Savage Prince_An Anti-Heroes Collection Novel

by Meghan March

  “Not until I get a chance to talk with her.”

  “So sorry, sir. She’s intent on leaving, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t stand in her way.”

  He holds out his hand to me, completely ignoring Magnolia. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance . . .” He pauses, clearly expecting me to give him my name, but this isn’t my first time here and I’m not about to offer it.

  “I have to go.”

  I take another step but his hand closes around my arm, just above my elbow.

  “But the night is young, and I’ve been out of town for months. Who knows when I’ll have a chance to get back here. My work so often keeps me away.” His gaze drifts back to Magnolia. “Much to my regret.”

  Magnolia’s eyes narrow on him. “Giles, let her go.”

  “Sorry, sir,” I tell him. “I’m not a member. Good luck with the rest of your night.”

  I really want to tell him that acting so overbearing makes me assume he has a tiny dick, but I don’t. Maybe it’s his overbearing nature that makes Magnolia look like she wants to slice and dice him, but I truly have no idea. The guy could just be another person out looking for a thrill, like me. But then again, he wouldn’t carry the creeper vibe so strongly if he wasn’t one. For the first time, I truly feel uncomfortable in a way that makes me feel unsafe here.

  This is why Rafe told me not to come here. I should have listened to my brother.

  When I tug free of Giles, I hurry out of the room, leaving Magnolia behind to do damage control. Maybe it’s rude, but I don’t know him and she does.

  That’s when it occurs to me—she said his name.

  I pause at the top step, taking in the shiny wooden banister that leads down the stairs to the front door. The front door I’ve run out like the devil was on my heels once before.

  I’m tempted to do it again right now, but instead, I walk out calmly.

  I shouldn’t care that I finally decided to come and he’s not here, but some creepy guy was and Magnolia broke the rules. I shouldn’t care that I don’t have any way to track down my stranger to get my answers to a hell of a lot of questions I have.

  I shouldn’t care about any of it . . .

  But I do.

  Chapter 31

  Temperance

  The blindingly bright sunlight cuts through my curtains, waking me up from a restless night.

  It’s my birthday.

  Others might wake to a phone call from a parent, but not me. Not this year. And really, not ever.

  Rafe has always been the best big brother he could manage to be, given his unconventional lifestyle, but even that can’t make up for having parents who don’t give a damn about you.

  I push all that heartache-inducing crap out of my head and roll out of bed.

  I only get one first day of my next trip around the sun, and I may as well begin it as I mean to go on—by kicking ass and taking names.

  It’s Sunday, and barring any emergencies at the distillery, I’ve got the whole day to myself before I meet Rafe for dinner.

  If he shows up for dinner. The possibility that he won’t show is twisting my guts into knots, which isn’t helping set the tone for an optimistic day.

  He. Will. Be. There.

  I repeat it like a mantra as I head for the bathroom to splash some water on my face and get ready.

  Mission one for my birthday is to get a head start on creating another piece for Valentina. I have my marching orders and a little bit of free time, so I may as well get started on chasing this dream for real.

  As soon as I’m dressed in old jeans and a faded Springsteen T-shirt, I grab my phone and my purse and shove my feet into a tattered pair of black Chucks by the front door.

  Fifteen minutes later, I have a cup of coffee, a beignet, and some Springsteen on the radio as I head for the bayou. Does it seem a little strange that my path forward is taking me on a detour through my past? I lick powdered sugar off my fingertips as I consider it.

  Maybe it’s cathartic. Or something. I don’t know.

  When I pull up in front of the closed metal gate, I honk my horn and wait.

  Elijah’s truck sits in front of the trailer he lives in, just behind the barbed wire. Another car sits out front too. I don’t recognize it, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Elijah isn’t pining for me all that hard. In some way, that assures me that I made the right decision.

  I honk again, getting some kind of perverse satisfaction out of the fact I might be interrupting his sleep or his morning quickie. He pokes his head out the front door.

  “The hell are you doing here so early?” he yells.

  “Need to work. Dogs loose?”

  “Yeah. Hold on.” He steps out, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and shoves two fingers in his mouth to produce a sharp whistle. The two Cane Corsos come running out from between the shells of cars.

  They bound up the stairs to the trailer, and Elijah leads them to their kennel beside it before coming toward me.

  I wait until he reaches the gate before I speak. “Sorry if I’m interrupting your morning.”

  He gives me a pointed look. “You ain’t sorry.”

  “And you weren’t really missing me that much.”

  He hauls the metal gate open. “Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

  I drive through the gate and he shuts it behind me. “Thanks, Eli. Appreciate it.”

  “Happy birthday, Tempe. I’ll swing in and check on you . . . later.”

  Before I can respond, a brassy blonde sticks her head out of the front door of the trailer.

  “Eli, bed’s getting cold, and so is your chance at a second round this morning.”

  I don’t recognize her, and that’s plenty fine with me.

  “You better get back to it.”

