Savage Saints MC Series: The Complete Box Set

by Hazel Parker

  Chapter 25: Nina

  Seven weeks after the fire, Nina’s shed had been completely rebuilt. The insurance company had given her more money than she’d anticipated, so much that she’d been able to not only purchase a new shed, but replace everything that she’d needed inside it and still managed to pocket a decent amount of it, too. Really, it had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The news of the fire had spread all over town, so even though she’d had the same number of customers as she always had, many of them were leaving large tips in the rooms after their stay was done because they felt bad for her. Normally she’d hate the pity, but money is money, and she was unlikely to see any of them ever again, anyway, so she found that she didn’t mind so much.

  She and Adam had a stronger relationship as just friends than they’d ever had as lovers. Now that there was no pressure, no expectations, they got along easier and more effortlessly. It didn’t make her want him back: in fact, it did the opposite. She loved having him as a friend and she didn’t want anything more than this from him. It was nice just to have someone around again, to talk to and complain to and laugh with.

  Vance had never answered her text, and while that had stung, she tried her best not to think about it. She’d contemplated deleting his number from her phone entirely to avoid the temptation of texting him again, but she finally decided against that. She was a single woman now, anyway, so what was the harm in keeping her “what if?” guy in her phone? Not to mention that it had only been two months since the fire, and though things had seemed pretty quiet since then, she didn’t want to take any chances. If she did need Vance, she wanted him to be a phone call away, just like he’d promised since the first day that she’d met him. She wanted him to be even closer than a phone call away, honestly, but she had to bite down on that thought in order to get through the days knowing that she couldn’t see him.

  Truly, she felt good about her decision to kick him out. She did. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t fun, but she hadn’t heard a peep from the bikers, Rebel Kings or Devil’s Disciples, since he left. He’d told her the first time she’d asked him to go that it wouldn’t help, but surely he’d been wrong about that, because she hadn’t had any trouble at all. Instead of questioning it, though, despite the lingering feeling that this wasn’t over yet, she tried to count her blessings and just feel lucky that perhaps she was finally getting a break for once in her life. Lord knew she deserved it.

  Life without Vance was less stressful. It was less work. However, she still craved to be next to him again. Part of her wished that it could just be easier, that she could ask him to give up the club and the bikes and the bar and just be a normal guy, because she couldn’t help but think that if they gave one another half a chance, they could really be good together. She knew for certain that he’d take care of her, and she had a good deal of confidence in her ability to predict his needs, too. Not to mention the sex, which was of course something that she thought about. If they were dating, she could have him any time she wanted. She’d be able to watch him walk around the house shirtless, cook her breakfast in nothing but sweats, get dressed up for a night on the town, strip completely to take showers together… The thought of it made her wonder why he wasn’t texting her back. Even if it were just frivolous sex, did he not want her? Had she upset him by asking him to go, or did he just not find her attractive in the same ways that she found him?

  Like she always did when she was feeling things that she’d rather not feel, Nina buried herself in her work. She purchased the cheapest shed that she could find and the price had included installation, so even though it was nowhere near as sturdy or as large as the one her father had bought, the profit margin was high. It wasn’t like she needed the kind of space her dad had, either, since she was pretty good about either throwing things away or selling them to pawn shops once she was done using them. In fact, she’d actually been wanting to go through the shed for quite some time, but she knew that seeing all the items inside it could kick start her grief all over again, reopening the wound that she’d spent so much time and energy healing. She didn’t want to do that, so she’d been putting it off, constantly telling herself that she’d do it soon. The fire had been almost cleansing, in a way, burning away all the emotional baggage that she didn’t quite know where to place inside her heart and leaving her with only a mild sense of loss accompanied by a feeling of lightness. She could breathe again, since that was taken care of, and now that everything inside the shed was officially hers, she felt for the first time that she was really a motel owner.

  For weeks after Vance had gone, she just worked. Things went back to almost normal surprisingly quickly, with the exception of a few minor changes here and there, and business hadn’t taken much of a hit except for the few days during which the shed was being rebuilt. Other than that, she’d slowly gotten back into the routine of comfort and safety. She began to go out again, both to do the laundry and for fun. She saw a movie at the theater in the city for the first time since she’d inherited the motel, and the time that she was beginning to take for herself was making her feel like she was back in control of her own life and future. It no longer scared her to step away from the motel to enjoy herself or at least to get some sleep, and that peace of mind was something that she wanted to savor while she still had it because it always, always disappeared after far too short a time.

  This time, it disappeared when Vance showed up on the doorstep of her motel office bleeding out and with a bullet in his side.

  Chapter 27: Vance

  Vance had never hated waking up in motels before, but he found that he now hated to wake up in motel rooms that didn’t belong to Nina Sullivan. He slept in much too late, well into late afternoon, giving himself no time at all to pack up his things (of which he had few to none) and get back on the road. The guys were expecting him at a certain time, after all, and they hated when he was late.

