She glances over at Lorelei, who’s still sitting at the table, eyes unfocused, chewing on her thumbnail. “I’ll take care of her.”

  I give a hard nod, knowing Quinn can handle this, but it still kills me leaving Lorelei, knowing the stress she’s under.

  Blake nods at me, and I know it’s time to leave.

  Everything happens quickly. The drive to Harristown is thirty minutes, and there’s already a team surrounding the area when we get to the old warehouse.

  A sniper is perched on one of the buildings, and I’m ushered to an unmarked van hidden behind stacked metal crates.

  “Any movement?” I ask, getting in.

  “The area is clear.” A man whom I’ve never met before sits in from of a dozen screens. “We’ve got eyes from all vantage points.”

  “Good.” I rub my palms over my legs.

  On one of the screens, I see Sara take her position near the entrance of the warehouse, baseball cap pulled low so I can’t see her face. Everything depends on Farkas believing she’s Lorelei.

  A radio crackles, then a voice says through the speaker, “White van east of the entrance. Male driver, early twenties. Middle-aged woman in the passenger seat. Blacked-out windows, can’t see in the back.”

  Adrenaline races through my veins. I need to be out there.

  I watch the monitor, see the van pull up near Sara, stopping about twenty feet away.

  The man gets out first, and I recognize him as the same scrawny kid that was with Lorelei at the cafe the morning I saw her. He swipes at his brow, his other hand clutching a gun.

  Stupid little shit.

  A fresh round of fury pulses through my veins, because it could be Lorelei he’s pointing the gun at.

  He says something to Sara.

  “Do we have ears on her?”

  I’m handed a pair of headphones.

  “You have the rest of the money?” the guy says, lifting the gun slightly then putting it down. He’s all nerves, which only makes his actions more unpredictable.

  “It’s all here,” Sara says, holding the bag up.

  “Throw it to me.”

  “I want to see my son.”

  The guy glances around, like he’s looking for direction. That’s when the woman gets out of the van, and I curse under my breath, because I know instantly who it is.

  Gretchen. Lorelei’s mom.

  If she gets too close, she’ll know Sara isn’t her daughter.

  But instead of going towards her, she moves around the truck and opens the side door.

  Shadows hide the figure inside, but I can tell it’s a child.

  “Farkas isn’t with them,” someone says.

  But that’s not what worries me now. It’s the way the guy keeps waving the damn gun around. One second it’s pointed at Sara, the next at the boy.

  “He’s safe,” Gretchen says. “Now get in the truck, Lorelei. Farkas wants to talk to you.”

  “That wasn’t part of the deal.” Sara keeps her composure, but the minute she speaks, I notice a change in Gretchen.

  “She knows,” I say roughly. “We need to get the kid now.”

  Gretchen acts so quick I don’t even see her reach for a weapon before it’s pointed at Sara and a shot is fired.

  Fuck.

  I don’t think. Just act. I jump out of the van, pulling my own weapon out as more shots are fired. Sara is down, a bullet to the shoulder, but she’s still conscious. I drag her back behind one of the metal crates.

  “The boy.” She winces, holding her hand against the wound.

  I nod, not needing any encouragement to go after him.

  There’s a second body in front of the truck. The pimply-faced kid stares up at the sky with lifeless eyes, lying in a pool of blood, still clutching his gun.

  Other shots are fired around me, and I realize that Farkas’ men have surrounded us. It’s a fucking shitstorm of bullets. I can’t get near the van, but I see Gretchen’s panicked face, ashen with fear. The bitch actually uses the boy as a shield.

  A bullet whizzes past my head, and I turn just in time to see a man pointing an assault rifle at me. I aim, fire, and the man drops like a sack of potatoes.

  I need to get to the boy.

  Ignoring the rain of fire around me, I crouch low, rushing to the van. My heart stops in my chest when the kid screams, followed by a spray of blood that soaks the boy’s t-shirt.

  No.

  Fuck no.

  Bile rises in my throat, and all self-preservation leaves me. I dart across the tarmac, grunting when a bullet hits my back, and even though I’m wearing a vest, I know it’s going to leave a nasty welt.

  But all I see is Nolan, the terror in his eyes, and the way Gretchen begins to crumple, her weight falling on the boy.

  Finally reaching them, I push her off the kid, seeing where the blood is coming from. A large gaping wound in the center of the woman’s chest. Gretchen gurgles, blood foaming at her mouth, before she lets out one final gasp. I don’t know if she’s just unconscious or dead, but I don’t have time to care.

  I grab the kid, shoving him into the van, but the second my gaze lands on him, when I get a r
eal, clear view of him, I freeze.

  Jesus.

  It’s the same boy Lorelei showed me a picture of, but the kid is older, closer to ten, and his eyes, they’re mirrors of my own.

  He’s mine. I know it.

  I pause too long.

  A bullet slices through my thigh, and it’s what I need to refocus on what I’m doing here.

  Nolan.

  The kid looks at me, fear dominating those dark, familiar eyes, but he doesn’t cry out, just holds his fists at his sides, like he’s ready to fight this battle himself.

  “Stay down.” I slam the van door shut, using my body as a shield as one of the back windows is blown out.

  “My mom?” he whimpers.

  “She’s okay, kid.”

  “But I saw–”

  “That wasn’t her. She’s safe. And I promised her I’d bring you to her.”

  The firing is already starting to cease, and I take the opportunity to look him over. He’s got a few bruises, but no more than most boys his age, and I know now the blood covering him isn’t his.

  I groan when I move my leg. When I look down, I grimace at the blood staining my pants. It’s just a flesh wound, but it stings like a bitch.

  “You were shot.” The kid looks ready to cry, but he holds it back.

  “You’re a brave kid, Nolan. Your mom told me that.”

  He nods.

  “I just need you to stay brave for a few minutes longer. My name’s Damon and I’m a police officer. My men are out there, and they’re going to come get you soon.”

  “I want my mom.”

  “I know, buddy. But they’re going to take you to the hospital first. I’m going to call her, have her meet you there.”

  “But I’m not hurt.”

  “They’re just going to check you out. Then you’ll get to go home.” My home. And if my suspicion is right, there’s no way he’s ever leaving it.

  The shots have stopped now.

  “How old are you, Nolan?” I ask.

  His bottom lip trembles when he says, “Ten.”

  I suck in a breath. “And your birthday?”

  “May fifth.”

  I do the math, my chest squeezing with the new reality in front of me.