Savage Kings MC - South Carolina Box Set #1

by Lane Hart

  Whether it’s the alcohol in my system or his off-the-charts charisma, I laugh louder than I probably should at his story.

  “That’s cute,” I tell him, still smiling.

  Tonight could very well be my last chance to flirt with a handsome stranger. And while I know nothing will come of it, other than a little dancing because I love Paul and would never cheat on him, my heart is still beating a million miles a minute in my chest because I’ve never had the courage to talk to someone so…so incredibly sexy and charming. Guys like Verek, well, they may be fun for a night, but then they’re on to the next woman, never slowing down, never falling in love. For a second, I worry about Charlotte falling for Roman, getting her heart broken after all she’s been through. But she’s the toughest person I know. If she can survive losing her husband, she can survive a hot biker.

  “You’re beautiful,” Verek says against my ear, letting his scruffy cheek brush my smooth cheek as his big hands grip my waist, and he pulls me closer. My hands automatically lift to his chest, touching the cool leather over his hard muscles underneath.

  And for a second, as I look up into his bluish-gray mesmerizing eyes, time stands still. Everyone and everything around us in the club seem to suddenly disappear, even the diamond that usually feels so heavy on my ring finger. There’s nothing in the world but me and this man, drawn together by some sort of mysterious connection.

  I shut my eyes to try and break the spell.

  “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Rather than look up, I open my eyes and look straight ahead, right at my diamond engagement ring sparkling under the lights. I made a promise to the man I love. The man who loves me with all of his heart. We only dated for ten months before Paul proposed and I said yes. I knew before then that I wanted to be his wife, even though it felt like something was missing. I wasn’t sure what it was until this moment.

  “Nice ring,” Verek mutters when he glances down and spots it. “When’s the big day?”

  “Two weeks,” I answer as a storm begins to rage inside of me.

  Paul and I have plenty of love between us, but just not much…passion. That’s it, that’s what’s missing! He’s never made my heart race, or my breath come in a rush, not even in bed. Paul treats me with respect, and a little like I’m fragile, nothing but soft kisses and tender lovemaking that’s slow and sweet.

  I think I want him to be a little more assertive, more desperate for me. I want him to pin me to the wall and take me with all our clothes on because he can’t wait another second to have me. Now that I know what’s missing, I just have to figure out how to tell him. Communication is the key to a happy relationship, and I owe him the benefit of the doubt that sex between us won’t always be so boring.

  “Actually, I should probably go call my fiancé,” I say to Verek, unable to meet his gaze again as I stare at his chest.

  “One more song,” he says, tightening his grip that’s moved around to the small of my back. As he dips down to my height, he wedges his thigh between my legs and presses me tightly to his body so that I can feel every hard inch. I should walk away now, but I did ask him to dance and we haven’t even finished one song yet.

  “So, um, do you have a Harley too?” I ask over the music, trying to think of some small talk.

  “I do. It’s parked out back,” he says, his lips near my ear again. “Want to go for a ride?”

  “Sounds fun,” I answer, neither accepting nor declining his offer. “I’ve never been on a bike before.”

  “I promise, once you climb on, it’ll be nearly impossible to get off,” he replies seductively, making me shiver. Verek’s beard barely brushes over my cheek once more, causing goose bumps to break out down my arms and legs and everything in between.

  “I-I have a fiancé,” I remind him, even though he obviously couldn’t have forgotten in thirty seconds.

  “Then why did you want to dance with me?” he asks, his fingertips trailing up and down my spine, right over my zipper teasingly.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Sure you do, sweetheart,” his deep voice responds confidently. “There’s a big difference between cold feet and a cold pussy. If he’s not fucking you right, I could help you forget his name before the end of the night,” he says as his damp lips do dirty, naughty things to my neck that has me gasping and panting. It’s impossible to not imagine his talented mouth someplace much, much lower doing the exact same thing.

  Instead of pushing him away like I should, I involuntarily tilt my head to the side and let him keep at it, enjoying it too much to stop him.

  Verek intentionally rolls his hips to the song playing in a way that ensures I feel how hard and long he is against my stomach. Just as I expected, he is so freaking big. It would be incredibly easy to cave, to let him hike up the bottom of my dress and unzip his pants so that our bodies could do their own wicked dance.

  But I would have to throw away a lifetime of happiness for one hot night. I’m smarter than that. Paul and I will eventually find our passion after we’re married.

  “I-I can’t do this,” I say when I reluctantly push against Verek’s chest, putting a foot of space between us. “I, um, I need to go get some air, and you need to find someone to take home who isn’t wearing a ring!”

  As I start to hurry to the stairs, I hear him call out behind me, “If that ring meant anything to you, if he was right for you, then you wouldn’t be looking for someone else to dance with.”

  Maybe the guy who just met me is right. Maybe Paul isn’t the one for me. I still love him, though, that much I’m certain of.

  My head is so confused as I hurry down the stairs and out the door, past the bouncer and the line of people waiting to get into the club, that I’m actually dizzy.

  The fresh, salty ocean air feels good on my overheating skin as I take a few deep breaths.

