Page 1 of Savage

KICK

Savage Saints MC Book 1

PROLOGUE

The metallic click of a bullet sliding through a chamber wakes me. My eyes spring open, but the bite of cold metal against my temple forces me to hold completely still.

Until I see her, bound and gagged on the worn motel carpet.

Her eyes are wide with fear. Her body quakes as Tag kneels behind her. Her face is contorted with pain. Tears stream down her red cheeks. Her mouth gapes open in horror around the gag. Her eyes stare accusingly at me.

I explode.

I don’t think. Just act.

Too damn bad I wasn’t quick enough.

Too bad I wasn’t enough to save her.

CHAPTER ONE

KICK

Ijolt upright. Sweat beads my brow and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Ivy sits up, her long dark hair trailing over my shoulder as she wraps her naked body around me. She kisses my neck, presses her warm tits into my back and slides her hand around to my cock, which is harder than fucking concrete. That’s the sick thing about it. No matter how many times I relive the dream, the end result is always the same. Has been for years. I see her bound and gagged with a gun at her temple and I wake up hornier than a fucking bitch in heat. I shove at Ivy’s small, expert hands and stand, causing her to lose her balance.

I grab a pack of smokes from the bedside table and light up. Down the hall, the party’s still going strong. Who am I fucking kidding? At the Savage Saints clubhouse, every night is a fucking party. There’s always an endless supply of hard liquor, even harder drugs and slippery pussy that’ll ride your cock until you can’t get hard no more.

I look at the club whore in my bed. Perfect tits, perfect arse, perfect fucking face. She coulda been a model, or a Hollywood starlet. Instead, she’s passed around between the brothers, used and abused. And what’s more? She fucking loves it.

“What are you doing here, darlin’?” I ask, because I can’t for the life of me see how hanging around a club full of arsehole and degenerate criminals is the kind of career move a smart young woman should make.

“Hoping you come back to bed.” Her eyes follow the line of my torso, rolling over every inch of hard-won muscle. She holds out her hand for my smoke, but I just laugh and shake my head. She pouts.

“Get up. Go home.” I throw a short leather skirt and a ripped-up Harley Davidson top at her. I can’t find her underwear, but then again, Ivy doesn’t ever really wear it. “Go and get a job in a fucking coffee shop, or some shit. You need away from this club, sweetheart.”

“I happen to like this club,” she says, tossing that shit she calls clothing aside and coming up on her knees. Her hand wraps around my lagging dick, sliding over the barbell in my frenum. She smiles triumphantly when my cock hardens in her soft grip. “And I’d rather get you up.”

“You like being treated like a whore, darlin’?” I nip at her neck as she strokes me, faster, harder.

“I like being treated like your whore.”

“Stupid girl.” I grunt and take a drag of my cigarette, cupping her nape in my hand. I pull her close and cover her mouth with mine, blowing smoke into her lugs. She gags and wrenches free, her eyes watering.

“I hate when you do that.”

“I know.” I chuckle.

“That bitch really did a number on you, huh, Kick?”

My hand shoots out and slips around her throat. “You don’t get to say shit about her, you got me?”

Ivy swallows. The muscles of her throat bob against my hand as I tighten my grip. Her eyes widen in fear. I smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not gonna strangle you. It’d be more trouble than it’s worth, trying to get rid of the body.” I slide my free hand over her tits, twisting her nipple, hard.

“You’re hurting me.”

“But that’s the way you like it, isn’t it, baby? Rough and hard. Just the way your daddy used to give it to you.” I squeeze her firm arse, raking my blunt fingernails across her smooth flesh. She arches into my touch, her tits thrusting forward, firm nipples brushing my chest.

“Oh, yeah.” She moans. “Hurt me, Daddy.”

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