Page 90 of Filthy Savage

THIRTY-FIVE

SPENCER

Standing up on stage,Bren calls out for Kyle to turn up the music. She’s taught me a routine, and I’m a little too tipsy to actually do it. We’re almost finished here for the night. Shawn and Ryan need to get home to relieve their sitters.

We’ve snacked, drank, laughed, and now danced. I love this girls’ night. I’ve never laughed so much in my life. It’s amazing and beautiful all at the same time. Bren counts us off, and then we begin.

About five seconds into our routine, Bren bursts out laughing, mainly because I’m facing the wrong direction. Throwing my hands in the air, I spin around and bend in half as I giggle uncontrollably.

The music is lowered, and I sit down on the edge of the stage, my feet swinging back and forth as I attempt to control myself. Bren does the same beside me. I feel her gaze on me, so I turn my head to look over to her. I can’t wipe the smile from my face. This is the best night ever.

“I like you a lot, Spencer. I’m glad you joined this crew,” Bren murmurs.

“Me too,” I whisper. I feel like the cool girl. I’ve never been the cool girl.

Bren jumps down from the stage and heads toward the table where the other women are gathering their things. It’s well after midnight, and my cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much.

Shawn and Ryan give me a hug, promising to do it again soon. They leave the box of desserts they brought. I take a cookie and walk over to the stage again. My feet hurt, my whole body aches, actually, and it feels good.

Really good.

While I eat the cookie, I look down at my phone and send Evan a text that I’m ready to go. Staring at the device, I wait for his reply, but nothing happens. It saysDeliveredbeneath the message, but notRead.

Chewing my bottom lip, I shift from foot to foot. He’s not responding. A million things run through my head, and naturally, they’re all horrible.

“You good?” Kyle asks, making her way toward me.

I have no doubt I look as nervous and upset as I feel. I can’t believe it only takes one unread text to make me feel this way. I’m ridiculous. I should be a lot more confident in this relationship. Evan has done absolutely nothing to warrant my distrust, and yet, every single time anything could possibly be negative, I immediately go there.

“Brew hasn’t texted me back,” I murmur.

She looks over her shoulder at the door. Then she bites the corner of her lip before she shifts her attention back to meet mine. “There are two prospects outside. Do you want to talk to them? They may know something.”

As soon as she says those words, two men in prospect cuts walk into the room. Their gazes cut to me and then shift to Kyle. Bren appears at our side. She clears her throat and opens her mouth to say something, but one of the men beats her to it.

“We need you to stay here,” one of them says.

“Stay here?” I ask.

Kyle takes a step forward. “What is happening?” she demands.

The two of them shift their gazes, looking at one another, and then return their attention to us. They aren’t going to tell us anything, not really. They’re going to feed us something to stop us from asking questions, but they won’t tell us the truth.

“Are they hurt?” I ask.

The prospect who seems to be more in charge of this takes a step forward. His gaze never leaves mine before he shakes his head once. “Nobody is hurt. Nobody is in danger. We’re just keeping you here as a precautionary measure.”

I walk back to the table with the desserts and sink down in the chair I’d occupied earlier in the evening. Reaching for another cookie, I nibble on it, giving myself something to do.

At the prospects’ news, I’m instantly filled with dread. I don’t know what is happening, but if they’re keeping us here, if Evan isn’t coming to get me and take me home, it’s bad. Then my next thought hits, and I wonder why the hell I’m sittinghere. Why am I not going to the clubhouse?

I open my mouth to ask that when the door opens again, and I watch as Gnaw walks in. Kyle stands, starting to make her way toward him, but he holds up his hand. She pauses in place.

Sinking my teeth into the inside of my cheek, I listen as intently as possible as the men murmur among themselves.

Then I hear something that I do not like.

I hear her name.

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