Savage and Racy: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Bad Boys MC Trilogy Book 3)

by Violet Blaze

  “Sorry, but if you think I know anything about cash or drugs or whatever it is you want, then you're wrong. What I do know is that all there is in that room is coffee and a couple of badass women with guns. If I were you, I'd think twice about opening that door.”

  “The girls are in there?” Rebecca asks, and I wonder if I've made a serious mistake in revealing that. “Janae? Fauna? Glinda? Someone else?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does because if you don't let me in there, I've got some explosives that my brother stole from the cartel. We'll blow the door.”

  I can't decide if she's bluffing or not. It all seems so far-fetched. Normal people don't talk about drugs and explosives and murder like they talk about their favorite brand of cereal for breakfast. My head spins as I struggle for a way out of this situation. I should've tried harder to get Royal to listen to me. What was I thinking, coming back here alone? I must be even crazier than I thought.

  “The door,” Rebecca repeats again when I don't answer, getting up close to me and lifting her gun again, pressing it tight to my forehead as I keep my own trained on Clayton. “Open that fucking door, you stupid bitch. We need this.”

  Her finger tenses on the trigger as desperation fills her face and for a second there, I'm convinced she's going to shoot me.

  Quick as I can, I drop my weapon to my side like I'm surrendering and then shoot her right in the foot, ducking my own body down on a whispered prayer. Please don't let me get shot here, not now, not like this. The sound of my own shot echoes in my eardrums, blowing them to pieces as I drop to the floor and catch sight of a pair of very familiar leather boots entering the room behind Clay.

  Thank God.

  It's Royal McBride, right on time.

  “Back the fuck up and drop your weapons!” I shout as Glacier, Mug, Smoky, and I burst into the room from the direction of the shop, my heart hammering and a million curse words lacing their way into my brain. I'm going to fucking destroy Dober later, I think as I relive that awful second where I turned around and saw that Lyric was gone.

  Gone.

  Fucking gone.

  And then after I'm done with him, I'm going to give her a right bollocking, take her into my arms and hold her all fucking night. Maybe forever. Sneaking off like that. Jesus, Lyric.

  It only took me a few seconds to realize she was missing and then several minutes to find her, remembering in the spray of gunfire and death that she'd looked back this way before I'd pulled her behind the flower beds.

  I should've fucking listened to her.

  The boys and I unlocked the garage door and slipped underneath it, coming around and entering the room with weapons raised on Clayton, Dayna, Rebecca, and the girls' brother, Nestor. Seeing him here, it all makes sense to me. Nestor's always been a power hungry, greedy piece of shit. He tried to prospect into the Wolves and got his ass kicked—and then kicked out—for getting rough with one of the leather lovers. And when I say rough, I mean he nearly fucking killed the girl in one of the dorm rooms.

  So what does that piece of crap go and do? Gets his family involved with a Mexican drug cartel. And in turn, gets Landon, my best friend and my brother, involved, too.

  I look at the back of his head as he turns to me, almost in slow motion, and then I raise my gun and shoot him in the face, glad for the subsonic ammo and the silencer. Small room, don't want to hear that awful sound of the bullet breaking the sound barrier.

  Rebecca and Dayna scream as blood flecks their faces, the wall, my poor beautiful Pint-Size sitting on the floor in jeans, a t-shirt, and that stupid oversized vest.

  I swing over toward her, noticing the pool of red on her feet and trying not to panic, lifting her up as Nestor's body topples to the floor with a thud.

  Outside, our boys can handle the rest of the cleanup.

  In here, this is exactly where I need to be right now.

  I curl one arm around Lyric's waist protectively.

  “You killed Nestor,” Dayna whines, falling to her knees at her brother's side and dropping salty tears onto his back. “You killed him.” She looks up at me like I'm the monster.

  And hell, maybe I am? It was my finger that pulled the trigger on Landon. It was my club that hunted him down like a fucking dog.

  I squeeze Lyric even tighter against me and drop my gun by my side.

  I don't know who the villain is in this story anymore.

