Page 3 of Savage Guardian

Eighteen months later….

Hawk slammed the drink down on the table, swallowed down the smooth burn of Scotch whisky, and perused the night’s pick of pussy. Ginger. Brunette. Blonde. Tall. Petite. Skinny. Curvy. There were so many to choose from, it was like his very own pussy buffet.

Heaving a sigh, he stretched his neck, desperate to relieve the knots of stress and tension making a living in his shoulders. As a member of the Savage Raiders MC, life was fucking good. He had more money than he could ever spend, a brotherhood he could depend on, and all the pussy he could ever want. But with all that came the stress of being “on” all the time. Just as he expected his brothers to step up, they expected the same from him, and he delivered every time.

After a long week of dealing with a spoiled heiress and her crazy ass whims, he was ready to unwind.

And speaking of unwind….He watched as one of the Raiders’ club bitches slinked across the room toward him. They often hunted for brothers at the club owned properties since so many of his brothers had full-time gigs that kept them from the clubhouse for most of the day and night. Hawk hadn’t been back to the clubhouse since before he’d been assigned his last security job, and it looked like Amelia was coming to show him how much she missed him.

He smirked, lifting his chin to her to acknowledge her.

She grinned back, her eyes lighting up with the promise of a night of hard, nasty fucking.

“Amelia,” he said, lifting his hand to signal the waitress for a beer. He wanted Amelia nice and hydrated for what he had planned.

“Hawk,” she purred, not even bothering to ask before sliding into his lap, right on top of his hard dick. He groaned and slipped his arms around her tiny waist, his hands moving down to grip the globes of her ass, which was barely covered in cut-offs so miniscule, they were barely public legal. Her tits were pushed up and practically falling out of her bright pink corset top, which showed off said tits to perfection while showing off her trim waist.

Of all the club girls, Amelia was the most…colorful. Her hair was short, pitch black, with bright orange tips. Her eyelashes were bright green, and her lips were a dark blue. He didn’t mind all the rest of it, but her lipstick always made his dick look like it had been dipped in Smurfette’s wet cunt.

Leaning in, Amelia dragged her nose along his neck, her hands pressed against the hardness of his chest. His cock, hard and eager to get inside her familiar pussy, jerked against the teeth of his zipper.

“Let’s get out of here, baby,” Amelia cooed, the scent of beer on her breath. Apparently, she’d been pre-partying before hitting the bar. Not unusual for club sluts looking to score. He often wondered, though, if the booze was just one more way of numbing whatever emotional pain they were hoping to suffocate by banging bikers.

What the fuck is wrong with you right now?Why did he even care about some club bitch’s emotional pain, as long as her pussy was wet?

The shrill call of his cell split the strange rising tension. Quickly checking the screen, he answered, giving Amelia a chin lift to tell her it was club business. She huffed and scrambled off his lap to sit in the chair across from him. Knowing her place, she leaned back in her seat, crossed her arms, and pouted at him. Her thick, glossy lips always looked good choking on his cock, but right now they did nothing for him.

Fuck.

“Prez, what can I do for you?” he asked, wary as hell and not at all ready to deal with club business. He needed a full week to mentally recover from his last shit assignment.

“You on assignment right now?” Odin’s deep voice ground out. As president of the MC, Odin had his hands in all the pies, but his baby was the MC’s private security company, Savage Protection, where Hawk worked as a personal security professional, which was a fancy way of saying a bodyguard.

He trained his ass off for hours a day, mastered tactical firearms, beat his body to shit on the MMA mat, and he was stuck babysitting rich assholes and vapid bitches. The pay was great, but the payout was shitty.

But Savage Protection was one of several legit businesses owned and operated by the club. Which made working there part of his duty as a Savage Raider. So, he’d sack the fuck up, do his damn job, and get paid wads of cash for it.

With what he made as a bodyguard and working the odd shift as a bouncer at Up to No Good, Hawk was making nearly a million a year. And sense he lived frugally, ate at the club or the bar, and lived in worn jeans and t-shirts, he barely spent a dime. He was sitting pretty, living his best life, at only thirty-four-years old.

Yeah, but will that money keep you warm at night?Money had done nothing warm for his family, who’d been born with titles and legacies stamped on their asses. And those titles and legacies had done nothing forhim, either, except ruin his fucking life.

Where the hell had that thought come from? Who gave a fuck if he waswarm? Las Vegas was hot as balls. And besides that, he preferred sleeping alone.

That way he could listen to Aoibheal on repeat as he crashed.

So, no, money didn’t keep him warm, but the pussy he was taking home tonight would. The club bitch, even now desperate to get back to grinding on his cock, was ripe for the plucking.

“I just got off from a week babysitting a Greek heiress who, apparently, has a crush on one of the fancy-ass acrobats in the Cirque show. Which means I just spent the last week sitting around their penthouse at The Venetian listening to them fuck like double-jointed rabbits, when they weren’t ordering room service. Get this…lots and lots of tapioca. That shit is fucking nasty! And I don’t even want to know what the hell they were doing with all of that.”

Chuckling, Odin asked, “Got anything coming up?”

Hawk bit back a weary sigh. “No…what’cha got?” Hopefully, it was a job he could do in his sleep, because he was beyond fucking exhausted, and just about done with people for the next month. But he was a Savage Raider, a brother, and loyal to the motherfucking death. If his prez needed him for club business or Savage Protection business, he’d fucking step up without complaint. Unless tapioca was involved.

His body strung tight—weary, wary, and worn—he nearly snapped in two with his prez’s reply.

“Aoibheal.”

Breath exploding from his lungs, Hawk’s body jerked.

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