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

by Violet Blaze

  Royal cocks a brow and breathes out, long and slow.

  “My old lady … the mayor.”

  “And the club?” I ask, because I know that Royal and I are in this together now.

  “The club can deal,” he says and I smile grimly as I finally answer the phone and put it to my ear.

  “Get that fucker to put his hands where we can see them,” the man on the phone snaps, his voice reverberating from down the dock and through the cell in an eerie echo. “El Presidente.” Laughter accompanies the words, but there's nothing funny about them. If they'd seen Royal in action before, they wouldn't be so amused.

  “Put your hands up,” I say and Royal does, pausing as the sound of an engine breaks through the whipping wind and sudden driving rain. It pours down on our heads and drags my hair into my eyes as I swipe it away and squint. There, in the water, are several boats. But they don't look like FBI cruisers to me.

  In my chest, my heart patters quickly and then goes still, at opposition with the turmoil around us.

  “Get ready,” Royal whispers as Agent Shelley yells something through the loudspeaker. “And make sure you only aim at men with guns clear and visible in their hands. In the state of California, there's a stand-your-ground law, so long as there's imminent danger. Don't hit men in the back.”

  “I love you,” I tell Royal as I rest my hand on my purse and exhale slowly.

  “I love you, too, Pint-Size.”

  The man holding my father starts to move back, but Royal drops his hands and we stand our ground as Agent Shelley continues to shout, her voice whipping around with the wind as I breathe out and go completely still.

  The men in the back start to pour down a ladder and into one of the boats as we watch and I drop the borrowed cell phone to the ground.

  Everything else seems to happen in an instant.

  The man with the knife drags the blade across my father's throat as I scream and lift my Glock from my purse in a single motion, surprised to find the asshole's head already snapping back, blood spattering into the wind. A quick glance to my left shows Glacier's small, colorful form at the top of the outcropping, aiming through a scope at the dock.

  I ignore him and spin back as Royal fires off a single shot into a man lifting his weapon in our direction. I shoot him again when he doesn't go down, and he stumbles away, falling over the railing and into the water.

  The group of cartel thugs splits into two, one set scrambling away and dropping into the waves, the other climbing onto the boats as several shots ring out from the outcropping and I watch them fall into the sea.

  Holy shit. I have no idea how Glacier's going to defend his right to snipe men from a cliff face, but that's not really my problem right now.

  My semi-automatic holds steady in my grip as I absorb the kickback into the web of my hand and loose several rounds, the wood at my feet splintering and my heartbeat starting up again suddenly, making me gasp.

  Royal and I both move forward as the sound of footsteps pound the dock behind us; the police move into position, but nobody bothers to stop us as more shots fire out and then suddenly, everything just stops.

  The men on the dock aren't moving anymore, and the boats are speeding away, bobbing over rough waves as I drop my gun and sprint towards my father's bleeding form.

  “Dad!” My voice carries, even over the sound of shouting and movement behind me as I slide to a stop on the rough wood and feel my dress tear even more, splinters digging into my knees as I lift the mayor's broken body into my lap and press my hands against the bubbling red at his throat. Miraculously, he's still alive, shaking and muttering in my arms. “I'm here, Dad,” I whisper as Royal kneels on his other side and helps me put pressure on the wound, the two of us holding him there like that while the police officers secure the wharf and several pairs of EMTs arrive.

  When they take my father from my arms, I let him go, feeling the warm red of blood coating my hands as I wipe them on my wedding dress and rise to my feet.

  Agent Shelley's fingers curl around my arm, her perfect nails digging into my skin as she yanks me around to scream in my face.

  “What the fuck do you think you're doing? You're turning this into a red tape nightmare for me!”

  My heart shudders and pounds as I lean forward and put my bloody hands on the shoulders of her perfect pantsuit, fueled by the sudden shock of adrenaline.

  “Your sister,” I whisper carefully. “These guys will never give up what they know to the FBI. She could be lost forever. It would take … torture to get them to talk.” I lean back and give her my most sympathetic look. I don't have to try very hard. I really do feel for her sister, but I feel for my family more. And that family now includes Royal McBride. I'd do anything to protect him. “If … the Wolves somehow hear anything in the underground circuit, I could pass it your way.”

  I take a deep breath and nod my head, dropping my arms by my sides as Heather Shelley stares at me like she's never seen me before.

  “Go get in the ambulance with your father,” she snaps as she glances up at the cliff face. When I follow her gaze, I find that Glacier's already gone. If the FBI does manage to find those bodies that fell into the raving sea, then I guess they can start trying to piece together how one guy got all the way up there and then back down in less time than it takes to get my dad to the end of the wharf on a stretcher. Glacier's already standing with Royal's other officers like he never moved from there in the first place. “I'll have someone come to the hospital to take your statement.”

  A second phone rings from Agent Shelley's pocket and she turns away to answer it.

  When her shoulders tense and she lets out a long, loose breath, I know it's about the attack on the compound. One wary glance back at me and she nods her head toward my father.

  I don't need to be told twice, taking off down the wood planks until I meet up with Sully.

  “Go with Dad,” I tell him as he gapes at me and my hands start to shake with nerves. I reach out to touch Sully and realize my palms are still wet with our father's blood, letting them drop by my sides. “Go.” Our eyes lock again before Sully flicks his gaze over my outfit, the ring, back at Royal.

  “Jesus Christ,” I hear him whisper under his breath, but then he's turning and jogging away while my heart aches for me to follow after him.

  Instead, I turn to my husband.

  “It's not over yet, is it?” I ask and his mouth curves up in a strained smile.

