Heart of a Savage

by Lashanta Charles

  “What the fuck is this?” Jax asks his brow knitted in a frown.

  “That is the birth certificate of Kaelen Declan O’Malley. He’s the son of Malia O’Malley, previously Malia Cameron. She changed her name to match the object of her desire, Connor O’Malley, without ever being married to him. They were actually never in an official relationship. For the promise of a relationship and $30,000, she gave Connor her son when he was only two weeks old. He is not the father and Bailey is not his mother, at least not biologically. Neither of them are on the kid’s birth certificate. In that file, you’ll find court documents filed three days ago, by Bailey’s legal team to gain custody of Kaelen.”

  I can only stare at him and try to understand what I’m hearing. Of all the thoughts I could latch on to, only one sticks out. Bailey has a legal team?

  “There’s more. Finding her info was somewhat of a challenge, but finding her was easier than I expected. However, it was only easier because she was in the hospital. She was brought in because she fell down the stairs, but most of her injuries suggested she may have been pushed.”

  He levels me with a serious look.

  “Again, my advice? You get paid to beat the shit out of grown ass men. Do this one for free.”

  He scribbles something on a slip of paper and pushes it to me before he stands.

  “This is where she is. She flat out owns four residential properties, not counting the penthouse apartment at her accounting firm. She hasn’t been to any of them since she left the hospital three days ago—against her doctor’s orders—only this hotel. I got the cold shoulder when I was there, but I saw a guy pull up and try to conceal her SUV before I left. I get the feeling she won’t stay there much longer.”

  I’m up and moving before the last words are out of his mouth. Of all the things I expected to find, this wasn’t it. I figured she wasn’t around because her husband didn’t want her to fight and she could only do it while he wasn’t here. Bailey is all about making others happy, even at her own expense. If she thought it would upset Fuckface that she was fighting, she’d stop doing it just to keep the peace. I curse myself for not considering she wasn’t here because she couldn’t be. She’s not here because he put her in the fucking hospital and now she’s—what? On the run? And fuck if that doesn’t devastate my pride. No, not my pride. My entire fucking being. She didn’t come to me. I could keep her safe. I’d destroy the fucking world for her, starting with her husband, and that thought is as exciting as it is terrifying.

  Well, did you ever tell her that? That annoying voice in my head taunts me. Does she know you’d do anything for her? Does she know she’s safe with you? Does she know you’re hers if she’ll have you? I want to tell him to shut the fuck up, but he’s right and the bastard wouldn’t listen anyway. Regardless, I push him to the deepest pits of my mind. There’s time to argue with him later. Not to mention that whole terrifying thought. The last time I felt even remotely close to thinking of someone this way, I was stood up at the altar. Janae fractured an integral part of me. She screwed me up. This isn’t Janae, though. This definitely isn’t how I felt for her. This is so much more. Exponentially more. This is Bailey and without even trying she’s slowly piecing me back together.

  I’m so far in my thoughts, it takes me by surprise when I start my truck up and there are four other people in it with me. Where the fuck did they come from? Jax, Cade, Van, and East stare at me expectantly. “What?”

  “Don’t growl at us. It’s not our fault you’re a nearly white black man. Are we going to get her or what?” Van says.

  Leave it to Van to joke at a time like this. Surprisingly it gets a chuckle out of me. Whenever things get too serious, they all fall back on complexion jokes. Bastards. “I’m going to get her. I think this’ll embarrass her. She probably won’t want all of us to see her right now.”

  “She’ll be embarrassed because she’s never had anyone. She doesn’t know that this is what families do. We take care of one another even when the other doesn’t want it. She’s embarrassed; she’ll get over it. She has a lifetime of embarrassment coming her way if she sticks with us,” Jax declares.

  Leave it to Jax to be logical. The others grunt in agreement. Fucking cavemen. Is that what I sound like?

