Savage Kind of Love

by Nicole Snow

“She can't stay there. Your ma's coming here, or else we're putting her up with somebody like Miner. Easier to keep tabs on this side of town.”

  Holy shit. Does he have any clue what he's asking?

  “We...we can try,” I said softly. “She won't go easily. Hasn't been outside the apartment for years, except for a couple check-ups.”

  “Try me. I can handle some stubborn old woman. I've had plenty of practice with the ornery gene in your family tree.”

  I didn't have a clue what he thought he could say or do. Still, the effort made me smile for the first time since before the attack, and I reached out to embrace his massive shoulders.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, brushing my cheek on his stubble. It was always a joy to feel his muscles twitch at my touch.

  “Just wait here. We'll go have our talk soon.”

  We didn't get going until near sundown. Blaze and I rode ahead of four guys, a formation I had a feeling he had to take as club President.

  Moose, Reb, and the two prospects parked behind us outside and waited. They were there for extra security so we couldn't be ambushed again.

  He hadn't said a word about Jordan yet. If my brother was still with the rogue Grizzlies, then he'd sealed his fate.

  I couldn't argue anymore after this morning. All I could do was pray that Jordan came to his senses and beat it. Thinking he helped set up the deadly assault was too much to handle. If he had anything – anything – to do with attacking us, then he wasn't my brother anymore. He was dead to me, and he deserved whatever the Prairie Devils had in store for him.

  “Mom!” I called. “Sorry I'm late. Work held me over. There's someone here I need you to meet...”

  I walked through the apartment, up to her room. Last thing I needed was Blaze seeing me shaking like a leaf. This was beyond tense, and I knew it wouldn't go down easy.

  No answer. Strange.

  The place smelled more stagnant than usual. What the hell? I hadn't fallen behind on upkeep that much since I started working for the club. Every night I came home, I did everything I could for her and then cleaned up.

  I shook my head as I pushed against her door. She still hadn't answered me. I figured she must've really been out of it.

  “Mom?” I nudged the door open.

  It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I looked at the floor and saw her cane laying there. It had fallen and twisted awkwardly, several feet from the bed.

  My heart began pounding like a heavy drum before I even looked up. My brain refused to make sense of the torn, bloody pile laying in her bed. I dropped to my knees, screaming and crying at once.

  Blaze was there with his gun drawn in an instant. He flipped the light on and I screamed again, shielding my eyes.

  “Jesus Christ!” He lowered his gun. I heard him shuffle forward slowly, amazed he was able to move closer to the abomination there at all.

  “Don't look, baby. Don't. Fucking. Look.”

  His large body blocked out the worst of it, but I still saw the messages scrawled in blood on the walls.

  YOU DID THIS, CUNT.

  IT SHOULD'VE BEEN YOU.

  NO MERCY.

  DDIGC!

  God. No. No. No!

  Blaze spun and ripped me up, burying my face in his chest. He clapped one hand across my eyes, repeating the same mantra over and over.

  “Don't look. Keep your eyes closed. Don't look, baby.”

  I cracked my eyes and saw him rooting around on the floor. He stood up a moment later with a sheet and laid it gently across Mom's broken body.

  “Turn around,” he said softly. “If you can walk, stand up, close your eyes, and go straight outside. I'll take care of this.”

  His words rang deep inside me like hypnotic commands. It would've been so easy to do what he asked, anything to get away from the brutal scene that ripped out my heart. I didn't get up.

  Blaze reached to my level a few seconds later, picked me up by the armpits, and pulled me close. I lost it. Buried my face deep into his leather, his chest, the very beginning of all the mourning I'd do for the woman who raised me.

  “I'll take care of this, baby, I promise you that. I'm not gonna tell you what'll happen to the men who did this because it's not the time and place for that shit. Right now, we need to get the fuck out of here and I need to call up my man in the Missoula PD.”

  “No!” I pushed away from him, stumbling back into the narrow hallway between her room and the bathroom. “Let me handle this. It's my mother...Jesus! She didn't deserve this, Blaze. I can't abandon her and pretend it didn't happen.”

