Savage Burn

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Yes,” she says. “Ready.”

  I hesitate on Blake’s number. He’s tied up chasing a serial killer. I decide on a close second and dictate his wife Kara’s phone number. She’s not only sharp and an ex-FBI agent, she’ll know when, and if, she can tap into Blake’s hacking assets. “Give me fifteen minutes and call that number. That’s Kara, someone I trust, and part of the operation that I work for now: Walker Security. They’re in New York City, too. They’ll help you find Max without risking your safety.”

  “Where are you? Can you come here?”

  “Not right now. Stay where you are and you can trust Walker Security. I’ll check on you soon. Okay?”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  We disconnect and I dial Kara. “Savage?”

  “I need your help.”

  “I’m listening,” she says immediately.

  “I believe everyone that worked on a certain black ops team is being killed off.” I explain the entire situation leading up to Kelly. “She’s in New York City at a safe house, but she’s alone and scared. Can you go to her, assess her safety, and help her? I’m hoping like hell Max is really on a job, got wind of the hit list, and he’s going to show back up.”

  “I’m on it,” she says. “Blake, as I assume you know, is occupied, but when he’s free I’ll have him look for anything the web can tell us.” We chat a minute more and disconnect. I shove my phone back into my pocket and press my hands to the railing. This is why I stayed away from Candace. I didn’t want this hell to be her hell, but the reality here is that all my hell ties back to her father. He dragged me into this. He dragged her into this. She would have always been in the line of fire, even without me coming home. Worse, she wouldn’t have had me to protect her.

  I scrub a hand over my face and accept the hard, cutting reality of a truth that’s hard to suffer through admitting. Maybe, just fucking maybe, had I come home, I could have saved her, taken her away, pulled her out of the line of fire. I can’t blame him. I have to own this and how my actions lead right here, right where we are now. And it’s up to me to get her out of this. Which means I need to find those files I kept.

  I beat my mind up, trying to remember which of the places I kept those black ops secrets might hold what we need. Those secrets are the ammunition I need to expose the program and ruin Honest Gabe. Those secrets get rid of him, and with him, the Society. Tag goes away when I kill him. The irony of all of this is that until I find those files, the safest place for Candace is right here, engaged to that piece of shit. That’s killing me. Which is only going to make me enjoy killing him all the more.

  “Rick.”

  At the sound of Candace’s voice, I turn to find her in the doorway—God, she’s beautiful, too beautiful for my sanity. And as I always knew it would be, there is no hesitation in me, no ability to stay away from her. I close the space between us, slide a hand under her hair to settle on her neck, her sweet, floral scent exploding in my nostrils, and igniting the burn of everything I feel for this woman. I pull her around and to me, our mouths a hot breath from touching. “Candace,” I murmur, words lingering on my tongue, unspoken promises of forever and happily ever after that a brisk wind seems to catch and carry away as if those promises die right there and then before I ever offer them to her.

  Which is bullshit. I will not let her down again. Ever.

  And still, the promises are lost. They’re gone. I don’t speak one of them and I don’t know why. “Let’s go inside,” I say instead.

  She pulls back and searches my face, fixing me in a penetrating stare. A stare that sees too much, more than I even believe I know is there, before she says, “Yes. Let’s go inside.” And with that, she turns and walks inside. Alone. Without me. I don’t know what she just read in me, but whatever it was, she didn’t like it. And neither did I.

  I take a long, driven stride and catch her hand, dragging her back to me, but I don’t have to try hard. She steps into my move and pokes my chest, her eyes blazing with anger. “What just happened?”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Liar,” she accuses and she might as well have reached in my chest and pulled out my heart with that one word. “I thought you weren’t going to lie to me, Rick?” she presses. “I thought that was the one thing you weren’t going to do. Break my heart and leave me, yes. But lie? No.”

  “I’m not lying, baby. I was in my own head and I don’t know what happened. I was trapped in my own hell that I couldn’t put into words.”

