Page 32 of Savage

I don’t stop at just one, though. I lick and suck through her twisting and twitching, her protests and punches. I delve my tongue into her hole, as far as I can reach, rubbing my coarse stubble against her pussy, making her flinch and cry out, and eventually tilt her hips toward me for more.

When the cops finally bust down my door, I’ve forgotten all about the fuckers. I stand quickly and capture her face in my hands. If she’s smart, she’ll play along; if not, this may be the only time I get to taste her, have her, kiss her. So I do that, despite the fact that I’m buck naked, she’s scared out of her fucking mind, and the cops have a gun trained on my head. I lower my lips to hers and drive my tongue into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself, to feel me in her mouth the way I was inside her pussy. I use the distraction to wrap my hand around the nape of her neck, realising how easy it would be to twist and snap it, and fearing the fragility of her all at once. I keep my eyes trained on her as I take her mouth. She’s doped with pleasure, and her eyes are glassy—or the one that I can see is. The other is still swollen shut.

“Get your hands on your head and turn around slowly,” the cop commands. I let the girl’s face go and place my hands behind my head, turning with a cocky smile and an even cockier dick, considering I’m still fucking hard as concrete and begging for release. That’s one orgasm I can kiss goodbye.

The cop closest to the door curls his lip in distaste. “Jesus Christ.”

“There a reason you officers are busting down my door while I’m trying to make sweet mad love to my old lady here?”

“Step out of the shower, and drop to your knees, Sir.”

“Listen, fellas, you might swing that way down at the station, but I don’t suck cock. As you can see, I like pussy.” A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Mostly just her pussy, but I’m not fussy.”

One of them pulls a towel from the rack and throws it at me. “Cover yourself up,” he hisses, bringing his hand back to his gun.

I step from the shower and wrap the towel around me, not bothering to dry off, then I throw another at the girl and say, “Princess, go wait for me in bed, okay? This shouldn’t take long, and then I can get back to fucking the shit outta that sweet cunt of yours.”

She just stares at me, and I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. Could she be any more fucking suspicious? Her gaze darts from the cops to me, and back again. She opens her mouth to speak, but I shoot her a warning look, and her eyes widen. I’m shoved to the ground. The men slap me in cuffs, though I’m not read my rights, so I don’t know what the fuck is going on. For a half a second, I think my prez might have used me as a scapegoat, but no one rats to the cops. Not even Prez can come back from that shit. You rat, you die. It’s the reason they’ve been gunning for Ethan’s head for so long, because the Angels believe he ratted and then cashed in his get-out-of-jail-free card. I know differently, but I can’t exactly tell them that, because that would open up a whole slew of questions Prez wouldn’t like the answer to. Answers that would get me a bullet to the face.

The water shuts off, and her little feet thud on the mat beside me. I dare a glance in her direction. She’s covered by an old towel, hair plastered to her back and water beaded on her skin. I wanna lick it off. I wanna trace my tongue over every fuckin’ inch of that gloriously brown body, but one of the bastards in blue hauls me up by the cuffs and shoves me forward. The towel slips from my waist. The cop in front of me lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Christ. Can we get some clothes on this fucker?”

“Just do up the God damned towel.”

“I’m not going near his Johnson. You fucking do it.”

I roll my eyes as the two cops fight about my junk hanging out for the world to see. Princess surprises us both, I think, when she bends down in front of me and retrieves the towel. It’s more surprising still when she glances up at me from her position on the floor. Her eyes are dark with challenge. Over what? I don’t know.

Princess stands and wraps the towel around me, skimming the hard muscles of my hips with her tiny, fragile hands as she tucks one end of the towel into the part covering my waist. “Thanks, princess. Now be a good little girl and go wait in bed for me.”

Her hatred is a fucking beam that sears me right down to the core. She stands before me, not saying anything, but conveying everything with the tension in her gaze.

“Princess,” I hiss through my teeth.

“He the one that did that to your face?” one of the officers asks. She just stares at him, and he turns his stupid fucking questioning gaze on me. He looks like a fucking dickhead. “You like to beat on your old lady?”

“I didn’t do that, but right now I’m beginning to wish I had,” I warn.

Her eyes dart between me and the cop again, and she says, “My name is Lauren Costello. My father is Slayer—” She shakes her head. “My father is Vincent Costello. He’s the president of the Severed Sons’ Motorcycle Club. These people kidnapped me, they’ve held me hostage. Their president … he raped me … he beat me.”

“Stupid fucking bitch,” I hiss, shaking my head.

So princess has a name, huh? I could have done without knowing what that was because now the name Lauren will forever be tainted by the fact that I watched her get tortured. That I watched her die right in front of me and that I could do nothing to stop it. And she will die. Prez will see to that. He won’t tolerate that shit. Just because a man wears a uniform doesn’t mean he isn’t just as criminal as the fucking rest of us. And even if she gets lucky and the cops do send her home, we’ll still find her, and we’ll gun her down and string up her insides like Christmas tree tinsel, because that’s what we do to rats. You rat, you die.

“Ah, shit,” the fatter of the two officers says. His porky belly protrudes over his belt, and he jams a finger through the belt loop and tugs it upward. “And this guy? He rape you too?”

She glances at me, and it’s the fucking damnedest thing, but I think I see guilt behind her eyes. “No. He was trying to help. He promised to get me out of here.”

“Stop fuckin’ talkin’, bitch,” I shout. Every word that comes out of her whoring trap sinks me further in the shitter, and she doesn’t even know it.

“Did he now?” the cop asks. Princess nods her head vigorously.

Tilting his head towards his partner, the cop yanks me out of the way while the other grabs Lauren’s wrists and hauls her through my bedroom and out into the hall.

“Wait,” she protests. The wall blocks my view of her, but I can hear the panic rising in her voice. “Can I at least get my clothes?”

“Nope. We need them for evidence,” the cop replies.

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