TEN

Seychelle drove straight to the bar. She could walk to a motel from there. Motels were in abundance. Tourists came often for whale watching and film festivals and everything else Sea Haven and Fort Bragg had to offer. Then there was Alena’s restaurant, Crow 287, fast becoming a huge draw for Caspar. There was everything there, but she was leaving.

She put her head down on the steering wheel and allowed herself to cry. She had come here hoping for a new start. She wanted to be independent and happy, but she wasn’t either of those things. She was strong and disciplined in most areas of her life, but the fact that she couldn’t stop herself from trying to heal other people’s illnesses was slowly killing her. She was just worn out. There was no way to stop herself. She’d tried, but she just couldn’t find any control. That meant living a very solitary existence. She didn’t even know what she was doing, as evidenced by coming here to this bar. It made no sense and yet here she was.

Savage. She whispered his name. She couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.

She had no control when it came to him. No more control than she had when it came to her strange gift—or curse—of attempting to heal others. She’d never felt so much for another human being. She’d never felt so alive. So passionate. So completely happy or sad. So . . . everything when she was with Savage. She had no balance anymore.

She caught glimpses of the violence in his life. Of darkness. He was worried about his dark sexual practices coming to light and that she would be disgusted. She was intrigued. She even, to some extent, fantasized about them. That was a hidden secret she barely wanted to admit to herself. Why she would be hot, slick and wanting whenever she thought about Savage and what he needed, she didn’t know, especially when nothing else seemed to put her body in the mood. She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to explore that side of herself, although the thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

But other women? She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t. No matter how much she loved him. How much she wanted to be with him. The emptiness she felt when she was away from him. Just feeling the raw lust those women had for him as they fixated on him had eaten away at her. She’d felt less of a woman than she ever had in her life, and Savage had dismissed her concerns and doubts so easily.

She stared at herself in the rearview mirror and then, making up her mind, she locked her car and went inside. There were mostly men sitting at the bar and a few couples occupying the tables. A country-western song was playing, and the lights were low. Exactly what she needed. She bought a pack of cigarettes and immediately went outside and lit one. She might have enjoyed it, but she felt a little like a guilty, defiant child instead of an adult making her own decisions—because lighting up the cigarette was just that: defiance. She didn’t even want to smoke. Restless and unhappy, she crushed it under her foot, picked it up and tossed it in the trash can just outside the bar.

Back inside, she ordered a drink, and immediately one of the men at the bar insisted on paying for it. He slid from his bar stool to sit beside her. His name was Bill, and no, it wasn’t her first time in the bar, but she didn’t come here often. He gave out harmless vibes of loneliness, so she let him pay for her drink. He seemed a nice enough man, just trying to find his way the same way she was.

Two drinks later she was back outside with another cigarette. This smoke was much more enjoyable than the last one. Bill stood with her, still talking, but his vibe had gone from lonely to far more amorous. He was easy, though. Easy to talk to. It was easy to make decisions about whether or not she wanted to be with him. He’d tried to kiss her once, but she couldn’t, not with her suddenly churning stomach threatening to empty itself all over him. Smoking outside was a better thing to do. She felt so sick. And the world kept tilting, first one way and then the other.

“Come on, baby, time to go home.”

She blinked rapidly to bring the speaker into focus, because she knew that voice. So soft. Velvet soft but with steel under it. Savage stood there, gently removing her arm from Bill’s grasp.

“She’s with me,” Bill said, but he stepped back.

“Actually, she’s my woman, and touching her isn’t allowed.”

Again, that voice was very soft, but a little shiver went down Seychelle’s spine. She stuck her chin out belligerently. “Actually, you can’t stop me from being with Bill.”

“Babe. Really? I could put Bill six feet under, and then I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be with him. Corpses don’t make good lovers. Let’s get you home. You drank a little too much.”

“I can’t go home. I can’t drive.” She was certain of that. She could barely stand. She wasn’t used to drinking, but she wasn’t going to admit to that. The world was spinning, and so was her stomach.

Savage wrapped one arm around her waist and took the cigarette from her hand. “Where’s the pack, Seychelle?”

She loved his voice. That soft, velvet brush along her skin. The sound sent a million butterflies winging their way through her body. Her stomach did a slow roll, and always, always when he spoke like that, she went damp and needy. Little fingers of desire danced up her thighs and down her spine. Just with his voice. She really had to tell him.

“I love your voice. It’s so beautiful.”

Savage smiled at her. “Thank you, baby, but I still need the pack. Give it to me.”

She watched him crush the cigarette and put it in the trash can. He tossed the pack after it and then he walked her to her car. “It’s good you didn’t litter,” she said solemnly, because really, littering was so wrong. “And I’ve been contemplating the corpse thing. That’s just really eeww. I might have nightmares.” She waved at Bill.

Savage shook his head as he opened the passenger-side door and snapped her seat belt in place. “You’re going to be all right. I’ll take care of you.”

“You’re kind of dreamy, Savage. Like dreamy gorgeous.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear, a faint smile on his face. “Glad you think so, baby.” He closed the door and rounded the hood. She watched him every step of the way as he got behind the wheel. He really was beautiful. As he drove the car from the parking lot, he signaled to someone behind them. She heard the familiar and now comforting roar of Harley pipes, and then they were on the highway, heading back to Sea Haven.