  I shouldn’t have drunk so much tonight. That’s the only reason I even thought about sleeping with a random man, right?

  God, I don’t know. What if it’s not?

  I shouldn’t be having these doubts two weeks before our wedding. Is it more than cold feet? No, deep down in my gut I’ve known since the second Paul got down on one knee that we were rushing into things.

  Pulling my phone from my crossbody purse, I quickly find Paul’s name and call him even though it’s after midnight.

  As the phone rings, I keep strolling past the boardwalk stores that are still open trying to sell drunk tourists overpriced T-shirts and sunglasses, just to keep my feet moving.

  Paul doesn’t answer because he’s probably already in bed asleep after the tame bachelor party he was having back in Raleigh with his brother, coworkers, and a few friends.

  When his voicemail comes on, I start to just tell him to call me when he gets this message, but that’s not all that comes tumbling out of my mouth.

  “Paul, honey, I love you. And I know you love me, but do you think we’re rushing into this?” I ask his voicemail. “The wedding, I mean. It’s in two freaking weeks! I think…I think I need a little more time. I know it would be a big pain in the ass to postpone the wedding but, um, I think maybe we should. Just for a little while!” I quickly add. “A few weeks or a couple of months. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with me. It’s just…it’s been a strange night, so call me when you get this message, okay? I love you,” I say again before I end the call, because I don’t want him to doubt that for a second.

  Taking another deep breath, I put my phone away in my purse and turn on my heels to start back to the club, intending to spend the rest of the night with the girls and not a sexy, dirty-talking biker, the perfect man from my darkest fantasies.

  I take about three steps before a white van advertising a flooring business slows to a stop next to me. The passenger, a young, dark-haired man with lots of ink on his arm that’s resting in the open window, says, “Hey, girl. Sorry to bother you, but could you tell us where the weird R
ipley’s place is?”

  “Ah, sure,” I reply. “I think you need to get going toward North Ocean Boulevard. This is South,” I explain.

  “North, you say?”

  “Yeah, it’s quicker if you turn here and get back on Highway 17 instead of waiting behind the cruising crowd and pedestrians,” I say, pointing the easiest way to get where they need to be. I’ve been vacationing here in Myrtle Beach almost every year in the summer and know my way around pretty well. “Then you’ll just make a right turn on Fifth or Seventh Avenue.”

  “You hear that? We need to get on 17 and find Fifth or Seventh Avenue,” the man says to the driver right when the sliding door suddenly opens, and another passenger jumps out along with the man I was talking to. Before I can even blink, there are arms grabbing me from behind, picking me up off my feet and carrying me to the van.

  “Stop! What the hell are you doing? Put me down!” I scream as I kick my feet and try to free my arms that are pinned to my sides by the ones holding me. Whoever has me dives headfirst into the back of the van without letting me go. The side of my face lands on the hard floor with all of his weight on top of me.

  “We’re in! Go!” someone in the back says as the sliding door slams shut, and the driver takes off.

  “Isn’t she a pretty thing,” the man I recognize as the passenger says when he crawls over on his knees and grabs my chin and turns it toward him. “Fuck, I really do love redheads.”

  “I-I don’t understand,” I whisper to him.

  “I’m going first,” the man on top of me says as he starts unzipping the back of my dress, making my eyes fill with tears. I let out a shriek when he tears it the rest of the way so that it loudly rips in two and the cool air hits my back.

  “You know exactly what we’re going to do to you,” another man says with a toothy grin when he approaches, taking my phone out of my purse. “Don’t forget to wrap it up, man,” he says to his friend. “We don’t know where this bitch has been, and we can’t leave any DNA in case someone finds her body before Donnie takes care of it.”

  My body? As in my dead body?

  These men, they’re going to kill me! But not yet.

  I shake my head no, trying to figure out what to do, how to get out of here, as my panties are jerked down my thighs.

  It’s too late.

  That’s the only thought repeating in my head over and over again. It’s too late for me.

  I’ve been kidnapped by at least four men who are planning to rape me before they kill me. The van is racing down the road in the middle of the night. One of them took my phone I couldn’t use anyway with so many hands holding me down. No one will hear me screaming. All that’s left is to try and fight, to get to the sliding door and jump out. So that’s what I try to do.

  I get to my knees and lunge back toward the door but only end up getting my head slammed into the side of the van before everything goes dark.

  Chapter One

  Two months later…

  * * *

  Verek

  * * *

  Sunday morning I’m the first one to sit my ass down at the Savage Kings table, waiting for everyone else to slowly file in, my knee unable to keep still as I wait. That’s why as soon as I see Winston, I grill him since Roman banned me from the boathouse where we’re keeping our captive – one of the four men who raped Tessa two months ago.

  “Have you heard anything? Has the fucker really squealed already?” I ask in a rush.

  “You’ll find out the details as soon as I do,” Winston responds. “Roman did say that Hugo and Marcus were able to get names out of Joey,” our VP adds as he takes a seat and rubs his fingers over his growing black beard. I’m pretty sure he’s even smiling underneath the facial hair, a rare occurrence that I seriously doubt has anything to do with torture.

