Page 82 of Savage

I still. At first, I think she’s still spouting off some shit about my club brother Kick, but he wouldn’t kill me; he doesn’t care enough about her to kill for her. And then the truth of her words dawns on me. She’s talking about her father. For the first time since I became a man, I feel the icy cold fingers of dread creeping down my spine. I’m afraid. Not for my safety, but for hers.

“Not if I get to him first,” I promise.

She laughs hysterically, and something in that stupid, senseless humour strengthens my fear. I’m afraid of losing her. I love her, regardless of whether or not she loves me. I think I’ve loved her since she first sucked my cock under that bridge. I saw her broken pieces scattered there all over the dirty ground, and I just wanted to put them back together. She may not love me, she may never be able to love me because she’s a selfish, spoilt little shit, but I can’t be without her.I won’t be without her. Which means I need to find that motherfucker, and soon.

I manage to get her on the bike, and I slip on behind her, sandwiching her skinny shoulders between my arms as my hands grip the handlebars. I have a hell of a time trying to get her to stay upright, and I wind up running off the road because Ivy’s a fucking mess and can’t keep her shit together. The second time this happens, we both come off the bike, and she’s crushed beneath me and a half tonne of black metal and engine parts.

Fuck. That’s gonna hurt in the morning.

I pick her up and prop her back on the bike and drive slowly and very carefully to the cabin. Killer’s bike’s still in the drive, but the front door is wide open. I draw Ivy into my arms and carry her inside the house, shouting for that little bastard.

“He’s not here,” Ivy whines, attempting to cover her ears, but failing.

“Where is he, Ivy?”

“I shot him.”

“What?”

“He wouldn’t give me the drugs. I took his gun, and I ran. He chased me. So I shot him.”

“Where?” I shout.

“In the woods.”

“Jesus fuck!” I lay her out on the couch and grab a bucket, setting it down beside her. Not that the rug hasn’t seen her vomit before.Detoxing is a bitch. But I got enough shit to clean up without her chucking up all over my lounge room floor.

“You stay fucking put this time,” I order.

Ivy just mumbles and rolls away from me. Bitch is fucking done for one night, and in the morning when her head is aching like a motherfucker and her body’s going through withdrawal all over again, her and me are gonna have ourselves a little talk.

I grab Killer’s hoodie and head outside. At least the dumb fuck wasn’t wearing his cut after Prez has ordered us patch-free until we find that cop Kick’s looking for. One more thing I don’t have to kick his arse for. Butch tears around the corner of the house and barrels into my legs. Fucking idiot jumps all around like a spaz, even after I yell at him to knock it off.

“Find Killer,” I command, and shove the hoodie under his nose. He barks and runs off towards the house, but a whistle and a harsh command has him obeying. He sniffs the ground and then he darts around the side of the house and into the woods. I follow, armed with nothing but my gun. It’s close enough to a full moon that I can see my way in the dark anyway, until I enter the woods, and then all I can see are the branches in front of me, and all I can hear are the sounds of the dog running through the underbrush.

He barks, and I follow the noise I cock the gun and aim blindly ahead of me.

“Tank,” Killer whispers. Butch barks again and growls. “Call off your fucking dog.”

“You had one job, motherfucker,” I say, and I’m not shouting. I’m far too angry for that. I pull back my foot and kick him in the ribs, hard enough to bruise, not break.

“Ah fuck.” He gasps and rolls on the forest floor, still clutching a blood-soaked shoulder. He’s fucking lucky I was the one to find her. If it’d been someone else, he’d be strung up by his intestines from a tree.

“Do you know where I found her, arsehole?” I ask, finally raising my voice. He shakes his head. “Coked out in the middle of the fuckin’ road.”

“She pulled my gun on me. She shot me, man.” He whimpers. “I know I fucked up, but I didn’t think she’d actually shoot me.”

“She’s a fucking junkie!” I roar, and then I bend over and knock his hand away from his shoulder. Finding the bullet hole, I sink my fingers inside until his screams fill the night around us. “What the fuck else did you expect?”

“I’m sorry, man.” He groans.Jesus fuck. The kid sounds like he’s fucking dying.

“I found her arse lying face-down in the middle of the road.” I slide my finger free and wipe it on the hem of his shirt. Fucker’s lost a hell of a lot of blood. He must have been making his way back to the house and just given up halfway there. Stupid, spoiled little fuck.

Killer’s face contorts again with pain or fear, I don’t know which, and I don’t much care either. “Is she dead?”

“No, she’s not fucking dead,” I snap. “No thanks to you.”

I grasp his chin in my blood-stained hand, glaring down into his eyes. “You fucked up, kid.”

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