  THE MOTEL WE pull up to isn’t a complete dump, but it’s damn sure close. It’s one of those ones where you can just walk directly up to the person’s door. No sense of security at all. The building looks like it’s in good shape, but the mustard yellow paint is peeling and the vacancy sign has letters flickering in and out so it mainly reads ‘vaany.’ From the window of the front office, and older woman glares at us. By the time we climb from my truck she’s standing at the door, fists planted on her wide hips and a sneer on her face. I recant my earlier statement about security. That’s a pit bull if I’ve ever seen one.

  “If you’re here for the girl you best get back in that truck and get on,” she tells us.

  We all look to East and he rolls his eyes. Out of all of us, he’s the best at dealing with older women.

  “I’m not the fucking granny whisperer, assholes,” he proclaims as though reading my mind.

  “Look, Cap didn’t give me a room number and I didn’t think to ask for one, so unless you want us to knock on every single door here, get over there and charm the hell out of Aunt Bee,” I tell him.

  He glowers at me as he moves forward. He’s no more than ten feet away from her when the sound of a shotgun being pumped causes us all to freeze. The barrel breaches the doorframe first and when we see it we assume the universal position for don’t shoot: hands above our heads, legs spread, and – wait, no. That’s the “don’t arrest me” position. Why am I thinking of this right now? An older man with thick glasses and a head full of gray hair steps into view. He’s wearing overalls, a plaid shirt, and scuffed up work boots. Even though he’s wearing thick glasses, the shotgun is perfectly aimed and his frail looking hands are steady.

  “She ain’t goin’ nowhere witchu! Gone now, get!”

  Of course, Bailey picks the protective country grandparents to shack up with and, of course, they know we’re here for her. If we weren’t so busy trying to get him to put the gun down, I’d be impressed by the fact that they’re hell bent on keeping her safe.

  “She’s a sweet girl,” Aunt Bee declares. “She ain’t hurtin’ nobody. She just want her son and to be left alone. Let her be or I’ll have Leroy put a buck in all your asses.”

  “We’re not here to hurt her, I swear. We just want to help her. We’re her friends, I swear to you. Just put the gun down. Call her. Tell her Nico is here. I promise we just want to help.”

  “It don’t matter who you is! You get back in that fancy jalopy and go!” Leroy says as he steps closer.

  “You think maybe you could at least smile and stop fucking snarling at them,” East barks at me.

  “Or just shut the fuck up and let somebody else talk because I, for one, do not want a buck in my ass,” Van snaps.

  I literally bite my tongue to keep from responding. I wasn’t snarling. I was just trying to tell them who I was. It’s not my fault they’re fucking jumping to conclusions and pissing me off even more. I hear East telling them the exact same things I just said, but the response is completely different. Aunt Bee (I should probably stop calling her that) goes from sneering to a slight scowl and Leroy lowers the shotgun at least three inches. What the actual fuck?

  “Not saying she here, but if she is, how y’all gone help her?”

  Her hands are no longer fisted on her hips and the concern in her voice is evident.

  “She’ll come with me. I’ll keep her safe, I promise. I didn’t know she was in trouble, but I swear to you, I’ll keep her safe. Anybody coming for her would have to get through me first,” I declare.

  Let Fuckface try to take her from me. I want him to. Leroy’s eyes drift to the right to something over my shoulder. Without looking, I know it’s her. I know Bailey is there and the only thing stopping
me from turning to her is the loaded shotgun aimed solely at me as though he’s zeroed in on the head of the snake.

  “Rochelle, these boys friends of yours?” Leroy calls out.

  It irks me that he’s calling me a boy, but I can’t help smiling at the name he used. She’s almost safe here. These people would do whatever they could to protect her, even something as simple as addressing her by a fake name.

  “They’re friends, Mr. Leroy and Mrs. Ruth. You don’t need to shoot them.”

  He lowers his weapon. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. The minute he’s no longer a threat, I turn to face Bailey and the sight is fucking heartbreaking. She’s always looked small to me, but this is different. Her shoulders are hunched over; her entire posture’s slouched. It’s as though she’s intentionally making herself as small as possible. Dark circles have taken up residence beneath her eyes and she looks more defeated than I’ve ever seen. She looks exhausted and the child clinging to her neck looks as though he’s weighing her down even more, but her grip on him tightens. Her eyes narrow, and while I see a spark of relief, her eyes are mainly filled with suspicion.

