Savage and Racy: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Bad Boys MC Trilogy Book 3)

by Violet Blaze

  I head outside, climb on my bike, and drive straight to the cemetery.

  Clayton Moore might be bent as a nine bob note, but the man's got bollocks. Much as I hate the bastard, even I have to admit that. He still has enough energy to curse me out when I help Glacier drag our new friend, Clint, down to the basement.

  “What do you want to do with Mr. President down there?” Glacier asks after we get Clint situated and step outside into the gray-white blur of the day. The glare is awful and the ocean is so wild that I can hear the waves from here. Feels like a day for staying in and making love to my old lady, not for gallivanting around all over the damn place.

  Or setting up for a party.

  Even the idea of it sounds exhausting, reminds me of our last party—of Landon.

  “Not sure yet,” I say as I stand there and smoke yet another cigarette. I'm already on pack number two for the day. Not a good sign. “Let's leave him down there for a few more days and see if the agony of waiting sparks his memory.”

  Glacier smiles, but it's tight-lipped and awful to look at.

  “We might have to clean house soon,” he tells me as I glance over at him, at the bright red of his t-shirt underneath his cut, the way it makes his skin seem even paler, like he's bathed in blood and descended from death. Not a pretty sight.

  “No shit,” I say as Glacier shakes his head and looks up at the sky. “If the FBI really starts to look, they'll find this place.” I take a drag on my cigarette and close my eyes for a moment. Lyric getting picked up at the hospital doesn't bode well for any of us. “What do you think of Clint? Think you can get anything useful out of the idiot?”

  Glacier smirks as he drops his blue eyes to mine and cocks his head to the side.

  “This is my art. Some men paint with oils; I paint with blood.” His voice is soft, but not in a kind or gentle sort of a way. My skin ripples and a chill chases its way down my spine. I look at all the piercings in Glacier's face, the sea of tattoos on his neck and down his arms. It should make him look less pretty, but it doesn't. You know what really does? It's that look in his eyes, like he processes emotions in a completely foreign sort of a way. “If he has something to say, I'll get it out of him.”

  “Christ almighty … you're creepy as hell.”

  All he does is laugh and clap me on the back like we're talking about bike parts or something.

  “What's next on your agenda for the day?” he asks me as I toss my ciggy into the bushes and take in a deep breath.

  “You've got me until Lyric calls,” I say as Glacier's face breaks into a smile and my stomach clenches tight. The last place in the world I want to be right now is here, but I need more information, as much as I can get. This Clint fucker, he's the only lead we've got.

  “Well, come on in to Château Saint,” Glacier says as he pushes aside the graffiti covered front door and steps inside.

  Before I get two feet beyond the foyer, I can smell it.

  The entire place, it reeks like blood.

  “He did it,” Lyric says, sounding shell-shocked when she meets me outside the Alpha Wolves Clubhouse. I'm a little disappointed to see that she's wearing another of those boring gray wool skirt suits again, but I suppose I can't exactly blame her. The shit she's been through lately is enough to turn anyone mad. “He finally did it.”

  “Who did what?” I ask, feeling my skin prickle with alarm, taking a step closer to her and resting my hands against her hips. Lyric relaxes into my touch which is a good sign. Can't be all bad then, now can it?

  “Sully. He talked to those two FBI agents I met this morning, the ones in the suits.”

  I feel my brow go up.

  Well, bloody hell.

  Lyric gazes up at me with those bright green eyes of hers, her face this unreadable mask. I can't decide if I should be worried about that or not.

  “Now they know,” she says, her eyes sliding to the side, like she expects to be shanked standing in the parking lot. Suppose I can't blame her for that either. I've been nothing but bloody trouble for her since the day we met. “If not everything, at least all of the important things: his and Brent's business dealings with Mile Wide and the cartel, their eventual disagreement. Of course, he dressed it up as him and Brent trying to back out, but it still makes sense.”

  “I about had a fit when you left from the hospital before I got there,” I say and her lip twitches.