Savage knew he wasn’t getting drunk sex, as intriguing as his body thought it was. His woman was a very sick drunk. She wasn’t sloppy. Or clingy. Or even weepy. She was just plain sick. Savage had no idea why he found that so fuckin’ amusing, but he did. She couldn’t drink worth shit and he was going to put his foot down when it came to her drinking alone, without his club—or him—protecting her.

He spent some time with her in the bathroom, although she protested, embarrassed, not wanting him to see her like that. He had news for her: he was the kind of man to want to see his woman in every type of circumstance. He didn’t leave her alone when she needed him. And she needed him. He’d never seen anyone so sick. He had the feeling it was less about how much she’d drunk and more about her being allergic.

“Do you think it’s her first time drinking?” Ink asked, concerned. “Maybe we should take her to the hospital. She could have alcohol poisoning.”

“I think she’s allergic,” Savage said. He glanced at his watch. He had club business tonight, but he couldn’t leave her, not when she was so sick. There was nothing left for her to throw up, but she still hugged the toilet bowl, miserable and retching. He had gathered her hair, bunched it in his hand and held it out of the way. Finally, he loosely braided it to keep it away from her face. The moment she stopped vomiting, he was putting her in the shower, and then hoping she’d go to sleep.

Ink sat in an armchair. Preacher perched on the end of the bed. His two fellow Torpedo Ink brothers regarded him solemnly.

“You have to get out of here soon,” Preacher reminded him. “Transporter said to tell you the same man who’s been coming around the place, just walking by, did again tonight. This time he had a girl with him. He walked slow and kept his eyes on the cottage. Had his arm around the girl but not his attention on the girl.”

Savage wrapped his arm around Seychelle’s waist and lifted her off the floor. She groaned and turned her face away from him, or tried to. He had her braid bunched in his fist, and he didn’t let up on her scalp, forcing her head toward the sink so he could rinse out her mouth and brush her teeth before taking her ass into the shower.

“What kind of shape was the girl in that he was with? Did Transporter say? I need to get Seychelle into the shower. In the top drawer she has some tanks. Can you get one out for me?”

“Savage?” Seychelle looked up at him, misery on her face. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to stay. I think I’m done throwing up.”

“Just brush your teeth, baby. I’m getting you cleaned up and then into bed. We’ll talk about this later. When I’m not so pissed and you’re not so screwed up.”

“Guy with the chick wasn’t the only one, Savage. Transporter said Seychelle went into town to help some older couple, and that wormy asshole Arnold was creeping around her house. He tried her doors, both front and back and even the garage. He even tried the windows. At one point he picked up a rock like he might throw it through a window, but Transporter started walking toward the cottage and the asshole jumped in his car and took off,” Preacher said.

“Why the hell wasn’t I told immediately?” Savage demanded.

Ink shrugged. “I went to the hotel. He’d already checked out and left for the Bay Area. Figured there was no real hurry and it could wait until this evening.”

Holding Seychelle close to him as she brushed her teeth, Savage realized they were right. What could he have done? “Can you stay with her while I’m gone? Don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone. And did Transporter say anything about the girl Campbell was with? I’m sure it was Campbell hanging around too.”

“No, Transporter didn’t say anything about the girl, but I’ll text him and ask,” Preacher said. He exchanged a long look with Ink. “You need us to stay, there’s no problem.”

“Just so we’re clear on this woman, Savage,” Ink said. “This is a permanent situation?”

“Guess you didn’t hear what I said. Seychelle belongs to me. She’s mine. I’m not ever turning her loose. I don’t know how to put it any fuckin’ plainer than that. She’s going to live with me, and she’s stayin’ no matter how rough it gets. So be her friend and watch out for her. She’s never going to have an easy life.”

Seychelle spit into the sink and rinsed out her mouth repeatedly. Savage reached around her and turned off the faucet. He unbraided her hair and set her down on the bathroom floor, so he could turn on the shower and then strip. She was next. Fuckin’ devil in hell was trying to tempt him.

Bog, his woman. She had curves in abundance. Slender legs, small waist and rib cage, but hips, tits and ass. It was all there, but even better, her skin was porcelain white. Perfect skin. A fuckin’ canvas. Her tits had perfect nipples, just as he had suspected. Because her breasts were ample, her nipples were tight buds that stood out perfectly for clamps, a pretty, blushing pink. She’d been created for him, his perfect little angel he was going to corrupt and lead straight to the fires of hell.

She kept winding herself around him, her hands straying south, stroking when he didn’t need her touching his already-hard-as-a-rock cock. No matter how many times he took her hands off him, they were back. She wound her leg around him, the one with the scars, rubbing her sweet pussy over his thigh, and she was hotter than hell.

