Page 3 of Filthy Savage

Not that I have anything of value in my apartment. It’s just better that people don’t know my business. I’d rather not be seen or heard. I’m better off being invisible and nonexistent.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asks.

If I could get in my car and just drive away without looking like a complete fucking asshole, I would. Giving her a forced smile, I clear my throat.

“Yes and no,” I lie.

Her brows snap together. Heather is pretty, tall, and thin, but she’s really nosy. She wants to know everyone’s business, and she’s not shy about telling you everyone else’s, too. Which is why I try not to tell her a damn thing about myself.

“Which is it, then?” she asks on a laugh.

My gaze flicks to the apartment building, then back to her as I try to think of something to tell her that she’ll believe. I’ve got nothing, so I have to give her a partial truth. I’m so discombobulated about Humble that I can’t even think straight anyway.

“I’m going to visit my brother for a few days,” I say.

Heather blinks. “Your brother?”

I hum. I don’t talk about Humble to many people, mainly because I don’t want anyone to look him up. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about who he is. I love Humble with all I have. We are trauma-bonded for life. But I don’t want to be affiliated withthem. I don’t want that club to be part of my identity.

If he weren’t part of them, if he weren’t a Dark Horse, I would shout from the rooftops that Humble Maddison is my brother—my flesh and blood. Maybe it makes me a shitty person. I’m not sure, but I was raised in that chaos, and I want nothing to do with it. I don’t want to be part of any of it.

And I sure as shit don’t want to tell anyone about it.

BREW

The cabin is quiet.I know I shouldn’t spend this much time out here. I should be with the club, but I can’t help it. When my brother gave it to me, I knew I had found home. He was right to keep a place of solitude away from everything and everyone.

Away from the club, the booze, the women.

Never in my life did I think I would prefer solitude to a woman’s warm body—any woman’s warm body. But I can’t think when I’m at the clubhouse, and maybe I’m just getting fucking old, but sometimes I just want the quiet.

Walking over to the fridge, I grab a beer and slam the door closed, then make my way to the living room and sink down on the sofa. As I lift the beer to my lips, I reach for the remote control and touch the power button.

There aren’t any available television channels here, no cable of any kind, but luckily, I was able to get Internet and have a few streaming services. Thanks to those crazy satellite star trains that slide across the sky some nights.

I turn on a streaming service and continue watching a show I’ve been trying not to binge. It’s some shit that all the old ladies were talking about, something about the king and queen of England back in the 1800s or some shit. There’s sex in it, so it holds my interest.

As I stare at the screen, I start to zone out, and when I do, I think abouther.

Spencer Maddison.

The one drunken night I had with her was the best night of my fucking life. It shocked the goddamn shit out of me. Not that she was a virgin, but the way that being with her made me feel.

I made a big deal about it afterward and ignored the hell out of her, too. It was the exact opposite of how I felt on the inside. I was an asshole every second I acted that way, but I had to.

Spencer would have never left Pineville had I done what I wanted with her. Because I wanted to keep her forever. I wanted to fuck her until there was nothing left of either of us, but thankfully, I was well aware of the fact that I was thirty-one and she was seventeen.

Spencer needed to live her life. She had a lot of it left to go, and I’d already gone through my twenties. I’d been completely free and done what I wanted, the way I wanted it. I’d built a life that was perfect for me.

But Spencer had dreams of her own. I knew it, and as selfish as I am, I couldn’t do that to her. For the first time in my life, I didn’t allow myself to indulge completely, only a little, and honest to fuck, that little was a bit too much. I was hooked on her immediately.

But I had to let her go.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, watching her drive away.

Lifting my beer to my lips, I take a long drink and then hiss as it slides down my throat. I have to restart my show. My fucking thoughts have taken over, and if I don’t pay attention to this show, I have no clue what’s going on. I have to concentrate because of their accents, and I feel dumb as fuck, too, while I do it.

Which only makes me laugh at myself, mainly because IknowI’m dumb as fuck. I got shit grades in school, didn’t go past high school, and only ever aspired to be part of the Dark Horse MC. It has always been my sole purpose in life.

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