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

by Violet Blaze

  “What the fuck is your old lady doing out here?” Dober barks as he appears behind Glacier. “Holy hell, Royal McBride, you have fucking lost it.”

  “Shut your bloody trap and get outside!” Royal screams and we move down the stairs in a triangular formation with Royal at the point and me inside the walls of Glacier and Dober. Thank God I decided to change into my riding boots and jeans before I hit the hospital. Doing all of this in heels? Um, no thank you.

  Gunfire shatters the night air again, echoing around the empty openness of the Alpha Wolves Compound as we make our way toward the sea, using vehicles and buildings as cover as we move.

  “What the fuck is going on, Hawkins?” Royal demands when we run into the bald man I spotted briefly at the party and then again at the clubhouse this morning. The President of the Portland chapter of the Alpha Wolves MC.

  “The silent alarm went off for the north end of the compound, so I sent a couple of guys that way. Next thing we know, they're inside the fence on the south side. Have no idea how they got in.”

  “Well, I can bloody answer that one for you,” Royal mumbles, and I feel a wave of anger rumble across his skin, tightening his muscles and turning his beautiful grinning face into something terrifying. “Rebecca White. The bitch is back.”

  “Fuck.” That's all the Hawkins guy says, his blue eyes swinging down to lock on my face. He blinks a couple of times in surprise, but the moment is too tense to bother asking questions. I'm sure Royal will have to pay for this later, but it'll just make it easier for him when I'm gone. Let him add another reason to the massive list of why we shouldn't be together.

  “If you knew what you were doing, you could scale one of those trees in the back and hop right over, cut your way through without being seen by the security cameras.” Royal pauses and takes a deep breath, hefting a revolver in his hands and peering around the corner. Even from my vantage point, I can see bullets spraying around the black shapes of parked vehicles. It's just this massive wave of destruction that feels impossible to fight back against.

  I glance at Glacier. He's got a massive weapon clutched in his hands, his face this awful mask of ice. All of that crazy smiling and winking and joking he does … if I thought that was scary before, I was dead wrong. He and Royal both look like men I would avoid in a dark alley. Hell, they look like men I would avoid in a crowded mall.

  “Go,” Royal tells Glacier, watching as the tattooed, pierced, blond psycho moves around the corner, rolls and comes up behind a small stone retaining wall. He pauses there for a few seconds before moving out of sight.

  “We've got eyes on at least twenty of 'em down by the playground,” a voice says, crackling through a radio at Royal's hip. “They're armed to the fucking teeth. Pres, they've got explosives with them.”

  “Don't worry about taking hostages,” Royal says, his voice as cold as Glacier's face. Colder, maybe. I think Glacier's a man that's used to living dark and empty and emotionless. Royal's animated and lively and full of emotion. Seeing it stripped away from him scares the crap out of me. “Kill the bastards. All of them.”

  An explosion rocks the compound, sending a wave of heat blistering across my skin, searing my eyes with orange and yellow flames. The sound is like nothing I've ever heard in my life and suddenly, I'm not so sure about my reasons for coming out here.

  “Pint-Size,” Royal says, reaching down to take my shoulder in one hand. When I blink past the shock and the ringing in my ears to look up at him, I see tenderness and concern written all over his face, cracking through that steel mask of his. Yes. And that is why I came out here.

  “I'm okay,” I tell him, letting the reality of the moment sink in. I could get shot out here. I could lose a limb. I could die. But I won't hide in the coffee cabinet like a frightened child. It just isn't happening. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Stay behind me, stay low, mimic everything I do.” Royal pauses and his mouth twitches into a humorless smile. “Aim carefully.” He leans down and kisses me, hard and fierce, just a rough press of lips but it's enough to fire me up as he pulls away and gestures for me to follow him, Hawkins and Dober moving along by my sides.

  We trace the path that Glacier took through the darkness, snaking past a few bodies in leather vests. I don't look at them, but Dober pauses to check their pulses, cursing under his breath as we continue on toward a large black SUV parked in just about the same spot that Royal first pushed me into the wall and questioned me about the FBI. And then kissed me. And then tried to fuck me. And then chased me into a dorm room and really did fuck me.