  “You found me. How?”

  She doesn’t sound surprised at all, but somehow, I know telling her I hired a PI wouldn’t go over well right now. “I’ll always find you, little mouse.” She stares defiantly for a tense moment. No one moves. We wait silently for her to decide what happens next. Either we get a buck in our asses or she leaves with us. Her eyes roam over each of us and when they finally come back to me she inhales a deep breath. When she exhales her face crumples. I’m moving without thought, without regard to the shotgun that’s surely trained on me again. I scoop her up bridal style, careful of the bundle still clinging to her. His little eyes find mine as I settle them both against my chest, but he says nothing. Bailey’s body is wracked with sobs. Heart wrenching and gut churning sobs that I hope I never have to hear again. I watch as Kaelen’s little hand comes to rest on Bailey’s chest and he begins to pat it as though trying to soothe her.

  “He knows where the gym is. I didn’t want to risk him coming there. And I . . .”

  The words die in her throat and I try to tell her it’s okay, but she shakes her head. I keep quiet, knowing she needs to speak.

  “I needed to be alone. You know? I needed to know that I was okay with being alone. My dad made me feel like I couldn’t be on my own. Like I needed Connor to survive. I’ve only ever known him and I needed to make sure that I was still just me without him. And I know now. I know that I’m okay on my own. As terrifying as it is, I’m still just me. So you . . . you don’t have to take care of me. Or rescue me. I can handle my life on my own. I’m okay with me. I’m me. You understand that, right? I’m me.”

  “I know exactly who you are, little mouse. I know exactly what you’re capable of and I know you don’t need me to rescue you. But I need you to let me. I need you to let me help you, let me take care of you. And while I’m doing that, I’ll still need you to be you because there’s no one else I want.”

  She stares up at me, tears flowing in a steady stream. When she finally nods her agreement, I kiss her forehead. Glancing back to where everyone else is, I see that Jax is already moving.

  “We’ll grab her stuff. Get them in the truck,” he mumbles as he passes us.

  He doesn’t look at her, but he squeezes Bailey’s shoulder as he goes. By the time I get her inside the truck, Jax and the others are there with three suitcases. I raise an eyebrow. That was fast.

  “She was about to leave. Leroy just got back from bringing her fancy SUV from our house. He won’t stop talking about how smooth it rides,” Mrs. Ruth says as she shuffles toward us.

  She stuffs a set of keys into my hand before jerking her chin to the side of the motel. Barely visible is the dark gray Porsche Cayenne that I’ve seen Bailey drive a few times. She takes Bailey’s hand and squeezes it as I pass the keys to East, who motions for Van to follow him.

  “You’ll need this little prince’s car seat from there,” Mrs. Ruth says.

  “Got it,” Van yells back to us.

  Mrs. Ruth closes the door to the truck and levels me with a stare when I start to protest. Her hand goes back to her hips and from the corner of my eyes I see Leroy with the shotgun resting casually on his shoulder.

  “Promise me you’ll look after her. We done had to run off two other boys since she been here. You the only one that came in broad daylight and you the only one she actually came outside for, so I’m trusting you. If you think you can’t handle it, you just mosey on back over here and give her back to us. You hear?”

  “I promise.”

  I know I’ve said it at least three times since I’ve gotten here, but if she needs to hear it again for her peace of mind, I’ll say it. She stares me down for a few seconds then gives a quick nod as if making her decision. With a final wave to Bailey, she walks back to where Leroy is standing and they watch as we pile into the two vehicles and leave. She said two other boys. One of them had to be Cap. The other could only have been Connor. I wonder if he’s watching us right now?

  “MOMMY, WILL NICO be here soon? He said he’d show me how to do a body slam like the wrestlers we watched last night.”

  “I think so baby. If not, it won’t be too much longer,” I answer.