He gave up trying to keep her hands from pumping his cock, carried her into the shower and took advantage, licking at her nipples to see how sensitive they were. He used the edge of his teeth, then bit down and pulled gently, listening to her gasp, listening to the way her breathing changed. His hand moved between her legs to feel the damp heat. His fingers found her slick, and each time he tugged or bit down a little harder on her nipples, a fresh flood of liquid coated his fingers. He couldn’t stop the need welling up like a volcano, but he could be disciplined. She was drunk and sick. He needed to lay everything out in front of her, let her know what his needs were. What kinds of things were going to be expected of her. This wasn’t fair to her.

“Okay, baby, we have to stop before this gets out of hand,” he advised, although that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Put your hands on my chest and leave them there.”

Her eyes closed, and she began to slump. He had to catch her around the waist and hold her up to wash her carefully, wash that waterfall of gold-and-platinum-colored hair, condition it and then pass her off to Preacher and Ink while he showered. They wrapped her hair in a towel and dried her off, pulled on her tank and then tucked her into bed. He dressed, found a blow-dryer and started on her hair.

Preacher took the dryer out of his hand. “You’re already going to be late if you don’t rocket. They aren’t going to wait for you, Savage. Czar’s meeting with Plank at three in the morning. It takes an hour to get there, and you’re running out of time. You have to be on time.”

Savage pulled on his jacket and gloves. “You keep her safe for me.”

“You don’t have to ask twice, brother,” Ink said.

Preacher nodded. “She’s safe.”

Savage took one last look at his woman. Her lashes lifted, and she looked directly at him with those teal-blue eyes of hers. His gut twisted. Never in his life had he been reluctant to go to a meet that could very well result in blood and death. That brought him up short.

As he made the ride to Boonville, speeding on his Night Rod Special, he thought about what he was asking of Seychelle. He wanted her to take a leap of faith and give herself to him. Just surrender everything. She would have to in order to live with him.

He was so fucked up he needed strict rules in his life in order to survive—in order for those around him to survive. His brothers and sisters in Torpedo Ink recognized that he had to live a certain way, and they gave him that space. It would be very difficult for a woman to do so. To give him everything she was and more. He would demand so much more from her.

If he was asking that of her, to choose him over any other life, knowing what she was getting into—and it was only fair to warn her, to show her—then he had to give her something equal in return. Her life would be a sacrifice, most likely a continuous one. So what the hell was he going to give her back that was of equal value?

What did a man so fucked up, a man who actually lived up to his name of Savage, give to a woman whose life he planned to take over completely? Whatever it was, it had to be worth it to her. What would she value? What would make sacrificing her life for his worthwhile? Once she committed to him, there would be no going back. His fucked-up personality, as well as the lifestyle he would teach her, would never allow that. He needed her to want to stay—to choose him in spite of knowing just what she was getting herself into.

Loving someone, caring on any level, made a man—or a woman—vulnerable. Every member of Torpedo Ink knew that, knew what it was like to suffer, to do despicable things in order to save the life of a loved one. Even worse, you could allow yourself to be shaped into a monster in order to save those you loved.

He groaned aloud as he hurtled through the bends in the road, mostly straightening them out. He could outrun almost anything, and he knew every back road there was between Boonville and the coast. All of them did. They left nothing to chance. That was Czar’s training. The president of Torpedo Ink had drilled it into them that every detail counted. From the moment they had arrived and chosen Caspar as their home, they had begun to study every escape route possible. He could outrun the cops, but he couldn’t outrun Seychelle Dubois.

He was so in love with her, he could barely think straight. She had to know that. She had to know that he was giving her all of him. He’d sworn to himself, on the lives of his parents, his sisters, on Reaper’s life, that he would never love another person so deeply that he would do anything to save them, no matter how vile. He did love her that much. More. She’d slipped inside him when he wasn’t looking and was wrapped there so tight, and she had to know. He had to tell her what that meant. It was the only thing he had to offer her—himself.

Seychelle had to know his life. It didn’t matter that no one else would ever have him or see that one tiny place inside him he had tried to hold sacred. She had to know that he took on the pain for his brothers and sisters and couldn’t stop even now, and what that meant for her. For them. What and why he needed her the way he did. Libby Drake was right. He had to risk everything and give Seychelle the absolute truth.

His Harley was fast, but Transporter and Mechanic had worked their magic and it was even more of a road rocket, with a wealth of hidden compartments allowing him to carry the tools he needed when he was sent on a job. He kept the weight light enough to keep the speed he needed if he was forced to outrun an enemy—or the cops. They never engaged with law enforcement. That was part of the code they all abided by. Unless, of course, a particular individual was corrupt. Then all bets were off.

The members of his club were waiting, and they weren’t happy. He was only a few minutes late, but those minutes counted. Those minutes were used to set up their escape routes and lay out their plan of action and the protection of their president. Savage had cut down their available time by being late.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, because he was. Not for the reason that he was late, but because he was Torpedo Ink and his club always came first. He’d screwed up, but this was his screwup, not Seychelle’s. “Had to retrieve Seychelle tonight. She came to the clubhouse and auditioned with the band, then got herself in a little trouble. Drank too much. Preacher and Ink are looking out for her.”

Czar looked him over carefully, as did his birth brother, Reaper. “You got your head in the game tonight? Because I need you here with us. If you’re worried about her, that could be a problem,” Czar said.

