Page 8 of Savage

Savannah shook her head. “Not really, I mean, the girls mentioned their Daddies were officers in the motorcycle club but outside of that, I don’t know much. Mostly what I know about motorcycle clubs come from television shows.”

“We are a motorcycle club,” Savage explained, watching her reaction carefully. “But not your typical MC, not like what you've seen. Hollywood has a way of spinning things completely out of the realm of reality. Spartan Watchmen is made up of former-special forces operators, dedicated to protecting and to giving back to the community. We host a lot of charity rides, raising money for other veterans and their families.”

“That sounds... noble,” Savannah said. “How did you get involved in it?”

Savage's jaw clenched briefly, old memories surfacing. “After my last tour, when I retired out of the military, I was lost. I traveled around, trying to find the same feeling I’d had in the SEALs. The brotherhood. The adrenaline. I reached out to my good friend Hunter who owns a private security firm. I ran a few jobs for him. On one of the jobs, I met Rider. Rider lives here in Grand Ridge. He owns a branch of Spartan Elite. After dinner, we walked out to the parking lot, and he saw my bike. He knew The Watchmen were riding for a good purpose, joining up with Bikers Against Child Abuse and connected me to Mad Dog, one of the club members. I stayed with them and, like they say, the rest was history. The club has given me purpose, a family.” He paused, his eyes meeting hers. “Sometimes, family is blood, other times family is what you make it.”

Savannah's gaze dropped to her plate, and Savage caught a glimpse of longing in her expression before she quickly masked it.

“And what about you?” he prodded gently. “Any family nearby?”

Her shoulders tensed, and she shook her head quickly. “No, it's just me,” she replied, her voice tight.

Savage's instincts flared. There was more to her story, something she was desperately trying to hide. But as he opened his mouth to ask another question, Savannah suddenly brightened, her dimple appearing as she forced a smile.

“Tell me more about the charities you work with,” she said, clearly deflecting. “It must be rewarding to help others.”

Savage played along, describing their various community projects, all the while noting how Savannah relaxed as the focus shifted away from her.

He leaned back in his chair, studying Savannah's face as she finished the last bite of her meal. Her green eyes darted aroundthe restaurant, never quite settling, like a cornered animal looking for an escape route.

“Listen, Savannah,” he said, his voice low and serious. “That motel you're staying at... it's not safe. I've got a proposition for you.”

Savannah tensed, her fingers tightening around her fork. “What kind of proposition?”

“Every officer in the club has a room at the clubhouse with an attached full bathroom. Why don't you stay in my room for a while? Just until you get back on your feet. I have my own house; I won’t be staying with you in it or anything like that. And, if I’m on duty, I can stay in one of the two we have for guests.”

Her eyes widened, a mix of surprise and wariness crossing her features. “I... I couldn't impose like that,” she stammered.

Savage leaned forward. “It's not an imposition. It's what we do. We look out for people who need help.”

Savannah bit her lower lip, conflict evident in her expression. “I don't know… I don’t need help. I’m fine where I am at.”

“Look, no strings attached,” Savage assured her. “You'd have your own space, and you'd be safe. That's all I'm offering. Just, think about it, okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally. “I’m full. Thanks for bringing me to lunch, but I’m going to go now.” After a quick struggle over him paying the bill, before she finally caved, she turned and left.

Savage didn’t want to let her go but also couldn’t think of a good reason to keep her there. After she left, Savage remained at the table, lost in thought. He barely noticed when Delilah approached.

“Refill?” she asked, her weathered face creased with a knowing smile.

Savage nodded, pushing his cup towards her. “Thanks, Delilah. What did you think about Savannah?”

Delilah's expression turned serious as she poured. “That girl? She reminds me of others I've seen come through here. Running from something... or someone.”

Savage's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Delilah sighed, setting down the coffee pot. “I've seen that look before, Savage. The way she carries herself, always on edge. I'd bet my last dollar she's running from a violent man.”

Savage felt his fists clench involuntarily. “You sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be without her saying it outright,” Delilah replied. “Trust me, I've seen it enough times to recognize the signs. She’s definitely running away from someone or something. An abusive father or boyfriend? More than likely. A narcissist who is abusing and threatening her. That girl's in trouble, mark my words. Maybe talk to Kayla. She’ll have some insight into what it’s like to run away from a dangerous man.” Kayla, Mad Dog’s fiancée, had some trouble with an ex herself.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I knew something was off, but I didn't want to push her.”

Delilah placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You did the right thing by offering her a safe place. That's more than most would do.”

Savage nodded. “I’d feel better if she’d taken me up on the offer.” Images of Savannah's guarded expressions and nervous glances flashed through his memory. “I've seen too many good people get hurt,” he growled, more to himself than to Delilah. “I won't let that happen to her.”

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