Savage and Racy (Bad Boys MC Trilogy #3)

by Violet Blaze

I turn on my heel and storm away, realizing as I make my dramatic exit that I have literally zero transportation out of here.

  But I can't stop now.

  I keep going until I hit the edge of the Wolf Cycle Service and Repair shop.

  “Look at all those tears,” a cool voice says as I pass by the open garage door and feel a chill slither down my spine.

  “Glacier,” I say as the tattooed blond appears like a ghost from the darkness and takes a step toward me, smiling without any warmth. I look at him, knowing with every cell in my body that he could snap my neck and walk away like it meant nothing at all. “You fucking prick.”

  He raises both blond brows at me.

  “Sorry?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, piercings glinting in his lips, nose, ears.

  “Serenity is a fucking kid,” I say, realizing that I should probably go back to using the word “fudge”. I'm seriously abusing the F-word right now. “She's a kid. And you've got her all wrapped up in you. If I find out that anything else has happened between you, mark my words, I'll come back here and cut your balls off myself.”

  “Well hello, Mrs. Royal McBride,” Glacier says as he claps his hands together dramatically, smirking at me in a way that makes me think of a wild cat on the prowl. “You know, there are few people in this world who are brave enough to talk to me like that.”

  “Well bully for them!” I shout, throwing my arms in the air dramatically. I realize I'm crying again, but what the hell? A quick look over my shoulder and I can see that Royal's gone. He didn't come after me. Why? Why the fuck wouldn't he come after me? “So what?” I drop my arms by my sides and cover my face with my hands.

  Glacier watches me sob for a few minutes until I hear the jangle of keys.

  “You want his truck?” he asks blandly, like he could give two shits less one way or the other.

  I reach out and snatch the silver from the man's tattooed fingers.

  “Thanks,” I whisper as I glance around for it and Glacier steps aside, holding out his hand to indicate the shadows of the garage. Even though every instinct I have tells me this guy is dangerous and that I should run like hell, Royal trusts him. So I trust him. I walk into the cool darkness of the garage and find the big red truck sitting there, looking almost brand-new. When did that happen?

  “Lyric,” Glacier says as I unlock the door and he leans into it, getting far too close to me for my own liking. Those ice blue eyes dive straight into my soul. “Are you leaving Royal then?”

  I just stare back at him and say nothing.

  “If you do,” he tells me quietly, and I feel a sickness in the pit of my stomach, “don't ever come back to Trinidad.”

  Glacier steps back and slams the door, grinning at me and waving with a boyish charm that's ten times as scary as all of that silent, frosty steel.

  I get the hell out of there as fast as Royal's truck will take me.

  “What the fuck did you just say to her?” I roar at Glacier as I watch Lyric speed past me like a bat out of hell, scrambling to get one of my guys on a bike to go after her.

  Glacier just stares innocently at me as I get up in his face and grab him by the shirt. He slams my arm away and we get into a small tussle that leaves us both panting and bleeding and staring at one another with the realization that to end this, we'd have to go in for the kill.

  Glacier drops his fists first and sighs at me.

  “I just told her that if she leaves, not to come back.”

  “Well bloody thanks for that, you wanker.”

  “Listen, redcoat, you were the one that sent her over here crying.”

  The reality of what I've just done sinks in and I drop into a crouch, running my hand down my face and smearing blood and sweat across my lips. It tastes like copper and pain and heartbreak.

  “I've gone and cocked it up,” I whisper, knowing I must be crazy for confiding in Saint fucking Nordin. Then again, the man has no emotions so maybe that's why it feels easier to talk to him sometimes? “But it had to be done.”

  I sent Lyric running. On purpose. Because I'm a stupid bloody shagging son of a whore. Sorry, Mum.

  “Why?” Glacier asks, crossing his arms over his chest and letting blood drip onto the white of his t-shirt.

  “Because I couldn't take it anymore. She knew she was leaving; I knew she was leaving. And hell, I want her to go. I just couldn't wait and watch her and know. Not with everything else that's been going on. It was tearing me apart.” I don't mention that secretly, I had one last hope that she might actually take me up on my offer and stay. Why bother? Didn't fucking work.