  Kael has been asking about Nico nonstop today. I thought it’d be difficult for him to be around so many new people, especially men, but he has literally blossomed under their care and attention. He’s thrilled to have so many new uncles. Not surprisingly, Van is his favorite. He can keep up with the intense energy of a three-year-old better than the others and he seems to enjoy it the most.

  As for me, I’m wondering how it’s possible I have yet to see Nico bare chested. That should be irrelevant, I know, but we’ve been in his house for nearly 2 months and yet he’s extremely careful to always have on shorts and a t-shirt. The first two weeks he refused to let me out of the bed. The man made me soup. Soup! He took care of me. Better care than Connor ever offered. And since he refused to let me out of the bed, he gave me sponge baths. A slight shiver works its way through my body at the memory.

  “NICO?” I DON’T hear his footsteps as he approaches, but he appears in the doorway a few moments after I called out to him.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah. I just need to take a shower.”

  He’s already shaking his head, denying my request before I’ve completely voiced it.

  “Nico, I feel yucky. I need to take a bath or something.”

  His eyes flick from me on the bed to the bathroom and back. He says nothing, but walks out. I drop my head back to the pillows, thinking he’s having another of his silent, brooding moments, but he comes back carrying a rectangular shaped container. He slips into the bathroom and I hear him rummaging around as the water turns on. When he comes out I realize his intent. He gives me a questioning look as though he expects me to object, but I won’t. Instead, I relax further into the pillows and toss the blanket aside.

  He places the washcloth and container filled with steaming water and bubbles on the nightstand before reaching for my shirt. I hesitate because I’m not wearing a bra, but oh well. I let him lift the shirt and watch as he swallows repeatedly, eyes trained on my breast. “Nico?” His eyes jump to mine and he clears his throat. “Will you help me take my panties off?” I ask innocently. If the bulge in his pants is anything to go by, this is about to be a very thorough sponge bath. A part of me feels like I should be afraid. At the least, intimidated. I don’t though. I’ve never felt safer. His fingers grip the band and I lift my hips. Slowly, he pulls my panties down, the backs of his fingers brushing against my thighs. He clears his throat again and I draw my knees up before letting my legs fall open slightly. He curses and steps away. “Shower?” I ask. His eyes never drift from between my legs, but he shakes his head.

  Expelling a deep breath, he turns and grabs the washcloth. His movements are slow and sensual, not missing an inch. Rough, callouse
d fingers caress my skin every so often and even though he apologizes each time, there’s no remorse in his words or his heated gaze. By the time he’s nearly done, I’m struggling to breathe and wishing he’d get rid of the cloth. There’s only one spot left.

  “Open for me, little mouse.”

  That damn voice. My knees part and I grip the sheet in my good fist. I really hate this cast. He sits near my legs on the bed, his front facing me, and pulls one leg over his thighs. I’m completely open for him now.

  “I love this,” he tells me as his finger trails the landing strip of hair covering my mound.

  That finger stops on the bud of my engorged clit and applies pressure. I jerk and moan, but it turns into a whimper when he pulls his hand away. His touch is replaced with the cloth and even that creates an amazing friction. Unable to resist any longer, I reach forward and grab his shirt, yanking him to me. He comes willingly, but this moment isn’t meant to go any further. Just as our lips meet, the doorbell rings. We both groan in frustration, but neither of us moves. When the bell sounds again, he licks my bottom lip and pulls away.

  The sound of Kael’s laughter brings me back from my daydream and I glance in his direction. He loves being here and the looming court date has put that much more strain on me. How am I supposed to tell my son that I might lose him to his mother? I can’t. So instead, I focus on my latest batch of baked goods and my next fight, which is only two weeks away. My phone vibrates from where it sits on the counter and a quick peep tells me it’s Connor again. I hit ignore and almost instantly a text follows the call. He tells me if I come home he’ll make Malia go away. Fuck him and her. He should have never brought her around. I send him a text asking if he was ready to admit he pulled me down the stairs. When he realized I’d left the hospital and gotten Kaelen, he was livid. He threatened all sorts of bodily harm as well as finding us and me never seeing Kaelen again. I’d sent him a text telling him to do his worse.