Page 3 of Savage Obsession
My words fall heavy into the snow, unheard. If I can only get a signal on my phone, I can send everything I have to the detective. I stumble back to the SUV but the numbness in my toes and fingers have me going for the last bit of warmth I can find, instead.
My teeth chatter together so hard my jaw aches. I squat down by the Jeep’s bumper, knees pressed to my chest, chin tucked in, trying to steal whatever warmth I can from the useless engine block. The metal burns through my thin pajamas just enough to keep me from killing over. My whole body trembles. My mind races on an endless loop of death by freak snowstorm or bullets. If the storm doesn’t kill me, my father’s men will. If I stay put, I’ll freeze or die for what I have on my phone.
If I run, I’ll get lost. And then die by exposure.
“Well, shit.”
I close my eyes and pray. Not for rescue, but for strength. For a little bit of fire. For a sign that I made the right choice.
The snow falls harder. My slippers are soaked through. Numbness crawls up my legs, into my fingers, into my heart. All I can do is breathe, and wait, and hope the blizzard hides me long enough to be found by someone—anyone—who isn’t my father’s loyal monsters.
Damn Vultures. I hate every last one of my father’s crew. I’ll die trying to ruin them.
And I’m okay with that.
I’m finally free.
2
VENOM
Two weeks ago we found a Euphoria lab, but it was busted apart and gone by the time we got there. I’ve spent every minute since tracking every movement the Vultures have made but I’ve come back with nothing. They know we are watching. They are either laying low and waiting for us to magically forget about them pushing the designer drug through our territory, or they are making secret movements through a network of underground dealings.
I know for a fact it’s the latter.
For now, I am biding my time. We’ve been tasked with eliminating the Euphoria drug problem because of a promise our crew president made to a friend and we will. But the world is frozen over right now and I don’t care who you are or what magic you think you possess. Nothing is getting done in the winter storm like the one raging outside right now.
And that is what has me leaned up against a wall in the Savage compound wanting wishing I was out hunting down Vultures instead of here doing absolutely fucking nothing to advance our hunt to take down the fuckers we are hunting.
Since no one can do a damn thing right now, the crew thought it would be the perfect time for a little party.
Kill. Me. Now.
I press a finger and thumb to the bridge of my nose and breathe in deeply. It helps to push off the incoming headache for another few minutes.
But it will be back because I can’t take another Savage fuckfest no matter the theme. I’m out. If another strange woman grabs my junk again, I’m going to lose my shit and I don’t want to be the asshole at the winter-themed sex party for telling someone to keep their hands to themselves.
I gulp down the last of the water in my glass and dodge a chick running for the bathroom. I shake the energy of the snowy night off and try to tune out the heavy metal cranked to soul crushing levels. Fucking Jax and Rogue need new music.
Reaper is a patient man, but our club president will step in any minute and put some real music on. Something with some heavy base…
Right on cue the music dies and for a second I can hear my own thoughts again. The Savage’s large compound is a fortified, historic plantation mansion surrounded by moss-draped oaks and swampy bayous for natural concealment. It sits on a large piece of land on the far ends of Haven, a parish about twenty minutes outside of New Orleans.
On that thought, It’s not too far outside city limits. Maybe I can slip out the back and head to the city. Might be a little fun to get into some trouble down at the den.
Just because most of my single Savage brothers like to get their freak on with unknown faces doesn’t mean we all do. But the ladies here tonight don’t give a shit about permission and boundaries. I don’t know where the hell Jax and Rogue rounded up the new honorary club candy for the winter holiday party but the Savage patches have their tastes and then there’s mine.
Two different flavors. Don’t get me wrong. They’re gorgeous and all that, but I’m not into heavy drinking and fucking where everyone can count how many thrusts it takes before my woman loses her mind from ecstasy.
Various scents combat each other for dominance. Sex, booze and a lingering spice of Charli’s cajun gumbo and some homemade cornbread.
That doesn’t sound bad. I head into the living room and make a beeline for the kitchen.
Or at least I try. The second I cross over the threshold to the large gathering room some fool breaks out in Banshee cries right before cheering shouts ring in my ears.
Music cranks up again, and that is when I make a U-turn and head for the front door.
Big mistake. I should have taken the long way around and gone out the back and kept on walking to my cabin on the back ten acres. All I wanted was some food and silence. Now I’ve got everyone’s eyeballs on me.
