Page 39 of Savage Heart

Oh fuck.

Like a gut punch with spiked brass knuckles, Trouble grunted and nearly doubled over from the force of that awakening. From the moment he’d heard her little voice say her father was trouble, to finding Liz bleeding on the floor, to rushing to the hospital, to watching over her as she slept, to theconfrontation in the hospital room—Trouble hadn’t had the time nor mental space to comprehend the fact that he had a daughter, a human person who would depend on him for love, protection, and wisdom.

His thoughts flashed to the image of her emblazoned on his brain. Her golden blonde hair, her bright green eyes, her dimples, that face that stole his breath and his heart. She was gorgeous. His little girl was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Half of him…half of Liz, one hundred percent perfect.

Sucking in a breath, he regained his momentum and headed toward his bathroom. He needed a shower, then he needed to eat, then he needed to call Church. The Bratva were a menace, one that was growing by the day, and one that the Savage Raiders had to be ready to take on—because in targeting Liz, they targeted the club. No one hurt one of theirs and got away with it.

Especially not Liz, the woman he still wanted with every molecule in his body.

Especially not Erika, the little girl he only knew about for a few days but still adored on sight.

His.

They werehisto protect.

He’d missed ten years with the two people he loved more than anything in the goddamn world.

No more.

Liz was angry now, but she had to get over it. Because he wasn’t spending another motherfucking day without his woman and his daughter in his life. He pictured Liz as she’d been in the hospital bed, hissing, spitting, throwing things—despite being hurt, in pain, barely able to move. He knew that, if they let her, she would have jumped from that bed, hobbled over to him, and ripped his balls off with her uninjured hand. Liz Simpson wasthe goddess of war and fertility embodied, and just thinking of how she looked then—blue eyes bright with rage, supple body vibrating with anger, cheeks glowing red with indignation…she’d been fucking stunning. He knew he was an asshole for getting hard thinking about Liz as sexy when she was angry, but he couldn’t help it. He missed the fuck out of her. She was a hellcat, fiery and pissed the fuck off, but he couldn’t blame her, he actually admired her for it. He knew he’d done her wrong…and it was his shame to bear.

Once she’d calmed down, he’d tell her everything—every last hideous detail—and he’d beg her forgiveness. He wasn’t above getting on his knees for her; it wouldn’t be the first time. Of course, back then, he’d been tasting her sweet pussy, making her scream his name, but they’d get back to that. Soon. He hoped.

With that in mind, Trouble hurried through a shower, nuked a burrito, downed a bottle of water, then texted Odin to call Church in thirty minutes. They needed to present the information Liz gave them about the asshole Russians to the club. If they were going to war with the Bratva, they needed to bring it to a vote. It chaffed his ass that he couldn’t just snipe Danil Oblek like the weasel that he was, but Trouble understood that the club would have his back, so he needed to do things by the bylaws. His brothers and their women loved Liz, knew how important she was to the club…and to Trouble. And now that they all knew about Erika, things were more complicated than ever. The Savage Raiders would allow no one to hurt one of theirs, but especially not a child. Women and children were motherfucking untouchable. Oblek touched, so he’d die.

Thirty minutes later, Trouble came down the stairs and into the common room. He saw his brothers gathered, waiting to head into the soundproofed room where they held Church. The clubwhores were circulating, grabbing drinks, sitting on laps, and offering their services for later. It was just another day at theRaider’s compound. What wasn’t typical, however, was the way Amelia was sitting in the corner, legs and arms crossed, glaring at him like he kicked her puppy.

Not in the fucking mood to deal with her shit, he ignored her, turning to greet Dragon, who managed their brothel, Sex & Candy, and was a bouncer for their bar, Up to No Good, when there was need.

“Brother, how’s the doc?” Dragon asked, his weird as hell gray-green eyes seemed to change colors as he spoke.

Trouble knew that question was coming, and that he’d have to answer.

He shrugged. “She’s recovering. Her doc says she has to stay in the hospital another week or so before she can get out. Wants to make sure the arm is healing up, and there’s no complications with the kidney bruising.”

Dragon nodded, his gaze still pinned to Trouble’s face.

“How you feelin’ bout it?”

What the fuck?

“You turn into a lady dragon since the last time we talked?” Trouble sneered, not liking that Dragon was asking that question after spending too much time dissecting Trouble’s expressions. What did the asshole see that Trouble didn’t want anyone to see?

Dragon arched a pitch-black eyebrow, the single silver hoop piercing glinting in the overhead LED lights.

“Just wonderin’, brother.” For a man with the road name Dragon, he seemed chill as fuck. He rarely breathed fire, but when he did, he could take out cities with his wrath. His brothers knew to never poke the dragon, because a sleeping dragon was still all teeth, claws, and fire just waiting to murder every-fucking-one.

Shaking his head, Trouble caught Odin’s gaze. He’d just walked into the room and gave Trouble a chin lift.

“Alright, motherfuckers, Church!” Odin announced, then headed upstairs to the room specifically designed to hold their meetings. It was teched-up as hell, soundproofed, and the door was several feet of blast proof steel. It they wanted to, they could bunker down in that room for days—hopefully, that never became necessary.

After the officers were all seated around the table emblazoned with the Savage Raiders MC brand, Odin slammed the gavel to start the meeting.

“You all know what happened to the doc,” Odin began, and murmurs and curses and sounds of indignation followed. “You know she was attacked in her own home. She told us…it was the motherfucking Bratva.”

“What the fuck!” Fang snarled.

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