  “Then say that. I won’t push you to say more, not unless you decide you want to say more. I promise you. Just don’t tell me nothing is wrong when I know better.”

  “Guilt,” I admit. “That’s what happened. Guilt for bringing this on you. Guilt for not coming back and stopping this from happening. Just—guilt.”

  Her eyes burn with emotions and then soften with her shoulders. “Guilt does us no good. Please don’t do that to you or us, Rick. We’re barely together as it is.”

  Adam chooses that moment to appear in the doorway. “We’re ready with the audio.”

  I shoot him a glare. “We’ll be right there.”

  “Asher says we need to hear this now and not later,” Adam says. “So now.” With that push, he disappears into the house.

  I catch Candace’s hair in my fingers and stare down at her. “We are not barely together any more than we are just having sex.” I kiss her then, claiming her, a deep, take-all-I-can-take kind of kiss and then I say, “All in, baby. We’re all in.” And because I might climb on the railing and scream while beating my damn chest if she says otherwise, I don’t give her time to reply. I snag her hand and lead her inside. Because what better way to end a conversation about our very special, lasting relationship, than listening in on a conversation between two other men, one of which is her fiancé.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Savage

  Smith sits at the table, working through transmission issues with the audio. Just beyond him, in the center of the table, the general’s book sits bagged and protected, a centerpiece symbolic of secrets, lies, and war.

  Nearby, Candace throws her nervous energy into making coffee while I watch from the doorway. Adam joins me, his voice low, tight. “I talked to Asher about the content of the audio,” he says, his words meant for only me. “Asher says there’s nothing about her father on the audio. That feels off to me.”

  “Not if the Society still believe he’s on Gabe’s side,” I argue.

  “We know that’s not true of Honest Gabe,” he points out.

  “Come on, man. Honest Gabe is as dishonest as they get. He wouldn’t alert Pocher, his main money man, that the general had become a problem.”

  “He’d just—”

  “Kill him while he’s on a mission,” Candace supplies, cutting off Adam, and making it clear that she heard every word of our not-so-discreet conversation. She offers us each a cup of coffee. “Coffee with white mocha creamer in it. I love it and so does Rick.”

  Her reference to what I love, to what we love, is loaded with memories of this house, this life, and this woman that I have no intention of losing yet again. Not to war. Not to monsters and fools like Honest Gabe.

  I take both cups and hand them to Adam, not because I don’t want the coffee but because I want her more. Catching her waist, I rotate, offering Adam and Smith a nice view of my pretty little ass. “Don’t do that,” I say softly. “Don’t create a problem where there is no problem.”

  “And don’t coddle me and whisper all discreet to keep me out of the loop, Rick Savage. We both know this isn’t me creating a problem where there’s no problem. We have so many problems that I’m buried to my waist in problems. I don’t solve them by pretending otherwise or back to the coddling. I don’t need that. And that doesn’t make me stronger. Or us stronger, either. I think it’s pretty clear that you forgot what a fighter I am.”

  I visibly flinch. “Punch me with words, why don’t you, baby, but I guess I deserve it.” />
  “Yes,” she says quite precisely. “You do, and not for the past that I promised to stop using as a weapon, but for the right here and now.”

  “I own my past sins, baby, but I will always protect you. You’re going to have to get used to that.”

  “We’re going to talk about that.”

  I lean in and press my lips to her ear again. “As long as we fuck about that, too.”

  “We can do both,” she says, pulling back to pierce me with a green-eyed stare, “but I’ll still win this argument.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I say, giving her a wink.

  “You’re impossible,” she says, poking my chest, a hint of a smile on those pretty lips. Lips I’m more than ready to have on about ten places on my body.

  “We’re ready for real this time,” Smith calls out.

  My lips press together. “Let’s get this over with. Then you can start dealing with how impossible I am.”