  “Did you hear what I just said? This is good news, Royal. Great news,” she says, and I almost smile back. Shit's too messed up for me to really feel it though. It's like there's this clock in my head ticking down to a final moment, a last chance to salvage my club, my city, and … Lyric. If I mess this up, there's no chance of us being together, that much I do know.

  “We got Clint,” I tell her as I take her arm and start towards the front steps. But then I remember Hawkins and the Portland crew, all the out of town boys that are shacked up inside. Hmm. It's not like I'm trying to keep her a secret or anything, but hell if I want to walk in there, play politics and put on a bloody show. “He hadn't even left the hospital yet; he was sitting inside his car.”

  Lyric gives me a look with the skin on her forehead crinkled in confusion.

  “Why on earth would he hang around after he knew I saw him? When I ran into him, I was in Heather Shelley's hospital room.” My turn to get my brow all crinkled and twisted up.

  “Heather Shelley? The FBI agent?” I ask as I steer Lyric toward the café. It's mid-morning, so all the early customers have gone and the lunch crowd has yet to arrive. Plus, I could use a fuckin' cuppa. Strong English breakfast with just a hint of cream and sugar? Better than coffee. And if I manage to avoid the boys long enough to drink it, I can make it through the day without getting my arse chewed up and spit out. “Why were you talking to her?”

  “You can't do this alone, Royal,” she says and then takes a deep breath as we near the glass front doors and pause, a salty sea breeze teasing the short strands of her hair around her face. There's something different there, in the set of her shoulders and the intensity of her gaze. I have an inkling of what it might be, and I don't like it. “In fact, you shouldn't have to do anything at all. If the FBI can …”

  “The FBI is tangled up in bureaucratic red tape and bullshit, Pint-Size. They move at a snail's pace. Everything they do takes months; we have a week. Or less, maybe, depending on exactly how angry these tossers get when they realize we've wiped out the middle man completely.”

  “A week?” Lyric says, pausing to smile softly at a lone customer as she sneaks out the door of the café and bites her lower lip at me. But that look, that subtle invitation that used to brighten my day and turn my cock to diamond, it means nothing. Nothing. With Lyric in my life, I'm laser focused. I barely even see other women. It's like all their faces are twisted and blurry, fading away into the background. “How do you figure?”

  “Clayton Moore,” I say and she sucks in a deep breath.

  “I could probably use a coffee to help get me through this, huh?” I give her another one of those pathetic half-smiles that I wish I could swipe clean off my face. No girl ever fancied a weak, watery little twist of the lips. Women like confidence; Lyric needs confidence. She's the strongest woman I've ever met, and I'll be damned if I give her a limp-wristed poof in return. Not fucking happening.

  I hold the door open for her which is about as chivalrous as I get and move inside to find Serenity standing behind the counter. She looks distinctly uncomfortable, but not about the coffee or the customers.

  “Your mom is doing great,” Lyric says as she approaches the counter and reaches out to take the teenager's hand in her own. Serenity blinks her shell-shocked blue eyes a few times before she really seems to register the words.

  “Lyric …” she starts as she squeezes my old lady's hand back. “You saw her?”

  “About two hours ago,” Lyric tells her firmly, taking a deep breath and making herself smile twice as wide as I'm sure she wants to. “She was asl
eep, but I have a friend who works at the hospital that told me they were actually getting ready to move her upstairs into a room next to Glinda.”

  Serenity nods her head, but her eyes water with tears anyway. When she focuses on Lyric though, really focuses on her, I can see the seed of respect there. Granted, Serenity is a hell of a lot easier to impress than some of the old-timers, but it's still a promising sign. Respect has to be earned; Lyric has earned it and then some. Once I tell the boys about what she did to Agent Shelley, about how she defended all five foot two of herself with a borrowed handgun, hopefully they'll have a slight change of heart.

  Hopefully.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” Serenity says, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “On the house, of course. I mean, you saved my mother's life after all. The least I could do is get you a stupid cup of coffee.”

  “Can you whip up a mocha for me?” Lyric asks with a slight smile and Serenity nods, giving me a raised blond brow.