  He drops to his belly and I follow suit, shimmying beneath the vehicle and positioning our bodies behind the front tire. Royal leans out slightly to the left, and I do as he says, mimicking him and looking out toward the right.

  I hold my weapon out in both hands and hope I'm as good of a shot as I think I am. From this vantage point, in the dark with fire blooming from a building not fifty feet from where we're crouching, I'm going to need every ounce of skill I've got.

  Three men come out of the darkness and I pause, trying to figure out how I'm supposed to tell friend from foe, but before I can decide whether to take a shot or not, Royal's fired once, twice, three times. All of the men drop motionless to the ground as a cold chill traces over me. I've seen him kill before, aiming his gun calm as can be through the broken window of his truck and taking out several men without losing any shots. But still, it's a hard thing to bear witness to.

  It's not like your hands are clean either, Lyric, I tell myself as I breathe long and low and slow, glancing back to find Dober and Hawkins positioned at the other end of the SUV, doing the same thing we are.

  I tighten my grip and release another breath, aiming at a man with a frigging machine gun clutched at his side. Just like at the grow house. Exactly like it was when Agent Heather Shelley and I were defending ourselves …

  “There're a couple cops on the road on their way in. Luca's got 'em stopped up and lookin' at his tire, but they're antsy as hell, like they've got an agenda. What do you want us to do, Pres?”

  “How far out are you?” Royal asks, his accent completely drowned out by nerves. He sounds like an actor playing a West Coast bad boy … a really good actor. His voice is pure California right now.

  “Far enough away that we can't hear a thing.”

  “Keep it that way.” A pause. “But don't hurt 'em. Last thing we need are a pair of missing cops.”

  I line up my shot with the newest version of Machine Gun Guy and fire, hitting him directly in the throat, blood spraying out against the beige wall at his back. In the white glow from the overhead industrial lights, it looks extra bright, extra red. My stomach churns, but I push it down with another breath.

  “Boss, I'm through the fence, at a clearing with about a dozen vehicles. If I had to guess, I'd say we're looking at about … fifty or sixty guys tops.”

  “Well thank God for small miracles,” Royal mumbles as the sound of another explosive goes off somewhere. Jesus. These Saldaña people are dead serious about getting rid of the Wolves, aren't they? Royal doesn't let it faze him, so I won't either.

  Two men in leather cuts appear, and I hold my fire, suddenly loving the biker uniform. Makes it easier to tell who's who in all of the darkened chaos.

  Royal whistles and the men move toward us, their red hair glinting in the flickering lights as they jog over and duck down behind the SUV.

  It's Mug and Smoky.

  “They're avoiding hitting anything with inventory,” Smoky says as he crouches low and speaks in a deep, rough voice. “Clearly, they've got an agenda here.”

  “Figures,” Royal says as a group of men appear out of the darkness and spray the SUV with bullets. I duck low and feel my heart racing, beating its wings like a frantic bird trying to escape the cage of my ribs. A stray bullet grazes my forearm as I cover up my face, and I let out a small gasp, biting back on the sharp burn of pain as I drop my arms down and fire off two shots.


  The man in the center stumbles back and then drops to the ground, still moving but writhing in pain. I missed. My hands are trembling.

  What the hell am I doing here? My dad just basically offered to hand me his seat, and I'm crouched down in the gravel shooting drug cartel members?

  Another shot from Royal takes down the man to the right of the one I dropped, sending him staggering back in another spray of crimson.

  A couple more shots from Dober and Hawkins and the group is down.

  “Let's go,” Royal barks, reaching under the tire to grab my arm and dragging me roughly out from under the SUV with him, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. Without hesitation, he starts across the empty swath of pavement, taking me with him and over to the jagged hole cut out of the chain-link fence. I do my best to hide the blood on my forearm; the last thing I need to do is distract Royal from the moment.

  There's nobody here, but we do bump into Glacier, his face decorated with ruby spray, a piece of gum smacking between his lips.