“Wouldn’t be here if my head wasn’t straight, Czar,” Savage assured him.

Czar looked him over a second time and then nodded. “Let’s get this done. I have a bad feeling about this meeting. Something’s going down. Alena, you and Lana go in first. Get a feel for what’s going on. Reaper is with me. Savage, you’re our eyes on this one. You’re in the shadows. Remember, if we have to kill one Diamondback, we may as well kill them all. That club will hunt us to the end of our days. They will never forget. Having said that, you can fuck one up royally if you have to. Let’s try to get along, but if we have no choice, take them down hard but keep them alive. If you have to make a kill, that’s a signal to take all of them. No one gets away to warn the others. That gives us time to get out and get our families away.”

Savage studied Czar’s hawklike features. He was worried. A club like the Diamondbacks asking for a meet at three in the morning, not in either of their clubhouses, signaled trouble. The Diamondbacks had chosen a bar on the outskirts of Boonville. Torpedo Ink scouted the place out numerous times. It was closed, but the lights were on. There were bikes parked in the front along with a couple of cars. The Diamondbacks brought a full contingent. Plank wasn’t going to take any chances with Torpedo Ink. Technically, the Diamondbacks could call on them, and did, to go after enemies the club couldn’t afford to have traced back to them. This looked more like a war council. The members of Torpedo Ink nodded, their expressions sober. Like Savage, they understood this meeting could change everything.

Alena took lead. She sometimes hooked up with one of the Diamondbacks’ enforcers, a man who went by the name of Pierce. He was a former SEAL and had joined the Diamondback club years earlier, working his way through the ranks. The man could handle himself, there was no question of that. If the president of his chapter was there, he would be as well.

She rode with Lana by her side into the parking lot of the bar and, in true Alena fashion, was off her bike without seeming to pay attention to the small group of women just getting into a car, obviously to leave. The moment they saw Alena and Lana, the women thrust open the doors and got out again.

Alena turned to Lana and took a small compact from her and began to fix her lipstick. Four women, led by Tawny Farmer, a woman who had been banned from anything to do with Torpedo Ink, surrounded the two newcomers. Alena glanced up as if just noticing them.

Several Diamondbacks emerged from the bar, hearing the sound of the motorcycles. Their prospect, no doubt, had reported the arrival of two of the Torpedo Ink members, with others coming in right behind them.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Alena?” Tawny demanded. “If you think you’re going to fuck Pierce, he’s already been taken care of. He’s with me now, not you, so keep your hands off him. I ride on the back of his bike and I fuck him until he can’t see straight.”

Alena looked her up and down coolly, one eyebrow up, but she said nothing. She glanced at Lana, who looked amused.

That only incited Tawny more. “You don’t have to believe me, but that stupid little video of you, naked, your fingers busy, and your fake moans, everyone has that. He mailed it to all the members of the club and showed it to me while we lay in bed together laughing over it.”

Alena didn’t so much as blink. Her expression remained as bored as ever. Lana rolled her eyes as if to say who cared who had a video.

Tawny shrieked and threw herself at Alena, her long nails curved like claws going for Alena’s face. At the last minute, Alena turned her head, but she didn’t try to defend herself or even block the series of blows Tawny rained down on her. Lana held herself very still. The other three women shouted encouragements at Tawny and obscenities at Alena.

Pierce and four of the Diamondbacks pulled Tawny away from Alena. Czar, Reaper, Ice and Storm rushed the small group as Plank, the president of the Diamondbacks’ chapter, hurried out with two more of their club members. Pierce reached for Alena, but she stepped back to stand with her Torpedo Ink members.

“What the fuck just happened?” Plank demanded. He’d obviously witnessed it but couldn’t seem to believe his eyes.

“Seems that you can’t control your women,” Czar said, his tone low, furious. “My members know how to conduct themselves when we’ve been invited to an important meet. We don’t have club trash attacking the invited club.”

Tawny hissed an angry obscenity at him, but one of the other women tried to cover it by telling her to shut up. The man holding Tawny shook her like a rag doll.

Czar was so furious he simply looked up, whistled and did a low circle with his finger, indicating all of Torpedo Ink get on their bikes. Immediately, the club members complied with their president’s order, all of them returning to their motorcycles with the exception of Reaper, Ice and Storm.

“This is bullshit, and insulting,” Czar snapped, never once raising his voice, but his gaze flicked to Pierce briefly, then returned to center on Plank. “We gave you every respect, and to have a piece of trash like Tawny—and I don’t particularly give a fuck if she is riding on the back of your enforcer’s bike—attack one of my people is pure bullshit. He can’t control that shit, he isn’t where he should be. We’re gone. You have a problem with that, you let me know.”

He looked directly at Plank. “If this was a fuckin’ setup, you hopin’ my girls would fight so you’d have an excuse for a war, they’re too good for that shit. And just so you know, you would have been the first to die. We fuckin’ had you covered all the way, and you should have known that.”

He turned on the heel of his boot and started for his bike. Reaper didn’t move a muscle. Neither did Ice or Storm. They formed a line between Czar and the Diamondbacks. Each wore a grim face, one that said clearly that they were willing to die, but they’d take everyone with them.

