Savage and Racy (Bad Boys MC Trilogy #3)

by Violet Blaze

  “He's not?” she asks, feigning surprise as she tucks her hands in her pockets and studies the spare pair of Fauna's clothes I found tucked in a small cabinet in the kitchen behind the bar. Thank God I remembered her saying she always kept a spare pair for emergencies. If not, I'd have been shit out of luck on finding fresh clothes without blood on them.

  Then again, wearing a pair of purple skinny jeans that are too big for me and sag at the ankles and hips and a sequined black halter just feels wrong considering the events of the evening. Still, I pretend I'm in one of my new jumpsuits, looking proud and pretty and professional.

  In truth, when I examined my expression in the mirror earlier, I looked pale and shell-shocked, in desperate need of sleep.

  Act the way you want to feel and things can only change for the better.

  “Well,” I say as I sigh and mimic Heather's position, shoving my hands into my front pockets and glancing down at the pavement beneath my feet. “You didn't come out here in the middle of the night for nothing, so tell me, how can I help you?”

  I raise my head and look her in the eyes.

  “Those men behind you, what is that they're spraying off the pavement? Is that blood?”

  “Of course not. It's paint. The Alpha Wolves are remodeling.” I stare Agent Shelley down for long moments, daring her to be the first to break the silence. My bravado works because after about three tense minutes, she does.

  “Alright, Lyric, let's cut the bullshit. I've been watching this place all fucking night. I've seen everything. All of it. I could have federal agents swarming this place within a matter of hours, and even if it was the Saldaña Cartel that attacked the Wolves, it won't matter. We're bound to find something here to charge Royal and his club members for. And the red tape, boy, what a doozy that'll be.” Her eyes shine with that fervor I first saw at the café, this sparking desperation that looks like it could easily climb into roaring flame. “What happened here tonight, Lyric?”

  “Can we go somewhere to talk?” I ask her, raising my chin and adjusting my mental chess pieces. Beating this woman is going to be tough, one of the hardest things I've ever done. “To a restaurant, maybe? My treat.”

  “Know any twenty-four places? Seems to me it gets dead around here by six.”

  I smile softly and nod.

  “I know just the place.”

  Seated in the quiet twenty-four hour bakery/café in the center of town makes me feel like I've jumped through a portal and ended up in a different world. An hour ago, I was standing in a room spattered with blood and bodies. Now, the quiet clink of silverware, the comforting grind of coffee beans, and the smell of freshly baked bread makes me feel like I'm in heaven.

  I pick up the cup of earl gray tea in front of me and breathe in the scent of bergamot, closing my eyes as I let the warmth of the restaurant roll over me. I hurt so bad, all I want to do right now is go home and sleep, but that's not an option. The only thing I can do right now is this. Sit here, drink my tea, eat my pecan tart, and relax.

  “Since we're here,” Agent Shelley says, taking a long slow sip of her coffee and setting the mug down beside the cream cheese covered bagel she ordered, “I assume you have information to trade?”

  “Trade for what?” I ask blandly, looking up at her for any signs I'm pissing her off.

  “Lyric, I know what happened tonight. I heard the gunfire, the explosions. Those flames are a little hard to miss. And the two uniformed officers I had tailing Royal ended up having to help a man with a broken bike, leaving them unable to make it to the compound. Seems like a strange coincidence to me.”

  “Target practice,” I say, knowing how silly and unbelievable my story is. I drink my tea and hold the hot liquid in my mouth. I don't want to lead Heather along—if she came all the way over here with me, she's obviously putting some faith and trust in me—but I'm not going to hand this to her either. As soon as I pass along the information I have, there're no carrots left for me to dangle. I need to keep her busy while Royal's boys cleanup their compound. “Nothing happened tonight, Heather.”

  “Then why are you here with me?” she asks and I sigh, setting my cup down on the delicate little plate it was served with. It's white with a gold rim and a small black unicorn rearing in the center. Very whimsical. I love this place. It's just one of the many things I'm going to miss when I leave.

