Savage Savior (Savage People Book 3)

by Charleigh Rose

  But he doesn’t owe me anything. And me? I owe him everything after all he’s done to protect me. I’d never keep him from his child, but he deserves someone better than me.

  Carter gently picks up my hand like I’m a delicate porcelain doll he’s afraid of breaking and brings the back of my wrist to his hot mouth. His full lips touch the sensitive flesh of my body, and I burn for him hotter than I did before. He’s not even kissing me. I’m still sitting on the bed, him standing above me. We’re in a trance, our pupils zeroing in on one another. I don’t want this moment to end. It is so rare and true. And, knowing Carter, there’s not going to be another chance to be like this anytime soon.

  When he finally releases my hand, I almost cry out in protest.

  “The omelet is burning,” he notes dryly, turning away and leaving the room. I hear him in the kitchen, throwing away the omelet, cursing a little in his Irish slang that I don’t understand, and opening the windows around the house. The chill crawls into the room immediately, and I welcome it. When Carter comes back, he picks me up like I’m a toddler and carries me to the bathroom.

  “I can hold your hair,” he says out of nowhere as he pushes the very last door down his hallway open and we both walk in. His shower is sparse, clean, and pristine white. His toilet—the same. This man does not take his cleaning tasks lightly around the house.

  Ugh. As if I didn’t already think he was perfect enough.

  “You want to hold my hair?” I question, my brows furrowing. The bile bubbling up my throat is killing me. The need to throw up intense. I wish he’d go away somewhere else so I can do this quietly. I start rolling my hair, ready to tie it into a messy, high bun, as I watch Carter intently. He shrugs.

  “I read somewhere that this is what, uh.” He clears his throat and looks straight ahead, behind my shoulder, at nothing in particular. God, he is embarrassed. “That’s what good boyfriends do.”

  “You did?” I can’t help but unleash a little grin. The morning sickness is still in full force, but I can’t seem to let this one go. Worst-case scenario, I’ll throw up on his shoes. I suspect there’s nothing I can do at this point that will deter him from helping me while I carry his child. “Where have you read that, Carter?” I question playfully.

  He now looks visibly annoyed. His white skin flushes red, and he is rubbing the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at me.

  “I read it on the internet.”

  “Where on the internet? The internet is a pretty big place,” I fire back. He bites his lower lip and releases it slowly, and my womb clenches, hungry for his tongue to try to battle its way into it. Carter gives the best oral sex in the world, and I suspect he doesn’t even know it.

  “Cosmopolitan,” he finally mutters, rolling his eyes like it is a struggle to admit it out loud. I burst out laughing, cupping my mouth with my hand, but as soon as I dip my head back to let the laughter out, something else rises with it.

  My last meal.

  I twist around, my eyes wild, and crouch down to the toilet as I empty my stomach. It is not pretty. The thing about morning sickness is, that unlike any other time, throwing up doesn’t actually make you feel better. Not even an ounce better. In fact, even though your stomach is empty, growling, and your throat is burning with all the puking you did, the nausea is still there.

  “I can’t.” I place my head over the toilet seat—a real classy move, I know—and shake my head from side to side. “This pregnancy is kicking my ass, and it’s just the beginning.”

  “I bought you ginger drops. I hear they’re good for nausea.” He leans his narrow waist against the sink, and his groin is pointed directly at me. Funny, I feel terrible, but I still wouldn’t say no to a ride on the Carter Express.

  “Oh, yeah? Where did you read that? Martha Stewart’s magazine?” I giggle. He frowns, and I immediately regret ever saying that. He was trying to be caring and sweet.

  “I reckon it’s a good time to make some scrambled eggs. The whole bloody carton, to be exact,” he retorts, his face blazing with the kind of childish seriousness that makes you chuckle. So I do. I chuckle. Because I love us like this. Sharing this journey. This fucked-up, sudden, unexpected, exciting, scary path to God knows where. I just wish it were under different circumstances. We shouldn’t be having this baby, and I think that on some level, we both know that.

