Page 8 of Filthy Savage

“And you’re still pissed off about it, which means you give a shit, Spence. Take the night to cool off and have a drink with Ophelia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I open my mouth to tell him to screw off or something of that sort, but he doesn’t allow me to say a word. Instead, he spins around and walks back into the clubhouse, leaving me standing in the hot gravel parking lot with my mouth open like a fish out of water.

Stomping my foot again, I let out a huff and stomp to my car door. I hate the fact that I don’t hate him. I want to. But I can’t. He’s beautiful, his smile is still amazing, and his rich laughter makes my entire body tremble. Traitorous body.

As angry as I am at the situation, I do know they care. They love Humble. They don’t want him locked away. It’s not like theysacrificed him or threw him under the bus. I just really hate that he was put in this position. I wish he had never joined this stupid club. Then he wouldn’t be in jail—but at the same time, it could be worse.

Sinking down into the driver’s seat of my car, I stare at the closed clubhouse door, wondering, not for the first time, what my life would have been like had I stayed or maybe had I come back to Pineville directly after college.

I’d probably still be single, alone, and pining overthatman. And he’d be himself, screwing women left and right, especially as hot as he is. So… exactly where I am now in my life. And likely exactly where he is, too. With a heavy sigh, I back away and drive off the property.

I try really hard not to think about the what-ifs.

I don’t need to think about that at all.

As I turn onto the county road that heads back to town, back to my motel room, I put in a search for a charging station. There is only one, which is at a truck stop at the very edge of town. I’m actually a little shocked that there is one anywhere near Pineville. I thought for sure I would have to drive to the next town.

It doesn’t take me long to get there. I pull into the truck stop and begin charging my car, taking that time to check my email. I have a few professional correspondences—a new client request and several current clients who need me to work on some items.

Thankfully, I’m fully caught up on my back projects, so I can go to the motel, get these done in a few hours, and then I’ll be ready for a new day. I’ve been diligent about staying on top of things since starting my own business and always looking forward to starting fresh the next day.

Except now, thinking about a new day makes me think of Humble and how he’ll be waking up in a jail cell alone. Caged like an animal.

I hate this.

Tears fill my eyes and begin to fall as I think about my brother. I don’t want him in that place, and I’ve been a bitch to him. He’s all I have, and I haven’t been the best sister I can be. I could have been better. I could have been kinder.

I ran away from Pineville and Brew, but I also ran away from Humble. I haven’t seen him for the holidays, and I haven’t spent enough time with him. Phone calls and text messages only go so far, and I’ve been a shit sister.

Brew has a right to feel some kind of way about the situation—about me. From the outside, I look like the shit sister I am. There’s no way around it. But that’s all going to change. If nothing else, this has woken me up to my part in all of this. I shouldn’t care what kind of life Humble leads as long as he’s good to me, and he is—undoubtedly, unwaveringly.

Once my car is recharged and my thoughts are organized, I head back to the motel. I should probably get some food before I retire to the room for the night, but then I remember the box of sweets waiting for me and decide to just eat dessert for dinner.

I’m not really feeling like eating actual food tonight, anyway. I just want to curl into a ball and cry. This did not turn out the way I wanted it to. I wanted to walk into that place like a badass and tell those guys exactly what I thought about them.

But Brew wouldn’t let me, and when I tried, he just told me to cool off. I hate that. I don’twantto cool off. I want to tell him how much he pisses me off. I want to be mad. But I’m not anymore.

I’m tired.

Exhausted even.

BREW

That woman is completely fuckingspicy, and I want nothing more than to fuck the bitch right out of her. It’s clear to me that she’s got some pent-up aggression. I have a feeling it’s going to be a damn good fucking time.

It’s going to happen, too.

Seeing her again, and the way I felt the moment I touched her face. Fuck me, but I need to be inside of her. I shouldn’t have let her go the first time. I won’t make that fucking mistake again.

She wasn’t mine to have ten years ago. She was still finding herself, but beyond that, she was far too fucking young for me. And I think Clink might have actually killed me had he discovered us. I know I would have if the tables were turned.

It should have never happened. It wasn’t right, and I felt like a piece of shit for a long time after it all went down. Not just a piece of shit, but I felt like a pervert. It shouldn’t have ever gone that far. She wasn’t even eighteen yet, and I was a goddamn full-fledged adult.

I still can’t believe it happened.

Drunk or not, I shouldn’t have done it. I woke up the next morning, saw her beside me, and winced at the sight. She was so fucking beautiful lying there, and I’d treated her like one of the clubwhores—I’d used her body for my own self-gratification.

I was filled with regret, but I was also the happiest I’d ever been in my fucking life, a contradiction I couldn’t process—still quite can’t. I could sit and analyze it every day for the rest of my life. Think and categorize why I did what I did, but there’s no sense in it.

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