Page 68 of Savage Heart

Before Liz could gather her thoughts from the gutter and her panties from the floor where her whore body had thrown them, Trouble pushed away from her and strode into the dining room.

“Alright, little one, time to get goin’; don’t wanna be late. You got that history test today,” Trouble announced to a pouting Erika. Her little girl was an unreal whiz with numbers, but she hated history with a passion. Erika finished slurping the last of the milk from the bowl, carried the bowl to the sink, then hurried to her room to grab her school bag. “Come on, Liz, get that sexy ass movin’.” He winked at her, and she glared at him.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she snapped at him, ignoring the way her nipples tingled at the way his eyes burned into her.

He grinned wickedly, his left dimple flashing. “Of course, you do, darlin’, I’m not hiding my intentions. We’re inevitable, baby.”

Biting her lip to keep from biting his head off, she grabbed her purse, and headed toward the door. In five minutes, Liz and Erika were out the door and on the road, and Saint and a new prospect, Elliot, were following behind on their bikes. Apparently, Saint had Erika guard duty that day, and Elliot would make sure Liz got to the clubhouse safely.

All the way to the school drop off, Liz couldn’t stop herself from wondering…was Trouble right?Werethey inevitable?

And could she survive if he hurt her again?

Dragging himself out the back door of Savage Custom Rides, Trouble headed toward his truck, determined to finish out his day strong, despite the fact that he hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep a night in two weeks; Skathi having the baby two weeks ago, staying up, alert for Russian fuckery most nights, and then his dream-memory keeping him up last night….

He stopped just outside his truck and readjusted his dick, which had perked up at the thought of last night’s erotic imagery. Opening the door to his truck, he climbed in, taking in the space of his two-year-old RAM 1500 TRX. For a cage, it was rugged and powerful ride—with all the bells and whistles his money could buy. Usually, he’d be on his bike, but now that he had Erika in his life, he wanted to be sure he could transport her if necessary. One day, he’d give her her first motorcycle ride, initiating her into the world of Harley-Davidson and ridin’ free. Until then, though, he’d make sure he could take her wherever she needed to go, or wherever Liz told him to take her. Erika hadn’t been in his truck yet, but he was planning to take his girls out over the coming weekend, get them out of the house,let them have a little fun so they could forget about their fear, anxiety, and those fucking Russians for a few hours. He’d asked Tessa and Fae for ideas on where to take his girls, and they’d both suggest the SeaQuest aquarium, stating that it had more interactive experiences for kids than the Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay. Apparently, that was important, and he wanted Erika to have fun. It would be his first outing as her dad, and it meant a lot to him. He wanted it to mean a lot to her, too.

And to Liz.

After Skathi gave birth, he’d stayed with Liz in the waiting room, barely keeping himself from striding over to her, taking her into his arms, and kissing the fuck out of her. Once Liz had hightailed it from the hospital, he’d remained as a guard, standing sentinel to watch over his best friend, his wife, and their newborn son. The club’s new prince. Trouble still grinned at the memory of the massive, terrifying biker badass holding a tiny baby—well, tiny compared to Odin, but still ten pounds of chunky baby—and looking down at his son with tears in his eyes. Trouble watched his best friend fall in love with his son…and he’d felt sickeningly jealous, because he’d never know what that felt like, because he hadn’t been there for his own child’s birth.

Shaking his head to rid it of recycled, useless recriminations, he got into his truck, started the engine, and pointed the matte black on black beast toward the clubhouse. It was nearing five, but he still had some club business to finish before he could head home to his girls.

Fuck…it felt so goddamn good to call them that, even though Liz wanted nothing to do with him—at least that’s what her mouth was saying. He hoped that his plans for tomorrow night would help soften her a little. Lord knows she couldn’t get any harder…and neither could he for wanting her. His dick hadn’t been so abused since he’d spent his first few months in theArmy surrounded by men, aching for pussy, and with nothing to satisfy his urges but soap and his hand.

He sighed when a call came through on his Bluetooth.

Knowing he couldn’t ignore it, he answered, “You got good news for me?”

“Something like that,” Raptor replied, his smoke roughened voice scraping against Trouble’s senses. The man had quit cigarettes cold turkey two years ago, but his voice had already taken a hit.

Trouble had sent Raptor to scope out a local restaurant, El Ranchito, an eatery where a group of Mexican thugs were gathering regularly. The Raiders weren’t strangers to dealing with Mexican gangs, having had to put Los Noches in their place a little over a year ago, but dealing with another gang encroaching on Raider’s territory wasn’t something they wanted to deal with on top of the Russians plots, and the Columbian’s machinations—getting Fang all fired up about his brother, the Columbian cartel Jefé, and all the man’s petty bullshit. At least they didn’t have to worry about him throwing his weight around in Vegas, because the Calderone cartel had made a loose alliance with the Savage Raiders, which meant they could at least count on Jorge Calderone to be an asshole, but a loyal one.

“Looks like they’re dealing dope out of there,” Raptor reported, and Trouble cursed.

Just what they fucking needed, Mexican dope tainting their streets.

“Shit.”

Raptor grunted, about as conversational as Dragon.

“Keep an eye out, pinpoint the major players, then report back. If we need to hit them, I want to make sure Grimm and Hawk have all the information they need to strike.” As the Enforcer and Sergeant-at-Arms, Grimm and Hawk were in charge of club security, and doing all works of violence that camewith being the power in the underbelly of Las Vegas. Every once in a while, Trouble or Odin got their hands bloody, but they typically delegated the bloodier tasks to Grimm; the man was walking, talking, breathing, leather-wearing bloodshed.

Raptor grunted again, but then said something that made Trouble blink twice. “You’re different, brother. That kid made you soft…but that’s good, because you’ve had hard for a long time.”

Before Trouble could even think of a response, Raptor ended the call, leaving silence in the truck cab, and questions in Trouble’s brain. Raptor had been a mechanic in the US Marine Corps, honorably discharged seven years ago, after he took shrapnel in his right arm and leg during a firefight in Farah, Afghanistan. He’d heard about the Savage Raiders MC from a buddy of Dragon’s, and came to Vegas to see where he could fit. And fit he did, as the top mechanic at Savage Custom Rides. After prospecting for a year, he earned the road name “Raptor” after the RC helicopters he enjoyed building and flying. Now, he’d been pulled into spy duty because the club was stretched in too many fucking directions.

Something had to give, and soon, because he wanted to focus his attention on his girls.

Again, he grinned.

Pulling through the compound gates, he’d just slid from his truck when Toke sauntered out the door toward him.

Throwing a chin lift, Toke said, “Found the wondering clubwhore. She’d been staying with her mom in Carson City, but snuck back into the city last night. Grabbed her when she got to her apartment.” Toke was their director of operations for their pot dispensary, The Herb Garden, and Valhalla, their pot farm. He’d graduated top of his class from UNLV in horticulture and botany, which made him the perfect pot grower—and it had earned him his road name. Like Raptor, he’d been pulled fromhis usual duties, but Toke had been sent to retrieve Amelia on Trouble’s orders.

Nodding, Trouble remarked, “Good. She inside?”

“Yeah, didn’t know where to put her ‘cause you never said what you wanted her for, so I left her at the bar talking to Saint.”

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