“Pierce, that damn bitch is always causin’ trouble. What the fuck was she doing here? None of them should have been here. She just lost us one of the best support clubs we’ve got.” Plank hissed his displeasure, flicking his gaze at the group of women.

Tawny’s face had gone from white to so pale she looked like a ghost. She made a move toward the car, but three of the Diamondbacks cut her off.

“I have no idea how they found out about the meet, Plank, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. That’s Judge’s old lady.” Pierce glanced over his shoulder at the Diamondback behind him. “Tawny’s got a mouth on her. She’s never been on the back of my bike. I let her blow me, but I never talked about this meet to her.”

“You fuckin’ couldn’t keep it in your pants until we had this deal in the bag?” Plank turned away in disgust. “I want to know how she found out. And she’s banned. The rest are disciplined hard. I don’t care if they’re someone’s old lady, they had no fuckin’ business being here. Find out who let them come and why. I want a report. This was club business. Bitches weren’t welcome.”

Plank stormed back into the bar. Reaper, Ice and Storm made their way back to their bikes, all three eyeing Pierce. Storm gestured toward him, giving him the finger. Ice stared at him for a long time. He’d promised the man if he hurt Alena in any way, he’d kill him, and he meant it. He saluted and backed all the way to his bike. The three took off.

Savage waited until they were all the way down the road before he secured his rifle and slipped it into his carrying bag. He’d been so tempted to end Pierce, but Czar would never give the go-ahead until a sufficient amount of time had passed. Only when no one would remember, when there would be no associating his death with Alena or Torpedo Ink, would he give them a green light.

Savage’s bike was parked up the road from the bar, deep in the shadows of the trees. He was making his way toward the bar, sliding up onto the roof, when a smaller shadow joined him. He closed his eyes. “Not a smart move, babe.”

Eavesdropping on the Diamondbacks was a risky business under any conditions. Alena listening in when she was highly emotional, even though she was a professional, might be courting disaster.

She gave him one emotion-laden look and, using toes and fingers, slid her body closer to the vent. The two of them entered the attic, which was open-beamed in several places, giving them both sight and audio to the small group gathered below.

Plank was still furious, pacing back and forth. “I want that bitch gone, Pierce. She’s been trouble since the day she came. She’s split up two families, and she’s trying to get my wife to think I’ve been with her, which is never going to happen. After the run, I want you to take care of that permanently, Pierce. You have a problem with that?”

“None at all.”

“What about you, Judge?” Plank spun around to confront his second-in-command. “I believe your old lady is her friend.”

Judge held up both hands. “Not anymore. That bitch stepped way over the line, and Theresa knows it. She tried to stop her. She already knows she never should have been here tonight. Tawny has way too much influence over all the women. I’m good with getting rid of her.”

“Wait until after the run. We can use the bitch to get information on the Venomous club. She likes to use her mouth. Let her actually be useful. You like that shit so much, Pierce, that you blew your one chance for us to have an in with Torpedo Ink.”

“That’s bullshit. You were the one who insisted I get that fucking video from Alena.”

“You were getting too close to her. You’re always immune to the ladies, and she had you wrapped around her little finger. I needed you to show me where your loyalties were.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. My loyalties have always been to the club. You didn’t expect Alena to have loyalty to her club. Frankly, neither did I, but that should have earned her respect, not this kind of crap. I gave you the video as proof of loyalty, and instead of deleting it like you said you would, you sent it out to everyone. You were the one who just lost us the one asset we had, so don’t put that shit on me.” Pierce sounded furious.

Plank sighed. “That might have been a mistake. Now we have to find another way to keep Torpedo Ink under our thumb. We don’t have anything on them. You have Alena’s fingerprints, right?”

“Yeah, I lifted a couple, like you told me.”

“Plant them on the body somewhere to implicate her.”

“You sure you want to do that?” Pierce asked. “We can’t take a chance on losing that club. They’re an asset no one else has, not even another chapter, Plank. You saw how they pulled off that job in Sac. They’re smooth. Fast. We know they did everything we asked, and we couldn’t catch them at it, even when we set them up. Anything you ask, they can do for you, but you take down one of their own, especially Alena or Lana, they’ll never forgive us.”

“If you kept your damn dick in your pants instead of in that bitch’s mouth, we wouldn’t have to go this route, but I doubt she’s going to be taking you back.” Plank turned and walked right up to Pierce. “You had it in the bag, and you blew it.”

“You were the one who suggested I have her send me a video, and then you wanted to see it and immediately sent it to everyone,” Pierce reiterated. “I don’t want to give her up. She’s different. I actually entertained keeping her. Making her my old lady.”

“You can’t keep it in your pants for five seconds,” Plank scoffed.

Pierce shrugged. “She’s better than anyone I’ve ever had. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep sampling what’s offered.”

Plank shook his head, grinning. “Should have known you’d never change. During the run, you keep that bitch Tawny concentrating on the Venomous boys, tell her she can earn her way back into my good graces if she brings us good intel. That should keep her working hard. Then I want her gone. Plant Alena’s prints on the bitch’s body, Pierce, and make it good, somewhere between Caspar and Boonville. Once the cops pick up Alena, we can offer our help to Torpedo Ink, get them indebted to us, but you take care of Tawny permanently.”