  “So you're really going to just … hang out and wait for her to disappear on Monday?”

  I don't answer that, sitting back on my ass and leaning my head on my forearms.

  When I close my eyes, I see Rebecca's face and open them again, looking down at the oil stained cement. When I walked outside and saw Lyric sitting on that bench, talking to Serenity like that, like she belonged here, my heart swelled to bursting. That was just it for me. I was done.

  “She'll make a brilliant senator, don't you think?”

  “I think you're an asshole. And an idiot.”

  “Like you're any better?” I smirk as I stand up and stare him down. “Still want me to transfer you? Just so you can stay away from some jailbait.”

  Something dark flashes across Glacier's face, but he just raises his palms and steps back.

  “If you keep talking like that, I can't be held responsible for what I'd do,” he says with a smile, shaking his head and moving back another few steps. “So why don't you figure out how you're going to survive losing your girl and put this compound back together again.” He drops his arms by his side as my emotions writhe inside my chest like snakes.

  “Bugger off,” I snap as rub my temple with my hand.

  “Any news from the FBI?” he asks and I shake my head. “Should I get ready for Tuesday?”

  “No fucking clue,” I say as I drop my arm by my side and look up. “I need time to think. I'm heading to the bar for a while. Come find me if you need something. In the meantime, organize a group to deal with those bodies.”

  “Yes, sir,” Glacier whispers in a low hiss, sending every hair on my body standing on end.

  When I check in with my guy later, he tells me that Lyric's not at my place but at hers.

  Fuck.

  I know I shouldn't go over there, but I do anyway, stopping by the store on my way and grabbing a lightbulb.

  I relieve my brother from his duty and sit at the end of Lyric's driveway on my bike for hours, arms crossed over my chest, gaze scanning the quiet neighborhood. About two hours in, her neighbor comes out and glares at me. I just grin and toss her a wink and a salute, enjoying the way her wrinkled old face fills with red, the door of her house slamming hard enough to rattle the windows. Stupid old bag, I think with a small chuckle as I shake my head and glance up, lighting a cigarette and watching the skies open up, dropping rain down on my head in buckets.

  Christ.

  Can't I get a goddamn break here?

  With a sigh, I climb off my bike and head over to Lyric's porch, changing the broken bulb in her light and smiling as I give it one last twist and watch it flicker to life.

  Surprisingly, the door cracks open and Pint-Size's gorgeous little face appears, lips pursed tight with irritation as she studies me, my dark hair dripping into my face, droplets of rain clinging to my mouth.

  She looks at me for a long moment and then steps back, opening the door wide.

  “Do you really think I'm going to sit in here while you're outside getting drenched? And changing my porch light? Come on, Royal.”

  “I'm not coming in,” I tell her, my voice going cold as I take a step back off the porch and into the icy drizzle. Fuckin' hell. I cross my arms over my chest, my cut rustling as Lyric and I stare at one another. “I meant what I said today. And you are leaving, aren't you?”

  Her eyes fill with tears. The only yes t
hat I need.

  Still, all I fucking want right now is to step forward and brush the tears from her cheeks with my thumb, kiss those trembling lips and carry her into the bedroom for another long night of lovemaking.

  “I have to go. You understand that, right? I mean, you get it, don't you?”

  “I get it.” Three of the hardest words I've ever said in my life.

  “Do you though, really?” she asks, stepping out and onto the cement step, the warmth of her body teasing me through the frosty monsoon soaking through my clothes and chilling my skin. She crosses her arms under her full breasts, dressed in one of those black jumpsuit things. My cock turns to steel in my jeans and I suck in a sharp breath. My nails dig into my biceps as I fight the urge to pick her up and fuck her against the open door. “If you did, you wouldn't let me leave like this.”

  “Did you get in touch with Heather Shelley?” I ask coldly, pretending I don't notice the way she leans toward me, begging me to touch her with every single motion she makes.

