Page 62 of Savage Lust

Stupid, stupid boy.

The moment we hit the county line, Cam shot up the exit ramp and blew past the stop sign. Two trucks now, getting closer as he wove in between traffic with deft movements. Leg out, he made a sharp turn onto a lane of broken pavement that slid between two rows of houses and then across an abandoned school parking lot.

He barely glanced to see if traffic was coming. I trembled a little but swallowed down the dread. If he lost control, even for a second, at these speeds—we were dead. If they caught us, who knew what might happen. I glanced down to the pistol in the holster at his back.

I’d never fired one, but I might need to learn.

This time when we roared through downtown, people looked out of sheer shock at the speed. I didn’t even have time to register faces or signage. The buildings passed in such a blur that I’m surprised we didn’t peel the bricks off and leave them in crumbling piles behind us.

When he turned, houses and bystanders grew farther and farther between. On either side of us, yards turned into desert that stretched out for as far as anyone could see. The road was winding, but I’d ridden it with Cam. He could take those curves much faster with little effort. He continued to glance in the rearview mirror now, as if ensuring they were close.

It wasn’t until I saw familiar formations in the distance I recognized where he was heading. The back side of the MC’s property was here. You had to drive right by it to get back to the highway and there weren’t any other roads.

He was leading them into a trap.

My heart raced with excitement and my fear vanished in a burst of adrenaline. This was exhilarating, sexy. I’d learned enough to know that whatever was happening, the club wasn’t going to let it stand.

There’s something seriously wrong with you.

Cam accelerated hard out of the last turn and around a rocky hillside covered with short, squat trees. I could hear the roar then, louder than the pop and rumble of Cam’s bike alone. The sound was more ebbing and throbbing until it was a symphony of angry steel.

As the clubhouse itself came into sight, so did the bikes. Twenty, maybe thirty of them, lining both sides of the pavement. A new, full-size truck sat sideways in the road, blocking traffic. Cam accelerated hard then, flying right toward the row of men in leather vests that stepped into the road, weapons drawn.

Never in my life would I have imagined rocketing toward gun barrels would be this thrilling.

At the last possible second, Cam braked, pitched the bike sideways, and slid to a stop. I held to him so tightly, I almost shot off the back as he slammed the kickstand to the ground and jumped off.

I stumbled as a gentle hand took my elbow and pulled me backwards. I glanced up to see Merc, a long rifle in his hand, pulling me toward the side of the road, shoving me behind him.

The two large trucks were slowing, another row of bikes following them in. Cam had pulled the pistol from the small of his back, held it up and pointed it directly at the driver of the green truck.

He was the one who had grabbed me in the bar. Cam marched to him, his face hard in profile, eyes narrowed. He moved with furious intent, every step like a punch to the frantic beat of my heart.

The truck stopped, and the driver slowly lifted both hands in the air as he looked past Cam to me. The smirk that spread across his face left me cold inside.

Beside me, Merc aimed his rifle. His line of sight was across the hood of the truck and into the desert. He pulled the trigger, the rifle crack barely audible over the panicked ringing in my ears. In front of Cam, the side-view mirror on the truck exploded into pieces. The passenger’s hands shot straight up into the air in a sign of peace.

Cam didn’t flinch. He yanked the door open and jerked the driver out onto the pavement. His face was red, his lips moving as he pushed the gun barrel against the guy’s forehead.

My panic arced, changing to something else entirely. I had been afraid they would hurt Cam. Now, no one shot forward to stop him. This time when Merc grabbed me, it was with one strong arm around my middle as he shouldered the rifle with the other.

I was screaming, but no one seemed to care.

Preacher marched up the center line, shoulders back as if he were the king of this realm. Cam, the mad prince. He nudged Cam over, kicked at the redneck’s shin, and shouted to theothers. All the other skin head looking tweakers in the trucks sat frozen. Smart move.

Cam didn’t holster his weapon as Preacher pushed the guy toward the truck but took several methodical steps backward. It was the easy way he held the gun, finger resting on the trigger. He’d kill them, every one of them.

I saw him differently then. In a way that should scare me all the way back to California, but it didn’t. Somehow, I wanted him more.

Around us, bikes pulled off, surrounding the two trucks as Preacher issued orders I couldn’t make out over the rumble. Cam’s grip on the gun released as the trucks reversed, carefully making their way through a parted sea of bikers.

Those bikes followed them, much more slowly than they’d entered.

“An escort out of town,” Merc told me, releasing his hold on me before deftly unloading his rifle and dropping ammo into his pocket. “Too many bodies to bury at once and the incinerator ain’t big enough”

His delivery was so dry, I couldn’t be sure if he was joking. I got a sinking feeling that he wasn’t.

Cam finally holstered his gun as the trucks disappeared around the bend. Only a few of the men I knew to be officers followed. The rest hovered around Cam as he approached me.

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