  Carter is both too old and too young to have a child. Parts of him are as innocent as a person can get—almost childlike—and parts of him have seen darkness that no light can soften. And me…I’m a mess. I’m a huge, fucked-up ball of emotional scars and battle wounds. We are chaotic and messy and not at all pretty…but this is us. This is ours. It’s the best thing that’s ever been mine, flaws and all.

  We stare at each other silently, our smiles fading. He eases himself onto the sink, and I twist my head and throw up again. When I feel like the nausea is under control, we go to the kitchen. He makes me black tea, that would threaten to make me puke even if I wasn’t suffering from morning sickness, and serves me some crackers.

  He sits across from me, staring at his bowl of oatmeal and blueberries. The thing I appreciate about Graham’s men is that they aren’t sloppy. They’re all Carter’s style. They dress sharp, eat well, train hard, and live by the Savage code. These men are formidable, terrifying, and unstoppable. And it is all due to the mental and physical training they endure. I knew Carter would never start the day with pancakes and hot chocolate.

  “So…when are you going to work?” I ask, picking up one of my crackers and breaking it into small pieces. I don’t ask if he goes to work. I don’t want him to think I’m assuming he’ll spend the day with me. But, Carter shrugs from across the table.

  “I told Graham I’m taking the day so we can discuss our plans for the…baby…and maybe find you a doctor or something. We can go shopping for the wee one. I’m not sure about how this works. How long before do we need to take care of that?”

  This time, I work hard on not bursting out and laughing. I don’t actually find his lack of knowledge about the situation amusing. It’s the fact that he tries so hard that makes me want to kiss the hell out of him. But I’m not even sure where we stand. He’s making it really hard to stand my ground. So, I just bite my lip to suppress my giant smile and say, “Well, there’s still time before the shopping.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “Thank you, Carter. For being here. For not making this harder for me. To be honest, I was afraid you’d ask me to…terminate the pregnancy.”

  He is now frowning, confusion and anger coloring every curve of his perfect face. “Why would I ask you to do such a thing?”

  “Well,” I start, looking everywhere but at him, doing my best to avoid eye contact. This was my fear from the minute I found out. “I didn’t think you would want to bring a baby into your lifestyle.”

  “I don’t,” he agrees. “But what’s done is done, and I promise to make the best pa I can be. My best might not be much. Honestly, with my gene pool and my general knowledge about parenthood, I reckon I’m gonna be shite, but I will give it one thousand percent. And I will hug him or her. A lot. Every day. Several times a day.”

  “Why is that?” That traitorous grin creeps onto my face again, and this time, I don’t make an effort to bite it down.

  “Because I want to break the cycle,” he says.

  “Break the cycle?” I repeat. He nods, his eyes on mine.

  “Break our cycle, Quinn. We might not know what good parents do, but we know exactly what not to do.”

  For a while there, things were starting to look up for me. That’s when I should have known that it was too good to be true.

  That first day after Quinn left the hospital, we went to the grocery store and bought loads of things pregnant ladies eat and drink to get rid of their morning sickness, and of course, prenatal vitamins. We carried all those things to Quinn’s apartment, because it was slightly closer and because despite my place being cleaner and bigger, Quinn didn’t wan
t to stay with me permanently. Or maybe she just wanted her apartment back. I don’t know much about women or how they operate, but I gave her what she wanted. There was no point in fighting when I knew I’d get my way, eventually.

  Afterward, we went for a walk together. It was cold, so I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She didn’t protest, and I tried not to read too much into that. We had lunch at a Thai restaurant and both hated it. It looked quite fancy, which is why I walked in. I wanted us to celebrate that day, because it felt like a celebration. We may have not enjoyed the meal, but we enjoyed each other’s company. When we walked back out, she took my hand and wrapped my arm around her shoulder again and said, “I know you feel like I’m about to bite off your limb every time you try to show me physical affection. Let it go. There’s no wrong or right way of showing someone you care. You just…do.”

