Page 71 of Savage Fire

“Yes. Who is this? Why are you calling from Dr. Liz’s phone? Is she okay?”

A sob sounded over the line, and Trouble was shook, right down to his core.

That couldn’t be good.

“Darlin’, is there someone there who can talk to me?” Odin coaxed gently.

“N-no. It’s just me and Mama,” the little voice answered, and Trouble’s entire body vibrated.

Mama?

Liz was amother?

“Can we talk to your mama, sweetie?”

There was a rustling sound, like the little girl was shaking her head.

“She…she’s hurt. Bad. I ca-can’t wake her up.”

“Shit!” Odin muttered.

Trouble, speechless, his heart pounding, asked, “What happened to her?”

Silence. The introduction of a new voice probably scared the girl. Shit!

Odin pinned Trouble with a glare, then assured, “Sweetie, that’s my friend, and we are both friends of your mama. Can you tell us what happened?”

A sniffle, then, “He hurt her. She was screaming and he was hitting her, and she told me to hide. I waited until I heard him leave, then I found her. She was bleeding and she won’t wake up. I did what she said—I called you. She said that if something happened to her, I was supposed to call Odin.”

Call Odin…not Trouble.

Something twisted in his chest, an acknowledgement that Liz couldn’t trust him. He’d made sure of that with his actions ten years ago, and had spent those same ten years regretting it every fucking day. But that wasn’t what made the rage boil through his blood until he could scent it on his own skin.

Someone. Had. Hurt. Liz.

From the white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, Trouble knew Odin was feeling the same rage. No one fucked with their women, and despite the shit between Liz and Trouble, she was still considered under club protection. She was one of theirs. Besides that, Savage Raiders MC didn’t take kindly to any one hurtinganywoman—club protected or not.

“Okay, darlin’, you did good. Can you tell me where you are?” Odin inquired gently but urgently, knowing that getting to Liz could be life or death.

“Home.”

Odin, with screeching, burning tires, performed a 180-degree turn, and pointed the truck toward Spanish Hills, where Trouble knew the good doctor lived. Not that he’d ever been invited to set foot inside the lavish condo. Not that he ever would even if he had been. The time he was welcome in her home was long gone. Their life together long dead. Because he’d killed it.

“Alright, darlin’, we’re on our way. Hold tight, yeah?”

A soft, heart wrenching sob tore through the truck’s cabin and into Trouble’s body.

“Keep talkin’, darlin’,” Trouble coaxed. “So, Liz is your mama?”

“Y-yes.”

“How old are you?”

Fuck, please don’t let her be—

“Nine and a half.”

Deep in his belly, a knowing was slowly unfurling.

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