  When I lift my eyes from Dayna and up to Clayton, I can see that icy cold trickle of fear in his face that every single one of Glacier's victims gets, this wild desperation to get as far away from the man as possible.

  “You,” I start as I run my tongue over my lower lip, “should've left town after you kidnapped my old lady.”

  Clayton swings his gun up and around toward Glacier, stumbling back when my enforcer puts a round in his chest, watching with cold eyes as the man stumbles and falls to the floor, crawling toward the door to Janae's office. There's so much blood on the ground around him, nobody bothers to go after him. He'll be dead soon enough.

  “And you,” I say as I lift my gaze up to Rebecca's blue eyes, flashing back to that moment when Pint-Size saw me hugging Rebecca through the window of this very office, curvy body tucked into that tight red dress. I remember dancing with Lyric, stopping myself from fucking her because she was too drunk. I sent her running and then … I pursued her when she came back. That was when I made my mistake that day, taking her to bed like that. I should've let her go. Fuck me, but I should've sent her sprinting from this compound, never to look back.

  “Royal,” Rebecca whispers, breath fluttering as she leans into the wall, blood pooling around her boots, her face pale, limbs quivering with the shock of whatever happened to her foot. I stare at her for a long time, thinking about when I put my arms around her, comforted her over Landon's death. And then I go even further back, remembering high school, remembering her and Landon and Glacier and me. “Royal, please,” she begs, pleading with watery eyes. “I have babies, Royal. Landon's babies. They need their mother. And I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant—and it's Landon's.”

  I stare down at her, turmoil twisting my stomach into knots.

  I don't know if she's lying, if she really is pregnant, if it's even Landon's.

  But what the hell am I doing standing here like this? What do I have to think about right now? Rebecca was as good as dead and buried when she fed our information to the enemy, when she got my men killed and fled town, when she spent two thousand dollars on clothes while Landon's cold body floated through the sea.

  “Boss?” Smoky asks as I just stand there and stare, the warmth of Lyric's body the only thing keeping me tied to this world.

  “Take them back to the house,” I tell Glacier, knowing that this is just a Band-Aid, that these women have to be eliminated at some point.

  “Pres,” Glacier whispers, but I can't tell if I'm being weak. Or if I'm being strong. Does not wanting to shoot a defenseless woman begging for her children in front of me make me less of a man? It couldn't possibly.

  I look over at Lyric and see her watching me with tight lips, green eyes completely unreadable but kind, not judgmental. Not the way I judged her a few minutes ago when I thought she was running away. I hated having her out there in the fray, but at the same time, I loved it. Loved having her by my side. And then I thought she was scared and fleeing, and I judged her for it.

  I'm not a worthy man.

  I want her to go to D.C. and get the fuck away from me.

  That'd be best for everyone involved in this bullshit.

  I look down at Dayna Nieves next, weeping over her brother's body.

  “Get them out of here, Glacier,” I snap through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, Boss,” he says, voice cold and bland as he takes a step forward and Dayna screams in rage, lifting her brother's gun up and taking a shot at me. It hits me directly in the body armor under my cut as I shove Lyric back and feel my breath knocked completely out of me. Fuuuuuuck. />
  “Royal!” Lyric screams, and my head snaps up, watching in slow motion as Rebecca pulls another gun from the back of her waistband and points it directly at my face. Pint-Size throws her small body into Rebecca's, tackling the woman to the floor and sending her shot wide. It hits the ceiling as I slam my elbow into Dayna's face and her head rocks back hard on her shoulders. She starts shooting blindly as I drop to my knees and yank the weapon from her fingers, listening to the sound of boots behind me.

  A quick look shows me several unfamiliar men piling into Janae's office. One of them slams the door closed behind them and locks it as the others make their way back toward us.

  “Glacier, Smoky!” I yell as I hit Dayna and she drops to the floor unconscious. Across from me, Rebecca and Lyric are fighting over control of Becca's gun. I have no idea where Lyric's Glock went, but I have to trust her to handle herself as I turn and rise to my feet in one motion, my body aching like hell from the shot to my body armor. I'm going to be one bruised, bloody motherfucker tomorrow, that's for sure.

