by Brook Wilder
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Savage copyright @ 2019 by Brook Wilder and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
BOOKS IN THE SOUTHERN BIKERS SERIES
WRECKED
SHATTERED
DEFILED
PROTECTOR
GUARDIAN
SENTINEL
MONSTER
SAVAGE
HELLION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SAVAGE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
OTHER BOOKS BY BROOK WILDER
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BOOKS IN THE SOUTHERN BIKERS SERIES
WRECKED
SHATTERED
DEFILED
PROTECTOR
GUARDIAN
SENTINEL
MONSTER
SAVAGE
HELLION
SAVAGE
Chapter One
JANE
Literally, it had been a long road to get here. The cross-country bus ride had taken almost three days, but I was desperate to leave home and start over. I didn’t have time for airport security and delayed flights. I just had to leave. Besides, sitting on the bus and looking at the passing scenery gave me time to think about the screwed-up mess I was in, also known as ‘my life.’ Things would have been better if I’d used some common sense and ignored my heart; the only times I’d been truly content were when I’d listened to my gut and not to a man.
“Do you mind if I wait with you?” A soft voice interrupted my thoughts. An older woman stood by the bench in the bus stop shelter. I’d plopped my gigantic backpack down on the only other available seat.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude,” I said as I pulled the heavy pack off the bench and onto the ground. “It was thoughtless.”
“I saw you on the bus,” she continued as she sat down, “when I got on in Grand Junction. I was visiting family there. I hate flying. You looked deep in thought. Don’t worry. After this bus, we’ll be in Mesa.” She looked at my pack on the ground. It looked as if the seams were about to burst. “Are you visiting family?”
I laughed. I was trying to get away from family. “No, I have a friend in Mesa. We went to college together, but I dropped out to get married.”
She looked at my left hand, but I no longer wore my wedding ring. I hocked that gold band for my bus ticket. It was the only thing that had worked out for me in that bad marriage.
“My name’s Valerie Cosby, by the way.” We shook hands.
Valerie struck me as one of those people who liked people and had a harmless, curious nature. It felt nice to be around someone without having to keep my guard up.
“My name’s Jane Wheeler. It’s nice to meet you.”
My posture relaxed. I used to be friendly and open until my almost ex-husband scared off anyone who dared to speak to me. Even the mailman was scared to look me in the eye.
“I went back to school after I married,” she continued. “I’m glad I did. A degree is a good thing to have when you start looking for a job. Are you planning to settle down here?”
My eyes went to my bag that laid at my feet. “I might. This looks like a nice area. My friend’s family has a cabin not too far from here.”
Valerie laughed and I wasn’t sure why she’d found that amusing, but she was a talker, and I knew she’d tell me. “Whiterock Lake is a wonderful and peaceful area, but Mesa is nothing like this. Unless you’re on the Southside.”
“What’s the Southside?”
“It’s full of solidly middle and upper-class neighborhoods. Safe neighborhoods.”
I looked at my bag again. Valerie had an expensive travel suitcase, with wheels and one of those pull-out handles. I wondered where she thought I fit in.
“On the Southside,” she continued, “you go to Starbucks to by a four-dollar coffee. On the Northside, you buy it in a Styrofoam cup off a truck.”
My companion smiled at her own clever analogy. I looked at her perfectly colored hair and manicured nails, all-weather sports jacket, and logo handbag that matched her suitcase. She wore several rings, a few of them with massive jewels, on her fingers. I knew which side of town she bought her coffee on without even asking.
“Once the bus comes,” she said, “it’ll be only a fifteen minute ride to Mesa. But economically, they’re worlds apart. I live here but I work in a medical building on the Northside. What type of work do you do?”
I surprised myself by opening up to her. “I wanted to be a veterinarian. I spend a lot of time outdoors. My family is from Kentucky. I haven’t spent much time in the city, but I’m looking forward to a change.”
A loud noise coming down the winding mountain road cut off our conversation. We watched as a man passed by on a massive motorcycle. He was obviously a member of an MC. He wore his colors proudly on his built body. Valerie looked down at her purse and covered it with her hands. It was amusing to watch her shield her belongings, but the man couldn’t have cared less. He obviously had somewhere to go. Besides, if he had demanded her purse, I’m certain she’d have handed it over with a smile and a curtsy.
When the man was out of sight, Valerie leaned closer to me and whispered, “There are several motorcycle gangs in Mesa. You’ll have to be careful of them. They’re the reason the crime rate is so high. They keep the police busy. I’m a better crime fighter than the sheriff.”