  I release her and when I would turn away, she catches my arm. I arch a brow and she kisses me, spreading her sunshine all over my shit-show. I didn’t realize just how badly I needed that sunshine. I catch her to me again, kiss the hell out of her and then release her. She might not need to be coddled, but she does need to be saved. Most likely from me, but that’s not going to happen. I’ll be drinking and drowning in that sunshine from here on out.

  We sit at the kitchen table with Smith and Adam, all of us drinking coffee while Smith prepares to hit the play button on his MacBook. “Asher’s working on the transcript for the audio. There’s very little here that feels like it helps us. The hope here, Candace,” he explains, “is that you hear something we don’t, something helpful.” He slides a pad and paper in front of her. “In case you want to write anything down.”

  “Thanks,” she says, sliding the pad closer to her.

  Smith eyes me. I arch a brow and when he doesn’t speak, Candace does. “Just say what you need to say, Smith.”

  He clears his throat and his attention remains on me as he says, “They talk about Candace. You know that, right?”

  “If you want to warn me,” Candace interjects. “Warn me, not Rick. “I’m not worried about what he says about me. I’m worried about what he does to my father. Push play, and my God, can you all stop treating me like a delicate flower?”

  I laugh and squeeze her leg. “It’s not you they’re worried about, baby,” I say, leaning over to give her a look. “It’s me. They’re afraid I’ll get in the car and go blow his ass up.”

  “But of course,” she replies, “you won’t do that because we need to protect my father.”

  “Or,” I suggest, “maybe we’re over-complicating things. If I go kill him, he’s not around to kill your father.”

  “But Tag is,” she argues. “And we don’t know all the layers of trouble my father has found, either, or even who else might want him, and us, dead.”

  “What she said,” Adam replies. “And you aren’t killing Gabriel. We’re putting him in jail.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I say, kissing Candace before I motion to Smith. “Play it.”

  “Jail is the right answer,” Candace argues.

  “You don’t want to be coddled,” I say. “So, no coddling. Fucktard Gabriel can still order a hit on your father from jail, baby. And these two bozos know it. They know he has to die. It’s just easier for everyone to wait until he forces my hand before they agree. Then they can sleep at night.” I motion to Smith. “Play the damn audio.”

  He grimaces but has the good sense not to argue. He gives a nod and pushes play. To my surprise, Candace covers my hand where it rests on her leg, with her hand. It’s her way of thanking me for being honest, her way of telling me she can handle whatever comes out of my mouth. She can. Sure. I know she can, but hearing what I feel, and seeing me put it into action, are two different things. We’ll see what she can handle before all of this is over. Of that I’m sure.

  For now, I’m focused on her hand, because as usual, her hand on my body does all kinds of wicked things. I’m hot and hard and ready to go fuck her into the submission I can never truly have from her when Gabe’s voice sounds. Talk about a downer, a blow to the balls. That bastard is her fiancé. That’s still real.

  My fingers curl on her leg and I can feel her looking at me, but I stare at the MacBook like it’s going to grow horns and pop off some firecrackers or some shit like that.

  The conversation between Pocher and Honest Gabe begins with Gabriel kissing up to Pocher and seems to go on and on. “I’m pretty sure his lips are stuck to the man’s ass,” Adam says when a waiter occupies the audio.

  “I’ve got something I can shove up his ass,” I murmur.

  Candace elbows me and I catch her hand, holding onto a reminder of what I have to keep and kill for if necessary. We all fall into silence, listening again as Pocher and Gabriel resume their conversation.

  The two men move from ass-kissing to talking about certain key people Pocher wants to align Gabriel with, all people we can assume to be as dirty as Gabriel. Candace writes them all down. Good. I haven’t had a proper kill list in a long while now.

  That’s when we get to the part where Candace becomes part of the conversation. “When are you marrying that woman of yours?” Pocher asks.

  “I wanted to talk about that,” Gabriel says. “What works best?”

  “You marrying a general’s daughter on damn near the eve of announcing your run works for me,” Pocher replies. “But I need to get a feel for her first. I need to know you not only have her under control but that she’s well-spoken.”