  I take several shots at the men, returning their fire as best I can as they take cover behind furniture in Janae's office, drawing us forward as the sound of someone kicking in the office door echoes around the room.

  More of my boys file in, their vests easy to spot in the dim light of the building.

  My breath rushes out as I drop my weapon and turn just in time to see Rebecca press her gun to Lyric's stomach and fire off a round.

  A second later, blood spatters the wall behind Rebecca's head.

  I can barely remember pulling the trigger.

  “Just breathe, Pint-Size,” I tell her as I struggle to keep the panic from my voice. Lyric will live; she'll be alright. But I'm bloody fucking losing it, watching her struggle to breathe like this. My hands unzip the vest and touch the already red-purple spot on her belly where the bullet would've penetrated. All of that force concentrated into one spot. Leaves an awful, awful ache. Almost worse than getting shot to be honest. “Keep breathing, love.”

  My own chest and belly are on fire, but I don't give a fuck about that.

  “Look at me!” I snap when her lids flutter closed and she obeys—for once. Those green eyes open up on my face as she gasps and sucks in a shaky lungful. “That's better,” I say as Lyric sputters and coughs, leaning over with my support as I put one hand on the back of her neck and use the other to keep her from toppling forward.

  “Is she alright?” Janae asks after the girls make their way out of the storeroom, guns still held at the ready, faces taut with adrenaline.

  “She'll live,” I say as I drop the hand on Lyric's neck down to her back, rubbing in slow, easy circles.

  “Dayna's dead,” Glacier says, but not like he gives a fuck at all. “Must've gotten caught in the cross fire. There's blood all over her chest.” I glance back at him, watching as his eyes lift to Serenity and then flick away like there's less than nothing there. Asshat motherfucker.

  “Put the fires out and start checking bodies. Get all our people accounted for and start treating anybody that's still alive. Let me know if there's anyone that needs the ER and we'll figure out how to deal with it.”

  “On it,” Smoky grunts as Lyric sits back up and continues to pant for breath.

  “I'm okay,” she whispers. “I'm fine.”

  “Jesus. There are enough explosive in here to blow the entire shop up,” Glacier mumbles from the office, looking inside a green canvas bag, his icy cold front broken for a brief second by shock. “What were they planning on doing with all of this?”

  “Blowing the door to the storeroom, to get the drugs or cash or whatever it is you keep in there.” Lyric gasps as she struggles to find her feet, letting the heavy vest slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor. I help her up, my own body screaming in agony as I take her into my arms and squeeze her tight.

  “You have a really bad habit of scaring the shite out of me, you know that, kid?”

  “I saw that woman run in here. I had to follow her. Honestly, I thought she was in trouble.”

  I grit my teeth and refuse to look in the direction of Rebecca's body. Not yet. It's too soon and I feel too sick to my stomach.

  “Boss.”

  It's Mug.

  I almost snarl at him as I whip around and give him my deadliest glare.

  “What?”

  “That FBI agent, the pretty African American chick, she's outside.”

  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  Special Agent Heather Shelley is either very brave or very stupid because there she is, outside the gates, leaning against the hood of her car with her arms crossed over her chest. I have no idea what brought her out here, but clearly, the windows of the café are shattered into pieces and even though my boys are efficient as fuck and most of the bodies are already moved from sight, there's blood everywhere.

  Two large fires bloom like miniature suns, lighting up this quiet, dark part of the forest.

  “What am I supposed to make of this?” I ask when I pause just outside of Agent Shelley's line of vision and stare at the woman through the chain-link. At this point, I should probably pull out the gun tucked under my vest and shoot her, but bleeding hell, I'm tired and I don't want to shoot anymore women. Fuck, the really smart thing to do would be to call one of the boys and make them do it, have them take the fall for the club.

  Rebecca's face flickers in my vision and I shut it down, pushing aside the sick feeling in my gut. She gave me no choice. Honestly, in that moment, the thought of killing Becca, the mother of Landon's children, was literally one of the last things on this earth I would ever want to do. The only thing that sounded worse was losing Lyric. Rebecca made the decision for me when she tried to shoot Pint-Size.