  “Names? All three of the other men?” I demand for clarification.

  “Yeah, the other men,” Winston replies. “But that doesn’t mean they’re legit. The asshole could’ve made the shit up just to try and get us off his back, so we’ll finally kill him.”

  Winston may have his doubts, but I know in my gut that this is it. It’s taken us a little over two months, but we’re finally going to make the bastards who hurt Tessa and those other three women pay.

  “How’s your leg?” I ask when I remember that he took a shot Friday night.

  “I’m fine,” he answers with an actual smirk rather than scowl. “Better than fine, actually. Zoe’s moving in with me.”

  “Good for you,” I tell him, even though I’m jealous. Not of his stepsister, Zoe, but of being able to go to bed and wake up with the woman he loves each and every day while the woman I care for was hurt so badly that she can’t stand to be touched. At least not by me, a man. It takes every ounce of willpower in me not to wrap her in my arms whenever I see her, wishing I could make everything better.

  Finally, the rest of the men hurry in with Roman on their heels, taking his seat at the head of the table.

  “Thanks for coming in so early. I figured you would all be happy to hear that we were able to get what we needed out of Joey,” Roman starts. “After…applying a little more pressure yesterday, he didn’t change his tune, insisting that the three names and addresses he gave us will lead us to the last of the bastards who were kidnapping and hurting women.”

  “So when are we going after them?” I ask.

  “Soon,” Roman answers. “But you know how this works. First, we need to confirm their identities. I’ve asked Reece at our mother chapter to do some digging and email his findings to me. I want to see where these fuckers live, who they know, and the best way to isolate them.”

  “How fucking long is that going to take?” I snap at him.

  “As long as it fucking takes,” Roman replies with his eyebrow arched in warning.

  “What if they’re out there kidnapping other women while we’re sitting here screwing off?” I demand.

  “You’re right,” Roman says as he leans back in his chair and narrows his eyes at me. “We should all just hop on our bikes right now, swing by the addresses, and blow the heads off everyone who lives there in broad daylight to end these assholes without any concern for our own lives.”

  “You know what I mean,” I grit out.

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison. I doubt you and the other eight men at this table want that either.”

  “I’m not saying we have to be careless, just quick,” I mutter.

  “You’ve always been too goddamn impulsive, Verek. And one of these days, that character flaw is going to bite you in the ass. You know I want these men dead as soon as you do, but there’s a certain way to go about it! We have to be smart, methodical. Consider every option to take them out and everything that could go wrong before we act.”

  I get it. I know we can’t go off half-cocked, but fuck, I want to end these assholes for Tessa.

  “If they had done this to Charlotte, do you think you would still want to wait?” I ask him.

  “You better watch your fucking mouth,” Roman warns, pointing his finger at me. “You’re on thin ice for showing up at the safe house and seeing Tessa after I forbade it!”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot you think you’re her father,” I retort as the rest of the table falls so silent you can’t even hear anyone breathing.

  “While she’s living with me and Charlotte, it’s my responsibility to keep her safe and happy. Not yours. I’ve told you a thousand times, Tessa doesn’t need you fucking with her head! Now, this is my goddamn table and it’s my decision how we go after these men, unless you want to challenge me for the gavel?” he asks, picking the wooden mallet up by the handle.

  I grit my teeth together but don’t answer. I don’t want to be the fucking president, not that I think I would have enough votes even if I wanted to try and overthrow Roman. All I want is to finish this shit for Tessa so she can move on with her life.

  I can’t even ar
gue that he’s wrong about letting me see her.

  It’s my fault she left the club the night she was abducted. That’s why I have to be the one to make it right, to try and make amends by killing the men who hurt her.

  Tessa

  * * *

  “So, how was your weekend?” Dr. Burgess, my psychiatrist, asks as soon as I get seated on the light blue sofa in her office.

  “Fine,” I answer truthfully. Living with Charlotte and Roman isn’t ideal, but it’s better than being alone back in Raleigh. Or with Paul. And I definitely can’t tell her that Friday night, Roman and the Savage Kings were able to find one of my attackers and that he’s currently being held hostage and tortured for the other names.

  “Are you still having nightmares?” she asks as her pen moves across the notepad in her lap.

  God, I hate that question. What I have are not nightmares. They’re real. Every night when I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, I’m right back in that damn van. I feel the same terrifying helplessness, knowing the horrors that await me but being completely unable to prevent what is coming. I thought I was going to die when I woke up in the storage facility with tape over my mouth. A man I didn’t know and hadn’t seen in the van was on top of me, inside me, biting my breast hard enough to make me bleed while the others held me down. When he finished, they locked my head and wrists in the stocks and…well, that’s when I wanted to die because what they did to me hurt so much. I never knew pain like that existed. I don’t know how a human body can survive such agonies.

  It’s not a nightmare. It’s the events I survived just eight or so weeks ago, replaying on a constant loop in my head. The only peace I get is at the end, when I’ve been left alone for hours that feel like days in the cold, dark unit, before I hear Verek’s voice and see his face when he carries me out of that hellhole. Only then can I finally sleep soundly for a few short hours before it all starts over.