  “I assure you that she’s all grace and distinction. She’s also well controlled. By me and her father.”

  “Her father isn’t running for president. You are. And the general and I have a history. Once he knows I’m involved, he’ll be your lap dog. Where is Candace now?”

  “Home, sick.”

  “Sick or sick of you?”

  “Always a comedian,” Gabriel says. “She was just with me two nights ago. You know that.”

  “Call her on speaker,” he orders. “Let me feel the love.”

  “I’m not sure how much love you’ll feel when she’s sick, but sure.” There’s the sound of movement before the line rings and then goes to her voicemail.

  Pocher laughs. “You own that woman, I see.”

  “She’s sick,” he snaps. “Come to the governor’s ball. You can meet her then.”

  “I do believe I will. I knew her mother.”

  Candace turns to face me, her eyes wide. I cup her neck, aware of the sensitive subject and press my forehead to hers.

  “Honestly, marrying her can’t go south on you. You see, the good thing about a military woman, even if she isn’t in the service, is the kind of outpouring of remorse you get when she’s gone. Ask your fiancée’s father. A simple Soup Sandwich by way of a Bravo Foxtrot and she’s gone while you’re on top of the world.”

  Candace sucks in air and pulls back to look at me. Ice fills my already icy veins. “Soup Sandwich” is slang for a mission, a person, or anything gone wrong. “Bravo Foxtrot” is a military term Asher didn’t give her credit for knowing: one who does not help a fellow soldier, or who intentionally gets a soldier in trouble. It’s code that isn’t hard to figure out. It’s Pocher’s way of saying someone close to Candace would take her out if she became a problem.

  “I’ll call her again,” Gabriel says. “She must not have heard the phone ring. She’ll answer.”

  “I certainly hope so, ” Pocher says. “You need to pull her close and make sure she’s beloved by the public. Just don’t fall in love, because one day you might be better with her gone and I’m not talking about a divorce.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Savage

  Smith turns off the audio.

  The table is silent, the implications of what we’ve just heard hanging in the air, a wicked threat that hovers and cannot be ignored. Abruptly, Candace stands up and pushes awa
y from the table, walking to the patio door, opening it and exiting outside, the door shutting behind her.

  My gaze lands heavily on Adam’s while my anger seethes. “Tell Asher I’m going to kill him for this. She’s the daughter of two high-ranking officers. She understands military slang.”

  “I’ll kill him for you,” Adam assures me. “There’s no excuse for not warning us so we could warn her.”

  My attention shoots to Smith. “Find out—”

  “About her mother,” he supplies. “I’m on it.”

  I scrub my face. “She was killed in action. I need to know how she and the general knew Pocher. I need to know if anything about her death looks shady.” I stand up. “If they killed her mother—” My lips press together, but I force myself to go to the inevitable place this is leading me. “I need to dig into her father’s background. I thought I knew him, and it, but I’m not sure anymore.” I don’t wait for a reply or questions I’m not sure I want to answer out loud just yet.

  I walk to the patio, open the door, and follow Candace outside. She’s not on the porch and I shut the door behind me, walking down the stairs to spy her in the center of the yard, standing under the willow tree. Her thinking tree. Memories jostle inside me, punching me with the blow of what I had and had lost.

  I close the space between me and her, my boots landing heavy on the ground, but Candace doesn’t turn. She’s tormented over the idea of her mother’s death being murder, worried about her father, and scared. Of course, she’s scared. It’s her fear I want to affect, her fear she has to set aside, or it will dictate every moment forward. Fear is a weapon the enemy uses against us. Once I’m behind her, my hands come down on her arms and I lean in, my lips by her ear. “I’m going to kill them all for you,” I vow.

  She twists around to face me. “Not if I do it first.”

  There she is, the fighter she was raised to be. The fighter I fell in love with, proving that she was right. I’d forgotten just how strong she is, just what a fighter lives inside her.