Page 39 of Filthy Savage

“So, you checked out,” she hums, placing an ace of diamonds in the center.

I quickly put up my two of diamonds, then my three before she can get hers out. “Evan asked me to move in with him while I’m here and my brother is away.”

“Do you know where Humble’s going to be?” she asks.

I don’t want to answer the question, but at the same time, I know she’s not asking me to be rude. She’s asking me out of curiosity and concern. Ophelia has known me and Humble our whole lives. She’s been a constant at this motel and is more like a mother figure than I ever had in my own home.

“Texarkana, three years,” I rasp.

Admitting it, where my brother will be, what he’ll be doing, it makes me sick to my stomach. Not because I think he’s a bad person in any way. But because I don’t want him there. I don’t want him to have any of the experiences that come with being there. Humble has always been my protector, and I know there is nobody who can protect him.

“Long time, but definitely could be worse. Look on the bright side. You’re able to be here, close, for him.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod even though I don’t feel like I’m doing anything special by being here. In fact, I feel guilty. I’m selfish. Sure, I’m here, but at the same time, it’s not a hardship to be with Evan.

I’m not sacrificing anything. Unless multiple orgasms a day with the man of my dreams is a sacrifice. I don’t think it’s classified as that, though. I don’t feel like I’m sacrificing myself at all.

This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life. But I know that this is the most miserable Humble has been, and a pang of guilt slides through me at the thought.

“How about we take a break and go get some cupcakes?” Ophelia asks suddenly.

Lifting my hand to my cheek, I realize that I’m crying. Damn. I hate that. Wiping the tears away, I clear my throat and shift in my seat before I speak.

“You can’t leave the front desk unmanned. I’m okay. I promise.”

It is, without a doubt, a lie. I am not okay, not when it comes to my brother. I’m honestly not sure if I’ll ever be okay again. I haven’t seen him in far too long. I refused to come and visit him here because I was selfish and didn’t want to run into Brew.

In fact, selfishness seems to be a recurring theme when it comes to me. That thought slams into me. I’m selfish. I stayed away from Humble for my own reasons. I was a shit sister for no reason other than coming here made me feel some kind of way, and I didn’t want to face it.

“Ophelia,” I whisper.

She hums as she goes through the cards in her hand to check if she has any moves. “I’m a selfish asshole,” I say.

She slams her cards down. I lift my head, and my body jumps as my eyes find hers. “Shut your mouth, Spencer Maddison,” she snaps. “You are anything but. You’ve lived a life full to the brim with trauma, and you did what you needed to so you could protect yourself. That is not selfishness. That, dear, is self-preservation.”

Blinking, I clear my throat and slowly place my cards down as well. “There is a thin line between self-preservation and selfishness, Ophelia, and I have a feeling I lean toward self-centeredness.”

“Get your bags. This is too heavy for desserts. We’re going to Sal’s.”

Without another word, she stands, her purse in her hand, and marches toward the door. “What about the front desk?” I ask.

She turns her head, looks over her shoulder at me, and smirks. “You know as well as I do that nobody is checking in anytime soon. Now, come on.”

Without another word, she walks out of the door and heads straight for her old tank of a car. I quickly hurry behind her but hear her on the phone telling her husband to come down to the motel and man the front desk because she’s got an errand to run.

My lips curve up into a smile. She wasn’t going to leave her baby motel unattended, and that fact makes me smile. A few moments later, her car lurches forward, and we barrel straight for the strip club slash gambling house slash bar known as Sal’s Bar.

Ophelia parks right in front of the door, and I look at the bar entrance. All seems as if it’s in place, but I frown when my gaze travels to the back. There is new construction in the back of the bar.

Turning to Ophelia, I open my mouth to ask her, but it’s as if she can anticipate my question because she answers me almost immediately.

“The club has invested in Sal’s. They’re expanding.”

“The club?” I ask, even though I’m certain I know exactly what club she’s talking about.

Ophelia smiles. “The MC, hon. Now, let’s get a drink.”

She pushes open the door, unfolds from the car, and stands, brushing her palms down the front of her pants. I grab my laptop bag and do the same, minus the palms down my jeans thing since I’m wearing shorts, and that would be weird.

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