  “I want to talk to you.” I lift my eyes and study her, knowing she's only here with me for two real reasons. Either she truly believes I have information to share and wants it that badly, or she doesn't have enough evidence to do anything about what happened tonight and is bluffing. That's it. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. “Did you know that your talk at the hospital inspired me?”

  “Did it?” Agent Shelley asks, lifting one curved brow at me. Her makeup is still perfect, even this late at night, while I'm a seriously hot mess. “How so?”

  “Well, when you said that everyone has something they're striving for, even if they don't know what that is, I felt a spark light up inside of me. I knew you were right, but I didn't know what to do about it. The thing is, Heather, I don't know what I'm looking for, what I want in this world, this life.”

  I stare down at the engagement ring on my finger and feel my heart clench with pain.

  I don't want to leave Royal, but I'm going to. My mind is made up.

  But God, I'll miss him. It'll feel like I'm ripping my soul in half and leaving the better portion of it behind.

  “On Monday, I'm heading to Washington, D.C.”

  “D.C.?” Heather asks, blinking her big brown eyes at me like she thinks she's misheard. “What for?”

  “Maybe I should rephrase that,” I say, forcing myself to keep looking at her. If I do, maybe she'll keep looking at me and she won't notice that my hands are shaking. “On Monday, I'm moving to Washington, D.C. Permanently. I've got a job interview lined up and I'm already looking for a place to rent. For now, I'm staying in a hotel and I'm going to have my sister rent my house out.” I haven't exactly talked to Kailey about that, but I'm not going to, not until I'm out of the state for good. If I tell her now, she'll cry and try to talk me out of it. Since I'm already balancing on the knife's edge of this decision here, I don't think I could handle that.

  “Really?” Heather asks, dropping her attention to her food. She swipes a line of cream cheese off and puts her finger in her mouth, like she's desperate for a quiet moment to think. I stare at her as she closes her eyes and swallows. “And what about Royal McBride? If you need protection from the club, honey, talk to me and we can figure it out.”

  “That's not what I'm here for, protection. Or revenge. Or anything like that. The information I have to give you, I didn't get it from Royal. I got it from Clayton Moore.” I think this lie is the best route to disseminate this information. If it's not coming from the club, but from a man who's already dead, then the source is impossible to track down and question. “During the kidnapping,” I add, in case there was any question about that.

  “I see.” Heather picks up her bagel and bites into it, chewing carefully, her face thoughtful and closed off. “D.C. Smart choice. Thinking with your head and not your heart. It's the right move to make.”

  “I know,” I say, but she's not done and I realize that this, too, is yet another tactic to get me to crack or say something I shouldn't. Heather Shelley is fucking terrifying.

  “Royal McBride is handsome, sure, but being with him would be the biggest mistake you ever made. I'm glad you recognized that before it was too late, before you did something you could never take back.”

  “Like killing Mia Clarke?” I ask, my voice low and soft and breathy. It hurt so bad, so fucking bad. My breath hitches a little, but I cover it up with a cough, reaching up to push short strands of brunette away from my face.

  “That was self-defense. The DA's already decided not to press charges.”

  Of course. Even if what I'd done was questionable in any way, both my dad and brother are besties wi
th the local DA's office.

  “There's talk of the possibility of you running for my seat.”

  My dad's words echo in my head, but I can't go there right now. I've made my decision and it's final. What my dad wants, what the city wants, none of that changes things for me. This is about me.

  And what Royal wants? Does that matter?

  I pick up my tart and bite into it, savoring the rich chewy texture as it glides over my tongue. It might hurt to swallow, but damn this is good.

  “I'm proud of you, Lyric. For what it's worth. You've proven to be a very interesting woman. I'd like to think that after all of this, we might become friends.”

  I smile.

  “I'd like that,” I say as Heather picks up her coffee and leans back in her chair.

  “Now. Tell me. What did Clayton Moore have to tell you?”