  He rode about twenty minutes down the highway to the greenhouse, allowing himself to zone out for most of that time. Coming in from the wrong way, there would be no way that anyone would be waiting for him, so for the first time in a while, he dropped his guard just a little, stopped looking over his shoulder quite so often. Riding became, if only for a moment, fun again. It was a relief to finally clear his mind for a while.

  The visit was brief. Aces wasn’t in a great mood, so he limited his small talk and simply took the money as fast as he could before announcing that he was going back to the bar.

  Aces had nodded in acceptance, not pressing him for any more details, but Flip wasn’t so easy to please. He’d narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the brevity of the visit.

  “You run into any trouble getting here?” he asked. “You were late.”

  Vance shook his head. It was the truth, after all: he hadn’t had a single problem on the way in.

  “Nah,” he’d reassured. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

  Flip barked out a harsh laugh. “I ain’t worried about you, dumbass,” he’d maintained. “I’m worried about whoever the fuck is on your tail all the time.”

  “I have that under control, too.” That part wasn’t so honest. He was beginning to feel that things were slipping out of his control, first with being followed and then with Nina’s shed fire. However, that wasn’t something that the guys needed to hear. They’d given him the bar because he’d sworn that he could handle it, and he was going to do just that, no matter what it took.

  Though Flip and Aces both looked a little skeptical, they hadn’t stopped him from leaving, so he’d simply stuffed the money into the interior pocket of his jacket and headed back to his bike so he could get back on the road.

  Of course, as soon as he told them he had things under control, shit hit the fan, just the way it always seemed to for Vance. Just outside the exit that would take him back to the bar, two bikers were waiting, idling on the side of the road. Neither of them were wearing their helmets, both looking at their phones instead of talking to one another,
though Vance would have been surprised if they were actually getting cell reception all the way out here.

  “Shit,” he cursed to himself, looking desperately around for a place to hop off the highway without them noticing and cursing again when he didn’t find one. He thought about turning around, and he probably would have if he’d had the time, but before he could, the sound of his approaching engine alerted one of the guys. He let out a long stream of curses under his breath as he approached, pulling up next to them and cutting his engine off. Instinct told him that he might be able to navigate this situation if he played his cards right, but riding by without so much as stopping would be a good way to get shot.

  “Hello, fellas,” he greeted casually, confidently. “Lookin’ for directions?”

  The taller of the two, a guy he recognized as Amelia’s friend Terrance, barked out a harsh laugh.

  “I think you’re the one who’s gonna be needing some help,” he said, “unless you cooperate.”

  Vance spat on the ground at their feet, crossing his arms. “Cooperate,” he echoed. “With what?”

  The other man, whom Vance didn’t recognize, stood to approach him. “You’re gonna take us to where you grow your shit,” he commanded menacingly. “And you’re not gonna bullshit us this time.”

  Vance frowned. “I don’t do any growing,” he said. “In fact, I never touch any product at all. I handle the money and the bar; that’s it.”

  “Right, we don’t care,” Terrance interjected. “You know where it is we want to go, so we want you to take us there.”

  “Why me?” he demanded. “Why is it that whenever you want something, you come after me?”

  The other man shrugged. “You’re the easiest to find,” he replied. “The other guys, they’re all over the place, but you—you’ve got a routine. You’ve got the bar.”

  Yeah, he should have assumed as much. Though he didn’t think that Amelia’s obsession with him was insignificant in his being targeted, it did make some amount of sense that they were following him because he was the one person they knew how to find. It sure felt personal, but maybe it wasn’t.

  “So, what happens when I say ‘no?’” he asked. “Because my answer, of course, is no.”

  To his surprise, Terrance took a step toward him with a determined look in his eyes that made Vance take a step in the opposite direction. He wasn’t much for showing fear in the face of danger, but he also knew when he was about to get his ass kicked. There were two of them and one of him, not to mention that both Terrance and the other man were enormous. He’d surely be able to get in a few good punches, but in the end, he’d definitely get himself killed if he tried to fight back.

  “We’ll give you some incentive,” he said, “something to think about for next time.” Before Vance could even ask what that entailed, Terrance was reaching out to grab him faster than he could react. He squirmed to try to get out of his grip, throwing elbows and stepping hard on the man’s feet, but to no avail. He was trapped. The other man approached quickly, whipping out a gun. Vance kicked at the other man’s crotch, managing to injure him enough that he fell to the floor, dropping the gun with a clatter. Vance kicked it as far away from them as he could, using the confusion of the moment to wriggle out of Terrance’s grip and lunging for the gun. He took out the clip and threw it far out over the side of the highway into a sand dune, so far that they’d surely need ten minutes just to find it again. He scrambled to get up so he could get to his bike, but before he could get there, he heard a small clicking sound and looked up to see Terrance lunging at him with a knife just in time for it to be plunged into his stomach. He grunted in pain and cursed a few times, but managed to wrestle that out of Terrance’s hands, too, tossing it to the ground and making a break for his bike.

