Page 2 of Savage

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“So we gonna do this or what?” one of the buyers said as he glanced over his shoulder toward the street. His paranoia was becoming more apparent the longer the deal dragged out.

“As soon as you show the cash transfer,” Duffel Bag Guy said, gesturing toward the phone in the buyer’s hand. He turned on his cell and started to input information into what I assumed was an offshore account, and a couple seconds in, a sound fromfurther up, in front of the van—a trash can, maybe—echoed off the buildings around us.

Everyone froze.

“What the fuck was that?”

My head whipped in the direction of the sound, and Alessio said, “Looks like someone else wants to crash this party.”

I started to demand he elaborate on what the cameras were seeing, but then I noticed a head of hair jerk back, trying to blend in with the shadows.

“Any chance they’ll think it was a cat?” Alessio said.

But two of the men were already heading in that direction, guns drawn.

“Nope.”

Whoever had been spying was obviously not a professional at it, and they easily dragged him from his hiding spot.

One of the men growled, “You fuckin’ spying on us?”

The spy started to shake his head and say no, but the man holding him by his shirt tightened his grip and brought his face in close.

“Just spending a quiet night in an alley with the rats, huh?”

“He looks like a rat,” the other one sneered.

With his face turned up in the moonlight, I finally got a better look at the man who didn’t belong there. And he definitely didn’t look like a rodent. He looked like a fucking Boy Scout.

I’d expected whoever was hiding behind a dumpster to look strung out, but this guy was clean-cut and dressed casually in dark jeans, a jacket, and sneakers. There was an appropriate amount of fear in his eyes given the situation he’d found himself in, though there was more going on here than a simple wrong place, wrong time.

Whoever he was, he hadn’t come prepared for confrontation—something that became painfully obvious when they dragged him to the back of the van and patted him down for weapons.

“I don’t have anything?—”

“We’ll be the judge of that.” The one with the cruel sneer ran his gloved hand over the front of the guy’s jacket, parting the material to pat down his chest. “What about down here? You packin’?” He lowered his hand to the front of the intruder’s jeans, and when the guy struggled to get free, my adrenaline began to kick in.

“Don’t do it, man,” Alessio warned. “I mean it—this doesn’t involve you.”

Didn’t matter. It was one thing for these assholes to conduct their business and fuck each other over, another to have an innocent get involved. He shouldn’t be here, and I could see every one of his regrets flashing across that attractive face of his.

“What the fuck’s taking so long?” the driver of the van grumbled, sticking his head out the window. “Wrap this shit up or we’re out.”

One of the goons cocked his gun and aimed it at the guy’s head.

“Oh come on, not the head. That shit’s too messy,” the one holding him said.

“No, please, I won’t say anything, just let me go.” The guy tried again to break free.

“Sorry. No can do.”

A growl tore out of my chest.

“Lachlan,” Alessio said, “King will have your balls for breakfast if you?—”

I ripped the earpiece out, shoved it in my pocket, and grabbed one of the throwing stars instead and aimed it at the shithead holding tight to the intruder.

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