Saviour: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (Savior Book 3)

by Natasha Thomas

  “That’s great. Fucking great to know that you didn’t want to, but the fact is that you did,” Hunter says on a snarl. He’s losing his temper. I just want to get out of here and away from them, so I can have time to think. Time to process. Lifting up on my toes I kiss the hinge of his jaw which has him snapping his eyes to mine. I shake my head at him, and thankfully he understands my silent request to cool it. Whispering into my hair he says, “Okay Beautiful, but we’ve gotta get out of here. This isn’t going to stay quiet much longer, and if we don’t go now everyone’s going to know they’re here.”

  He’s right. If one person sees these two are back it’ll spread through town faster than a wildfire during summer. Juicy gossip is like crack to a junkie in Blackwater, and I for one don’t want to be the topic of conversation, picked over like left-overs at a buffet.

  “You’re right Baby, but Tilly’s at home, and there’s no way until I know what the story is that I’m taking them back there. If we go to the clubhouse this is only going to be drawn out when the guys catch sight of them…”

  Hunter cuts me off with a swift, too chaste for my liking kiss.

  “Settle Babe. We’ll go to my place. It’s far enough out that no one will see them unless they’re specifically looking, and I doubt with,” he says gesturing to dad, “his skills they were tagged on the way in.”

  I nod. What else can I do? Tilly isn’t getting involved in this clusterfuck unless they can assure me they aren’t here to inflict any unnecessary damage.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Turing to my parents’ I state, “You can follow us. Hunter’s only been in his new place a few years, and the roads have changed since you lived here.” The snide way I say it isn’t lost on them. If anything, mom looks even more heartbroken now than she did when they first got here.

  They exit the way they came in while Hunter and I leave through the front. We get stopped by a few people wanting to say hi or chat, but Hunter manoeuvres us out the door without offending anyone. I thank God again when I see his F250 parked three spots down from the entry to the diner. While I love riding with him, as I’ve done dozens of times over the years, today I’m not one hundred percent certain that I’d be able to hold on. My hands are still shaking slightly. My head is pounding behind my eyes, and I hope it’s not the start of a migraine because those knock me on my ass for hours. Not to mention that my hips are aching from our earlier activities, in a good way. And I don’t think my vagina will thank me if she’s forced to ride over unsealed roads on the way to Hunter’s place after she had her first intruder in two years.

  Aside from getting into the damn thing, which I figure anyone under six foot would have difficulty with, I love Hunter’s truck. When I grow up and can eventually bring myself to lay to rest my old, beat up Corolla I’m so getting me one of these. Hunter’s adamant I’m not buying one, I believe the words he used were along the lines of “Over my dead fucking body, you’re dangerous as it is in the shit box you drive now, you’ll end up killing someone in a fucking truck.” Hmmm… He has a point. I however chose to ignore him, and daydream about the colour and size of wheels on my imaginary truck.

  Lost in thought, I don’t realise that we’ve pulled up in front of Hunter’s place until his hand covers mine rubbing in soothing circles.

  “Hey Beautiful, you with me?” His ice blue eyes connect with mine and I give him a shaky smile in response. “You’re in control here Priss. It gets too much, you change your mind, you need time you let me know, and I’ll show them the fucking door, okay?”

  With that he climbs out of the truck coming around the hood to open my door. Hunter grabs my hips swinging me down from the cab effortlessly, placing me on the ground in front of him where he manages to obliterate every sane thought in my head with his kiss. Long minutes later we break apart, both of us panting, me gasping for air, when we hear a throat clear angrily behind us. Spinning quickly, I come face to face with a furious Jones Walker.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tilly

  Words of Wisdom:

  “Good friends offer advice and words of wisdom…

  Real friends come over unannounced with vodka, chocolate,

  glitter, duct tape, cat suits, explosives, and a plan.”

  I got a phone call fifteen minutes ago from Xavier, or Glock to everyone else that freaked me out a little. Okay, so I lied. It freaked me out a lot and I am trying not to dwell on it, but that’s not easy if you’re someone like me. I’m a planner, to tell the truth I’m slightly OCD if you ask Hunter, but I didn’t so he can keep his opinions to himself. Just because I like to have things organised and don’t keep my room the way he does, which mind you is disgusting, I don’t know how he sleeps in there it’s so gross, doesn’t mean that I’m obsessive. Priss definitely doesn’t mind that occasionally my need for order spills over, affecting the rest of the house seeing as she’s too busy to do it herself. Hunter benefits too, well he used to until he stopped coming around because he’s an asshat, but that’s beside the point, he liked eating off clean plates, so I think he should be thanking me for my cleaning prowess instead of making fun of it. It’s all in jest, but I can’t help but think that he’s serious sometimes.

  But I digress. In short, Xavier told me to “get my ass home and don’t fucking leave, or open the door until I get there”, that’s it. No reason why I was supposed to follow his commandments like he’s God. No I’m sorry for screwing with your plans. Not that I had any, I was only going to the library, but he didn’t know that. Just go home, and stay there he said in the tone of voice he uses only when he’s deadly serious. Honestly if he was anyone else I would have ignored him, and gone about my business. But because it was Xavier I followed his instructions to the letter, and my butt is currently planted on the couch waiting for him to arrive. There are times I tell myself I need to grow a backbone, stop doing what everyone else tells me to without question. I do this internally of course, because talking to myself would mean that I had really lost the plot, and I don’t think I’m quite there yet.

