Savage Outlaw (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 8)

by V. Theia

  Fight or flee robbed Roux of breath and her first instinct was to kick out and cause as much ruckus as she could.

  The hand over her mouth stopped her and she was shoved hard against a wall.

  Rico was in front of her.

  That asshole smirked. “Quiet and I will remove my hand. You scream and I fucking shoot you.”

  Adrenaline poured through her veins until she shook from head to toe.

  Calm as she could, she nodded, and he let go.

  “You better have clean fucking hands, you moron.” She wiped her mouth, disgusted.

  “I don’t think Rico’s hygiene is what you need to be worried about, niña.”

  Verónica Garcia Ruiz rounded into the alcove like a visiting royal would at a summer fete. Holding a black umbrella against the deluge. Meanwhile Roux was getting soaked.

  “If you wanted to talk you only had to ask, not get your thug here to grab me. Not cool, lady.”

  “Not cool, indeed. It’s not cool to cheat either at one of my husband’s well respected games.”

  “Screw you, I did not cheat. Can’t you take losing? What the fuck does it matter to you, anyway? Not like you’re hurting for money.”

  The older woman smiled viciously. Roux had the sense she was not just the meek little cartel’s wife sitting at home making empanada’s.

  Considering how she had a six-foot-five bodyguard looming over her and a cartel wife in front of her, Roux needed to learn when to use her inside voice and keep the insults to herself.

  Rain continued to soak the top of her head and she hated being cold and wet.

  “If you haven’t noticed, it’s lashing with rain, I want to get home. I didn’t cheat.”

  “I think you did.”

  This broad, really. Looking at her protected by the large domed umbrella, warmed by a long black coat, you’d think she was out for a day at the Derby.

  Roux wasn’t new to intimidation.

  In school the kids tried it when they knew she was a biker kid. She cried about it to Chains, pleading for him not to tell her dad. It took one bike ride to her school for Chains to put the fear of Lucifer into those kids and they never bothered her again. When she was older, she handled her own business.

  It was always people with money who thought they had the right.

  Roux lifted her chin. “You’re wrong. Now I’m leaving.”

  “Search her,” Verónica issued with a bored click of her tongue and waving her long nails in the air.

  Now was the time to panic because she didn’t get a step toward the street before the big tough guy advanced. “Touch me, and you’ll regret it.”

  The guy grinned wide and grabbed her by the shoulders with a grip so hard she winced when his fingers dug deep. When he started to tear at her jacket to get it open that’s when Roux started to struggle. Flailing with her arms, hitting him where she could.

  “Get your hands off me, you cheap Dwayne Johnson knock off.”

  “You are young and will learn you cannot disregard the rules. My rules especially.”

  It was as though Verónica was imparting wisdom to a dumb kid who’d stolen Easter candy. Fuck her. Talking like someone’s granny, the bitch was what? 10-15 years older than her. Give a bitch a title like cartel whore and she thinks she’s queen Sheba.

  Roux continued to struggle and when she heard a rip, her jacket tearing at the seams, her temper flared bright as the Olympic torch.

  Her dad always said it would get her into trouble.

  There was no way she was letting them take her money. She’d earned it with sheer fucking skill to outwit morons. The more she struggled, the more her jacket tore.

  “Hurry it up, Rico. I’m growing bored.”

  “You’re bored?” Roux hissed, trying to stare at the woman around the cement-made man manhandling her. “You’re a weak pussy, Verónica, do you know that? Can’t even do your own dirty work.”

  Her lip earned her a shove into the brick wall hard enough she felt her teeth jarring. She had her dad in her head telling her to watch her mouth or else it’d get her in trouble. Hello, she was in fucking trouble. But she also heard one of his other life lessons of never back down. Always fight, kiddo.

  It was at that point, Roux remembered what she always carried in the little pocket of her jeans.

  For those in case moments.