“My friend’s father is the sheriff.”
Valerie’s eyes widened. She must have wanted to eat her words, but her social blunder didn’t stop her from talking. “Oh, Sheriff West? Your friend is Sheriff West’s daughter?”
I nodded and waited patiently for her to spill the beans.
“Such a shame. The sheriff losing his other daughter like that, but crime is a blight for everyone. Still, the motorcycle gangs are a real menace.”
“That they are,” I replied.
Motorcycle gangs? I hadn’t heard that term in forever. The only person I know who had was my father, and he was well into his sixties. Personally, I thought guys on bikes were hot, but my taste in men hadn’t done me any favors.
“Will you be staying with the Wests?” asked Valerie.
I had a feeling my connection had piqued her interest.
“At first, but I want to get a place of my own and put my life back on track.”
“You’re awfully young to have to get your life on track,” she commented in a motherly way.
“I was married, and my husband was abusive,” I replied stiffly. Just mentioning him made me close up.
“Oh Jane, I am sorry to hear that. Here’s my card. They’re always looking for new employees at the medical building. And it’s three floors of doctors,” she hinted hopefully. “
Perhaps, you could find a nice one to date. You’re a very pretty girl. You remind me of myself when I was younger.”
I stifled a laugh. Valerie was attractive, but were looks the only thing we had in common?
“I meant I wanted different things in life before I met my first husband,” she explained. “After I divorced him, I took off on my own and traveled to South America.”
That caught my interest. “That’s cool. Where did you go?”
“It was cool.” Her eyes gazed at the California mountains as if she were seeing South America again. “I went to Peru and I climbed Machu Picchu. It was a life changing experience. I’m glad you chose to strike out on your own. Many women don’t. They can’t imagine the options they have because the initial step is so hard to take.”
My hands were cold and I stuck them in the pocket of my sweat jacket. I blamed the sudden chill I felt on the weather. It was August, but I had foolishly worn blue jean cut-offs. I figured the entire state of California was eighty degrees all year long. I sat there and thought about my options.
“I want more,” I said quietly. “I want to change my destiny. I wasn’t born to be any man’s punching bag. My father raised me to have a backbone, and I can take care of myself.”
Valerie rubbed my slumped shoulder. “You can, dear, but it would also be okay to meet someone nice.”
I laughed. “You’re good people, Valerie. My dad would be relieved to know I met you on my first day in California.”
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket. Trying to save the battery, I’d had it off for most of the trip. I only turned it back on to call my friend, Felicity, who was Sheriff West’s daughter and my best friend. Andrew’s name and number flashed across the screen, and I sucked in air through my teeth.
“Excuse me,” I said to Valerie. “It’s the ex-husband. It figures the second I turn on my phone, he calls.” I didn’t bother to explain to her that he wasn’t quite my ex yet.
I tapped ‘ignore’ and the phone went silent. I scanned my voicemail. I had 24 messages from Andrew and one from Felicity.
“The bus is here, Jane.” Valerie was on her feet. “You’re a strong woman. Just keep trying every day, and then one day, you’ll be thankful that you did.”
I smiled at her optimism. “Thanks, Valerie.”
We dragged my pack to the bus and got onboard.
Chapter Two
LUIS
My friend and bro, Oscar Nieto, stood in the driveway, looking pissed. His momma’s stucco house on the Northside of Mesa was decorated with balloons and banners in his honor. Sounds of music and laughter drifted out of the windows as the people inside waited to welcome Oscar home from a two year stay in prison. But he just stood there glaring at the door while I stood behind him smirking.
“Luis,” he snarled. “You could have told me.”
“And have your mother pissed at me while you hide at the clubhouse sulking?”
“I don’t sulk,” Oscar barked.
I laughed at him. “Sí, you do. Just find a girl and go get laid. It will put a smile back on your face.”
“Is that why you’re always smiling?” Oscar laughed.
“My jaw hurts from all the smiling,” I replied, smirking.
We headed up the stoop and through the front door. While Oscar greeted the well-wishers, I headed toward the kitchen in the back. The kitchen was the most up-to-date room in the two-story modest home. Momma Nieto loved to cook, so Oscar had bought her new stainless steel appliances and granite top countertops. Any spot where she didn’t have a pot, she had a plant. Her favorite ballads were playing on hidden speakers, but Momma was not at the stove.