“Want that bitch to blow me again, and then I’ll have the pleasure of telling her she doesn’t come close to Alena, not even a little bit. She’ll fuckin’ hate that. She was always asking me if she was better. I’d tell her she was going to have to try a hell of a lot harder to beat Alena. That would make her crazy and she’d do anything. Not that it helped, but the guys thought it was great, because they benefited from her trying.”

“Alena’s really that good?”

“You have no idea,” Pierce said. “Never going to have that again. This could backfire on us. If the cops take her in and she doesn’t have an alibi . . .”

“She’s always at that restaurant of hers, and we’ll offer our lawyer.”

“They have Absinthe.”

Plank shrugged. “Small-time. We have a powerhouse. We’ll make it look like Tawny’s been hanging with the Venomous club. She goes from club to club; they’ll believe it. The cops will too. Plant that trail as well. You’re good at that.”

“Consider it done. After the run, I’ll have plenty of evidence to point them in both directions.”

Plank downed a small glass of whiskey and turned away. “I’ll offer an olive branch to Czar in a day or two and ask for another meet just before the run. Lay out to him my concerns about the Venomous club. I’ll offer to meet on his turf. That should appease him.” He walked to the door and turned back. “Find out which of those women talked about the meet. Judge, if it was your old lady, you’re responsible. If not, she needs to be punished for being here.”

Savage didn’t look at Alena. He couldn’t. The betrayal ran too deep. He slid out of the vent and back onto the roof, where they waited until the Diamondbacks disappeared down the road before they headed back to their own clubhouse. Because everything had gone to shit, he went with Alena rather than going back to Sea Haven and his woman. He wanted to find Pierce and extract Torpedo Ink justice for hurting one of their own, but he knew only Czar could make that call.

The moment they swept into the parking lot, Alena was off her bike and inside. Savage reported the conversation to his president and the rest of the club.

Czar immediately signaled to Lana. “I want you with her, you understand me? She leaves, I don’t care if she doesn’t want you to go, you do it. This was another violation. A huge break in trust again for her.”

“I’m with her,” Lana agreed readily.

“I’ll follow in the distance,” Storm said.

“I’ll go too,” Mechanic said.

Czar nodded. “Fuck the Diamondbacks. We’ll get Pierce. Play it cool for now. Ice, you understand me? They’ll be looking for retaliation. We’re not giving it to them. Not yet.”

Ice nodded. He was off the bar stool and heading inside to his sister. Alena was already walking out of the back room, a small bag hastily thrown together. He caught her arm. She stopped when the others filled the common room.

“I don’t want any of you to touch him,” she hissed. “This was my mistake. Mine. I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like I couldn’t see all the signs of trouble. I did this to myself.”

“Alena,” Czar said. “You weren’t the only one he took in. We all liked him. Every single one of us. If I thought for one minute he was playing you, or playing all of us, I would have ordered you to stop. I didn’t. That’s on me. I didn’t see it coming, and I should have. His loyalty is to his club.”

“I’ve got to get out of here for a couple of days,” Alena said. “I texted Delia and she said she’d look after the restaurant for me. Just promise me no one is going to hurt him.” Delia Swanson had owned her own diner for years, was retired and often helped Alena when needed.

“You did great, letting that bitch come at you,” Czar continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I was proud of you. You could have killed her, and you let her put her fuckin’ hands on you.”

Alena’s chin lifted. “I’m Torpedo Ink. We were there for a purpose. I wasn’t about to blow the deal because some trashy bitch wanted to rub my face into the fact that I was stupid. Yes, a video exists, but I don’t want any of you to act like it’s a big deal, because there’s probably a million videos of me—of all of us. You all know that. Let it go. He isn’t worth it.”

“However you want to play it, honey,” Ice agreed immediately, lying through his teeth. “Where are you heading?”

“I don’t know, up north, I think, the Rogue River. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“Lana’s going with you,” Czar said. He gestured with his chin toward the back room.

Lana immediately headed back to pack a few things. Storm and Mechanic did the same.

Alena shook her head. “No. I just need to be alone for a little while, Czar. I’m not going to do anything crazy because someone distributed a sex video I was stupid enough to make for him. I’ve got all of you and my dream restaurant. I just need a little time to get myself together.”

“I fuckin’ hate that I couldn’t put a bullet in his head right there for you,” Czar said. “His president was less than happy with him.”

“He wasn’t happy,” Reaper confirmed. “At. All.”

Savage remained silent, his gaze on Alena’s face. He detested that someone had hurt her—worse, someone she’d given her trust to. He had to walk a fine line with his woman. He’d seen that look of devastation already on Seychelle’s face twice now. Once when he’d carried her into her home and she’d shared the memory of what she considered his betrayal of her. And tonight, before she’d gotten drunk. In the bar, when she’d been so happy singing—all that changed in one brief moment. He never wanted to see it again.