  “The usual?” she asks, and I nod. That little girl's the only person on this goddamn compound that knows how much I secretly like a good cuppa—and it's not because I'm British, alright? My sister actually hated tea, despised it. It was my grandmother who put this little chip of nostalgia in my soul. When I drink it, I think of her. Even though I'm in my thirties, a dirty scruffy rat bastard of a man with blood all over his hands, I can't shake that. Can't shake the memories of my Gram.

  Fuck, maybe I really am a poof?

  “You have Clayton … and Clint?” Lyric asks quietly as Serenity moves away from the counter to prepare our drinks. The sweet and bitter dance of brewing coffee twists around me as I close my eyes and inhale, opening them back up again and wishing the tang of blood would dissipate from the back of my tongue.

  The sight of watching Glacier work … it's something that sticks with you and never goes away. Saint Nordin, he's the stuff nightmares are made of.

  “Clint Woodrow practically pissed himself just talking about the cartel. I think that's why he's still here. He knew what we were planning on doing to him, but he'd rather deal with the Wolves than the Saldañas.”

  Lyric sucks in a sharp breath and runs her fingers through her short hair. Hair that Mia cut with a knife. And those long tresses weren't the only things that the Alpha Wolves groupie stole from my old lady. In her eyes, in the tight lines of her face, the way her breathing stutters and skips every now and again, I can see it. Taking Mia's life … that took something from Lyric.

  “And Clayton,” I say as I sigh, thinking about the president of Mile Wide. He is a stupid motherfucker, that much is for sure, but damn. I've never seen anyone hold themselves together under Glacier's knife the way that man does. “He told us about a shipment from the Saldaña Cartel that's on its way up here. Whatever manpower, whatever force they've got left is going to be with that shipment. The mother cartel, the one they split off of, is on their ass. They've got no other options left, Pint-Size.” I take another deep breath of coffee and steamed milk and the warm scent of seeping tea. When I reach a hand out and lay it against the side of Lyric's face, the warmth of her skin soothes my palm. “Men without options are the most dangerous, Lyric.”

  “That's not true,” she says and I raise a dark brow at her.

  “It's not?”

  She turns her head to the side and kisses my hand, reaching up with her left hand to tangle her fingers through mine. My sister's ring feels hot against my skin.

  “No. Women without options. Now that's what you should be worrying about.”

  I smile, but it's not a joke. Lyric's staring hard at my face, pursing her lips tight.

  “When Mia confronted us in the parking lot last night, she said that a woman named Rebecca had contacted her.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face.

  Fuck.

  Talk about ghosts coming back to haunt me …

  “She said that Rebecca was the one that had set that job up for her, convinced her to … do what she did.” A pause. “Rebecca … that's … your ex VP's wife?”

  I nod my head and run my hand across the stubbled roughness of my jaw.

  Rebecca White. How the hell does she factor into all of this?

  “Anything else?” I ask and Lyric starts to open her mouth, pausing as Serenity calls us out to come and grab our drinks. I start to move away when Lyric reaches out and grabs my arm again.

  “Agent Shelley … when I talked to her at the hospital … she knows.”

  “Knows?”

  “That the Wolves were involved in the shoot-out up at the cabin.”

  I nod my head, that much at least, I'd expected. The clever little bird's far too sharp to miss a detail like that.

  Now the question is, just what the hell do I do about it?

  There's a party tomorrow night at the Alpha Wolves Compound.

  It's not something that I feel like I entirely understand, but Royal insists that it's necessary. Apparently he's not too happy about it either.

  This time, at least, when I go, I won't make the mistake of looking like an eighteen year old club rat. No, this time I'm going to go dressed as … the president's old lady.

  “Although it's just for show,” I tell myself as I dig through the clothes I brought to Royal's and find literally nothing that I feel like an 'old lady' would wear. I mean, it's not like there's a dress code, but when I think of Glinda, and Janae, and Fauna, they each have their own style. Me, the only style I have claim to are ugly skirt suits and kitten heels.

  But that's not me.

