Page 60 of Savage

“Dead.”

Gunshots go off, and I forget all about being quiet, because my fucking girl is in that room. I kick open the door; fucking idiots didn’t lock it. One Eye is dead, the Cop has Indie on the ground, and his gun is shoved up under her chin.

“Shoot me, and she dies,” he says, glaring up at me.

“Shoot her, and you die,” I challenge.

“I’m not going to shoot her, and I’m not leaving without her. He wants her back. He’s not finished with her. You took her from us.”

“Oh, heisfinished with her. I can promise you that. The Priest is finished, period. Girl belongs to me now, and I don’t appreciate people trying to take what’s mine.”

“You can’t stop him. He’s higher than you or I could ever grasp. He’s on a holy mission, sent down from God to save us all.”

“By abducting women and destroying them? That’s his holy mission? It’s been a while since I was in Sunday School—no, wait, scratch that, I’ve never fuckin’ been to Sunday School—but I’m pretty sure your definition of worship is fucked.”

“You can kill me, but God’s plan, the Father’s plan cannot be undone.”

“Fuck God’s plan.” Indie jerks forward, wrapping a long black piece of fabric around his neck and yanking it tight. I don’t have time to think. I just aim and shoot the way I have with so many other mother fuckers. I fire off three bullets between his eyes, hoping and praying like hell his finger wasn’t actually on the trigger. He slumps forward on top of her.

My heart stops as I wait.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

His body jerks and then he’s rolled to the side as she emerges. I stalk over and fire off several more shots, emptying my whole clip into that fucker’s face. Indie covers her ears and squeezes her eyes tightly closed.

“Fucking zealots,” I mutter.

Indie stares up at me for a moment, and then the levee breaks. She covers her eyes and sobs while I stand there like a fucking tool with no idea how to comfort her. I want to pull her into my lap the way I did once before, but for the second time tonight I’m considering someone other than myself. Country risked his life to save her, and it’s only fair I repay the favour. I scoop her up in my arms and carry her out of the gym. Before we clear the door, she glances over my shoulder at the man who tortured her.

“You did good, spitfire,” I whisper. She tucks her head against my chest.

In the kitchen, Country’s pale, the wrinkled skin beneath his eyes as ashen as his beard. He looks like shit.

“Not … too shabby …” He wheezes. “For a blind … geriatric, hey kid?”

“Yeah, if you’d actually hit someone, maybe.” I smile at the old man and nod. “I owe you, brother.”

“Nah, I’m just … pissed … didn’t get to shoot … some stupid-arse motherfuckers.”

“You need to stop talkin’,” I warn him. I set Indie on her feet, and she sits heavily on the tiles.

“You okay, babe?”

“I don’t … I don’t feel anything,” she says, staring at the open door of the gym. I walk over and pull it firmly closed. “I thought I’d feel … something, but there’s nothing. I’m just numb.”

“I know,” I say, taking her in my arms. And I do know. I didn’t feel retribution, or elation, or even satiated when I killed the Angels’ president. I was numb, because it was way too late to save Lauren.

“He needs a hospital,” she says tilting her chin towards Country.

“He needs the Butcher.”

“Fuck the Butcher … get me a goddamned spoon … I’ll get it out … myself.”

“Shut up, old man.” I pull my phone from my pocket and dial the prez. He answers on the first ring, and I tell him what went down while I was off trying to hide my fucking feelings with a stranger sucking my cock. I leave out that last part. No point in upsetting Indie further. He promises that the Butcher will be here soon and orders me to stay with Country.

Forty long minutes later, the Butcher’s Porsche pulls into the drive. I take Indie upstairs because she doesn’t need to meet the man who jabbed her with a needle and knocked her out cold to examine her.

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