  She’d never had one until now and while she tried to untangle herself from a thug the size of King Kong, she got a finger and thumb into that pocket, touching the small flick knife. A tenth birthday gift from Chains. She thought she was so cool at the time. A knife and a new bike.

  “Get the hell off me, dickhole.”

  She heard stiletto heels clicking on the wet ground, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rico. Get it done.”

  And that’s when the thump to the side of her face came, stumbling with shock and pain that the fucker had actually hit her. Tears sprang to her eyes, not from fear but from fury. He had her jacket wrenched open now and was reaching to get the bundle of money.

  Like fucking hell.

  She couldn’t say how it actually happened.

  Only that it did.

  Only that in a second, among the tussle, struggling with all her skinny girl might—regret at not going to the gym even once—something warm poured over her hands.

  Roux found it odd because of all the cold rain.

  It was when her attacker staggered back, slapped a hand over the side of his neck that what happened became clear.

  The sight of blood on the hilt of the knife didn’t register.

  Not at first.

  Until her logic started screaming, rattling the insides of her brain.

  She flicked her eyes to the stunned bodyguard, holding the side of his neck until his knees gave out and he fell like a mountain on the ground. She was surprised the street didn’t shudder under his weight.

  The blood.

  Oh, god, the blood oozed through his fingers as he tried to keep it inside his veins

  Oh, god.

  Oh, god.

  She’d stabbed someone.

  SIXTEEN

  “Protecting his queen.” - Butcher

  In movies they always show the fight scenes as this big action sequence.

  The music swells, lending a hand in how the movie makers want you to feel.

  But there’s no music here.

  No director to shout cut and congratulate on a well given scene.

  The crescendo is not an Oscar winner.

  The blood on Roux’s fingers also coated the hilt of her knife and she watched with disbelief as it pooled onto the wet ground, oozing out of the guy’s neck.

  This was far from a movie set.

  The air unnaturally still, she could no longer hear traffic through the alcove, she only heard the rushing sounds of panic through her ears. The thumping of her pulse and the harsh pull of air in and out of her parted lips.

  “I didn’t… he was … I didn’t.”

  It was then the click of heels brought Roux’s head up. Verónica tipped back the umbrella and she too was looking at Rico until she crouched near his head.

  He was deathly still.

  Oh, god. Not deathly. I haven’t killed him. Her belly started to tighten with greasy regurgitation.

  Roux couldn’t move.

  Her feet wouldn’t move at all.

  Her head was full of static noise urging her to run, run, but her feet wouldn’t receive the message over the crippling panic.

  “Is…is he okay? I didn’t mean to.” She murmured.

  She’d never intentionally hurt anyone before. A slap, a punch, a kick. And that time she bit a guy’s tongue when he tried to force it down her throat. She’d never stabbed anyone.

  God.

  God.

  This was bad.

  Get it together, she told herself. He was fine.

  Walk it off, her dad would say.

  It’s a small fucking knife, it probably only grazed his neck.

 
Papercuts always bleed the most, it’s just science.

  She stood by, her body unwilling to get out of there, like all those fight or flee lessons imparted to her by her MC went right over her head. Watching as Verónica took something out of her coat pocket and held it in front of Rico’s face.

  A mirror. What did she need a mirror for?

  Ohh.

  Bile rushed up into Roux’s throat. A sickening dark dread felt heavy in her chest. She was checking for his breathing. Next, Verónica tested for a pulse and then rose to her feet.

  “Well, my dear. You’ve killed my bodyguard. From the look of horror on your face I assume it’s your first kill. Congratulations, the next one won’t feel as terrible.”

  Roux heard the words, but they didn’t make any fucking sense as they hustled around inside her brain until she wanted to scream.

  He was not dead.

  He couldn’t be dead.

  That would make her a killer. Roux was a brat, a bitch, a loudmouth, a complete pain in the ass and a smart one at that but she was not a killer.

  “No, he’s not.” She croaked, her eyes pleading for the woman to tell her ha-ha, got you, bitch. That’ll teach you to mess with me.