Instead, Emilio sat at a small table. Whenever Emilio Nieto came to Momma’s house, he held court in the kitchen. He was Oscar’s cousin and the president of our club, the Cazadores. Emilio was a hard boss and could make a grown man shake and weep like a terrified child purely out of spite. It’d surprised me that Emilio had picked me for VP over Oscar who was a lieutenant. But I was the charmer, and Emilio and I had the ‘good cop - bad cop’ routine figured out.
Emilio kept his eyes on the kitchen door, and his right foot pointed toward the back. Momma Nieto disapproved of club talk, but when you have the president of the Cazadores in the house with his top men, you knew we’d be talking business. Nevertheless, that little woman would kick us out by the seat of our leather pants if she caught us, and we all knew it.
“Emilio.” I shook his hand, and he slapped my back. I tossed him his car keys. I wouldn’t pick Oscar up on a bike.
“Luis, you brought my nephew back?”
I nodded. “They let him out right at twelve, and I drove him here. No detours. Where’s Momma?”
“She’s off feeding someone, no doubt.”
Fernando Reyes, our third lieutenant, sat down at the table holding his stomach and grimacing. “We may have to make a run for some Pepto Bismal. The woman feeds us too much.”
We laughed as I took an empty seat. I checked to see if the coast was clear before I spoke. “We had no trouble on the way home, but I’m sure people know Oscar is out.”
Emilio held up his thick hand. The man had more rings than an old woman who’d been married countless times. “I’ll wait for Oscar. I want to have both my lieutenants present before I talk about our plans.”
Almost as if on cue, Oscar appeared in the kitchen.
“Hector says you want to clean up Mesa?” questioned Fernando.
Emilio laughed as he twisted a ring around his thick finger. “I have higher aspirations. I plan to run for office.”
Emilio went silent as Momma entered the room. She wrapped her arms around Oscar. She didn’t hug him for too long before she pulled away with a scowl on her face. I knew it was for me.
“Hey, someone has broken my rule.” Momma pointed a finger at all three of us huge men crowded around the little kitchen table. “Who parked their bike in front of my house?”
I looked at Momma and then the floor. I tried to look innocent and harmless, but it’s hard when you’re over six feet tall. She pointed her finger at me.
“You know better, Luis," she fussed. "No bikes in the front. Park it in the back.”
Laughing, Emilio swatted me on the back of my head as the others called me names. I stood up and towered over the kind woman who treated me like I was her own. Momma snipped loudly at me for being lazy, but I tolerated it because I knew she always cared.
“I need to take a ride anyway." I kissed Momma’s forehead to silence her then headed for the front door.
“When you come back,” she said, “park behind the house. Plenty of room in the back. And no colors in the house!”
Momma shouted at my back as I walked down the hall. I passed Marisol, but she would ignore me now that Oscar was back. Just as well, I didn’t need her too attached to me. She was fun in bed with her solid curves, but I doubted her loyalty to any one man. Marisol only looked after one person and that person was Marisol.
My bike sat on the side of the house near the driveway. Diego, the neighbor who lived a couple of houses away, watched me as I guided my bike onto the driveway. Momma would have a fit if I damaged the house Oscar had bought for her. I waved at Diego.
“Are you keeping an eye on the street?”
He yelled back, “Sí, I have to. I’m the neighborhood watch of one.”
“Why don’t you get a plate, Diego?” said Momma.
She was at my side as I swung my leg over my bike. Momma waved her oven mitt at Diego as if the smells of her tasty home cooking could reach his nose.
But Diego shook his head. “Maybe later.”
I knew why the old man stayed away. He didn’t want to associate with criminals, and the Cazadores had earned a reputation for violence and organized crime. No matter how many of our people we helped, the Cazadores would always be dirty. I grinned as I thought about Emilio trying to run for Mayor. He talked about it in detail around the kitchen table. But I shouldn’t judge
too soon. Maybe his crazy plan would work.
“Luis, mi hijo,” Momma said softly. “You put the bike in the back and come back inside. You know, I was just teasing you.”
“You hurt my wee feelings,” I purred, and she giggled. If Momma was a few years younger, and if Oscar wouldn’t kill me for touching his mother, I might have given it a go.
“You’re a flirt, Romeo.”
I smiled whenever she used my club nickname, Romeo. I had a reputation for pleasing the women. There were never any complaints.
I reached an arm around Momma’s plump, little body and hugged her next to mine. I liked the way she smelled like her kitchen and sometimes I imagined she was my real mother. Right now, she smelled like chocolate chip cookies. She heard me sniffing and whacked me with the oven mitt.