  I give up a few minutes later and reach into my white button-up to fix the fancy bra I put on for Royal. I was hoping that when I got to the compound, we could find a moment to sneak up to one of the dorms again, but … they were all full with out of town guests. That, and Royal's in extremely high demand today. Not that I'm complaining, but … damn. I was really hoping we might be able to grab a moment alone together …

  “Time for a shopping trip then,” I say, even though shopping is basically the last thing on my mind right now. FBI agents and drug cartels and rival motorcycle clubs … and motorcycle club presidents, now that is worth thinking about.

  I still have yet to decide exactly what to do about this whole engagement thing. Once I commit, I'm in, completely and irrevocably. I love Royal, I do, but I also know how easily the heart can play tricks on a person. The courthouse … he wants to go to the courthouse tomorrow?

  “Jesus Christ.” I swipe my hand over my face and sigh, pushing aside thoughts of Royal and marriage for thoughts of dresses and shoes. Honestly, I'm not sure which is worse—especially considering the media feeding frenzy around town. I can't go out and just shop today, not without getting bombarded by concerned citizens with flashing smartphones and reporters with mics.

  So. Next best thing it is then: Kailey's place. Her closet's practically a boutique anyway.

  With a sigh, I gather my purse and head out Royal's front door, waving to my escorts of the day. With all of the extra men in town, Royal has more resources to spare. Apparently I'm now worthy of two bodyguards. Honestly, I didn't think he was going to let me walk off of that compound earlier anyway. But I have to keep living my life, even if it feels like everything in it is on this fast track for destruction.

  At this point, I still work for the mayor. I am still the deputy mayor. Today, of course, I'm getting a free pass, but what about tomorrow? Doubtless the office will be surrounded by reporters, but Dad will have some sort of plan up his sleeve, I'm sure. I'll have to help him get together an official statement, call his major donors and make sure they're still comfortable, probably have to tell my story a good dozen times more before this is over.

  Fuck.

  I already have a headache.

  Slinging my purse into the passenger seat, I climb into the truck and head for my sister's place, using the Bluetooth on my phone to call her up as I drive. Being alone with Kailey sounds almost as bad as getting stampeded by the media, but it is what it is. I'll
have to deal. I suppose I owe her the full story of what happened to her house anyway, but I just haven't had it in me to explain that I shot a guy and then watched as he was taken captive by the local MC for torture.

  “Call Kailey Rentz,” I say and wait as the phone rings several times before she answers.

  “Lyric!” she squeaks and then drops her voice to a low hush, like she's trying to keep our conversation private from someone. I hope she's not still at Mom and Dad's place …

  My stomach twists painfully and I suck in a deep breath.

  “Where are you? Shouldn't you be curled up on the couch, letting Mom pamper you or something?”

  I purse my lips. Why does everyone keep saying that? Like I'm some delicate little flower that wilts at the first sign of adversity.

  Slicing sheets of rain, a trembling lower lip, the gun in her hand that I didn't see.

  I blink away memories of Mia and try to keep myself focused. I've got a purpose right now. Clothes. I need clothes. Because dealing with the fact that I was questioned for hours by the FBI about my brother's sneaky underhanded business with the cartel isn't getting me anywhere. Daydreaming—or rather daymaring—about the girl that I killed isn't getting me anywhere. And wondering how the hell one tiny little deputy mayor in kitten heels is going to stop a cartel isn't getting me anywhere either.

  “Where are you right now?” I ask as I pause at a stoplight and turn on my blinker, glancing in the rearview at my escorts; I'll never forget looking back to find that guy on the pavement, his bike down, the man in a Mile Wide vest circling him. I shiver. “I need to stop by your place and look for a dress to wear tonight.”

  “Mom and Dad were so pissed off when you disappeared this morning. Why did you leave anyway?” Kailey asks, completely and utterly ignoring my words. “One of mom's friends called and told her you were at the hospital, visiting those old women you were with last night.”

  “Old ladies,” I tell her as I continue toward her place. Hell, if she's not home, I'm using my spare key and going in anyway. I'll just steal whatever dress I want. It's not like Kailey will notice it's missing from her massive collection. “They're called old ladies, and yes, I was visiting them. Did anyone actually tell you what happened last night? They were shot standing right next to me,” I hiss in a low whisper. “Of course I'd go and visit them.”