  But it never came.

  The Latina woman walked around the body. The clack of her heels on the stone floor sounded deadly.

  Oh, god. He was just a body now. A dead body. She’d made a dead body. She’d taken a life from someone.

  Verónica’s heels clicked as her walk slowed, the noise was too loud now. Turbulent thoughts whipped back and forth in her head.

  When something bad happens, they say your brain goes into autopilot until it can cope with the situation. Roux wasn’t on autopilot. She was stuck. Transfixed with revulsion staring down at the massive man on the floor. She didn’t spring into action to do what was right. She didn’t try to resuscitate or call an ambulance. She didn’t try to run away.

  With death in her nose and a tremor to her hands, she was frozen.

  It was then she noticed Verónica walking toward the arched exit.

  “Hey…what…where are you going?” She turned around and until the day she died, Roux would always remember the look in that woman’s eyes. It wasn’t fear that she’d witnessed a crime. It wasn’t sickness or even sadness that her man was dead. It was understanding, and something cracked inside Roux because she wasn’t like this woman.

  She played games and mouthed off. Violence happened around her, she didn’t cause it. But the way Verónica looked at her from beneath the covering of her umbrella, it was as if the older woman felt respect for Roux.

  “I’m going home. I suggest you do the same, niña. You nor I were ever here.”

  Roux was alone with a dead body at her feet and her fight or flee had fucked off.

  She had to think.

  What to do?

  Seeing drops of blood on her hand turned her stomach so she hastily scrubbed it on the side of her jeans.

  She didn’t have the cast iron gut for this.

  Only she had to find it fast.

  Because she knew she wasn’t going to jail.

  Some of her fighting instinct returned when she took a slow, calming breath. She ran to the corner of the arch, looking out into the street to make sure no one else had heard. It was late but homeless people always wandered down this way. Luckily, the street was empty and no sign of Verónica.

  Why wouldn’t she call the cops on her? An act of mercy?

  Roux trusted few people and a cartel whore was not among the numbers.

  Remembering who she was would help her now, and after a few more breaths, her gaze avoiding what was on the floor, she pulled out her phone.

  She was a Tucker. Not a wilting daffodil. Get it the fuck together, Roux.

  Memories flashed through her mind.

  Every bad thing that ever came through the MC doors.

  Axel never shielded her from seeing it.

  Rather, he wanted her to see what the real world was like. How to protect herself from every person who might hurt her. She’d seen gunshot victims, stabbings, beatings. She’d watched while her family—men she’d grown learning from, and watching them live a hard life, got patched up. She was there when the cops raided the compound and arrested her family too. Her dad always told her even as he was being led away in cuffs “chin up, don’t let the bastards see a weakness.”

  He’d done two short stints in jail, Chains taking care of her, and still experiencing all that didn’t prepare Roux.

  Not at all.

  What did she do with a dead body?

  God, she’d love to be high right now.

  She’d love to be at Poppy’s place being attacked by the jealous goat when she got too close to Texas. She wanted to be anywhere else but here.

  It was self-defense.

  Wasn’t it?

  Lame but true. She’d never have reached for her flick knife if the guy wasn’t dragging her around like a rag doll.

  Knowing this didn’t lessen the devastation but she took another breath.

  “If you can’t fix it, find someone who can.” Another Axel Tucker parted wisdom.

  The phone number rang and rang and rang.

  “Please pick up,” she muttered.

  It rang and rang. And then a sleepy gruff voice answered. “Cookie, it’s late, what’s up?”

  Her heart missed a beat with relief to hear his voice. She pressed her back into the wall, trying to keep out of the rain, though at this point it was pretty fucking useless, she was drenched to the bone.

  “Tad. Oh, god. Tad. I’ve done something terrible. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Baby, where are you? Take a big breath and tell me slowly, okay?”

  With a clear voice she rattled off the street she was on. “He’s dead, Tad. I killed someone. I don’t know what to do. Do I call the cops?”

