Page 7 of Savage Lust

“You okay?” There was a slight tenderness in his expression that hadn’t been there the night before.

“They’re all staring at me,” I whispered.

“It’s about to get worse.” He snorted, but stopped at the hood of the car when he noticed my reluctance. He shifted, so that his body blocked me from their view, and leaned down so that it seemed as if he were consoling me.

“Most of them had no idea you existed until this morning. Archer…” He trailed off with a whispered curse and rubbed a hand over the blond hair that surrounded his mouth. “He didn’t tell many people.

“There’ll be some push back, but not today. They’ll all show you more respect than anyone in the room.”

For what? Coming here was a bad idea. I needed to leave. Mom was right, these were bad people. “What do I tell them?”

“Whatever the fuck you want, darlin.”

I opened my mouth to tell him—what, exactly, that I didn’t want anything? But a large, broad shouldered, potbellied man interrupted me. His handlebar mustache was flecked with so much gray I couldn’t tell what color it had originally been. And his hair was coarse, likely looking unkept seconds after he’d tried to do anything with it.

Across the right side was a bright, new patch that readPresident. I flicked a glance to Cam’s.Vice President.

That surprised me. Cam was so much younger than all the others.

“Hey there, Riley. I’m Greg Lowell, but everyone calls me Preacher.” He sucked his tongue across his teeth like he was picking them.

The way he hovered and leered put everything into perspective. This was the sort of man who scared women, the sort that should scare me. Gathering myself took a lot more effort than it should have. But after several long seconds, I managed a facade of calm deference and shook his hand.

Then I scooted closer to Cam, fighting for an appropriate mix of fascination and sorrow. When all I wanted to do was run. I turned myself into what they needed to see. Pretty, decorative, and questionably devastated. The things expected of a young woman who had never met the man she was here to bury.

Cam took a few steps away, half hugging a man who approached. They were all dressed the same, one leather vest blurring into the next. Two rows of gleaming Harleys flanked the hearse, but there was one sitting out front all alone, sunlightglinting off the polished chrome. A group of them stood around it, as if somehow they were saying goodbye.

“You have our deepest condolences.” Preacher pounced into the space between Cam and me, leaning in, brushing his handlebar mustache against my cheek as he kissed me. I jerked when he pressed a hand to the small of my back.

I flinched and caught Cam’s eyes over Preacher’s shoulder. His gaze was hard but searching. As if with one word, he’d barrel over there and jerk the other man off me. I blinked once and Preacher straightened and smiled down at me, asking something about the ride over. He wore too much cologne and it clung to me enough that I almost gagged.

Uncomfortable, I murmured what must have been a suitable answer, because with his hand still on my back he led me toward the chapel. I looked around as we went, trying to ignore the skin crawling sensation that traveled up from his touch.

Cam stood at the end of the row, lighting a cigarette as he studied the motorcycle in front of the hearse.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the gleaming machine was my father’s.

***

Inside, there were more people than I could have imagined. I’d never suffered from stage fright, but as Preacher guided me between the pews toward the front, my palms were sweaty, and my knees wobbled.

At the first long row draped in a gold tasseled banner that readRESERVED, a few people huddled together. Two were men dressed similarly to Cam and Preacher. The other, an attractive woman about my age.

“AP, this is Archer’s daughter, Riley.” Preacher spoke at a respectable volume, ensuring that anyone close heard him. Like he was parading me around as some sort of macabre trophy.

A man about Preacher’s age, with shaggy dark hair that hung over his ears, extended his hand. The gentle smile that spread on his handsome face hinted at how good-looking he’d once been. “I’m sorry we’re meeting this way, Riley. This is my son, Jace, and daughter Dylan.”

He gestured to a younger man, quite obviously his son, who extended a long fingered, calloused hand. Yeah, AP was definitely smoking hot as a younger man—considering his son was practically a clone. Complete with the snug-fitting jeans and black leather vest.

But he was different. Jace Merrick looked like a man simultaneously comfortable in his own skin but uncomfortable in the room. He was constantly tense, ready for a fight and likely marking every avenue of escape.

A dark beard covered his face, as if he needed more than the shaggy hair to hide behind. And yet, he stood tall and unafraid. He’d just rather be anywhere else. A kindred spirit, it seemed. I shook Jace’s hand as he sized me up in a different way than his father. But unlike Preacher’s ogling, I almost wanted to preen as he gave a short, approving jerk of his chin.

I hadn’t been found wanting.

Then he looked over my shoulder and smiled with the ease of long friendship.

I followed his gaze to see Cam right behind me. His blue eyes were dark like impending rain, his mouth twisted in a half-amused smirk.

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