  “Goddamn it, Royal,” Lyric whispers, closing her eyes against the image of me standing in the rain and acting like a fucking prat. “Yes, I did. And guess what? She was really happy to see me, but she was also incredibly distracted and focused on her phone. Plus, she only had time to sit and have a cup of coffee before she had to run. Like I thought, she didn't say a damn thing, but if I had to bet everything I had on it, I'd say the FBI is taking our tip and running with it.”

  I nod briskly, but she's still not looking at me.

  “Good. We'll be ready anyway, but I won't send the army straight off, just a couple of scouts and we'll see what happens with the cartel.”

  Silence falls between us as I drop my arms to my sides and curl my hands into fists.

  “Anything else?” I ask quietly, but Lyric still won't look at me.

  “Nothing else,” she whispers as I take two steps back and her green eyes flick wide. We stare at each other again, but I won't let myself let anything happen here. “Good night, Mr. McBride.”

  Lyric turns away and slams the door on me as I let out a low growl and cover my wet face with my hands.

  Mr. McBride, huh? She may as well have called me a piece of shit cocksucking son of a bastard.

  My entire body trembles with rage and need and desperation as I turn away and head back over to my bike, sitting down on the driveway and leaning against the slick, wet metal surface.

  I stay there until well after the sun comes up.

  I spend all night on my couch, hugging various pillows in my decorative pillow collection and glancing out the window at Royal as he sits on the ground in the rain and stares up at the stars. When the sun finally rises, he gets up and meets another man at the end of the driveway, speeding away with the growl of his bike's engine as I soak a yellow daisy pillow with tears.

  Every second I knew he was out there was torture. I wanted to go to him, but I knew if I did, I was done. I would stay here forever for that man. I guess I finally get what he meant yesterday when he drove me away on purpose. There's only so far a person can be pushed before they break, and we've both reached that point.

  Still, I can't quite reconcile the idea of never seeing him again, of never feeling his lips against mine, his body buried inside of me, his hands on my hips.

  “Ahhhhh.” I curl up on my side and lay there staring at my kitchen. Getting involved with Royal was a bad idea. Losing him might just kill me.

  I check my phone, but there aren't any messages from him. Of course there aren't. A man who has enough self-control to sit outside all fucking night in the rain wouldn't break down and text me all of a sudden. Who am I kidding? But there is a message from my father inviting me to dinner again.

  Great.

  Last time, I got to reveal that I was marrying an outlaw motorcycle club president.

  This time, I get to tell them that I'm breaking off the engagement and moving to Washington, D.C. tomorrow; they'll be just as disappointed.

  Any joy my parents might feel about ditching Royal as a future son-in-law will go straight out the window when they hear I'm leaving, that I'm not running for mayor.

  What the hell happened to my safe, easy life? The one where I put on my suits and went to the office everyday, planned my life to a T but never quite lived it? I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster that won't stop until it kills me.

  But … if I'm leaving, I'm doing it right.

  Time to get my butt up and pack.

  If I do it with tears streaming down my face, who has to know about it?

  “You look beautiful,” Kailey says when she opens the door at my parents' place and I fight back an agonizing pang of loneliness at the thought that Royal's not going to be here with me. The bodyguard that's been watching me all day sits two houses down, looking bored as he takes his helmet off and leans back to stare at me.

  The media vultures have finally fled, fed up with my family's closed lips and the on-and-off icy drizzles that plague Trinidad today. At least there's one positive side to this shitty day.

  “Thanks,” I say as I step inside, wearing a red jumpsuit and carrying a sequined clutch. I'm way too dressed up for a night at my parents' place, but I don't care. In the past, I've used clothes as a shield against the world. Why not tonight? One last night.

  My flight leaves early, so at least I won't have to agonize all day tomorrow. No, I'll eat here, tell my family my plans and work out what to do with my house, car and furniture. Then I'll go home, get a good night's sleep and wake up refreshed, heading straight to the airport at first light.

  I feel dead inside as I walk into the foyer, my heels clicking across the hardwood floor as I make my way toward the kitchen.

  I pass Sully in the dining room and pause, setting my clutch on the top of the informal dining room table.