  “No.” he barked. “Don’t do anything. I’m on my way. Are you safe where you’re at?”

  “Yeah, I think so. No one else is here. The woman left.”

  “What woman?” In the background she heard him moving around, his pounding feet somehow calmed her.

  Tremors of dread caught her breath when her eyes stole down to the ground again. He really was dead. This wasn’t a horror movie where the guy got up again.

  “Roux, what woman?” The sound of his voice gave her hope and a shiver of relief that she wasn’t alone.

  “Ehm. Verónica. Verónica Garcia Ruiz. It’s her bodyguard. What do I do? Do I leave him here?”

  Tad cursed on the other end then she heard him banging on a door and shouting for someone. “Of all the people. Fucking cartel. Stay there, I’m on my way, shouldn’t take me long.”

  She heard him moving again, a door slammed. An engine started. All the while her heart clanged, teeth rattling together with cold and she fought to keep the vomit in her stomach.

  Her voice cracked. “Tad…”

  “Baby, I know. I’m coming to you as soon as I can, okay? Stay strong, don’t lose your head. This will go away, but I need you to keep your shit together and don’t get seen.”

  How could her killing someone go away? But she let the hardened timber of his strong voice sooth her fears and self-disgust.

  “Not even thirty minutes and I’ll have you, baby.”

  “I don’t know how it happened, Tad. I killed someone. I killed him.” She whispered hoarsely.

  “Roux, keep it together.”

  Breathing through her nose, she huddled against the wall offering no protection against the elements and she got her shit together. “Please hurry.”

  “I am, baby. Coming for you.”

  She was prey out here alone.

  And that’s how she felt. So alone like never before. Willing for a man she loved more than her own life would appear in front of her and make this whole night go away. She didn’t want the money anymore, it was stained, soiled in murder. She just wanted this night to be a horrific nightmare.

 
For someone who always talked a big game, it was humbling to know she had zero.

  Roux took a breath.

  And then she took another.

  She’d always thought she was this tough bitch who could handle her own business. Turns out she was the damsel in distress, and she didn’t care, she was hoping Tad drove like a speeding train. She needed him here now.

  She’d think about her weakness another time. A calmer time. A time when her fingers weren’t stained in blood and a bastard wasn’t losing his insides out on the ground.

  Yeah, Roux hunkered there, breathing like a petrified girl.

  With a corpse at her feet and rain coming down in heavy sheets, there wasn’t anything Roux could do other than wait.

  So, she waited.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Covering up a murder and cuddles.” - Roux

  Having taken this same route from Armado to Fort Springs millions of times, the twenty minute journey had never felt as slow before. He jumped out of the truck at neck breaking speed when he pulled up to the curb.

  Not even giving a glance to the prospect pulling in behind him in one of the unmarked Souls SUV’s.

  He didn’t see her at first, but this was the street, he recognized the archway into the small plaza. “You sure this is it?” Slider behind him asked.

  And then there she was, pushing herself up from the ground, her eyes already locked on him.

  Butcher hardly gave a second glance to the stiff on the floor because without checking, he knew the guy was long dead. His gaze was all for his girl, examining her over as best as he could while his steps ate up the space separating him from her.

  “Tad,” she croaked.

  “Come here, Cookie.”

  She flew at him and he braced for her lunge. Then she was in his arms and he could breathe again as he ran his hands up and down her back.

  “Ah, baby, you’re frozen solid.”

  She didn’t cry but she trembled, and he had to remind her to breathe while he tried to rub warmth into her limbs.

  He’d smelled death many times and it was here in this alley cloying up his nose. Time was of the essence, as much as he wanted to stand holding her and having her tell him what the fuck really happened with Ruiz’s man. Of all people it had to be the Mexican kingpin. That was going to have some repercussions somewhere when his wife spilled her guts. He didn’t know either of them well, they never tried messing with the club, but he’d heard enough to know what kind of shady operation they ran.