Page 41 of Savage

“I just need you to help me get to the gate. I need you to buy me some time. I’ll get her back to her dad and be back here before Prez knows about any of it.”

“And who the fuck do you think Prez is gonna come looking for once he discovers the bitch is gone? Slipping a roofie in Tag’s coffee was one thing, but getting past four brothers is another thing entirely.”

“What if she held you at gunpoint?”

He looks at me as if I’ve just grown another fucking head, and this one is sprouting bullshit for sonnets.

“I’m serious. You coulda tried to rape her, she grabbed your gun and led you outside.”

“No one in their right mind is gonna buy that bullshit. Assuming we can get her past the other four idiots in the lounge, that is. Red’s working the gate, too; he’ll have eyes everywhere.” The booth at the gate was mostly there so we’d have a little warning when a raid was upon us. The cameras only monitored the lot, but if we were walking around with a prisoner in tow, Red was gonna know about it.

“Then we just have to hope he’s gone to take a piss,” I say.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’ve never asked you for anything, brother, but I know you know this is the right thing to do.”

“Fuck the right fuckin’ thing to do,” he mutters under his breath. “Whatever happened to the club before hoes?”

“Take your shirt off,” I say.

He glares at me.

“She’s gonna need clothes to leave the compound, or we’re both gonna get arrested. We haven’t got time to run back upstairs,” I explain.

“Fuck me. Last time I ever do you a favour.”

“It’ll be the only time I ask you for a favour.”

Tank removes his shirt and holds it out to Lauren. She doesn’t take it. Instead, she stares him down, and he drops it on the concrete floor. She turns away from us as she picks it up and puts it on. It’s huge, swamping her frail frame, and looking more like a dress than a T-shirt.

Tank opens the door and pokes his head out; then he motions us forward. We walk up the short hall to the door that leads outside. Tag is out cold, sitting on the sofa in the entrance, head lulled to the side and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. There’s a line of drool running over his chin to his shoulder. “He gonna remember you druggin’ him?”

“Doubt it,” Tank says with a shrug. “I left before he fell asleep. When he wakes he’s probably just gonna think he really needed a nap.”

It’s late afternoon, just on dusk, and the chill in the air has princess’s teeth chattering together, or maybe that’s the fear of being caught. It’s certainly no picnic for Tank and me, either. If we get caught smuggling her out of here, we’ll be put to ground quicker than either of us could blink.

So we walk with purpose—’cause nothing says you’re doing bad shit like skulking around corners in a compound—and we make it as far as the garage without being seen. Riding out of here with no one being any the wiser is gonna be a challenge, though. I’m pushing my bike from the undercover garage when Red rounds the corner. Fuck, he must’ve been taking a piss after all, because he’s just come from the direction of the clubhouse.

He’s as surprised to see us as we are having to stare back at his ugly mug, but then his eyes shoot to Lauren and his face creases with confusion.

“Hey, what’s with the bitch?” Red asks.

“Prez said to bring her out to the lot. Somethin’ about handing her over to Slayer.”

“Handin’ her over to Slayer? What the fuck for? He hasn’t come at a deal yet. We got the cops in our pocket, but he’s draggin’ his heels on the negotiations with the girl. Seems he’s not willing to hand over drugs and guns for his little princess, here.”

“Well, maybe he and Prez finally came to an agreement.” Tank shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “All I know was that he said to bring her out to the lot.”

“And what the hell’s he doin’ here?” Red says, tilting his chin in my direction.

“Sayin’ goodbye.” I pull my gun from the back of my jeans and point it at Red, and then I slide the barrel back and forth between the two men, shoving Lauren behind me.

“Think about what you’re doin’ here, brother,” Tank says, putting his hands up in surrender. Red reaches for his piece. I turn the gun on him and shoot him once, right between the eyes. Fucker falls to the ground like a sack of shit. Lauren sucks in a sharp breath. Tank checks for a pulse. I assume there isn’t one—he’d have to be pretty fucking lucky to survive a bullet to the brain. Tank fishes Red’s gun from the holster in his pants and hands it to me. “You gotta shoot me, and then you gotta move.”

“Yeah.” He’s right. It sucks, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Tank’s unarmed. Hand to hand he’d take me down in seconds flat, but no man ever argued with a bullet and expected to come out standing. “Where do you want it?”

Tank shakes his head. “It’s gotta be an arm shot. That way it looks like you were aiming for my chest, but missed ’cause you’re a fuckin’ lousy shooter.”

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