  “Hey,” I say as he looks up from his computer and smiles tightly at me. He must be feeling better because he's dressed in one of his usual suits, hair slicked back and face shaved clean.

  “Hello Lyric,” Sully says as he stares at me with matching green eyes.

  I pull out a chair and sit down as my mom calls Kailey into the kitchen and I listen to her whine about helping with the food prep.

  “It feels like it's been years since we last saw each other,” I say, thinking about Friday night but wishing I could forget it. I make myself keep smiling at Sully. The way his eyes narrow, I feel like he can see right through me.

  “What happened with Heather Shelley? I haven't heard a word from her or anyone else from the FBI. As far as my contacts can tell me, nobody's pressing charges.” I know he's talking about himself, about his and Brent's business dealings.

  “I don't know,” I respond honestly, “I don't have an answer for that.” But I think with what I told Agent Shelley, Sully might be okay. Plus, I think she has a bit of a crush on him. “I do have some good news though,” I say, although based on the sound of my voice he probably thinks I'm about to discuss my own funeral.

  I cup my face in my left hand, feeling the smooth warmth of Royal's ring and wondering what I'm going to do with it. Maybe I'll keep it until I get settled in and then mail it back? Or is that too cruel? God. I have no idea.

  Sully stares at me in that stark way of his, his expression almost an exact clone of my father's. Only the eyes are different, and it's not just the color. I don't know how I ever missed this before, but there's a spark of kindness and empathy in my brother that my dad just doesn't have.

  “What's the matter with you?” he asks, leaning back in his chair as I stare blandly over his shoulder at the paintings of quaint country cottages my mom likes so much. “If this is what you look like when you have good news, remind me not to listen if you have something bad to say.” He pauses as I close my eyes and fight back the barrage of images: Mia's face, the blood spattering that beige wall when I nailed that guy through the throat, Royal soaking wet and sitting on my driveway. “Well, what is it?”

  “I'll tell you at dinner,” I
say, opening them back up to look at Sully. “All of you.”

  “Tell us what?” my dad asks as he sweeps into the room in a suit that's nearly identical to my brother's. His big smile tells me that he thinks I'm going to run for mayor. Great. This should be fun. I can break both my dad's and Royal's heart in one day.

  What are you doing, Lyric? Trust me, it does not escape me that all of this is self-inflicted. But if you don't understand why I'm doing it, then you've never felt trapped. Good for you.

  I sit up straight and tuck some hair behind my ear. It escapes immediately and feathers against my cheek.

  “At dinner, Dad,” I say as he stands at the end of the table and puts his palms down on the wood, looking approvingly in my direction … until he sees the ring is still on my finger and frowns.

  “Where's your criminal fiancé?” he asks with a cold, emotionless inflection to his voice.

  “Probably off burying bodies,” I say, and realize that's probably not a joke at all. “Don't worry about him. I don't want to get into this again.”

  “Fine then,” Dad says, standing up and taking in a deep breath. He adjusts his tie, and I can see that he still thinks he's going to get his way, so it doesn't matter. “We'll wait for food.”

  He sits down at the head of the table and looks to my brother.

  “You've got all the major donors onboard?”

  “Of course I do,” Sully says, but he looks sideways at me when he says it.

  “Wonderful,” Philip says, smiling, “just wonderful.”

  “What's wonderful, honey?” my mother asks, sweeping into the room in an outfit that looks like something Jackie Kennedy would've worn, a nice floral apron over the top. Ever the picture of domestic bliss, my mother. “Where's … that man?” she asks, and I feel like I want to scream.

  “He's not coming tonight,” Sully says for me, “leave Lyric alone.”

  I smile warmly at my big brother and reach across the table to squeeze his hand. Considering the man in question beat him half to death with a hammer, he's being awfully accommodating.

  “Oh my God!” Kailey squeals as she comes in carrying a hot casserole and plops it down on the table without putting anything down under it. Mom screams bloody murder and my sister lifts up the dish, grinning sheepishly as they arrange a tea towel to sit underneath it.