Alena was good at masking, but she didn’t bother, not with them. Pierce had stabbed her through the heart. He’d done that. It didn’t take a man hitting a woman. It took breaking trust. Physical or emotional, it was all bad if you broke trust. Savage had learned that lesson.

Czar wasn’t the only man in the room who wanted to put a bullet in Pierce’s head. Savage wanted to take him apart, hurt him the way he could see the man had hurt Alena. He knew Ice and Reaper felt the same way. Maestro as well. Pierce was a dumb fuck for playing Alena and leaving her exposed to someone like Tawny. He should have known Torpedo Ink would come for him—and they would. They were patient and they would bide their time.

He looked at Destroyer, the newest member of their club. Yeah, he felt the same way Savage, Ice and Storm did. He could take apart Pierce just as easily. They exchanged long, knowing looks with Maestro and Keys.

Alena nodded. “I’m heading out. Lana, if you’re coming with me?”

“I’m ready, baby,” Lana said.

Alena looked at her brother. “Ice, you have a woman here at home. She’s your responsibility. You don’t need to shadow us.”

“You’re my responsibility,” Ice corrected. “You belong to all of us, just as we belong to you. Storm and Mechanic will go with you. Those are the rules we set up, and you’re Torpedo Ink. You’ll follow them. I assume you’ve blocked Pierce on your phone?”

She nodded. “As soon as possible, I’ll change phone numbers. Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson. I should have learned it a long time ago, but ever the fool, I guess.”

“You’re not that, Alena,” Ice said, slinging his arm around her. He pulled her to him and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “He’s the fuckin’ fool. Tawny isn’t worth the tip of your little finger. She’ll go from man to man, and she’ll never be a partner. She’s a taker.”

“They’re going to kill her,” she whispered. “Pierce is, and he’s going to try to implicate me.” She put her arms around her older brother and for one moment let herself sag against him for comfort.

Savage clenched his teeth. The pain Alena felt was almost agony, compounded by memories of childhood betrayal. He shouldered what he could, let it swirl through him until the rage was so strong, breaking close to the surface. He had to look away. So many times, everything they wanted or needed had been ripped away from them. When they were children, time and again they would be duped into trusting someone, an adult, another child, and they’d get their hearts torn out. That cycle had continued for years—until Czar had put a stop to it.

The code—they lived by it. They had woven their lives together and become whole. The few they allowed into their closed society had been tested, and they’d paid a high price for becoming part of Torpedo Ink. They might not be patched members, but they lived by the same rules and were held up to the same code.

Alena pulled back and gave him a small smile. She looked to her birth brother Storm, and Mechanic, her Torpedo Ink brother. “You both ready?”

“Let’s go,” Storm said and indicated the door.

Alena went out without looking back. The room was eerily silent for a long while.

It was Czar who broke that silence. “We’re going to get that fucker. He won’t get away with this. I want everything we can get on him. Code, you hear me? Find out everything about Pierce so we can bury that pissant. We just bide our time before we take him down. I mean it: no one goes near him. No one threatens him. Nothing at all. Let him sweat. He’ll know it’s coming. The longer he has to wait for it, the more his nerves are going to stretch to the breaking point. We’re going to have to keep a lookout to make sure that he doesn’t come for us.”

They all nodded.

“Savage, I’d like to see you privately.” Czar indicated their meeting room.

Savage shrugged. A part of him had known this was coming, especially after what Pierce had done to Alena. He walked ahead of Czar into the familiar room and sank down onto one of the very comfortable leather chairs that surrounded the long oval table. The table was very thick and made of gleaming, polished wood. The room was large, the walls formed of warm wood. A bank of windows looked out toward the pounding sea. He liked everything about their meeting place.

Reaper closed the door and leaned against it. His brother. He always took Savage’s back, even when Czar was about to lay into him. They both had known it was coming sooner or later. In a way, Savage welcomed it. He had to know his brothers would watch out for Seychelle. If Savage ever tipped too far, went wrong, they’d take her back.

“We’re going to protect your woman. There has to be a plan in place.”

It was a demand, nothing less. No one else would dare, other than Reaper, tell Savage his business. Czar was more than their president. He was the man who had found a way for all of them to survive. Two hundred and eighty-seven children had entered that brutal, vile “school,” and only nineteen had made it out alive. They survived because Czar had taught them how to survive.

They were in a school to learn how to kill, and they did. As children, some starting younger than five, they learned. They absorbed every lesson, they practiced any gift they might find they were good at and they wove themselves together, forming a pack every bit as strong as the wolves they shaped themselves after.

“She has to know everything, Savage. That’s the code. That’s what we live by.”

“I’m well aware, Czar.” Savage sighed and rubbed his temples. “You think I want to be the way I am? I’ve tried everything to be different. Nothing works.”

“I’m aware you’ve tried. I’ve done the research as well. There isn’t a cure for any of us, but none of us can tolerate any member of this club abusing a woman. If you bring her into this club, she’s ours to protect. You understand fully what I’m saying to you.” Czar pinned him with his direct stare, the one that warned all of them not to fuck with him. “You hit that girl, you punch her, slap her, abuse her in any way, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Savage was more than happy to hear it. He’d put the bullet in his own fuckin’ head. But he had to clarify. Czar had to know this wasn’t going to be so black and white.

