Page 18 of Savage Heart

And she’d once been mine….

No. He couldn’t think of that. Couldn’t think of the fact that he’d burned them to the ground, that the woman he’d seen that morning was no longer his to touch. To kiss. To feast upon. And, goddamn, did she look delicious as hell in those ass-hugging pants and fuck-me heels.

Some would consider Liz plus-sized—her thighs touched, her ass jiggled when she walked, she had a belly, and she’d once worn a size 12 pants…but the moment he’d felt all that softness hit his chest, and looked down and saw those stunning blue eyes go wide when she’d slammed against him that first night in the shitty bar, he’d wanted her. So fucking bad. And there hadn’t been a day in their months together that he hadn’t hungered for her. She’d beenitfor him, and he hadn’t given a shit what anyone said about the muscled badass with the plump co-ed. Anyone looking would say they didn’t fit, but…behind closed doors, in their hours together, just the two of them, he’d fallen so damn hard, so quickly, it had turned him inside out.

Not much had changed in ten years.

She’d filled out over the years; her ass was still plump and fine, her hips were a little wider, and her tits were bigger, fuller. She was still as cock-riling with her curves, silky hair, and unique face—a face that wasn’t traditionally beautiful but still made you look. Made you stare. Stole the breath from your lungswhen her bright blue eyes darkened with passion or lit up with laughter, and her lips were swollen from kisses and cock suckin’. And her creamy skin was flushed pink in desire, her big tits jiggling as she panted with pleasure—

Shit.

His cock took that moment to wake up, pressing against the inside of his jeans.

Amelia, her gaze on his crotch, assumed his hard on was for her, and pressed into him harder, and her hand dropped to his belt buckle, more than ready to undo his fly and suck his dick out in the open. And usually, he’d let her. He didn’t give a shit who was watching. But after that afternoon….

“Not tonight, sugah,” he rumbled, thankful that just then Odin stepped into the room, signaling for him to follow.

Thank fuck. Hopefully, Odin had something Trouble could do to keep his mind off of all the angry, regretful, painful shit twisting through him—body and soul.

Pushing Amelia off, he ignored her angry huff, and turned and followed his prez out the door toward the man’s massive matte black on black Ram truck. He was ready to get the fuck out the clubhouse and do something that would get his mind off of all the shit living in it. Wallowing in it.

With the hell that had gone down with the Calderone Cartel, Fang’s Hive drama, and the news from the Stonecutters, he was ‘bout ready to drink and fuck himself into a coma. But he couldn’t do that. He was the VP of the Savage Raiders MC, and that fucking meant something, even when it didn’t. Even when the demons from his past rose up to clamp their icy cold hands around his ankles to drag him back into the pit of memories, agony, and humiliation.

Throwing open the passenger door, he climbed up and onto the seat, slamming the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

“Fuck man, mind the brutality. This beast is on two months old, and I’d like it to still be like new when my little man gets here,” Odin grumbled.

Trouble grinned, happier than a pig in shit for his prez, his former commanding officer in the US Army Rangers. His best friend.

“How much longer until your Valkyrie pops?” he asked, using the club name for Odin’s ol’ lady, Skathi.

“Too long. She’s ready to go now, though, says she’d rather give birth to him now than try to push a ten-pound baby out of her body.” He snickered. “I don’t blame her.” He winced, more than likely picturing himself trying to push a watermelon out of his cock.

Trouble was picturing the same thing, and it was fucking awful.

Cringing, he watched as Odin pulled the truck out of the compound gates and pointed the hood toward town.

He opened his mouth to ask him where they were going, and then ask if they could first stop off at Delicious, the club-owned strip club, for a lap dance or two—though the Prez would bow out and leave his VP to his own debauched devices, when the loud ring of the Odin’s phone through the Bluetooth speaker blasted through the cabin.

Trouble grit his teeth at the name displayed on the digital screen embedded in the truck dash.

DR. LIZ CALLING….

What did she want? Wasn’t she supposed to be out on a hot date? His jaw hardened, hating that he hated she was out with some asshole. He shouldn’t care that another man was wining and dining Liz…his Skizzy. But he fucking did. Who was it? Was he good to her? Did he treat her right? Liz deserved a man whowould treat her like a queen, especially since so many people her in her life had treated her like trash.

Like me.

After that afternoon, and the gutting she’d delivered, he didn’t know if his heart could stand the sound of her voice.

Suck it up, bitch. You brought this shit on yourself.

And, boy, had he.

Hitting a button on the display, Odin greeted, “Doc, what can I do for you this evening?”

Silence. Leaning forward, Trouble tilted his head, listening for any sounds from the other end of the line. Still silence. Had the call disconnected? No…it was still all green for “go.”

Trouble sat up straight, a pang in his chest echoing down into his guts. For as long as he’d known Liz, he’d known that woman wasn’t silent. She could fill the somber solitude of a cemetery with enough commentary to raise the dead. If she was silent, something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. All the hair on his arms stood on end as apprehension trilled over him like someone struck a bad chord on his spine.

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