Savage Saviors: The Complete Boxset (Savage Saviors MC)

by J. C. Allen

  This was just so much worse than I ever could have imagined. It only got worse as those slimy hands squeezed to the point of pain.

  “Careful, tiger,” I said, trying to mask my pained words as a sort of aroused growl. “You don’t wanna damage the goods this early.”

  “Don’t I?” he said, smiling with evil intentions.

  I nearly puked at the sight of his brown teeth seeming to glow in the dim room. I don’t know how I had missed that before, but now it was something that I was not going to forget anytime soon—certainly not while he had me under his control.

  And that didn’t even account for what he had actually said.

  I frowned, unsure what to say at that, but quickly caught myself before losing it right there in front of him. I knew Rock would not like hearing about how one of his prostitutes outright puked on one of his henchmen, no matter why I was with said henchman. Instead, I offered another fake smile and moved my hands over his.

  Just get it over with, Eve! It’s an hour of faking to be entertained. Just… zone out. Do what you normally do.

  “You want anal?” I said. I was in enormous disbelief I was giving up what I least liked to do, but then again, I’d never had anyone with such poor hygiene this close to my face. “What position do you want to fuck me in?”

  The guy smirked and pushed me back on the bed. I crunched up, fearing he would strike me again… but instead, he only towered over me.

  Sad that that was a relief, not a reason to fear more.

  “On your knees, slut!”

  It was clear as his fists balled up that this was about to get violent. Then, he did something that didn’t even seem that violent, but when I saw why he’d done it, I became terrorized.

  He had pulled out a whip from his back, giving it two good cracks. And it was not like the crack you’d hear in the movies—this was the kind of crack where the sound alone made me shiver, especially with my naked body.

  This was… this wasn’t prostitution. This was much, much worse.

  “H-hey, whoa, baby,” I said, trying to work the sales angle still. “There’s anal and then there’s this. Do you really want to make my scars visible? Rock… I mean… You never said anything about—”

  “Shut up!” he snapped, pointing the handle of the whip at me like it was something else.

  Like it was something else, I froze. I shut up. Get it over with. Endure. Derek will be to you in just a matter of days.

  “You’re a whore, whore,” he said, less to me and more to the room as he continued to pull a few more things out of his bag.

  It was starting to look like a checklist for an extreme BDSM session, sporting a number of dildos, plugs, and ropes. I gritted my teeth, trying to figure out how to get out of this without some painful tears and a need for a seat cushion for the next few days. You won’t. You just have to suck it up. Get it over with. Grit your teeth. And then get the hell over to Derek as fast as you can.

  Then he took out the last object in his bag.

  Somehow, he’d escalated the game even further.

  I wasn’t worried about a gun, but I should have known about the next worst thing—a sharp kitchen knife.

  I felt a nervous squeak ooze past my lips as I realized the thing was longer than some of the dildos. It went without saying how something that sharp would not bring me pleasure—I was not that kind of a freak.

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re planning here, but, but…” I tried saying, starting to move away from him and towards the opposite side of the bed. “I’m all for letting you fuck my ass, but do you think Rock’ll be happy if I have cuts? Other Johns won’t—”

  “You want Rock to know about any of this? How you failed to collect payment from your first client of the night?”

  Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I have to take these scars, but I can’t show Rock. I have to have these scars and secure clients, who will hate it, but I have to if I want to live.

  Fuck, why? Why? Seriously, why?!?

  I swallowed back the terror. I was going to be killed on the job.

  “I… I’m an asset!” I said. “You can’t just think he’ll let an asset, I mean, I’m—”

  “Would you shut the fuck up already!” he roared.

  I bit my lip as my eyes began to wander.

  “I am not going to kill you here if you do exactly what I say,” he said. “This is what gets me off, and I’d be a damn fool to kill one of my assets.”

  The way he said that just felt even creepier than normal. Rock calling me an asset was standard. This…

  “But keep opening your mouth for any reason other than to suck my cock, and I’ll have this knife jammed down your throat so far you’ll die digesting steel. Clear?”

  I nodded. The implication was clear. My word against his would never win—most especially if I was dead.

  I swallowed hard and watched as he set the knife beside the other toys.

  “Now, get back on your knees,” he ordered. “And don’t test me again.”

  Still shivering, I got back on my knees. I had no choice.

  I watched as he picked up the studded whip, now smiling a wide, toothy smile, and raised his arm. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the pain. Pain is temporary. Being with Derek will be forever.

  Derek will be forever.

  Derek will be forever…

  The positive thoughts fled, though, as if the very aura of this room drove the thoughts away—as if the thoughts were conscious themselves and refused to be present in such a fucked up situation. Unable to keep those thoughts, I started doing what any smart person does in inescapable situation.

  I rationalized.

  I rationalized that the whip was okay—that was what I told myself.

  I rationalized that I could handle that—I’d handled worse—and I could even handle the other stuff.

  I rationalized—

  SMACK!

  I cried out in pain, not able to swallow back to cry as the whip came down on my lower back. The pain was searing. I could feel a hot liquid begin to trail its way down my back and dripping onto the bed. I stared in horror at the crimson stain that continued to grow.