“I needed to hear that from you, Czar. I would never hit her like that. It’s never been about that, and I think you know it. I won’t tolerate her fuckin’ with the rules, she’ll be punished, but she’ll agree ahead of time what that is.”

Czar shrugged. “That’s between the two of you, and I’m not talking about that.”

“No, you’re talking about when I lose it and need to fuckin’ get off when my woman is carrying my shit. I’ve always been careful, you know that. Seychelle is mine. I would protect her with everything in me. What that means is, I’ll have her consent and I’ll always be careful never to go too far. If I fail, I’ll be the first one to go for the gun.”

He didn’t look at his brother. Not one single time. He’d been there. He’d been forced to watch. Then it continued in order to keep Reaper alive. So long. So many girls, and all the while someone had been making certain that he’d been feeling great, that his cock was sucked or fucked and he was very happy. He hadn’t had a chance to ever be normal. He didn’t know how to be normal. He never would. Seychelle would pay the price and he would hate himself always. There was no way out for either of them now.

“I fuckin’ hate what they did to you,” Czar said. “There was no way to stop them, Savage. I didn’t know. Reaper didn’t know. Not at first, the first few years, and after, it was already too late. I’m sorry, brother. I’m fuckin’ sorry.”

Savage pressed his fingers tighter against his temples. “Wasn’t anyone’s fault. We all had it bad, but we got out. I’ll deal with it. I’ve always dealt with it.”

“She has to know ahead of time. Give me your word on that. I don’t care how you bring her in, how you make her yours, but you have to get her consent. Once she gives it and she’s in, we’ll back you all the way.”

“And you’ll have her back,” Savage clarified again. “Once I’ve claimed her and she’s mine, every single member, including my brother, has to have her back.” This time he looked at his brother. Reaper. His world before Torpedo Ink. His reason for becoming the way he was.

Reaper nodded and then abruptly turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

Czar looked down at his hands. “You get into trouble anytime, day or night, you come to me. You understand, Savage? You’ve always carried this alone, but now you have a woman. If she’s the right one, she’s worth everything, including your pride. You come to me if it gets too bad and you get worried for her.”

Savage pushed himself up and looked at his president, father, brother, all rolled into one. “I swear it on Torpedo Ink.” It was all he had to give. His word. He knew they took that as gold. He gave it that way.

He took his time riding back to Sea Haven, needing the cool wind in his face, blowing out the memories that clung too close. Pierce’s betrayal had brought them too close. They all had liked the man, but they had to remember always, his entire loyalty was to his club and he had no room to be loyal to anyone outside of it. Neither did they. They were Torpedo Ink, and only those within their club could be trusted. It was a hard lesson for all of them.

He thanked Preacher and Ink and let them know he’d be riding the next day and he’d text them. He stood for a long time looking down at his woman. She looked small in the big bed. She wasn’t curled up but looked as if she’d fallen asleep on her back, her arms flung out, her legs stretched out in front of her. Her hair had not been put back into a braid, and all that thick, silky hair was over her pillow and around her face.

Savage took his time removing his motorcycle boots and then his clothes, all the while looking down at the woman he was irrevocably tying to him. He sat beside her for a long time, his hand on her leg, his gaze on her face.

“I’m sorry for this, baby. You have no idea how sorry I am, but I’m not going to make it another day without you. I can only tell you no one else will ever love or treasure you more. It won’t seem that way a lot of the time, but it’s the truth. You’ve crawled inside me, and without you, I can’t take this anymore. I just can’t do it. So, baby, you’re going to have to take it for me. It isn’t fair. It isn’t nice. In fact, it’s fuckin’ wrong, but I’ve got no choice, and that means you don’t either.”

He stretched out on the bed next to Seychelle, inhaling her scent, that special fragrance that clung to her skin and hair. The moment he turned on his side and laid his head on her belly, he wrapped his arm tightly around her hips. Holding her. Trying not to feel like he was a monster, but knowing he was. Knowing it was Seychelle who would take the terrible burden off of him long enough for him to breathe. To gather himself enough to let that terrible weight settle back on his shoulders.

He kissed her soft belly and then nuzzled her bare skin. She wore a tank and nothing else. He ran his fingers through those soft blond curls that he was going to shave off. He wanted her completely bare, so he could see, and she could feel everything he did to her. Good things. Bad things. Dirty things. Things that would make her scream for him. Things that would made him so aroused and hard it wouldn’t matter that his cock was scarred and too tight to stretch properly. And she would give him her tears freely. Just as he took on the pain for his brothers and sisters, proving his love for them over and over, she would do it for him. The only person in the world who would give him unconditional love, she would do that for him.

He pressed another kiss into her soft skin. His canvas. His woman. He found he liked that. He’d never thought in terms of having a woman, but that something in her that called to him had found its way deep. Lying there in the dark, his head on her belly, his arm around her hips, he let himself breathe her in. Love welled up, swallowing the rage like it did every time he laid his head on her. Closing his eyes, he inhaled all the beauty that was Seychelle Dubois.