Page 8 of Savage

I snake my hand around her waist and pull her to me, covering my mouth with hers and kissing her with brutal force. She doesn’t fight like I expected her to; instead, she kisses me back, driving her tongue into my mouth before shoving me away from her and punching me square in the jaw.

“Ow!” I cup my aching jaw, flexing it side to side to ease away the sting. “What the fuck was that?”

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, much less clean out my oesophagus.”

The old man and the greasy Italian dude who were arguing only moments ago, shove her out of the way and get up in my face, ready to beat my head in. “You touching my daughter, motherfucker?”

“Yourdaughter?” I glare accusingly between her and her old man. “You’re a club brat?”

“Don’t fuckin’ talk to her, arsehole,” the old guy says, and I’m not gonna lie, the dude’s still pretty fucking scary. “Talk to me.”

“I didn’t know. She said she wasn’t an old lady.”

“Because she’s the fucking Prez’s daughter, you fuckwad. No dirty Angel scumbag is good enough for our girl.” The big Italian dude steps closer to me, and then he glances at his president. “Can I kick his head in now?”

I give her a once over and shake my head. The bitch just fucked me silly sideways. She may not be an old lady, but she’s an MC brat, and not just any MC brat, but the fucking Severed Sons’ princess, which is worse than hitting on someone’s old lady.

“You set me up,” I accuse. She smiles again, and her whole fucking face is in on the seduction: eyes, lips, a single dimple in one cheek, everything. I gotta get this woman on the back of my bike and in my bed because I haven’t met a bitch yet that can best me at my own game.

Or I hadn’t.

Until her.

“I’ll get you back for this, and you’ll be beggin’ for me to ram my co—” I don’t get to finish that sentence because the next thing I know the old dude’s meaty hook is pounding in my face. He has a fist full of heavy silver rings, and I feel the viciously sharp edges of every single one of them.

A beat later, Tank is beside me, throwing full-grown men away from him. The ruckus attracts the rest of the Angels, not just our chapter, but our associates too. My dad is suddenly beside me, pulling the old coot away from me as he pounds his fist into the old bastard’s face and screams, “Couldn’t keep your fucking nose clean for one goddamned rally, could ya, kid?”

I king-hit the Italian, bringing him down with one hard blow to the head and glance around for the girl. I can’t make out anything, not the patches of my brothers, or those from rival gangs. I turn around and see her and her friend huddled against the outside of the pub. I should leave them there. It would serve the bitch right. She doesn’t look at all fazed by the violence, but her friend is squealing like a frightened piglet.

The cops are already moving in, hosing us down with a shower of batons and pepper spray. I can’t see Tank anywhere in the fray, so I flee in the opposite direction, heading for the girls and taking down two motherfucking Sons that get in my way. I don’t even stop when I reach them—I just clasp Blondie’s hand with the princess and drag them off towards the alley. Or at least, I try to drag them off towards the alley. Princess has other ideas.

“Let go of me,” she demands, snatching her hand from mine.

“I’m trying to fuckin’ help you, bitch.”

“Oh, I can see that,” she says caustically.

“Your dad’s having some pretty new jewellery slapped on his wrists right now, princess. What happens when a fucking hot bitch like you gets left alone with no club protection at a biker rally?”

“She screams for help,” she replies, and she deafens me with an ear-splitting shriek that brings the cops running.

Motherfucker.

I go down on my knees, my hands clasped behind my head before the cops can even reach me, but the dumb fucks beat me into submission anyway. She winks at me as I’m hauled to my feet and dragged off to the paddy wagon. Fucking MC brat.

Shoulda known.

???

Prez, Rocker, Frogger and me spend the afternoon in lock-up while our brothers do damage control on the outside and try to bail our sorry arses out. When we’re finally released around nine pm, Prez pulls me aside as the others walk towards the van. He rests two meaty hands on my shoulder and looks into my eyes.

“That shit you pulled just cost me a lot of favours, kid.”

“I didn’t pull any shit. One minute she was comin’ on to me, and the next she just flipped, and her club was laying into me. I didn’t know she was the fucking princess of the Severed Sons. I mean fuck me, did you see her? How the fuck did that come from someone like the old dude?”

“Slayer had more than his fingers in some sweet ethnic pussy pies, that’s how. Listen, there are bigger things at play here than you wanting to see that little bitch bouncing up and down on the end of your dick. The Sons have recently been making life hell for us. He glances at the brothers filing into the van, then lowers his voice, his eyes back on me. “See, they took a good deal of our profit away from that drug bust last month, they got the bitches in blue in their pocket, and it’s affecting Angel deals. With that shit the Banditos pulled up north, our hands are fucking tied. And that means you gotta keep clear of that pussy.”

“Jeez, Prez, I’m looking to get my cock sucked. I wasn’t planning on marrying her,” I say, shrugging out of his hold, though truth be told, I’m fucking angrier than a cut snake. I don’t know why, the bitch is no one to me, but that doesn’t stop this irrational rage welling inside me at my prez’s demands. I stalk towards the van and climb into the back. Tank, who’d driven out from the mountains to bail our sorry arses out, slides the van door closed as he piles in with us. Frogger, a middle-aged brother as ugly as homemade fucking sin, with big googly green eyes, raises a quizzical brow as he asks, “What the fuck’s eatin’ your knickers, boy?”

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