Page 5 of Savage Heart

As a product of the American foster system, she’d bounced from one home to another over ten years—from the time she was seven until she ran at seventeen. The men she’d known, the men who pretended to be honorable and caring when the CYS worker was there, had turned into skeevy pervs the minute the door clicked shut behind those with critical eyes.

It had been that last home, that last man, that had made her run. And she’d never looked back. She’d spent seven months homeless, sleeping in a bus station, at a homeless shelter, and finally finding a shitty job working for pennies at a diner outside Moab. The money was shit, but it came with a room in the back where she could sleep at night. The day she’d turned eighteen, she’d gotten the hell out of there. Once again, never looking back.

Little Liz Simpson, only daughter of only children Ryan and Bea Simpson of Springdale, Utah, had grown up quickly. She’d had to. When her parents died in a car accident, she’d had no family to go to. No one to count on but herself. And at the age of seven, she’d felt that loss like someone had cut off every limb, and then thrown her into a raging river, telling her to swim against the current. She’d learned many things those years on her own. But she’d been about as knowledgeable about men when she’d met Erik as she was about particle physics—as innot at all.

Still trying to find her footing in a relationship with man who was all man—nothing like the boys she’d known in high schoolor her first fledgling years in community college. At a whopping twenty-one years old, her sexual history read like the script to a silent movie. Compared to her, Erik at twenty-eight years-old, had lived a life most people wouldn’t believe, and she knew from the way he looked, and the way he handled himself in the bedroom…against the wall…on the kitchen counter, dining room table, couch, and motorcycle seat that he was a man ofextensivesexual experience. They were student and master, and she was an eager pupil. But there were times when she wondered if he was getting tired of her lack of skills. She saw the women who gaped at him in public, the ones who openly stared, their mouths open, pushing their necklines down and pulling the skirts up to tease him with eye burning flashes of flesh. They were bombshells waiting to detonate, and she was a sad whimper in her sweatpants and old t-shirts. They were clubbing and booze, and she was Netflix and chill. They were filthy sex in an alley, and she shuddered at the thought of the diseases one would find in an alley.

What the hell is he doing with me?It wasn’t the first time she wondered that, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But she’d deal, because she loved that man like crazy, and she couldn’t imagine life without him in it.

Sighing, she shook off that ever-present, unhelpful thoughts. Pressing her ear to the bathroom door, she listened to make sure the coast was clear. She’d spent the morning in bed with Erik, fucking then talking—which was their routine. Cunnilingus followed by cuddling and chit-chatting. One would think that a badass Army vet-slash-bike riding alpha wouldn’t bother with all the affectionate shit his woman needed. But that wasn’t Erik. Erik had taken her preconceived notions about alpha men and turned them on their head.

However, she was pretty sure that an accidental pregnancy would change all that right quick.

They’d been so careful. She was on the Pill, and she took it the same time every day, and made sure to use back up birth control when she was on antibiotics. They’d been together six months when they’d had “the talk” about foregoing condoms; they were exclusive, they were clean, and they wanted to experience what it felt like to be skin against skin. In the end, it had been the best decision they’d made. Sex with Erik without that latex barrier, was a religious experience. She’d done more praying and screaming God’s name that night than she’d done her whole life. It was that good.

But something had gone wrong, because for the last few weeks she’d been feeling icky. Tired, nauseous…just off. And when she’d noticed that the smell of bacon had made her stomach riot, she suspected…and then she counted the days between periods.

The numbers were a slap in the face, as was her sudden aversion to bacon—food of the gods!

She knew then that she had to get a pregnancy test. And so, here she was, about to see if her life had changed irrevocably.