  He pressed one hand hard to the stab wound, his vision going fuzzy with the pain already, but he forced himself to fight through it. After reaching his motorcycle, he fumbled with his keys for just a moment, his hands shaking too hard to hold them, and then wasted no time starting the engine and riding away. He didn’t think that they’d follow him unless he’d turned back around and gone back to the Rebel Kings, which was exactly why he couldn’t. The greenhouse was too far away, anyway, versus the bar and, by extension, Nina’s motel, were only just one exit away.

  He reached for his phone and tapped out a message to Flip.

  “Disciples, exit 113,” he typed. “Fuckin’ attacked me. Lookin’ for the grow op.”

  Within seconds, Flip had replied. “Consider em taken care of,” he said. In another text, a moment later. “You hurt?”

  “Yeah, but nothin’ I can’t handle.” He hoped that was true as he put his phone back in his pocket and started up his bike again to get to Nina. She was the only other person that might have half a chance at wanting to lend him a hand, and even though he knew it was possible that he’d already burned that bridge, he knew that he’d bleed out here if he didn’t try crossing it, so he set his sights on the Oasis Motel and hoped for the best.

  Chapter 26: Nina

  It was late in the evening when Nina woke up with a start from having fallen asleep on her crossed arms. For a moment she wondered what had woken her, but then the sound came again, a harsh pounding on the door of the office. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, trying to shake herself awake to look at least slightly presentable before she opened the door. When she did, she immediately gasped at the sight in front of her.

  “Vance?” she called anxiously, her voice trembling as she saw him leaning heavily against the door frame, so much so that she found herself instinctively reaching out to steady him.

  “Hey, Red,” he greeted nonchalantly, though he spoke through teeth which were gritted in pain. His jacket was unzipped, revealing a large pool of red that was seeping through his white t-shirt and growing at an alarming rate.

  “What the hell happened?” she demanded. As gently as she could, she led him inside the office and sat him in one of the chairs across from her desk. He leaned back, his muscles clenched from pain that he was trying and failing not to show to her.

  “Got in a little accident,” he explained vaguely. Nina shook her head, gingerly removing his jacket to have a better look at the wound. It was deep, but not so deep that it looked as if it had punctured anything vital, and about three inches long. She turned around and reached into her desk drawer for a small bottle of alcohol-based hand sanitizer, which she rubbed liberally onto her hands, enough so that much of it dripped onto the carpet below to join the droplets of blood from Vance’s cut, and waved her hands around until it was dry enough to touch him. She gently lifted his shirt, eliciting a pained groan when the wet fabric stuck to the wound and tugged at it as she pulled it up.

  “Sorry; sorry,” she cooed, her focus now completely engaged in the wound itself. There was no evidence of having fallen off his bike: his hands and knees weren’t scraped, his clothes, save for the shirt, were pristine, and the edges of the wound were clean-cut. Someone had done this intentionally.

  “This wasn’t a bike accident,” she asserted, waiting for him to confirm or deny it and continuing only when he did neither. “Someone stabbed you.” Vance looked pointedly away from her and she felt anger rising up, turning her face red and her cheeks hot. He finally looked up at her and frowned at the irate expression she was making.

  “Nina, its fine—”

  “—It’s not!” she argued, feeling as though she was pointing out the obvious because really, it should have been obvious. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  Vance shook his head. “No hospitals,” he argued. “They’ll ask what happened; they’ll get the cops involved.”

  Nina rolled her eyes, frustrated by the ridiculousness of the whole situation. “Then tell them you cut yourself fixing up your bike or something,” she suggested, but he continued to protest.

  “Doctors are smarter than that.”

  “But they can’t make you say anything you don’t want to say. There’s laws that p
rotect your privacy.”

  “Unless they think I got in a fight and I’m a danger to myself or others,” he pointed out. “And look at me. Don’t you think they’ll have a pretty solid case? Especially if you bring me in?”

  Nina ignored him, reaching into her pocket for her phone despite Vance’s wishes and yelping in indignance when he grabbed her wrist lightly to stop her.

  “If you call an ambulance or the cops, I’ll be out of here before they even come.” Nina glared.

  “Then what did you come here for?”

  He looked at his hands, the one blood-covered glove that had clearly been pressed to the cut for most of the ride to the motel. He’d ridden this far with a stab wound, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility to assume that he’d go back to the desert if she did disobey his wishes and call emergency services.

  “I thought that maybe you’d help me,” he admitted.

  “I’m trying to help you. You’re not letting me.”

  “No,” he argued. “I need you to… Well, you tell me. Do you think it looks bad enough to need stitches?”

  Nina felt the color drain from her face and nausea begin to churn in her gut.

  “You don’t mean… You want me to stitch you up?” she asked, the words sounding unbelievable to her ear even in this impossible situation that they were both in.