  Heather leaves the bakery before I do, her face a resolute mask of determination. When I was relaying the information Royal had given me, I noticed her leaning forward, her lips parting slightly, like even all that practice and training and self-control she has wasn't enough to keep her back.

  As soon as I was done talking, she stood up and walked away, leaving the rest of her bagel and coffee untouched on the tabletop.

  “So how'd that go then?” Royal McBride asks from behind me, making me jump when he presses his big hands to my shoulders and then squeezes, massaging all the tension right out of me. The groan I release involuntarily is completely sexual and not at all appropriate for the setting. Several of the people nearby glance up from their books, computers, or companions to stare at me.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper, hating that I feel so suddenly clingy and desperate to be with him. I want to curl up in his big arms, soothe away all the pain he felt tonight with my body. I want to erase all the bad memories and leave him with nothing but good ones.

  Royal comes around the table to look at me, clean and fresh and obviously showered. His cut is sleek and shiny and polished, slung over a white t-shirt and a pair of tight jeans with a black leather belt. He's shaved, too, leaving his face smooth and young looking. It's like he's lost ten years in an instant.

  “Let me grab some food and you can tell me all about it,” he says, leaning down to press his mouth to mine, tangling our tongues and drawing me in so deep I feel like I could drown. When he pulls away, he's grinning but the expression doesn't reach his eyes. “You want anything else?”

  “I'm on my period, so yeah, I'm sort of needing some chocolate.”

  “Your wish, my command, Pint-Size,” Royal says, his voice strangely soft as he puts a hand over his chest, right across his president patch, and then moves away toward the counter. I watch him as he walks, the strong confident gait that says he doesn't worry about shit. I know it's a lie, but it's pretty to watch anyway.

  I lean back as he stands there, crossing my arms over my chest as Royal orders himself a cup of tea and then looks fucking hilarious as he carries the tiny unicorn plate and saucer back to the table in one tattooed hand, a slice of chocolate cake in the other.

  “A cuppa?” I ask as he passes the cake to me and then grins, a little more genuinely this time.

  “I also got myself a bloody crumpet,” he says with raised brows, heading back to the counter and waiting for the woman to serve it up for him. She smiles coyly as he takes the plate from her, ignoring her flirtatious look, and walking back to me with something that looks suspiciously like an English muffin slathered in butter. “That's better. Now it feels like we can have a right proper chin-wag.”

  “I love you,” I blurt. Not sure why. It just kind of pops out.

  Royal stiffens up and then lets out a long, low rumbling sigh. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. When our eyes meet, he must see something there that lets him know he's hurt my feelings. He reaches a hand out and cups the side of my face.

  “I love you, too, Pint-Size. So much. Too much. It's bloody killing me.”

  Royal pulls out one of the tiny stupid chairs and sits close enough that our thighs line up with a surge of brilliant heat.

  “You look ridiculous in here, you know that, right?” I ask, looking around at the Alice's Adventures in Wonderland esque theme. “So out of place.”

  Royal lifts his finger up and traces the neckline of the sequined halter top, making me gasp at the touch.

  “You look like a biker chick tonight, Pint-Size. And it's not just the clothing, but the look on your face.” He sounds almost sad when he says it. “I'm not the only one that looks out of place in here, love.”

  “At least your accent fits,” I say, making myself smile even though tonight has been so thoroughly beyond fudged that I can barely stand it. I'm just glad to hear Royal sounding British again. Seems like a stupid thing to say, but he … he gets all American when he's barking orders.

  We sit in silence for a moment and I watch the big man in front of me, the one covered in tattoos with raven dark hair and eyes like a wolf's, pick up a small buttered crumpet and eat it.

  It's something I wish I could look at everyday.

  My heart stutters and skips a beat as I swallow hard and finish my tea in a single swallow, trying to wash away the dry feeling in my throat. When Royal offers his cup to me … I almost throw myself into his arms and sob.

  But no.

  No.