When listening at the door told her he had left the apartment, she cracked the door open a smidge and peered out. The hallway was empty, and more than likely the living room and kitchen were, too. After their morning fuck and cuddle, he’d gotten dressed, made her a coffee, and kissed the shit out of her against the kitchen counter. Then he’d knocked her mail off the table as she’d turned to grab the French vanilla creamer from the fridge. She’d ignored his grumbling as he retrieved the mail from the floor, then kissed him as he turned back to head toward the door. The goodbye kiss was…tense, his body strung tight like cat gut. She’d thought nothing of it, but now…she was wondering if he’d caught on to her own tension…since she’d been thinking, worrying, and dreading, non-stop, about the pregnancy test sitting in the white Walgreens bag under the bathroom sink.

Did he know?

Had he somehow figured it out?

Nah. The man was observant, but she was pretty good about keeping things close to the chest. Hell, they’d been together for over a year, and the man didn’t know she’d been in foster care. And not that she didn’twanthim to know…he’d just never asked. That was one thing about their relationship that bothered her the most. He’d been through some shit in the Army, and—like most men coming home from war—he didn’t want to talk about it. And so, in order to keep his own past to himself, he’d never asked about hers. She understood that. She got it. But she really wanted there to be more between them besides amazing sex.

Like love.

She fucking loved the man. And she was terrified that, if the little white stick said what she thought it would say, Erik was going to turn to smoke.

You don’t know that. The man is all about duty to his brothers and his country; he’ll stick by you. He’ll plant roots with you.And she wanted roots so damn bad.

“Erik?” she called out, hoping for silence in return, that he hadn’t returned while she’d been in the shower. When he didn’t respond, she turned back toward the bathroom counter, retrieved the bag with the test in it, and spent the next twenty minutes reading and rereading the instructions.

Easy peasy.Yeah, easy enough to say, but what the hell was she supposed to do once that tiny screen showed the plus sign?

Her guts twisting, her chest aching, she dragged in a deep breath.

“Let’s do this,” she exclaimed to her reflection, patently ignoring the wild look on her face.

She peed on the test, capped it, and placed it gently on the counter.

“Now…we wait.”

Pulling up outside the rundown bar thirty minutes from her apartment, Liz parked, gripped the wheel of her rusty yet trusty hatchback like it was a lifesaver in a stormy sea, and let out a slow, shallow breath.

The bar, Tipped, was the current hangout and unofficial MC clubhouse for Erik and his army buddies, who’d gotten out of the military, joined up, and started an MC together. His commanding officer in the Army Rangers was their official leader—even off the battlefield—and he’d taken on the title and position of club president. It meant that Erik was the VP of the newly formed Savage Raiders MC, and that was intimidating, honestly. Yeah, when they’d gotten together, he’d told her his plans, making sure she wouldn’t have a problem with being with a man who was a biker. Liz didn’t give a shit if the man was a garbage collector or an ex-con, she only cared that he was a good man, a man of morals and unseen strength. And he was hot as fuck in bed. He spent more and more time with the club at the bar, but she’d been studying more and more, too, so she had no reason to complain. However…was a man who’d just started anew chapter of his life as an MC VP going to be happy with being a dad on top of everything else?

And she wasn’t an idiot, she’d heard of MCs before, she knew they weren’t riding clubs full of wannabes and amateurs. She knew that Erik—Trouble, the “road name” he’d been gifted by his comrade and commander for reasons Erik had yet to share—and Odin and their brotherhood weren’t men looking to swap war stories and drink like old men at a pub. These men were skirting the law, building businesses that catered to the underbelly of Vegas. Already, she’d had to patch Erik up after he got in a knife fight with an asshole looking to sell drugs in their bar. And don’t get her started on the number of shady conversations she overheard between Erik and Odin, the club prez and Erik’s Army commander.

Obviously, she was curious, so she’d ask what was going on. His response?

“Club business.” From his tone, she knew he would not explain, and she needn’t ask again. And she so didn’t, despite all the late nights out when he came home looking rough, with bruises and scrapes on his face, body, and knuckles.

The Savage Raiders MC definitely weren’t weekend warriors. They were the real fucking deal…and Erik was at the heart of them.

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