Page 82 of Savage Heart

Amelia.

Why the fuck was she calling three times?

Knowing the woman was persistent, he grit his teeth, and answered, “Now is not the time, Amelia—”

“I think Liz is in trouble,” Amelia blurted, panic in her voice.

Immediately, Trouble was on alert. Suddenly, he remembered Amelia’s location icon moving north, and himthinking that it was the same direction as Liz’s clinic. “What do you mean, Amelia? Are you with Liz?”

“N-no!”

“Then what the fuck do you mean?” he practically bellowed, dread swallowing up reason.

“I was at the grocery store, loading up the car, and I saw her tear into the parking lot. I was angry, Trouble—you treated me like trash, and I just wanted….”

Hitting the button to put the call on speaker, Trouble demanded, “Out with it, Amelia! Tell me what the hell happened. Did you follow her? Do you know where she is?” He knew he was being an asshole, but if Amelia was right, and Liz was in trouble, time was of the essence.

He heard her growl, then she blurted, “I wanted to beat the shit out of her, ya know, so I followed her to the clinic, but I didn’t go behind the building. I drove by the front, and there’s….” She sucked in a breath. “There’s some scary-looking dudes watching the front.”

“What?” Trouble barked, his gaze flicking to Odin, who was already texting the brothers to mount a war party. Each brother, riding into battle on their steel and chrome war horse, a terrifying sight to behold. “Did you recognize them?”

“Well…I used to hang with Tammi, and she told me about these tattoos, ya know—”

“Russians,” Trouble filled in the blanks, his heart in his throat. Tammi knew a certaintypeof tattoo. Bratva. “You saw Russians.”

“Y-yeah. I know Liz was hiding from them, so I don’t know why she came to the clinic crawling with them,” Amelia rambled.

Hurrying through the door, down the stairs, and into the common room, Trouble looked onto the faces of the men who’d assembled there already. They were ready and willing to die for their club, for their brothers, and for their women. Liz was one ofthem—but what the fuck was she doing at the clinic? And what did her causing the accident, then leaving Slick behind have to do with it?

Things weren’t adding up. He could only hope that the wheels they’d already sent spinning would steer the circumstances into their favor.

God, Liz, what the fuck are you doing? If you get hurt, I’m going to spank your ass!

“Amelia, I need you to leave there, keep driving. If they see you, they might do something.” He didn’t want her as his ol’ lady, but despite his threats from earlier, he didn’t wish any ill upon her. She was a bitch, yeah, but she’d been faithful to the club for four years; him having Hawk put the tracking device in her purse, was just a means of protecting club interests…for just in case. The ol’ ladies with their MC romance novel advice warned him that scorned clubwhores could turn ugly, and he should keep track of Amelia.

“Trouble…” Amelia breathed, her voice trembling. “I hope she’s okay.”

Amelia hung up, and Trouble turned his attention to his brothers. His rideanddie brothers, in battle and blood.

“Mount up, brothers!” Odin shouted, and the brothers shouted in response, filling the room with the club battle cry.

“Til hallerne I Valhalla, men forst rider vi!” To the halls of Valhalla, but first, we ride!

The thunder of dozens of shit kickers pounding out of the building, then the roar of half a dozen bikes filled his head, then his chest.

His heart burning with appreciation of their loyalty, Trouble turned to Saint, filling him in, and sending him to the hospital to watch over Slick.

A massive hand slapped his shoulder, and Trouble looked over to see his best friend, president, and soul brother, grinning down at him—with smile more ferocity than mirth.

“We’ll get her back, brother, and we’re going to fuck shit up while we do it,” Odin rumbled. His face hardened, fierceness and admiration flashing in his strikingly light blue eyes. “She’s a fighter, Trouble. She’ll be alright.”

Unable to form words, Trouble nodded as fear stole his breath.

Fuck, please, Liz….

Thrust into her own desk chair, Liz glared at the man standing beside her as he crossed his arms and leaned his ass up against her $2,000 mahogany executive desk. The fucker was going to leave his nasty Russian ass print on her expense desk.

Annnnnd, now she was losing it!

---