  He grins and salutes me.

  For some dumb reason, I’m feeling more alone than ever when I drive up to the big metal building and park.

  Best thing I can do? Channel that emotion into my art. A torch always has a way of making me feel better.

  Six hours later, my body is sore from dismantling, hauling, hammering, and welding, but I have another piece halfway finished.

  “What’s that one going to be?” Elijah asks from the door.

  I turn and flip up my welding mask. “A skyline.”

  “Damn, that’s gonna be sweet. Big too. You gonna sell it in that fancy gallery?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Guess that means you’re gonna need a steady supply of new and interesting metal to keep up with demand.”

  “Probably.”

  “If you want to put out some cash, I can throw up an ad for scrap metal by the pound. Hundred bucks max per person. Might get you some interesting stuff. People around here could really use the money.”

  It’s a smart idea, I decide, as I consider it. “I can lay out a grand for it, but nothing more than that right now.”

  “I’ll set it up.”

  I lean against the workbench. “Why are you helping me? I thought you’d start off with charging me some crazy rent to keep using this space. Wasn’t that your plan?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I decided having you come back around is payment enough for now.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You’re still gonna help me chop cars if I need it.”

  I groan. “I knew there was a catch.”

  “What? You’re quick with a grinder, and sometimes I gotta move fast. You happen to be here, you throw in an extra pair of hands so we can get through it.”

  “And if you get raided? You think I’m going down for it?”

  Another shrug. “I ain’t gettin’ caught.”

  “So you say.”

  “So I know. I got people who’ll tip me off if things get hot.”

  “I sure hope so.” I tug my gloves off finger by finger and toss them on the workbench before raising the subject that’s been eating at me all day. “You heard from Rafe?”
>
  Elijah shakes his head. “Nope. Not at all. Thought you and him had a date tonight like you always do on your birthday.”

  It doesn’t surprise me that Elijah knows about our long-standing tradition. “He’s MIA still. If he doesn’t show tonight, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  He grunts. “Seriously? You’re working for the man that everyone is terrified of, and you don’t know what to do if your brother doesn’t show?”

  “I work for his wife.”

  Elijah rolls his eyes. “Same difference. If I were you, if Rafe doesn’t show, I’d call in the cavalry, because you know that means shit is bad.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Anytime you want more than the tip . . .”

  I flip my helmet down and turn my back on him. “Save it for someone who’ll give you a shot.”

  Chapter 32

  Temperance

  I check my watch again for the fiftieth time. I don’t know why, because it’s not going to change a damn thing.

  Rafe isn’t here. He’s an hour late. His phone goes directly to voice mail every single time I call. My texts have gone unanswered, and the knot in my stomach is roughly the size of my head.

  The waitress stops by the table, refilling my water glass for the sixth time. “Would you like to go ahead and order?”

  “No, I think I’ll give up and go home. I’ll take my tab.” I gesture to the half glass of room-temperature champagne that sits in front of me.

  “Oh, honey, that’s on the house. So sorry about your birthday.” She looks at me with pity as I reach for my purse.

  It’s time.

  I have to call Keira.

  Rafe told me if I felt like something was wrong, I should call Mount.

  My brother hasn’t missed my birthday in a decade without a damn good reason, and definitely not with this kind of radio silence. Still, calling Keira feels like I’m admitting he may already be beyond help.

  I unlock my phone and scroll through the contacts. Before I can tap on Keira’s, my screen lights up with a call from her.

  Surprised, I answer it immediately. “Hello?”

  “Temperance.” It’s Mount, not my boss, and the sound of his deep voice sends my stomach tumbling.

  “How bad is it? Is he dead?” I’m proud of myself for keeping my tone devoid of emotion.

  “Ransom? No. Not that I know of.”

  “Thank God,” I whisper.

  “But if the people he fucked over get their hands on him, he’s going to wish he was in very short order. And they’re going to come for you too.”

  I close my eyes and a sinking sensation overwhelms me. “What do I do?”

  “Go home. Right now. Don’t stop anywhere. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m sending someone to you. He’s not the right man for the job, but he’s the best I’ve got, and I trust him more than I trust most anyone. Do what he says. Don’t argue.”

  “Who? How? When?”

  “Temperance?” he asks.

  “Yes?”

  “Stop asking questions. The less you know, the better. He’ll be at your place, get you somewhere safe, and keep you from being used as leverage to draw out your brother. That’s all you can do right now. If they get you, Ransom is fucked and you’re both dead, except it won’t be pretty or quick. Don’t talk to anyone, especially not your new cop friends.”

  I’m not sure why I’m shocked Mount knows about my new friendships, but I am. “How do you know—”

  “Do you really care right now?”

  I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “No. I’m going.”

  “Good. Be smart.”

  I barely remember rushing out of the restaurant, because everything blurs together in a smear of fear and terrible possibilities.

  “If they get to you, Ransom is fucked and you’re both dead.”