  “Get out of here,” Lyric whispers as she struggles to catch her breath, putting her hands on her hips and looking down at the pavement. I notice a trickle of blood oozing down her forearm and grit my teeth. “I'll sneak inside the clubhouse and clean off the blood, then I'll deal with her.”

  “What the fuck are you going to say?” I ask as I stare at the FBI agent, casual as can be, hanging out like she doesn't really believe her life is in danger here. And she's alone. That's the weirdest part of it all. Where are the sirens? The cruisers? Rozzers are like fuckin' dogs; they travel in packs.

  “I don't know. Something. Anything. I need some time to think.”

  “Lyric,” I say as I turn to look at her, lifting her chin and feeling a horrible crush of guilt as I think of the disappointment I felt when she ran. In reality, she was saving the girls. Again. Do I really believe Becca would've blown up that storeroom door? I do. When you get that desperate, a person will do anything. So Lyric was being brave, and I was being a cocksucker. “I love you,” I tell her and in that breath, in the way I cup the side of her face, I tell her I want her to go and get away from all of this. This kind of life, it's not the life I want for my old lady.

  “I love you, too,” she whispers, stepping into me, holding me, the frantic beating of her heart an exact mimicry of mine.

  “You saved my life tonight,” I say and feel her smile against my chest.

  “You saved mine.”

  “I cannot believe you bullied me into letting you come with, you daft cow. What were you thinking?”

  “That if you call me a cow again, I'll kick you in the nuts.”

  I smile, but it only lasts for a split second. I feel too sick right now, like more than just my body's soaked in blood. It's my soul, too. My spirit. And then I think about Lyric and how she had to shoot Mia, and I hate myself for letting her get tainted with this kind of darkness.

  “You need to get out of here. Is there a back entrance or something where you could leave? You're the president, Royal. You're the golden goose for the FBI. They don't care about any of the little guys, just you and your officers. Let your boys cleanup and go home for the night, ride this out. I'll call you when I'm done.”

  “I can't leave you alone
to talk to the FBI, Lyric,” I say, but she's already shaking her head at me.

  “This is what I do, Royal,” she says and then pauses, making eye contact with me. “This is my game right here. Let me do my job. You said I was a liaison for the club, didn't you? Well, here's my chance to prove myself.”

  “Pint-Size, you've proven yourself time and time again. I'm sold, love. Hook, line, and sinker, I'm yours.”

  “I'll talk to her,” Lyric continues and I tense up as I sense something else coming. Her small hands curl into the sopping wet fabric of my shirt, turning her fingers pink with blood and rainwater. “But you have to give me something, Royal. Let me tell her about the shipment. Let me end this.”

  “Lyric—”

  “It's the only way, Royal. She's here by herself because she wants something she knows she can't get by calling in the cavalry. Agent Shelley is desperate; this is personal. Throw her a bone.” I stand there in silence for several more minutes to think. “Trust me on this Royal. Believe in me, believe that I know what I'm doing.”

  Bleeding hell.

  “Okay,” I say, even if it hurts to push the word past my lips. “I trust you, Pint-Size. Go do your thing.”

  She leans up on her tiptoes and gives me a kiss that burns all the horrors from my brain for a split second, leaving me full of lust and need and nothing else. When she pulls away, it's almost painful.

  I watch as Lyric walks away, skirting the shadows between the pools of light and heading towards the clubhouse to change. As she moves further and further away, I can feel my heart going with her.

  Wonder if that's how I'll feel if she hops a plane and leaves me, like my heart is gone. Forever.

  “Miss Rentz,” Agent Shelley says with a small smile. “Where's Mr. McBride this evening?”

  “He's not here,” I say, my voice hoarse and raspy. I had no idea that getting shot in body armor would hurt like that, like my entire body was being punched by an MMA fighter holding a needle. All of that force and pressure in such a small spot … I have to force myself not to touch my belly. If I do, Heather will see it, and she's already got more information than she really needs at this point.