Page 67 of Savage Heart

Black leather, supple and buttery, deep royal purple stitching along the seams of the armholes and down the front. He knew what was on the back.Property of Troublestitched over the Savage Raiders MC rocker and the logo of a wolf’s head, wings, and crossed battle axes.

But it was the front that made his breath catch, his Adam’s apple bob, and his heart ache so fiercely he clutched at his chest.

Right over the left breast was a patch that read:Skizzy.

Grunting, he closed his eyes against the rising bitterness, regret, guilt, and self-hatred—and it was all so much more acute now that he knew it had all been in vain.

Rage billowing, he snatched the property kutte from the box and gripped it in both hands. It was soft, the leather professionally tooled by a leather worker the club hired for their first ever club kuttes, back when they’d first formed the club.

The property kutte in his hands…was ten years old. Though he knew the custom shop had a massive back long because, well, people in Vegas loved leather, he’d ordered it three months after meeting Liz…and he’d picked it up from the leather shop the morning before everything went to shit. He’d had grand plansabout presenting it to her; he was going to give it to her that night, the night he’d blown it all up. Instead of giving Liz her kutte and asking her to be his ol’ lady, he’d betrayed her.

“Fuck,” he growled, tossing the kutte back in the box, and shoving the lid onto it. Carelessly, he threw the box into the closet, and turned his back on it.

His cell pinged with an incoming text, and he cursed. The only person who’d text him that early was at home with his wife and new baby. So, who the fuck….

Stomping to the bedside table where his cell was charging on the charge pad, he snatched the phone and glowered down at the name on the screen.

“Shit,” he grumbled, then sighed heavily.

It was a text from Rocco, a bouncer at Up to No Good. He was dating a former clubwhore, Tammi, and apparently Tammi had told him something he thought he should share.

Tammi was originally from Brighton Beach, New York, a known cesspool of Bratva activity. According to Tammi, some sketchy looking Russians had come into the bar, asking around about the club. When they’d gotten nothing from the staff, they’d grabbed a table in the back, and sat, their heads together, talking. Tammi only knew what was going on because she’d picked up a bit of Russian from living in the neighborhood. She’d been sitting at the bar waiting for Rocco to finish his shift, when the Russians came in, took a seat at a booth in the back, and checked out the bar. To most, it wasn’t obvious, but because of Tammi’s years of keeping off the Bratva’s radar, she knew what to look for. The way they held themselves, the way their eyes moved, the way their gazes would clock details normal patrons wouldn’t catch, like the cameras, the layout of the bar, and the number of employees.

Gritting his teeth, Trouble texted back a thanks, and hurried into his jeans, Henley, and boots. He’d help Liz with Erika, getthem out the door, but then he had a full day of bullshit to deal with, including the new information about the Russians getting stupid, and basically pissing on Raider’s turf. And the Russians weren’t stupid, which meant they wanted the Raiders to know they were there, all up in their shit.

Forwarding the text to Grimm to have him look into it, Trouble focused on getting through his morning without cornering Liz and kissing the fuck out of her; that dream-memory was still there, filling his mind with erotic images that no manner of Russian bullshit could diminish.

He just had to hope that once Oblek was dealt with, he could make those memories come to life once more.

If he kissed her face or touched her ass one more time….

She tensed as Trouble’s hand, oh sonotsubtly, skimmed over her ass. At her growl, he chuckled.

Liz bit back a litany of curses because her little girl was sitting at the dining room table, happily munching on her Coco Pebbles, the chocolaty milk dribbling down her chin as she read the back of the box.

Standing at the counter, her back to the kitchen, Liz fought the urge to turn around swinging, and catch Trouble in the temple with her 15oz mug.

“You look so tense, baby,” Trouble rumbled in her ear, standing far too fucking close. His thick chest was pressed against her back, and his thick cock was pressed against her ass. All morning, since the moment she’d stepped into the kitchen, he’d been there; soft touches as he reached for something, a brushed of his hands as he walked by, suggestive smirks as hecaught her attention, green eyes that blazed with humor and barely leashed desire. The man was on a mission to break her down and have her panting after him.

Her body was screaming, “Mission accomplished, now fuck me!”

Her heart was blubbering, “He’ll hurt us again, but…orgasms!”

Her mind was whispering, “What the body and heart say, but…you know…make him work for it!”

She tensed once more when he pressed a slow, gentle kiss to her temple.

“Tomorrow night, why don’t I have Fae and Hawk take Erika…you could take a long, relaxing bath—candles, bubbles, the works…and I’ll make dinner for you. You used to love my chicken carbonara. I’ll even add a bottle of wine, and a half dozen cannolis from Gino’s.”

At the mention of Gino’s cannolis, her mouth watered, but it was the thought of a long, relaxing bath that made her body sing. When was the last time she took a moment for herself? Her plaster cast had come off two days ago, and now she had a brace she was supposed to wear to work. Which meant taking a bath was totally up for grabs.

“I could even join you in the bath…help you reach those hard-to-reach places on your back, since you don’t have full range of motion on that wrist yet,” Trouble offered, and she could hear the decadent sin beneath the layer of manufactured innocence in his tone. “It’ll be no hardship, really. It would be my honor to help you…relax.”

His words, the whiskey of his voice…she sucked in a breath at the way her body trembled.

As close as he was, his body basically glued to hers, he felt it.

Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, and rasped, “I think you like that idea, Skizzy, so let’s make it happen. Tomorrow night.”

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