Page 85 of Savage Heart

Hawk didn’t need to finish that statement, because Trouble felt the words to his bones. The Savage Raiders MC. Sons of the Gods. Brothers in battle and blood. Trouble knew his brothers would run into a burning building to save him, and he’d do the same for them.

Swallowing thickly, Trouble rasped, “I need to get; Liz’ll be calling me soon.” Actually, she should have already called.

What’s happening in there?

With fear, worry, and rage mounting, Trouble tucked his Sig Sauer into the waistband at his back.

And with chin lifts from men he would kill and die for, he hurried from the parking garage.

Just hold on a little longer, Skizzy….

His dick hard as fuck, throbbing, aching to slip into her mouth and fuck her throat until she choked on it, Danil watched as Liz tried, desperately, to think of a way to not have to call that fucking biker. At least she was loyal—Danil appreciated loyalty, when it worked in his favor. Being loyal to an old, weak, diseased bear like Leonid Medev was a losing proposition. He was losing his foothold in several cities, enemies were testing and then crossing boundaries, and men were dying needlessly. Danil would change that…once his plan fell into place. But for that, he needed the bitch in the chair to call the motherfucking biker!

“How…how am I supposed to get him to a place he knows is a Russian hang out? Hell, even I know that, and I’m not into…you know…criminal stuff,” Elizabeth babbled. It was cute, really, how her mind worked. But she had a point. Trouble had been digging into Danil since Danil had made an example of Dr. Simpson, so the man knew more about the Bratva presence in Vegas than even the cops did.

Nodding, he dragged his thumb over Elizbeth’s chin, and loved the look of disgust that slithered over her face. So what, she didn’t appreciate his attentions, he’d have her begging soon—for death or his cock, it didn’t matter, because either way, there’d be blood involved.

“Also, neither Trouble nor Odin are idiots; they’re going to know it’s a trap. More than likely, they won’t even show up.”

Cracking his neck, hating her reasoning and her refusal to just do what the fuck he wanted, he snarled, “I think that if he gives a shit about you, he’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” Pressing the phone to her cheek, hard, he leaned forward and growled, “Make. The. Fucking. Call.”

Her eyes, wide, blue, and terrified, made his cock jump. He nearly groaned.

Raising her trembling hand, she took the phone.

Leaning back, he dropped his hand from her face, and crossed his arms. He could feel the weight of his gun beneath the sleek sport coat he’d worn, and he could feel the weight of the hand-tooled leather sheath at his other side. Two weapons within reach, but…he didn’t want to scare her that much. Yet. In time, she’d be so scared, she’d do everything he wanted, but right now, he needed a softer touch.

“He’s not going to go, I’m telling you right now—”

At his glare, she shut up.

Finally, she’s getting the fucking picture—this wasn’t a tea party, where they were blabbing likebabushkas, it was a fucking hostage situation, and she had no choice but to do what he said.

She nervously flicked her tongue out to wet her lips, and his dick thickened, making him ache all the more. He needed this plan to work—to take over the Medev Bratva and have Elizabeth Simpson in his bed…tied to it. Begging, crying, bleeding, covered in his cum….

Grabbing his cock, he squeezed it as Liz’s gaze dropped to his crotch, her eyes even wider, even more terrified than before. She gasped, her mouth in a perfect O.

Blyad!

“Make that call,moya yad, before I do something else with that mouth of yours,” he commanded, his voice husky with want…with need.

Recoiling, she curled her lip at him, fire and fierce anger erupting in her eyes.

“I’d bite it off, asshole,” she sneered, making him chuckle.

His laughter stopped, though, when his cell in Liz’s hand rang.

She turned it so he could see. Mischa. One of the men stationed at the front door.

Snatching the phone, he answered in Russian, “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“Boss, there’s a man here, wanting to speak with you.”

Stunned, wary, apprehensive, he replied, “Who the fuck is it, what do they want?”

Mischa cleared his throat. “He says his name is Trouble.”

He was standing and turning toward the office doorway in a blink.How the fuck!

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