Page 67 of Filthy Savage

I’ve kept Jasmine out of my mind, pushed her away as far as I can to the depths of my thoughts, but my brother is correct. Thiswoman has my balls. It’s not out of anything other than pity and sympathy. I hate that she lost a child. I equally hate that I lost one as well. Our baby would have been around nine right now.

Maybe because I’m a man, I shouldn’t think about those things, but I can’t help it. I may have never imagined myself with a woman of my own, having an old lady, or any of that shit. But I imagined having a baby.A son. Maybe even two or three… fuck, maybe a whole houseful.

And now that Spencer is in my bed, I want them with her. I want a whole household of wild boys who have her blonde hair, who have her determination, who have her fierce loyalty. Who are as tough as I am and also as soft as she is at the same time.

“I guess it’s time to cut that string,” I mutter.

“Snip fucking snip,” King says with a chuckle. “And tell your woman the truth because there is no way you’re getting out of any of this shit with half-truths.”

He’s right. I’m not. So I dip my chin in a nod, then make my way into the bathroom to take a quick shower.

I can hear them chuckle behind me. I know they aren’t laughing at me, but rather my situation, and I have to admit that if the tables were turned, I would be laughing my ass off right now.

Because the situation that I’m in, I put myself in it years ago. And I allowed it to go from bad to worse, to snowball into what it is today. Jasmine obviously believes that she has more power than she actually does when it comes to me. She also imagines that we’re together in some capacity.

That shit stops now.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

SPENCER

The angerthat simmers just below the surface is beyond anything that I’ve felt before. But it’s time for me to push that aside. I’ve been approved to visit my brother. Which means I’m one step closer to seeing him and leaving Pineville.

My car has a full charge, I’ve caught up on all of my work, and I’ve been able to avoid everyone associated with the Dark Horse MC for days, aside from Rim or Guts, depending on the time of day. They still won’t leave my side. But I’ve been holed up in the motel room for days, so I’ve actually been able to avoid them, too.

I feel stupid. And I hate that. I want to get this meeting with Humble finished and head home. That is the goal: make it to the prison visitation and get the fuck out of Pineville. Evan can have that woman. They can have each other and live however the hell they want to live.

But I won’t be the naive fool at home begging for scraps of him. I refuse. Ten years ago, it would have been a dream cometrue, but not anymore. No matter how he makes me feel. No matter how badly I want him. It’s not worth my mental health.

Closing my computer, my work not only caught up again but ahead. I walk around the room to stretch my muscles. I’ve been sitting for too long.

Honestly, I’ve been cooped up in this room forever. I should go for a walk and get some sunshine. I should go to the bakery since I didn’t when the girls asked me to. I should do a lot of things, but I don’t.

I stay holed up in my room for another day.

Another night.

And then there is a knock on the door. It’s not a knock so much as a bang. It is so loud, bouncing off the walls around me, that it causes me to jump. It’s not Guts, which is who it would be at this time of the afternoon.

Guts would never bang his fist on the door. He’d also call out and tell me it was him. This person has not done that, which means it can only be one person. Tiptoeing over to the door, I look out the peephole and let out a breath.

It’s him.

Dammit.

His angry gaze stares straight ahead, and I swear he can see my eyeball through the peephole. His face is set, his jaw locked tight, and my breath hitches. I want to back away slowly, but I swear he can hear and see me.

The way he’s staring, the angered expression on his face, I don’t think I’ll get out of this without speaking to him. Then I shake my head, clearing my anxious thoughts.

Wait one minute.

Why is he angry?

I’m the one who should be—and I am—pissed off. He’s the one who kept this woman from me. Why, I don’t even know. He’s the one who said there was no one else, that nobody hadbeen in that cabin, that he had no other women, and yet she knew exactly where he was living and popped up like a jealous girlfriend.

With a renewed sense of a straight-up pissed-off woman, I reach for the knob of the door and wrench it open, anger coursing through my veins. This man has the good sense to wrench his shoulder back as if I’ve physically pushed him, my energy having hit him harder than I think I ever could.

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