  I’ve decided that those are words to live by. Don’t think. Don’t overanalyze. Just do. Do what feels right. Everything with Quinn feels right.

  Two weeks passed, and things were grand. I pretty much moved into Quinn’s apartment, but this time I used the key. Well, that’s not entirely true. One night, after I’d gotten back from work at the club, I decided to sneak in through the balcony again. Stiles was there on a shift outside her door, making sure that she was okay, as per usual, and I had the key. I don’t know why I did it. I just felt the need to stalk my prey. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

  I walked straight into her bedroom and watched her bare legs wrap around the linen, squeezing them between her thighs, and I wanted to be the sheets between them. Wanted to so bad, I’ve forgotten why I denied myself to begin with.

  Sex with Quinn was perfection, until I lost control and it wasn’t. I didn’t have to think about anything. I didn’t feel like she was judging me, or grading me for my performance. But for some reason, having sex while she carried my child felt different. I was scared to lose control again, for one. And it just felt more… more real, more intense, more everything.

  I crawled into her bed and watched as she stirred from side to side, her red hair fanned out across her pillow.

  “Carter,” she moaned my name, almost on a whisper. Her voice silk and velvet, traveling the short distance from her pillow to my throbbing cock. “Carter?” Her eyes were still shut.

  This was Quinn for you. Ever since she fell pregnant, she somehow managed to sleep like the dead. Her slumber was deep, and usually I was happy to sit by her side and watch her sleep. But tonight, I wanted to do more than watch.

  This was a lie. Every night I wanted to do more than watch. To do everything. But that night, I finally felt brave enough to do so.

  “Can I still make you feel good?” I sat beside her, brushing a hair off her pretty face. “Even when you’re pregnant? I promise I’ll be gentle.” I wasn’t planning on fucking her. I still wasn’t sure about my ability to control myself. I simply wanted to lick her. Taste her. Familiarize myself with her perfect body…again.

  “Carter, please touch me,” she murmured. And I did. I ducked my head down, under the sheets, and slid her knickers down inch by inch, savoring every second like it was my last meal on this earth.

  My whole body throbbed with something unfamiliar. Not just lust, no. I’ve tasted lust on my tongue and came to be quite smitten with the feeling. But something else entirely, and it consumed me to the point of madness.

  My mouth watered, thirsty for her skin, when my lips felt the soft lips of her pussy. I could feel her pulse against my tongue as I tasted her carefully. My hands shook as I placed them on her inner thighs, pinning her down to the mattress.

  I tasted.

  Licked.

  Gulped.

  Loved.

  I loved her in that moment. The realization was like a punch to the stomach. I never knew what love felt like. It was elusive, fragile, something only seen in movies.

  “Yes, Carter, please. Fuck me,” she moaned over and over again. I knew what she needed, and it was more than my tongue, but I was too scared to hurt her, to hurt our baby. “Yes. Yes. I love you, Carter. I love you so much. I love you.” The words fell from her mouth like sweet poison, killing and reviving me at the very same time. I didn’t deserve to be loved, and I knew it, but still, here I was. Loved.

  By the woman I loved back, no less.

  Life could be funny like that.

  Her eyes opened, filled with terror at the realization of what she’d said.

  “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped out.”

  I almost laughed, but it wasn’t funny. My lack of ability to accept love and compassion.

  I rose up, crawling on my forearms all the way to her, and kissed her long and hard, forcing her to taste herself on my lips. It was leisurely. Slow. I wanted to postpone the moment I told her what I had just discovered.

  “Do you mean that, baby?” I needed to be sure. With tears in her eyes, she shook her head yes.

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

  “I love you, Quinn. I think I always have.”

  Now, we make love all the time. All the fecking time. Quinn assured me that I can’t hurt my baby with my cock, and I started to trust myself a little more.

  But as I said, happily-ever-after was never in the cards for me. Christ, look at my starting point. You can’t recover from that shite quickly.

