Page 25 of Savage

He chuckles. “I believe that about as much as I believe that you’re trying to rescue that girl there out of the goodness of your heart.”

I glance down at Indie. I’m covered in her vomit, sitting here, chatting with my prez as though she were my drunken girlfriend who lost her guts before submitting to an alcoholic coma. I don’t know what it is about her that makes me so fiercely protective and yet so completely fucking at a loss when it comes to what to do with her. It would be so easy just to wrap my hands around her slim throat and squeeze, but I don’t want to, and judging by the way Prez is staring at me, he knows this as well as I do.

Prez nods toward Indie. He gives me another of his wry smiles, and I kind of want to shoot him the nut-sack for being such a cocky fuck, because I’m sure I’m not gonna like what he’s about to say. “That’s a lot to take on, kid.”

“So is a brother who shot down his prior club members.”

“But here we are.”

“You gonna turn me into the Angels? Collect a big wad of cash?”

“You got some issues with trust, huh?” Prez frowns. “Guess I’m not surprised. I knew your old man, and that fucker was meaner than a hornet without a nest.”

“And how do you know who my old man is?”

“Because you look exactly like him. Didn’t think I’d ever figure out who the hell you reminded me of; if I didn’t know you were an Angel—”

“I was never an Angel, but I make a perfect Saint.”

He laughs; this time it’s not the carefully controlled chuckle from before, it’s an all-out belly laugh.

“Yeah, you do,” he says when he recovers. “But if you fuck up like this again, I’m gonna have your balls in a vice for all eternity. You got that, Newbie?”

I smile at the use of his nickname for me. “Yeah, I got it.”

“You stay with her until she wakes up, and then you find out what she knows. I need that tape, and then I need those two fuckers taken out.”

“One question. Who gets to be the one delivering the bullet?”

“You do, kid. Get me my tape, and they’re all yours.”

He opens the door and walks through it, and I spend the next few minutes wondering what the hell just happened. I just admitted to killing not one, but several of my former club brothers, an offense normally punishable by death, and my prez didn’t even bat an eyelid. Either he has way more faith in me than he should, or he’s dumber than I thought he was. Because if it’s the only means I have of self-preservation, for Indie or myself, then I’ll betray this club too.

The strange part is I’m just prolonging the inevitable. Neither one of us are particularly fond of living, it seems, though it looks like we’re both stuck here for a while longer.

CHAPTER TWELVE

INDIE

Black.

That’s all I see.

Darkness.

There’s no white light, no pearly gates, no redemption. Just blackness and spinning and shouting, screaming. And then there’s his voice above me, around me, behind me. I turn but can’t escape it. I scream; I cry out and fall to my knees, covering my ears with my hands pressed firmly against the soft cartilage.

There’s a sting in my arm and the world snaps into place like a rubber band from a slingshot.

I’m back in the warehouse. I’m not with the biker at all. I’m back in that warehouse, and the Dentist is pushing the needle through my vein like a hot knife through butter. I struggle. Scream. Fight. And then it’s the biker’s voice in my ear. “Shh, I have you, little spitfire.”

“No!” I scream. I sob, but all I feel as I slip back under are his arms banding around me, holding me down. Holding me captive.

“Same shit, different day,” I mutter, but I don’t know if the words come out right or if I just think I said them. I don’t know anything anymore except that I want to die. With every fibre of my being, with everything I am, I know that much is true.

I just want to die, but he won’t let me.

???

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