Page 50 of Filthy Savage

Nash shrugs a shoulder before he speaks. “I don’t know what they have going on or what their priorities are. I also wouldn’t be making a phone call. I would go over there myself.”

“And what? Ask to be killed?” I ask. “Fuck that.”

Nash chuckles, but I can tell he is not finding any of this funny. This is fucking with his good time, with the focus of his club. And it’s also clear that the Southern Mafia was not on his radar, at least not the way that Atomic thinks it was.

“They won’t kill you. That club is, without a doubt, not worried about us.”

“Then how did we get where we are?” I ask. “What you’re saying and what actually happened are two totally different things.”

Clearing his throat, Nash places his palms on the table, though he doesn’t slam them down the way Atomic did just a few moments ago. Nash leans forward slightly, bending his elbows as he does.

“I’m going to tell you something about the club, the way we began. You won’t like it, and you’re going to look at me differently, at your fathers differently.”

King reaches out and places his hand over Nash’s. “Dad,” he rasps, “we know that the club was far from clean back in the day. It’s still not.”

Nash dips his chin once, then he inhales a deep breath, holding it for a moment before he lets it out slowly. He has something heavy to say to us. I can tell by the way his hands tremble slightly.

“When we were trying to start the club, drugs just didn’t make enough money. We didn’t have capital for loans. There were only a few things that we could do to get the ball rolling. We were young and starting families.”

“Dad,” King warns. “Stop dancing around.”

“We did transports, but it wasn’t of guns and drugs.”

“Nash,” Atomic growls.

Nash lifts one of his hands, scrubbing it down his face before he continues. “We lured and kidnapped girls and took them to different drop-off locations.”

Silence.

I don’t know what to say, what to think. But thankfully, Atomic speaks so that I don’t have to. “As much as I want to judge all of you, I can’t. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“We were disgusting. And doing that shit wears on you. You’re never the same after that. None of us were,” he says, as hegets this faraway expression on his face. Then he shakes his head once, his expression dark and full of guilt. I hate that shit. We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of, and this is no different.

“But if you want to talk to the Richmond club, I can make that happen for you,” Nash murmurs.

“Only if you come with us,” King says. “I think we’re going to need you.”

King is right. We do need Nash, and whatever the fuck he has guilt over, maybe this will assuage that. Though, I doubt it. Kidnapping girls and delivering them into a lifetime of selling their bodies is probably not something that you ever trulyget over.

“I’ll set it up, but I’m not going. They won’t do anything to you. I have a feeling that whatever Albert and Loner did was solely on them and nobody else.”

I hope Nash is right. I want him to be right. Going to war doesn’t feel like something I want to do right now. We just finished all that shit with Albert and Loner, with the Shreveport Southern Mafia.

“Now, let’s fuckin drink,” Nash announces.

SPENCER

A professional chef,I am not. But I can’t deny that the baked chicken sitting on top of baby tomatoes and garlic, smothered in mozzarella and marinara, served over a plate of pasta, is delicious.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Guts grunts.

I shrug a shoulder, swinging my legs beneath me. We’re sitting on the edge of the porch, our legs dangling in the air, or at least mine are. Guts’ are firmly on the ground because he’s probably six inches taller than me.

These men are all giants, and instead of that being intimidating, it makes me feel safe. Supersafe. I’m not sure why. They are not the good guys, never have been. I’ve known that my entire life, but good or bad, they are comfortable.

“I had to learn a lot when I went out on my own,” I say with a shrug of my shoulder.

He hums but thankfully doesn’t say anything. That is, until he clears his throat and I know he’s about to get serious. I can feel his eyes on my profile as he watches me. I don’t look at him. I focus on my food. In fact, it has become the most important thing in my life at the moment.

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