  My happiness comes to a screeching halt on a Tuesday afternoon. I am walking with Quinn in our neighborhood, the ugly wee rat she calls a dog at our feet, following us eagerly on her studded pink leash. I steal glances to the redhead who stole my beating heart right out of my chest and stored it in her designer handbag. I catch her smiling at me for no reason in particular. Then I stare ahead, a satisfied smirk on my face, as we cross the road on our way to the pharmacy to pick up some more ginger pops.

  Just then, fate collides with my happy ending.

  Just then, the door to one of the local pubs swivels open, and out walks my nightmare.

  Just then, my girlfriend—I have a fecking girlfriend now—spins her head in the same direction, almost in slow motion, a smile frozen on her face.

  Just then, my heart stops beating.

  No.

  Not her.

  I haven’t seen my cousin since I was working the bar at Hot N’ Bothered, but that’s okay, because I never wanted to see her again.

  Mandy is my nemesis. I’m not even going to sugarcoat that shit because she’ll think it’s cocaine and try snoring it, too. When I was younger, and my dad was in full swing trying to sell me for drugs, I ran to Mandy’s parents—my mother’s sister is her mom—begging for a place to stay. They lived in Long Island in this picture-perfect, red-bricked estate and had plenty of spare rooms. Mandy’s dad is a PR manager in one of the biggest companies in Manhattan, and Mandy’s mother always had a soft spot for me. I was only sixteen when I knocked on their door. Mandy was the one who opened it. We are exactly the same age, Mandy and I. Only two weeks separating us, but we couldn’t have been less alike.

  She was born into a rich family and decided to become a cokehead.

  I was born into a shitty family and have decided to try to rise above the shit cards I was dealt in life.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. The reason why I hate my blonde bombshell of a cousin is because when I got to her house—hungry, desperate, and without a dime in my pocket—I begged her to let me talk to her mother. It was raining. Mandy was inside, where it was nice and warm. She’s always been pretty, but the fact that I didn’t look like a gremlin somehow threatened her. She said I looked slutty and that my lips were too big and my eyes too wide, like a blowup doll. I told myself she was just jealous. Jealous women weren’t anything new to me. Ever since I sprouted breasts, men’s eyes would linger a little too long and women looked at me with curled lips, like they just smelled something foul. I could deal with Mandy.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.” She shook her head slowly. “Mom is not around.
She’s at the country club, and Daddy is out of town on business. It’s just the maid and me. I’d say call Mom and tell her that you’re here, but you don’t even have a phone, do you? How unfortunate for you. Try again tomorrow.”

  “But I have nowhere to go! Mandy, I’m in trouble,” I cried out, frustrated.

  “Yeah, that’s true.” She flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder, sighing dramatically. “But I don’t think Mom would approve of me letting a prostitute in the house while she’s away…because that’s what you are, right? That’s the rumor mill, anyway. Mom’s not gonna let you anywhere near her innocent, impressionable daughter.”

  I never tried Mandy’s parents again.

  Even if they were to believe me when I told them it was against my will, I didn’t want to live with Mandy. She had always been a headache and saw me as a competition.

  So yeah, I wouldn’t say that I’m particularly happy to see her right now, in my neighborhood, walking out of a random pub in the middle of a Tuesday, but I’m trying not to let it get to me too much. After all, I’m at a different place now. I’m pregnant. And I have Carter. He protects me and takes care of me in more ways than one. He’s my rock, and if I need him to be, he is also my water, my food, and my air. He’s everything I need, and more. I’ve got this.

  “Oh. My. God!” Mandy lets out a squeak, and I visibly flinch. Is it just me, or did her voice get louder and even higher with time? I tug at Carter’s coat, silently asking him to try to take me away before she starts talking to me, then turn my head to look at him and realize that he is completely frozen.

  My eyes focus on my boyfriend, who is staring at Mandy like she is the bane of his existence.

  Then I turn my head and look at Mandy, and to my horror, I realize that she’s looking at him and not at me. In fact, I don’t even think that she realizes that I’m here. Next to him. Her own cousin. Though, why would she scream ‘oh my God’ when seeing Carter? Do they know each other?