  He approached me, unwavering, only stopping when he was outside her room to reach for the door and pull it gently closed. Then he moved fast, grabbing me by the shoulders, holding me in a bear hug so tight it almost hurt. I freaked out and tried to claw him, scratching at the leather stained with my tears.

  “Let me go! This wasn't supposed to happen...never would've happened if her kids hadn't gotten fucked up in all these stupid gangs!”

  I was practically daring him to hit me. I knew how much bikers hated having their MCs called gangs, comparing them to loathsome street thugs. Shit, maybe I wanted him to slap me out, to knock me unconscious so I wouldn't have to feel my heart crumbling to ash.

  “You're right. She's an innocent victim. I'm not gonna argue against the cold hard truth.”

  My eyes opened. I stopped pawing and struggling, watching him cautiously instead. I wasn't sure why his response disgusted me.

  “That's it? You're going to pussy out just because you're feeling sorry for me?” I shook my head, letting out another sob that shook me to breaking point. “I hate the Grizzlies. I hate Jordan. And I really fucking hate the Prairie Devils too.”

  “Enough,” he growled, his fingers tightening on my skin. “You'll have your say in this. If you wanna pick up the damned phone and call the cops, I won't stop you. Thing is, if you don't go through the proper channels, you're gonna get a whole heap of unexpected bullshit. You don't have a clue what a fucking mess you'll make if the FBI and everybody else descends on this.”

  I shook my head. Selfish prick!

  Shouldn't be so stupid. This is all about him and his stupid club, just like it always is. God, why did I ever think about changing my life for this asshole?

  “I don't care!” I shrieked. “I'll give up the job. I'll move where I have to. I'll take witness protection. I don't give a shit anymore. I want justice.”

  “Justice? That's what you think badges will give you?” He stared at me with hard, dark eyes.

  I shook my head. What the fuck was he getting at?

  “You want the same thing I do, Shelly. You want the fuckers who killed her dead. Me and my club can deliver. The Feds can't. First whiff the Grizzlies have of badges getting involved will have them blowing this fucking town. My club won't be able to hold down our own business, let alone pursue them. You get the cops involved, and you'll keep those sick motherfuckers breathing. There's no goddamned justice in that.”

  I stared back, too numb to cry anymore. I wanted him to be wrong. Jesus, I wanted to hate him, to see every idiot with a patch hauled away in handcuffs.

  But he was right.

  Blaze was always, always right, and I couldn't unsee the ruthless truth that curdled my blood. I watched him reach into his pocket. He held out the same crappy cell phone I'd used to call in Tank's stabbing.

  “Here you go. You want to do it your way, then you take it. Show me what you really want so I can get my fucking ducks in a row either way.”

  I looked down at the cell phone waiting in his open palm. He loosened his grip on me, and I stepped away, taking several steps backward into the dark bathroom.

  “No. We'll do it your way. But you promise me, Blaze!” I steadied myself and walked toward him again. Swallowing took all my energy because my throat felt like it was full of cotton. “You'll kill them all. Everyone who did this. Even Jordan. Give me justice.”

  I never wante
d anything so badly in my life. I started trembling, not from fear or sadness anymore, but from blinding hot rage.

  “Baby, it's not even a fucking question. You'll have your blood. I'll deliver their fucking hearts to you on a silver platter.” He reached for me and pulled me tight, firmly running his fingers through my hair.

  “No. I need them on Mom's grave instead. This is for her.”

  Blaze nodded coldly and gripped me tight as I began dry sobbing all over again.

  “You'll have them, woman, if it's the last thing I do.”

  VI: The Demon Instinct (Blaze)

  We were buried in shit. The best night of my whole fucking life turned into a toxic sewer. I had a bad feeling the ambush that got Tank stabbed was just the first ton of manure hitting the windmill.

  As soon as I saw poor Saffron's mother ripped to hell, I knew I was right.

  Didn't blame her for reacting like a wild animal. It would've been worse if I hadn't edged her out of there and covered up the body. She hadn't seen it like I had.