  “All clear. I've disabled the vehicles. These pieces of shit aren't going anywhere. My guess is that they assembled this force based on the Trinidad chapter alone. If they'd hit us when they intended to the other night, we might have actually lost.”

  Royal grunts his acknowledgement, still holding my wrist in a death grip.

  “They're here to take our inventory,” he says and then gets a fucked-up twist to his expression. “Rebecca knows that we keep product in the café storeroom.”

  That phrase is enough to get everyone moving, jogging down the glossy wet black surface of the asphalt, boots pounding across the ground. I try to tug myself from Royal's grip, but it's like fighting to escape a band of solid iron. There's just no way.

  When we hit the front of the compound, it's a bloodbath, a battleground bathed in gunfire and bodies. The front windows of the café are laying in shattered pieces across the beautiful hardwood interior, that peaceful place I was just hanging out in now destroyed.

  But at least there's a line of bikers in leather vests lined up out front, using the brick walls of the waist-high flower beds as cover.

  Royal starts to tug me in that direction when I notice a blond woman cut across the parking lot, between one of the outer buildings and the door that leads to Janae's office.

  “Royal,” I start, but he's not listening, pulling me down into the trenches with him. He finally lets go of my arm, lifting his gun over the wall to fire at the men across the way, hiding behind parked vehicles. Behind my parked vehicle.

  Fuck.

  I ignore all of that and crawl behind the boys, Dober meeting my eyes with pursed lips and a tight expression, like he's disgusted or disappointed or God only knows what. Well, fudge the hell out of him. Asshole.

  “I've got her, boss,” he tells Royal when he glances back and finds me leaving, a strange expression flashing over his face. It's half relief, half disappointment. Our eyes lock before that Hawkins dude grabs my lover's shoulder and draws his attention back around to the front.

  I ignore them all and crawl forward, down the side of the building, staying tucked in shadows until I reach the open door of Janae's office, slipping inside and running towards a second door in the back.

  There's a couch and some TVs in here—I guess it's a break room for the boys that work in the shop—but I don't pay much attention to any of it, finding a lithe blond woman at the back door to the café. It's a separate entrance to the storeroom, locked several times from the inside.

  I watch as the woman takes a ring of keys and tries several in the lock.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I ask, my voice breathless and tinny as I raise the Glock and hold my hands steady, waiting for her to turn around and look at me.

  It takes a minute, but when she does, she's swinging a gun up to meet my own, lips twisted in a weird sad curl of a smile.

  “You a cop or something?” she asks, her blue eyes boring into mine, her fingers steady around the grip of her gun. “Or a new groupie bitch to replace Mia? I've never seen you around here before.”

  “I could say the same for you,” I tell her, my heart pounding so loudly I can hardly hear my own voice. “Put the gun down and I'll let you walk out of here. Leave the compound and never come back.”

  “Please,” she says with a scoff and a deep breath, smiling at the sound of a door opening behind me. I move to the right, into a more defensible position in the corner, watching as three other people enter the room from the direction of the shop, the smell of motor oil leaking in along with a cool breeze.

  It's another woman, also blond and blue-eyed but slightly heavier, a man that looks like he could be their brother, and … Clayton fucking Moore.

  “Well hello again, sugar,” he says, his fingers bandaged and a patch covering one of his eyes. My mind flashes back to the parking lot at Sea Salt and I suck in a massive breath. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Should I shoot her?” the skinny blond near the storeroom door asks, even as I keep my gun trained on her chest. “Who the hell is this, Clay?”

  “Why, this is Royal McBride's little old lady right here,” he says as he smiles with a mouth missing a lot more teeth than I remember.

  “This,” Skinny Chick snorts and then shakes her head, like I'm some kind of abhorrent creature, completely unfit for a king. “This is the bitch he's shacking up with? Over Mia? Jesus Christ. Wow. Just … wow.”

  “Becca, we need to get the fuck out of here,” the blond guy says, looking between Clay and Skinny Chick aka Becca. “The Wolves are kicking our asses. If we're going to do this, we need to do it now.”

  “Hey,” Becca says as I stare at her, and it finally clicks. Becca. Rebecca. Rebecca White, Landon the VP's wife.