  SMACK!

  I let out another yelp in pain, unable to hide. The fact that it hit the same bruises that he had left me the day before made things only worse—it was the worst kind of pain I’d ever endured, and that was saying something.

  SMACK!

  This time, I began to cry.

  “Yes,” Rock’s crony moaned.

  My eyes started to blur. My stomach started to revolt, the pizza from earlier beginning to rise in my stomach. I tried my best to keep—

  SMACK!

  “That’s right, you’re my bitch.”

  My cheeks expanded. I couldn’t, no, God, please no. I knew he’d kill me. I knew—

  SMACK!

  I hurled all over the bed uncontrollably.

  “Oh, the fuck… are you—Disgusting!”

  The man roared, shoving me down, face-first, into my own sickness.

  “You are pathetic, whore! If I knew you had a weak stomach like this, I would’ve pulled it out myself! You fucking slut!”

  And with that, my mind shut off. But my body did not. It now operated only one operation.

  Get the fuck out.

  Now.

  I yanked my head to the side, just enough to capture a breath of fresh air. My eyes still burned, blurry with puke and tears, but I could just make out the glimmer of the knife’s blade in the dim, seedy motel lighting. I couldn’t run from the man—he’d catch me and kill me.

  But… if I could just…

  I saw the man’s arm raise the whip for another strike out of the corner of my eye—this one likely to be out of vengeance and less out of sadistic pleasure—and the terror of feeling another stinging bite of that awful whip was enough to have me lunging across the bed.

  “What the fuck!”

  But I wasn’t going to stop now. I’d saved Derek before. I w
asn’t scared, though I was in a horrible amount of pain.

  I snagged the knife, capturing the handle and missing the blade by millimeters. Still moving, I rolled over the edge of the bed, the sound of the whip coming down on the stained bed sound lame and empty.

  “Fucking bitch!”

  He turned just as I drove the knife into his side. I watched with some satisfaction and a great deal of horror as the blade sank into the meat of his side.

  “You!” he roared, but he fell to his knees, cringing in pain as blood seeped through his shirt.

  I would have had enormous sympathy if this had been anyone else—I mean, anyone else that wasn’t this creepy dick.

  But he’d kicked me. He’d whipped me. And he probably would kill me.

  “Fuck you, shithead,” I said, spitting on him. “You wanted this? You got it. You scum!”

  And, just for good measure, I kicked him.

  It wasn’t nearly as rewarding as I’d hoped, given that he didn’t react that much and I was barefoot, making it more painful for my toes than anything else.

  But then I spat on him again and moved past him as he continued to grunt in pain.

  “F-f-f-fuck… you… bitch!” he seethed between clenched teeth, working to stand. “You’re dead! You hear me?”

  I saw him crawling for his bag and realized he was going to reach for his phone. Immediately, I picked it up and swung it in his face, knocking him down. I rummaged through God knows how many fucking things before I came across his phone.

  Without any hesitation, I slammed it as hard as I could across the room and then, for good measure, slammed it on the bathroom sink before trying to flush it down the toilet.

  “You whore!” he continued to cry out, bleeding too much to move. “When Rock gets to you… you’re gonna ever regret being late. You fucking slut. You’re not even worthy of being called a slut. You bitch. Bitch!”

  “Rock’s not going to get me,” I said, giving a defiant middle finger. “And your entire Falcons clan is going to die.”

  For good measure, I kicked him one more time—but this time, I led with my heel instead of my toes, and I smashed his face down, knocking him down once more. I scooped up my clothes, and, not bothering to put anything on just yet, sprinted for the door. I was through, out, and down the hall in what I was sure was less than a second. I screamed past an old man walking by with a bucket of ice, his gawking, wrinkled face following me as I went by, the sound of cubes clattering on the floor behind me sounded as the contents of his bucket spilled.

  Still in mid-run, I began to get back into my clothes. My skirt was crooked but, for public purposes, in place. My top was on, but my left arm was occupying the spot my head should have been, my head crammed through one of the sleeves and nearly choking me, and my remaining arm hung awkwardly out the bottom, leaving the garment hanging off me crookedly and threatening to expose a breast if I didn’t keep the arm by my side.

  I didn’t care.

  I couldn’t think to care or not care. I was in a whirl of emotions. So I did the only thing I had done.

  I ran.

  I ran, screaming and crying still, past the lobby. The man behind the counter might have said something—I thought I heard “wait”—but if he was too goddamn cowardly to look me in the eye when I first walked in, I sure as hell wasn’t going to look at him now. I sprinted past him, past it all, and out of not just the lobby but my life as a prostitute.

  I emerged out into the night, where the rain had picked up again. Even though it was storming and thunder erupted across the sky, it felt a hell of a lot better than it had felt in that awful room. The cool water ran down my back, soaking into my shirt and stinging at the wounds the awful man’s whip had left there.

  “Fuck…” I whimpered, finally free to come to terms with everything that had transpired. “Fuck. Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuck!”

  Derek’s.

  You can see it from here.