  The Grizzlies were the fucking animals here, and that went double for this rogue charter. It hadn't been enough to stab a helpless old woman several dozen times. The bloody mess they left between her legs where they took turns raping her turned my fucking stomach long after we left the putrid apartment, and I'd seen some nasty shit in my time.

  The memory shined in my skull like a star straight from hell, a star that wouldn't stop blinding me with its evil fucking light until I darkened it with blood. Same as the bullshit threats they'd splattered on the walls, messages I was used to seeing when shit got real between clubs.

  Too bad those barbaric words were never, ever supposed to poison the civilian world.

  It was hell sending Saffron away with my boys. I wanted to stay with her, but the world wasn't so merciful. I called up Stinger and had him bring the truck around for a full escort to the clubhouse. No fucking way was I leaving her exposed on a Harley anymore, even if she was pressed up behind me.

  No more chances. No more mercy. Just cleanup, mourning, and then a laser sharp focus on murdering every last bitch who'd hurt my club through an innocent woman.

  My badges showed up promptly, and the cops knew what to do. They'd split their payoff with their friends in the media to keep it quiet too. That was the easy part.

  Filling in the rest of the club wasn't gonna be as simple. Things had turned too fucking serious to keep this a Missoula only problem. Now that the fucks had rattled us, they'd probably hit the supply lines running northwest, anything to rub our noses in bear shit.

  Like it or not, I had to call in mother charter on this. Talking to Throttle was the last thing I wanted, but I'd dial him up a hundred times over if it meant savaging every last fucker in Montana wearing their greasy patch.

  “Got to be Ursa behind this. I had a rotten feeling something was up when the little bitch didn't show up in Cali like I ordered.” Fang's gravelly voice rumbled on the other end of the line.

  “The old fart looked like he was gonna shit himself when we made our deal back in the springtime. Guess he really couldn't handle his old charter getting blown sky high.” Throttle was a snarky sonofabitch sometimes, but he knew when to give it and when to pull back.

  “We don't talk about that shit!” Fang snarled. “They were bastards, but they were my bastards. Right now, all that matters is what we're doing with these fucks who aren't mine.”

  Silence. My cue to weigh in on the three way call.

  “We're all in agreement? A full wipe? I've got the manpower to take care of it. Can't be more than a dozen we're dealing with. I told you guys about the ratty shithole we found. It wasn't big enough for a full Grizzlies charter. This is a skeleton crew.”

  “You sure you won't fuck it up?” Fang insisted. “If I get wind these cocksuckers are still riding around next week, I'm sending in my own guys. Grizzlies ought to be doing this job anyway. They're wearing our fucking patch when they got no right.”

  No. Fuck no! I wanted to say, but it was up to Throttle as national President.

  “Blaze will take care of business. I don't need to remind you what he and his brother did before the truce...if you got any doubts, Fang, you come to me. I'll sort it out.”

  “One week. That's all you Missoula boys get before I'm handling things my way. You're lucky I got enough going on here in Sacramento, or I wouldn't be giving you two any chances at all. Consider yourselves lucky. I want their asses buried.”

  “We'll do it,” I said harshly.

  There was a clicking sound. Throttle coughed. The Grizzlies President had obviously dropped off.

  “Take care of it, Blaze. Don't make me come out there again to keep you from shooting up Fang's crew and the renegades. I've already spent too much fucking time out West this year.”

  “It'll get done, brother. This shit's personal now. I'm not just talking about Tank or the old woman...”

  “Damned right. Keep soldier boy out of the fire this time if you can. Poor bastard's spilled plenty of blood this year between you and Maverick getting him in harm's way.” Throttle paused. “What do you mean 'personal?' Is it the girl? The dead woman's daughter?”

  Fuck me blue. I'd slipped up and said too much. I flexed my fists on my desk, pissed at myself for being so sloppy when we needed all the fires hot and clean.

  “You know what, I'm happy about this,” he said. “Nothing like a woman you got a hard-on for to give you some real skin in the game. Now, I know you won't let me down.”

  Fucker. I could practically feel him grinning through the phone.