  The first day I met Xavier was the day we became friends. That’s how easy things are with him. He’s one of the most laid back guys I know, nothing phases him, and I haven’t seen him really angry once. I’m sure like everyone else he’s capable of it, he just doesn’t let things upset him enough to get to that point. The nearly three year age gap, and also the fact I’m still in high school doesn’t bother him, and it certainly doesn’t even factor in for me at all.

  When we met I was fifteen to his eighteen, and he’d only recently started prospecting for Devil’s Spawn hoping to be patched in when his time was up. Being the closest in age, excluding Lexi and yet to be born Anna, our friendship grew from similar tasted in food, music, and movies, and that as they say, is history. It was that easy. Aside from being an awesome person, sweet, kind, and a great listener, Xavier is handsome beyond belief. At twenty-one with sandy blonde hair he styles in a fauxhawk, ocean blue eyes, and standing six foot two, Xavier is hot enough to be in GQ magazine or on billboards somewhere. He’s what people call classically handsome. I called him a pretty boy once, and he repaid me by tickling my feet until I thought I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen due to the fact I couldn’t catch my breath I was laughing so much. I learnt from then on to call him hot instead, but I did it rolling my eyes each and every time.

  This is where you’re assuming we end up together isn’t it?...Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s not happening, and never will. Xavier and I have never been anything more than friends. And before you say it, we don’t have any unexplored feelings for each other either. There’s nothing there other than friendship, and I’m more than happy with that so is he. We haven’t dissuaded anyone who thinks there’s a chance our friendship might develop into something else. It was Xavier’s idea to leave people hanging, again I agreed with very little convincing. Honestly it didn’t matter what we did or didn’t say, people don’t mind their own business anyway, and if jumping to conclusi
ons was an Olympic sport they would win hands down.

  If you ask me, the word clubhouse is code for ‘pressure cooker’, and when they refer to themselves as brothers its code for ‘gossiping grandma’s’. I haven’t been on the receiving end of one of their dissections, but I know a few people that have, and that’s not a good place to be by the sounds of it. Poor Xavier was privy to one such session, and he hasn’t been the same since. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but getting out of their knitting circle with his man-card intact was a close call. Or that’s what he says.

  What’s my reason for not being attracted to my gorgeous best friend? That’s simple and complicated at the same time. The easy part has a name, and his name is Tobias ‘Saint’ Phillips. The complicated part is harder to explain, and that is I have an irrational fascination with Saint. If I’m honest with myself it actually borders more on obsession than fascination, much to my horror. I’m not that person. I don’t obsess over boys, okay so he’s not exactly a boy, but you know what I mean. I haven’t gone as far as to develop stalker tendencies, or anything I’m simply interested in his every move. What he’s doing. Where he is. Who he’s with. See, that’s not a stalker I have perfectly good self-control. However, in order to retain my self-control there might have been a time or two hundred that I attempted to enforce a self-imposed ban on going to the clubhouse, or anywhere else he might be to curb my non-stalker watching habits. This, I’ll have you know did not work. I didn’t really think it would, but it was worth a try. I lasted all of four days, my longest stretch to date without seeing him, before caving and seeking him out. Well not him exactly, but wherever he was going to be.

  Xavier thinks my little “Issue” as he calls it, is hilarious never missing the opportunity to come up with some lame joke about needing night vision goggles, so I can continue watching him at night from the comfort of a non-descript van hiding in the bushes. So not funny. He might do it all in good fun, but I can’t help wondering whether he’s right, and it is in fact an issue.

  Saint commands attention, mine included. Not by anything he does or says because to be frank he’s barely said two words to me in the entire time I’ve known him. No, Saint commands attention with his presence alone. His eyes betray the confidence he exudes if you look hard enough, they have the same look that a wounded animal does. One that’s watchful. Weary. It makes every protective instinct I have rear its head. I want to help him, nurse him back to health, even if it is emotionally.

  My best friend thinks I’m borderline insane wanting to fix Saint. No one seems to know anything about Saint’s background. Why he is so closed off, wearing a virtually vacant expression more often than not. Apparently he doesn’t really talk to anyone according to Xavier. Sure, he answers when someone speaks directly to him, or asks him a question, but he doesn’t seek out company, or start conversations. He prefers to keep to himself off in a corner somewhere, alone. If you wanted to learn how to keep secrets you’d ask Saint. He’s mastered it because even though his brothers have gently probed, asked him questions about where he’s from, what he did before coming to end up with Devil’s Spawn he’s not forthcoming. And because of all that I can’t help but be intrigued by this mystery man.

