Page 21 of Savage

“Come a-fuckin’-gain, Kid?”

“We went back, just now, but the room has been gutted. Everything was stripped clean,” Tank says.

“You left fuckin evidence behind?” Prez shouts. “Are you crazy? Are you fuckin’ brain-dead, you little shit?”

“We were distracted with the body,” I say.

“And the bitch,” Tank supplies helpfully.

“So you’re telling me some bitch you don’t even know is the reason there’s a video tape out there with your faces on it, and it’s possibly in the hands of a fuckin’ crooked cop? I oughtta strip both your patches for this.”

“We need to find them both,” I say, thinking about the bruises marring Indie’s body. There’s so much I want to know. How many days did she stay in that room? What did they do to her? Are any of them the same breed of monster I am? Did they force her to come while she begged them to stop? There’s so much left unanswered and the key to unravelling all of this is currently lying naked in my bed, covered only in a sheet and black bruises.

“I’ll fuckin say.” This is from Grim, who leans forward in his seat to stare me down across the table.

“I got an idea. Why don’t we bring the bitch in here and have a little conversation with her, find out what she knows?” One Eye asks.

I glare at him across the top of my clenched fists. “She’s not up to talkin’.”

“Go get her,” Prez growls.

“Prez—”

“Either you go get the bitch or I will, and trust me, she’d probably like that a lot less. We need to find out exactly what we’re up against with this cop. I want to know everything about these two fuckers. I wanna know who they are, what they were doing with her, and what they fuckin’ ate for breakfast that morning. You find out what she knows, and you find out fast. Or I’ll find a way to make her talk.”

I leave the room, cursing Tank for making me bring this to the club. Down the hall, I run into Ivy who averts her gaze and attempts to walk right past me. I spin around, grabbing her arm and yanking her into me.

She glares up at my face, attempting to wrench herself free. “Ow. Let go of me.”

“You don’t even say hello to me anymore?”

“Hello,” she snaps in a tone I’ve never heard her take before.

“What the fuck, Ivy?”

“Let me go, Daniel.”

“Daniel?” I question. She’s never called me that before either. “You fuckin’ high, bitch?”

“No, I’m stone-cold sober, and finally seeing things clearly.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I let go of her arm and grasp her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “What are you playing at, babe?”

“I’m not playing at anything. In fact, I’m not your plaything at all anymore.”

My mouth twists into a crooked smile, and I can tell by the way her breath catches that we both know what she’s saying is not true. “That so?”

“Yeah, that’s so.” She licks her lips, and I can’t help myself. I back her into the wall and slam my mouth down on hers. I’m met with no resistance. How could she resist when I’m giving her everything she needs? The submission, the dominance, the animal need to fuck, the pain that stokes all her greatest and worst fantasies. I can give her all these things like no one else can, and she knows it, she craves it. It’s written all over her face.

I shove my hands beneath her skirt, spreading her legs apart and grinning when I find her completely bare. I delve between her smooth, lush lips. Bitch is wet, but then I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t. I sink three fingers into her at once, without any preparation, and her breath leaves her in a rush.

“Then how come you’re soaking wet for me, darlin’?”

I rub my fingers against the sweet spot inside her, the one that forces her legs to shudder and threaten to give out beneath her. She fists her hands in my shirt as I nip her earlobe and kiss my way down her throat, and then I slide my hands free and suck my fingers clean, tasting her juices, savouring her flavour on my tongue. Ivy’s pupils are huge, her eyes glazed with the need to fuck. I dig my hands into her hip and spin her around. Grasping the nape of her neck I shove her up against the wall, her cheek pressed to the peeling wallpaper, her arse tilted at an angle that’s perfect for entry. She’s wearing one of those tight Lycra skirts that clings to every inch of her perfect body and I slide it up and over her cheeks, revealing smooth white flesh. I bring my hand down upon her arse, relishing the sound of the slap, the red handprint it leaves behind.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Ivy. Are you ready for me to punish you?”

“Yes, oh god yes.”

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