  “Whatever, brother. You know I'll do the job one way or another. I'll send you their patches when we've ripped 'em off their backs.”

  “You'd better. Fang's gonna want to take a look at those. It's a small miracle the asshole's letting us play sheriff over this without sticking his nose in.”

  I snorted. “Miracle? It's called the cartels. We both know he can't handle a distraction right now on his northern front. Same reason he let us have Montana in the first place.”

  “Hard won. Let's make sure it stays that –“

  A crying baby was bawling in the distance. I heard a woman's voice shouting his real name – Jack. Probably the little virgin girl he'd hitched as an old lady and a wife last year. The woman had given him a son in no time, making our badass king of all the Prairie Devils clubs a soft family man in his off hours.

  “Shit. I got other business here,” he said quickly. “You know what to do. Dial in when there's good news.”

  My turn to smile through the phone. Not for long, though, because the line went dead. I hung up and sat in my office for a minute, thinking about all the shit I had to shovel.

  Then I thought about Saffron. She was sleeping off the utter hell that descended on her life in my old club room.

  Maybe Throttle was right.

  Having her at my side gave me an extra kick in the ass to do this right. No, I wouldn't let a single one of those fucks escape Satan's Scythe sweeping toward their necks.

  I couldn't. I had to give her blood for blood, and make it clear to her MC life could protect as well as destroy. Had to make her believe it if she was gonna be my old lady.

  And after all this fucking agony, I secretly hoped she'd still accept when I claimed her.

  The rain was thick, a living cliché at the funeral. Nobody else came to honor her Mom except me.

  Big surprise. From what Saffron told me, mama had been bad off for years and cut the few social contacts she'd had as a working lady. Her last few relatives were far flung and obscure, the kind who didn't give a rat's ass about a dead cousin, or a young woman who'd lost everything.

  She'd suffered plenty, yeah, but I wasn't going anywhere. She hadn't lost me.

  I stood by her, feeling awkward as fuck in an old suit that was one size too small. I hadn't worn the damned thing since I was in my twenties at my own father's wake.

  I kept one hand on Saffron's shoulder and squeezed when the pr
iest finished his speech. Rain pattered on the tent above us so loud it drowned out half his words, and I knew my girl wasn't hearing the rest. His sweet talk wouldn't bring the old lady back or avenge her.

  That was my job.

  The look she wore right now I'd seen a hundred times. Saw it on good men who lost their brothers, families who lost their men, even my own brother when we had to put dad into the ground.

  She slipped from my grasp. I stood behind her, ready to comfort, as she stepped over to the casket and lovingly caressed it one last time.

  I was surprised there weren't more tears. It was like the whole fucking world decided to cry for her. As far as I was concerned, even one drop was one too many.

  I watched it slide down her cheek as she returned to me and nodded to the priest. Then the waterworks switched on. I held her tight, rocked her against my chest.

  A mountain wind blew rain sideways, sending stray droplets into our tent. They splashed against me, but I didn't give a shit. Only wished it were as easy to block the heartache from stinging my woman.

  God help me. If the fucking renegades tried to surrender, I was afraid for what I'd do.

  Nothing was gonna stop me from ripping into them. What I had waiting for them was a hundred times worse than what they'd done to the poor woman in the casket.

  These men were going to suffer. They'd signed their death warrants. I'd drown their scrawny asses in cold blood before they burned in hell.

  When the casket was lowered into the ground, I gently traced a line up her cheek, tilting her head to look at me. Bright determination and anger shone through the tears, an anger that matched mine.

  Good. I can't have her speaking any second thoughts. I need to kill all these motherfuckers.

  “Don't you worry about this, baby. I got it. Your mama won't be forgotten. I'm not gonna let you down, Shelly.”

  “Call me Saffron,” she said coldly. “It's the only name that means anything now. Only one that's right for this world.”

  This world. I thought about what she meant, and decided it wasn't right.

  The only world she belonged to now was mine, and I ruled it with an iron fist. If she thought her world was pain and darkness, then I was gonna show her how fucking wrong she was.