  Daydreaming about Saint is quickly becoming one of my favourite things to do. It’s not just his physical appearance that I daydream about, that’s not to say that isn’t a huge part of it, but it’s just not all of it. I’m not quite sure how tall he is, I’m guessing he’s close to six feet three inches, a fraction taller than Xavier. What I do know is he has beautiful jade green eyes that are deep and soulful, pitch black hair that’s always mussed like he’s recently gotten out of bed, tattoos upon tattoos snaking up his arms and curving around his back, and he is built like a star quarterback, probably because he was one in high school. I say that with emphasis because it’s the only piece of information I’ve managed to get out of him personally since he started prospecting with Devil’s Spawn just after Xavier.

  The other part of my reverie about all things Saint is the fantasy, because that truly is what it is, a fantasy, that I can make things better for him in some way. Help him erase the pained look he has when he watches his brothers interacting with each other. Help him connect with people, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment. I would give just about anything to fix what’s broken inside him, but I’m starting to think Xavier’s right, maybe I am a little bit crazy. Thinking I can piece back together a man that doesn’t want to be fixed isn’t the epitome of normal is it? My consideration about whether I’m sane, or whether I need to be institutionalised is cut short when someone, I can only assume it’s Xavier, knocks on the door. Thank God for small favours because if I was left alone with those thoughts much longer I might have considered checking myself into the closest asylum. That’s how crazy he makes me feel.

  You know the saying “Speak of the Devil and he shall appear?” On checking the peephole, as Hunter’s drilled into me over the years, I’m taken aback by who’s standing outside. I’m not sure whether the man at my door could be classified as the Devil, but for all intents and purposes he’s close enough, at least where I’m concerned. Not because he’s evil or anything, but because he could be very bad for me. Roughly pulling open the door his eyes widen a fraction, and he straightens off the porch railing he’s currently leaning on.

  “What are you doing here? Isn’t Xav…” I stop myself before I finish referring Xavier by his given name. He hates it when I call him that in front of his brothers. “I mean Glock supposed to be coming?” I finish a little snarkier than I had meant to.

  Saint’s eyes narrow to slits no longer surprised at my abrupt greeting he looks angry. No. Not angry, he looks furious.

  “You got some reason why you need him here instead of me, Princess?” I take a second to process what he’s saying before I answer. His voice is just that hot. But when I do my own anger simmers to the surface. I hate him calling me that. It makes me sound like a pretentious, stuck-up bitch, which I’m so far from being it isn’t even funny.

  I don’t comment on his use of a nickname when I manage to stutter out,

  “Umm…No. It-it’s just that he said he would be here, and not to open the door unless it was him.” I glance at my hand that’s holding the front door open and let out a nervous laugh. Good one, Tilly. Way to show him what a loser you are. You can’t even speak a full sentence without stuttering.

  “Well why did you then?” He asks rolling his eyes taking a step forward, while I automatically take a step backwards not giving me a chance to answer him. I’m not scared of him. That’s not why I retreat from him. It’s just that he’s intimidating, and I’ve never been alone with him before. I know he wouldn’t hurt me, I don’t think Saint has it in him to hurt any woman, I just don’t feel comfortable around men that are practically strangers. And he is a stranger. It doesn’t matter that he’s a brother, that my sister knows him, or that Hunter would vouch for him, I still feel the thrum of fear down my spine, and all sorts of awkward. Cocking his hip against the door frame he asks in an impatient tone,

  “So you gonna let me in, or are we just gonna stand out here all day?” He obviously hasn’t picked up on my distress, and for that I’m glad. Explaining why I feel like this isn’t high on my list of priorities.

  I’m fully aware I’m going to have to let him in sometime, he’s here to babysit me at Hunter’s request after all. But I don’t have to like it. Yeah, I know that makes no sense after everything I just said about daydreams and whatnot, but who has ever claimed that teenager makes sense, especially one of the female variety? No one, that’s who.

  “Sure,” I say swinging the door open wider taking a couple of steps backward to allow him to pass. As he crosses the threshold his arm brushes mine, and the tiniest touch of our arms has my skin humming like an electric current is running underneath the surface. Thankfully the chances that we’ll have any more physical contact is slim, to hopefully none. I can’t stand people touching me. Priss ha
s always been the exception to that, other than my parents when they were alive, but it took me nearly a year before I could bring myself to hug Hunter. He didn’t understand in the beginning and because my sister has no idea why I physically distance myself from people she couldn’t explain it to him. I simply told him that it’s just a weird quirk I have and left it at that. He didn’t buy it for a second, but he also didn’t mention it again either thankfully. Once Saint is inside I ensure the door is latched and bolted, and enquire, “So why am I in need of babysitting today? I haven’t done anything wrong, and even if I had my sister wouldn’t call the cavalry so what gives Saint?” My voice is stronger now, and I can feel the panic about having him here with me starting to subside. I can only hope I can keep it under control.

  On a side note; my ex-best friend is in deep shit when I get hold of him. And I say ex because after sending Saint over with no heads up, no warning, no text, nothing, he’s either going to wish he’d never been born when I cut his junk off in his sleep, or I’m going to use mind games to torture him slowly. I’m going to make damn sure Xavier is as uncomfortable as I am right now. How, I’m not sure, but when I’m finished with him he’ll be begging for mercy. Because I’m patient I’ll bide my time, draw it out, but the next time there’s a gathering at the clubhouse I’m going to make Xavier pay for this shit.