Page 1 of Savage Cravings

1

MILA

I tookin the room filled with debauchery.

This was nothing new.

Of course, it wasn’t fucking new.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that the room was filled with mean men, scantily clad women, smoke from both cigarettes and weed, some white shit that looked suspiciously like crack on the tacky glass coffee table, and alcohol bottles everywhere.

I had long ago given up trying to maintain a clean house.

It wasn’t like I could remove the stain and scent of awful BO, weed, and sin from the thirty-year-old, brown L-shaped couch.

I clung to my black leather purse and tried to make my way through the living room. The crowd wouldn’t disperse with time. This was the tamer part of the day.

The hard-core partying was saved for later that night.

It would be one more sleepless night, trying to make sure no one came into my room. What else was new?

I clenched my fist around the plastic bag that held my dinner. I wasn’t feeling so hungry anymore, even though I had nothing to eat all day, save for some bland toast and black coffee.

A hand wrapped around my ankle.

I held in a scream.

Making any noise would only draw attention to myself, and that was the last thing I needed.

I looked down to find a pair of blue eyes—dilated, probably from drugs—and a sleazy smile.

“If only you were wearing a skirt, girl,” Lenny, my father’s sergeant-at-arms, said.

I yanked on my leg until he let go, not bothering with a reply.

Talking to the nasty fucker would only encourage him, and right now, I just needed to get to the room upstairs, even when everything in me said to get back in my car and drive away.

It didn’t matter if I didn’t have money. Begging on the streets for money sounded like a much better, safer alternative to staying at this clubhouse for even one more night.

Only, I knew my dad would come after me. The consequences, and the punishments, would be worse than it was the first—and last—time I tried to run away.

I fucking hated the way I lived, but unless someone shot my father dead, this was my reality.

I let out a sigh when my foot touched the first step.

I quickly climbed the staircase and didn’t stop until I got to my room.

I grabbed the keys and unlocked the door.

Leaning my back against the wall, I glanced around the large bedroom, my eyes stinging as the reality of my situation sank in.

For some reason, it seemed to hit harder today than most days.

I was usually good at ignoring the fact that my dad was the president of the notorious Heartless Saints Motorcycle Club. Good at ignoring the fact that I was merely a pig preparing for slaughter—under the guise of marriage, to the groom of my father’s choosing.

Not today.

Today… something felt off.

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