  Lyric Lenore Rentz is better than that, stronger than that. I kicked ass tonight, and even if it wasn't ass that I particularly wanted to kick, I did it.

  I can do anything.

  Including make the best decision and leave Trinidad for good.

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “I followed you,” he says as he leans back in his chair and we stare at each other for long, quiet moments.

  “I see. And now what?”

  I assume he's going to run back to the compound and keep playing president, but he just shakes his head at me, like he can read my thoughts.

  “We go home and I make sweet, gentle love to you in our bed.” Royal reaches out and takes my hand, rubbing his thumb across his sister's ring. I took special care to clean all the blood off of it in the clubhouse bathroom. When I leave, I'm leaving it here for him. I know what he said, what we both said, about not finding anyone else, but in my heart, I secretly hope for him that he will.

  “Then let's go,” I say, needing a night with Royal more than anything else in the world right now. “Let's go home, Royal.”

  We leave Lyric's car at the bakery and I take her home on the back of my bike, wrapping her in the leather riding jacket I keep in one of the saddlebags. It's my jacket, so it's big as hell on her, but god I love seeing her covered in Alpha Wolves patches.

  If I could have anything in the world, I would patch Lyric into the club. Spend all day, everyday with her.

  But I know in my heart that's never going to happen. And I can tell from her face that even if it could, she's already long gone.

  I don't say anything to Lyric, but I hope for her own sake that she really does leave on Monday.

  Still, I'll be at that bloody courthouse with Dober and Janae and I'll wait and I'll do my goddamn best not to pray that she really does show up in a white wedding gown.

  Lyric and I don't talk when we get back to the house. I just reach down and take her hand, guide her inside and let her walk down the hallway while I let the dogs in from the yard, patting them absently on their big heads before leaving them to join the woman I want as my wife.

  “You're fucking gorgeous,” I tell Lyric as I stand in the doorway and watch her strip off Fauna's borrowed halter, kick off her riding boots. “I hope you know that.”

  “I suppose so,” Lyric says as she pauses, standing in the striped moonlight with her bare breasts exposed, not caring that the blinds on the wall of windows to her right are wide open. She covers her chest with one arm and walks toward them, gazing out at the dark turmoil of the sea. “Sorry there's no sexy lingerie up top tonight. The white halter bra I was weari
ng for you got covered in blood. I threw it away.”

  “Are you taking the piss with me again?” I ask as I walk in and wrap my arms around her, tucking that small, fierce form up against my body. “You think I'd complain about having these bare?” I slide my fingers up Lyric's warm sides and cup her breasts in my hands, breathing in her scent and closing my eyes against the blood soaked nightmare of a night that's just finally coming to an end.

  On the horizon, the faintest tinge of orange-pink is cresting the water, getting ready to bathe the ocean in glorious morning color.

  Saturday.

  It'll be fucking Saturday, and I'll have two days left with Lyric. Three until the Saldaña shipment either comes crashing to a halt beneath the club's collective boots … or the FBI takes them off of our hands.

  “It's so beautiful,” Lyric breathes against the glass as I slowly drop a hand back to her belly.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask, my own midsection a mess of spiderweb bruises, like I got punched right in the gut by fucking Mug … or worse, Glacier.

  “Like I want to puke. Like my insides were pulled out and run over by a car.”

  Lyric turns in my arms as I tug off my shirt and we both look down at our matching wounds. She feathers her fingers over the muscles in my belly and looks up at me.

  “Before the … whatever you want to call it, the girls and I were sitting in the coffee shop and talking about sex.”

  “Oh?” I cock a brow at her.

  “They wanted to know if you were gentle.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said you could be, when you wanted to.”

  “Is that a hint?” I ask as I press Lyric back against the glass with my body, being careful not to touch her bruises.

  “Just a suggestion.”

  “I see.”

  I put my hands on her shoulders and lean down, like I'm in fucking primary school or something, our lips brushing just barely, just enough to send heat curling through my body and blood into my thickening cock.