  “Rebecca told me this would happen. So I took the money. I need it, okay? And I'm so sorry.”

  Mia's words ring in my head as I suck in a sharp breath and press my back more firmly against the wall.

  “We need to get in here, okay. What's the new passcode?” She taps the black box next to the door with her hand. “Or maybe you know about a new stash somewhere else? Look, guide us in the right direction and we'll put down our guns, let you walk away from this. We just need some product or some money to start a new life.” Rebecca drops her gun to her side, but I notice her sister's got one trained on me anyway, so it doesn't matter.

  The woman puts a hand to her chest, taking a step forward in her tight black jeans and tank top.

  “We just want to make a fresh start, okay? Get away from … all of this. From both groups—the Wolves and the Saldañas.” Rebecca looks me in the eyes, and I don't know what she sees, but whatever it is, it encourages her to keep going. “This is my sister, Dayna, and my brother, Nestor. I've got two little kiddos at home and a third on the way.” She touches a hand to her belly as my hands start to shake.

  Fudge. Serious peanut butter walnut mocha double chocolate fudge.

  I can't shoot a pregnant woman.

  I guess Rebecca's banking on that as she moves closer to me, close enough that the muzzle of my gun is pressed up against her shoulder. I swing my aim over to Clayton and keep it there as she frowns.

  “We don't want to hurt anybody. We just want to grab our shit and go. Royal owes me this, okay? He killed my husband. Did he tell you that?”

  I keep the gun locked on Clayton Moore, knowing that even if I might have a problem shooting Rebecca, I can shoot the president of Mile Wide. Watching him try to take Janae down in cold blood in a grocery store parking lot burned any sympathy I might've had for the man right out of me.

  “What the hell is Royal doing letting you run around here by yourself like this anyway?” Rebecca asks, making my jaw clench and my body stiffen. I won't play the little woman, the weakling that needs to be protected. My entire life I've dealt with the testosterone riddled bullshit of politics. Sorry, but I'm starting to reach my breaking point.

  Suddenly, my mind is reeling with thoughts of Washington, D.C. and al
l the crap I'll have to put up with if I want to reach my goals. But then … I could be a pioneer. A leader. I could inspire young girls like Serenity to reach for their dreams. I could work to pass the kind of laws that this world needs, fight discrimination in all its forms.

  That's why I'm leaving.

  But first, this. This woman and her sister and some brother I didn't even know about. Them, and Clayton Moore. Thorns in Royal's side. I won't leave him to fight and struggle against this alone.

  “You betrayed your husband to be with this man,” I say, gesturing with my chin toward Clayton Moore. “You didn't give a crap about him at all, did you?”

  Rebecca stares at me for a long moment, a sardonic half-smile on her lips.

  “Landon was an idiot, okay? After he got involved with the cartel, he tried to get out of it. There was no walking away from any of that, so he panicked and got himself killed by his own brothers. That's on him.”

  “You're trying to walk away from it all now, aren't you?” I ask, trying to keep Rebecca distracted for as long as possible. At some point, Royal will notice that I'm missing and come for me. I know he will.

  “Yeah, well, with all of this business between them and the Wolves, they'll just assume we're dead. This is our one chance. Hey, what's your name anyway?” She glances over her shoulder at Clay and the man smiles with a scarred up face and blistered lips. I wonder what Glacier did to him this past week to make him look like that … Wait. On second thought, I'd rather not know.

  “Lyric Rentz, the Deputy Mayor of Trinidad,” Clayton drawls in his thick syrupy Southern accent. He draws a weapon from his pocket and aims it at me, the motion making my right arm tingle and burn where the bullet grazed me earlier. A quick glance at it, at the blood dripping in warm sticky rivulets down my arm, and I know I really don't want that to happen again—especially not in a more critical part of my body.

  “Oh, that's right. You're the mayor's daughter,” Rebecca says with a nod as she looks me over again, eyes crinkling at the edges in what might be a warm expression if her sister and lover weren't holding guns on me. “So Lyric, are you going to help us out or not?”