  In no time, I was running again. Running across the parking lot, onto the grass, into the mud, and barreling onto the sidewalk with nearly enough force to send me toppling. It wasn’t nearly enough. Keeping my feet under me, I kept right on running, and, still running, I started to reach for my purse—my phone.

  Amazingly, I actually would have it for my shift. But I couldn’t take it with me to Derek… they’d track me right to his place… all because…

  “You a whore or not?”

  No! No! No!

  You know who would say that?

  Rock.

  The Falcons.

  And… my brother.

  Fuck Chuck!

  Fuck Rock!

  Fuck the Black Falcons!

  Fuck them all!

  I debated calling Derek, but I became paranoid that Rock would somehow triangulate the call right there. He’d know. He always seemed to, that fucking bastard.

  And so, never looking back, terrified that a van would pull up with a pistol at any second and end my life, I sprinted in bare feet, having left my stilettos in the hotel room, all the way to Derek’s place.

  I probably ran the fastest I ever had. I never felt tired, because my body refused to allow for that feeling to surface. I had too much adrenaline going and too much fire to stop now or to be out of breath.

  I came to the front of his lobby and saw a man in the parking garage. Terrified, I came to him.

  “Please, please, call Derek Knight,” I said.

  “You OK?” he said.

  At least he wasn’t an enemy. He seemed genuinely concerned for me.

  But every second that wasn’t spent getting Derek here was a moment wasted.

  “Call him and tell him Eve Kellerman escaped and needs help.”

  “OK, OK, hold on.”

  The man, bless his soul—and once again, showing me that there were good people in this world—dialed Derek’s phone, pulling it out of his pocket and putting it on speaker phone.

  “What?” a gruff voice—but definitely Derek’s—said.

  He sounded… rough. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had had a shitty afternoon and evening.

  “Derek, I have a woman named Eve here, says she needs help—”

  “Be there in ten. Keep her in your station and don’t let anyone else see her.”

  And just like that, the line cut. But just like that, I knew I was safe.

  Maybe not forever. Maybe not even for more than a couple of hours. Rock would not let this one go easily, and I had just dragged the Black Falcons’ actions further out than I’d ever hoped.

  But… he was coming.

  Things would be OK.

  And most of all, I knew that Eve the whore had died back in that room.

  The world would never see her again.

  And rising out of her ashes, though broken, damaged, and bloodied from what had happened, a new Eve had emerged—one that would take time to fully emerge and fully heal, but one that would recover all the same. One that had fought off two assailants. One who was not afraid to exact revenge on those who had harmed her the most.

  Less than ten minutes later, I heard the roar of Derek’s bike approaching. I peeked my head over and saw that he had not even parked the bike, instead turning it off just a couple of feet from the guard’s door. I had a feeling the security man wasn’t going to say anything.

  “Oh my God, Eve,” he said, moving to hug me.

  And when he did, I let out a sharp cry as his arms touched my back. I realized only then that my clothes had bonded to my skin, which meant peeling them off was going to hurt like hell.

  But I was in Derek’s arms. I was safe.

  “Let’s get you upstairs,” he said. “Here.”

  He gave the security man a hundred dollar bill as a thank you before ushering me away, the only thing on his mind taking care of me and making sure I was fine.

  “Are you OK?” I asked him when we got to the elevator.

  “Fine,” he said, which I knew was a lie.

  “Derek, I’m safe now. But wha
t—”

  “Falcons killed one of my men,” he said. “And I assume they did this to you.”

  I nodded. It looked like Derek needed every ounce of control not to break the elevator floor pad with his bare fists.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said. “I’m sorry I thought to make you wait. That was really fucking stupid of me.”

  “It’s OK, really, I thought the same,” I said as, with the adrenaline worn off, I gingerly moved into his apartment. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

  It obviously wasn’t all that mattered. Derek had a greater than 50 percent chance of leaving this night and hunting down Rock, and that was probably true even before I’d shown up looking as pitiful as I did right now. It mattered that they had killed one of Derek’s men.

  But in this literal, exact moment, in this very second that I sat on the couch, grimacing as Derek worked to remove my shirt to look at the scars, it was all that mattered. I was with him, and he was with me. We’d get through this as we had all our broken, damaged moments—together.

  “Who did this to you?” he growled. “Is he still alive?”

  I glanced up, my face growing pale at the raw intensity that thrummed from Derek. I didn’t know what to say. I looked down, nodding slowly.

  “One of Rock’s men,” I said. “The same one that beat me at the corner.”

  “I’ll beat his ass six feet under,” Derek said. I believed every word of it. “Where is he now?”

  I gulped, knowing if I told him Derek might leave. But I wanted vengeance on the Black Falcons—I wanted them to suffer for all of the heartache they’d given me. I wanted them to feel just an ounce of the pain that I’d had over the months I’d been with them.

  “The More Sleep Motel.”

  “Fuck, I knew it,” Derek said, suddenly stopping his work on me as he moved away.

  He made a move to turn, about to head back to the elevator. I reached out and grabbed his arm, desperate for him not to leave me.

  Maybe it was contradictory to what I had just thought about the Black Falcons. But Rock had succeeded in breaking me in one way.