Page 20 of Savage

What could she do? What alternative did she have? She’d tried everything. She’d pawned her belongings, taken on extra shifts, even resorted to selling some of her mothers’ treasured jewelry—items she’d promised herself she’d never part with, the few things she had to remember her by. But it was never enough.Zeb’s demands kept escalating, his patience wearing thin. His veiled threats had become more direct, his visits more frequent, each one leaving her trembling in the aftermath.

She knew he was capable of anything. She'd heard the stories. That’s exactly how she ended up in this situation. Her only option was to do what he demanded and infiltrate the Spartan Watchmen Motorcycle Club. It was a ludicrous plan, but it was her only chance.

What else could she do? Success hinged on her ability to blend in, to become one of the littles, at least for long enough to gather the necessary intel. Could she do it without blowing her cover? She’d spent weeks researching BDSM clubs and motorcycle clubs: studying their habits, their rituals, their lingo. She took notes as she read DDlg books, carefully crafting a persona—a submissive “Little Girl.”

She’d made a plan the only way she knew how by reading and watching television shows. Now that she was here, she realized the folly in her plan. Turns out, television shows were grossly inaccurate about motorcycle clubs and DDlg books weren’t realistic, either. They were a great escape from reality, but not at all a good look at what really happened in the lifestyle.

The risks she was taking were immense. The Spartans were protective of their territory, their members fiercely loyal. Discovery of her betrayal could mean… Well, she didn't dare to think about the consequences of failure. But the alternative—Zeb’s wrath and threats against her family—was far more terrifying.

She had no choice. No way out. Curling into herself, she whispered into the silence, "What have I done?"

CHAPTER 8

SAVAGE

Savage got little sleep last night. His brain would not shut off. He wanted nothing more than to find the man threatening Savannah and make it very clear what would happen if he did not stop. Now, after having coffee with her, he stood at the window, his jaw clenched as he watched Savannah's car pull out for work. Something about her behavior this morning gnawed at him, a nagging sensation he couldn't shake. He’d asked her basic questions about the job and received no actual answers. After she’d agreed to text him when she arrived at work and again when she left for the day, she’d all but rushed out of the building, muttering a hasty goodbye.

What was going on with her? Was it fear of the ex? Or just discomfort with the unknown of the motorcycle club's lifestyle? With a frustrated growl, Savage turned from the window and stalked towards the table where Lucky and Tater sat. He poured himself another cup of joe and thought about Savannah.

His gut had been churning since the moment Savannah Wright had walked into The Citadel. She’d been absolutely adorable in her getup, but her eyes had never stopped moving. There was something about her, a flicker of unease beneath the carefully constructed little façade. He’d seen countless womencome and go, but Savanah was different. Her eyes held a spark of intelligence, a calculating glint that belied her innocent exterior. She’d also seemed afraid, on edge. She’d been tense and never answered his questions, instead deflected or asked her own. There was no doubt, she was hiding something. He dismissed it at first, but something nagged at him, a persistent itch he couldn’t ignore. It all made sense now. An abusive ex-boyfriend. He had little use for douchebags who hurt women.

“You look like hell, brother,” Tater said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Something's not right with Savannah,” he answered.

Lucky leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What do you mean?”

“I can't put my finger on it,” Savage admitted, running a hand through his hair. “She's jumpy, secretive. Like she's looking over her shoulder all the damn time. Even here, where she should be safe. She avoids answering my questions altogether. I don’t like it.”

Tater and Lucky exchanged a glance, years of friendship allowing silent communication.

“You think she's in some kind of trouble?” Tater asked carefully.

Savage's fingers drummed restlessly on the table. “Maybe. I can't shake the feeling that there's more going on than an abusive ex-boyfriend.”

Lucky's eyes narrowed. “You care about her.”

It wasn't a question. Savage felt a flicker of irritation, quickly suppressed. These men knew him too well.

“I care about doing my job and keeping the club safe,” he growled. “If she's got baggage that could bring an issue, we need to know about it.” But even as the words left his mouth, Savage knew it wasn't the whole truth. Savannah's smile, rare but radiant, flashed through his mind. He was starting to fall forher. He knew in his gut she was his. But he had to find out what she was hiding before he could move forward.

“So, what's the plan?” Tater asked, his tone serious now.

Savage leaned back in his chair. “We dig. Social media, background checks, the works. If there's something to find, we'll find it.” The investigation began subtly. He wasn't one for overt displays of power, preferring quiet observation and the slow accumulation of facts.

Lucky's chair creaked as he leaned forward, his salt-and-pepper beard catching the dim light of the clubhouse. His eyes locked onto Savage's. “Agreed. We need to know what we're dealing with here.”

The trio reached for their phones. “I'm starting with her Facebook,” Savage muttered, eyes scanning the page. “Tater, you take Instagram. Lucky, see what you can dig up on her work history.”

Savage's mind raced as he scrolled through Savannah's timeline. Pretty girl with a sweet smile, he thought, pushing away the unwelcome warmth that threatened to bloom in his chest. Focus, dammit.

“Anything?” Lucky's gruff voice cut through the quiet.

Tater shook his head. “Nothing too suspicious on Insta. A few selfies, some artsy shots, pictures of food. Typical millennial stuff. Looks like she posted regularly before her mother’s diagnosis and then it slowed way down. She barely ever posts anything now.”

Savage frowned, a nagging sense of unease growing in his gut. “It's what's not here that's bothering me. No mentions of exes, no old photos with guys. It's like she never had a boyfriend at all, or she’s scrubbed that part of her past completely clean.”

Lucky's eyes narrowed. “Could be nothing. Maybe she didn’t want a reminder of her ex-boyfriends. Could be she lied aboutever having one. Keep digging, boys. We need to know what we're up against."

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