  Mount’s words repeat through my brain, and shivers rip down my spine.

  Lord help us both.

  Chapter 33

  I don’t come when I’m called. I’m not anyone’s fucking dog. But this time . . . I’m making an exception.

  The iron gate out by the street clangs shut as I wait silently in Temperance Ransom’s apartment. The treads of the spiral staircase creak, signaling her ascent. A few seconds later, her keys jangle and she unlocks the door. When she pushes it open, I step out of the shadows of her miniature living room.

  Temperance’s entire body tenses when she sees me, her big brown eyes going wide with shock and fear as her purse lands on the floor beside her with a thump.

  I don’t like that panicked look on her face, especially not when it’s aimed in my direction.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Her husky voice punches me in the gut, just like it does every time she speaks.

  I shouldn’t have touched her that first time at the club . . . or the second . . . or the third, but how the hell was I supposed to stop myself?

  She stares at me, barely blinking, waiting for me to answer.

  Small talk isn’t exactly a skill you acquire in my line of work, so I keep it simple. “I heard you need help.”

  “He sent you? Why? What the hell is going on?”

  All fair questions, but none I can answer for her right now. “We gotta move. Come on.”

  I take a step toward her, and Temperance shrinks back. As much as the move cuts me, I can’t fault her instincts for not trusting me.

  She shouldn’t. It’ll keep her alive longer.

  “Who are you?” she whispers.

  That’s one question I have to answer, even though she’s not going to want to hear it.

  “I’m the man who just took a half-million-dollar contract to kill your brother.”

  The Savage Trilogy continues in Iron Princess and concludes in Rogue Royalty. Both Iron Princess and Rogue Royalty are available for preorder by tapping on the titles.

  Want a chance to read Iron Princess before it releases? Click here to sign up for my newsletter! 15 lucky readers who subscribe will win an advanced copy before it releases.

  Have you met the Ruthless King of the city? Keep reading for a glimpse of my dark and dirty alpha, Lachlan Mount, in Ruthless King.

  If you’re wondering where you can find out more about Valentina, Vanessa, Yve, or Ariel, you can find them, and their deliciously addictive alphas, in the Beneath Series.

  Each book in the Beneath Series is a standalone. Find out more by tapping on the titles.

  Beneath This Mask (Book #1 - Simon and Charlie)

  Beneath This Ink (Book #2 - Con and Vanessa)

  Beneath These Chains (Book #3 - Lord and Elle)

  Beneath These Scars (Book #4 - Lucas and Yve)

  Beneath These Lies (Book #5 - Rix and Valentina)

  Beneath These Shadows (Book #6 - Bishop and Eden)

  Beneath The Truth (Book #7 - Rhett and Ariel)

  I’d love to hear what you thought about the beginning of Temperance’s story. Send me a note at meghanmarchbooks@gmail.com, and I’ll thank you with a personal note.

  Click here to sign up for my newsletter and receive exclusive content that I save for my subscribers. I also give away a free book each month!

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  Preview of Ruthless King

  Get ready for the darker and dirtier side of New Orleans with an epic alpha romance from New York Times bestselling author Meghan March.

  New Orleans belongs to me.

  You don’t know my name, but I control everything you see—and all the things you don’t.

  My reach knows no bounds, and my demands are always met.

  I didn’t need to loan money to a failing family distillery, but it amuses me to have them in my debt.

  To have her in my debt.

  She doesn’t know she caught my attention.

  She should’ve been more careful.

  I’m going to
own her. Consume her. Maybe even keep her.

  It’s time to collect what I’m owed.

  Keira Kilgore, you’re now the property of Lachlan Mount.

  ONE

  Keira

  Are those footsteps?

  I freeze outside the door to my locked office and stare at the handle like it’s tainted with anthrax.

  My younger sisters wouldn’t dare. They know my office is off limits. My parents are 700 miles away in Florida living it up as retirees on the monthly payments I make from the dismal profits of the distillery. It’s barely hanging on, even after four generations of clinging to life making Irish whiskey in New Orleans.

  This basement isn’t haunted. This basement isn’t haunted.

  I repeat that truth like a chant until my heart slows to a semi-normal pace. My dead husband’s ghost better not be inside, or heaven help me, I’ll kill Brett again myself.

  Summoning the same iron will it has taken to dig this company out of the trenches, I grasp the handle, yank it open, and fling myself inside, attempting the element of surprise. Or false courage. Or… something.

  “Trying to make an entrance?” The deep voice that comes out of the dark chills me to the very marrow of my bones.

  I’ve only heard it once before, through the battered wood of the same locked door I just barged past, but it had been delivering threats I didn’t understand, not asking a question in that cool, controlled manner.

  There’s no way I want to be in the dark with this voice.

  He’s not a ghost. He’s worse.

  He’s the friggin’ boogeyman.

  Whispered about in the shadows, but never mentioned in polite company, almost as if saying his name will make him appear—and no one wants that.