  “Not quite, Pint-Size. Not quite.”

  Lyric and I use the chaos of the moment to get my guys back to their bikes, climbing the windy hill with our skin stinging and salt sticking to our lips.

  Glacier smacks his gum as he nods his head in greeting, tossing Lyric's helmet at her.

  “The guys you sent south just radioed in,” he whispers low, the crowd roaring behind him, pictures snapping like crazy from phones and cameras. Fine. Let them document this moment and remember when the Wolves stood up for the city of Trinidad—when their Deputy Mayor got literal blood on her hands in the name of justice.

  I'd grin, but it doesn't feel appropriate considering the situation.

  “It played out just like we thought. Our boys are cleaning up the mess and then they're ready to take their next orders.”

  “Any news from the compound?” I ask and Glacier shakes his blond head. “Must be busy over there,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders as Lyric leans into my side and the boys form a half-circle around us.

  “What about the product? We've got nothing if we don't find that. That's where any high ranking members will be.” I give Glacier a long, knowing look. “We'll take them as our consolation prize and let the FBI have the rest of it.”

  “One of our dealers, up on Humboldt Hill, says there's a large moving truck at the house next door and a disturbing amount of coming and going. Could be nothing, but it's literally all we've got. I put a half-dozen guys up there to keep watch, but we haven't seen anything yet.”

  “
Okay,” I say as I look down at my wife, covered in blood and still looking fierce as hell in her fucked up little wedding dress. I quietly hand her the abandoned Glock, using my guys as cover to pass the gun over. She tucks it in her purse and pauses as one of the policemen calls out her name.

  “I'll deal with him,” she says, moving away, my eyes tracking her every movement before slowly swinging back to my officers.

  “We need to get up there and get this done as cleanly and quietly as possible.”

  “Please tell me you're not dragging your old lady to this one,” Dober grumbles as I suck in a deep breath and glance over my shoulder. “Royal, bringing her here was crazy enough. You can't drag her down to Eureka to take out a crime lord.”

  Dober's right. Hell, if I had my way, I'd have never let her walk out on that pier in the first place. But Lyric isn't a toy, and I'm not her goddamn boss. I wouldn't try to be, even if I thought I could get away with it.

  “Go ahead and let me talk to her. Nobody make a move until I show up.”

  “You got it, Pres,” Glacier says, turning away with a knowing look in his eyes and a shake of his blond head. He climbs on his bike and kick-starts the engine, taking off as the crowd spreads to let him pass. See, even the common rabble can tell that motherfucker is as crazy as they come.

  When I turn around, I see Lyric talking with Agent Shelley again.

  Jesus.

  I head over to stand next to my wife and notice the woman's brown eyes flick over to me.

  “We're all over the attack on the compound,” she says slowly, like she isn't sure how much she wants to reveal. And the men from the wharf are being taken care of.” Another pause. “But there are certain individuals in this organization that we're looking for specifically and none of them have been seen. We imagine the shipment that … Clayton Moore told Lyric about is somewhere else. You wouldn't happen to have an idea about that?” Her chin lifts in the direction of my boys. “They seem like they're in a pretty big hurry.”

  “Off to check on their old ladies,” I say as I reach out and squeeze Lyric's shoulder, loving the way she shivers and shudders under my touch. “Not everyone has a wife as brave and capable as my own.”

  “Yes. Another interesting development. And when you were planning on leaving for D.C., too? Since I see you're in no particular hurry to head to the hospital, tell me, whatever happened?”

  “We are on our way to the hospital,” Lyric says calmly, sweeping hair away from her lips. Her skin looks extra pale in the awful gray light seeping through the clouds, but her green eyes are bright as emeralds in a sea of snow. “As soon as we're finished here. If you want to talk about my relationship with Royal, we can do it over lunch after this is over.”

  “I need something more here, Lyric,” Agent Shelley says, her face looking almost desperate, brown eyes shining as she flicks them between the two of us.

  Lyric and I exchange a look before I turn back to the FBI agent in front of me.

  “I'll give it to you,” I tell her as she lifts her eyebrows. “But first I want to talk about your sister again.”

  “This is bullshit,” Heather Shelley snaps, but she makes no move to step away from our conversation. “If you think you can keep using that information against me, I'll let you know that the bureau is already aware and has made a special exception to allow me to work this case based on my previous successes and ethics.”

  “We're not talking at all about that,” I say, counting down the minutes in my brain. My boys are getting a big head start, but politics are politics. We need the cartel gone … as well as the FBI. “I have friends all over this town, so if I hear anything about this … shipment you're looking for, I'll give you a call. All I'm saying is that if you want to know anything about your sister, you might want to trust us a little bit?”

  Lyric smiles tightly as Heather Shelley closes her eyes and counts to ten under her breath.

  “I'm really going to bat for you here,” she says as she opens them again and looks between us. “Tell me, how do I explain the Alpha Wolves' involvement in my reports? Hmm?”

  “I'm married to the mayor's bloody daughter,” I say as I lift a hand out to indicate the wharf. “Clearly, the cartel is interested in disrupting the local government. First, they kidnap my fiancée, and then her father. The Wolves' connection to all of this is purely familial, nothing more. Search our compound if you feel the need and write up a clean report for your superiors.”

  “What about Brent?” Shelley asks, narrowing her eyes and looking like she's about ten seconds away from losing her cool. But no, even with Lyric's bloody handprints on her shoulders, she smooths her hands down the front of her jacket and takes a deep breath. “And your VP? You're telling me you had nothing to do with any of that? Despite the fact that Landon White went missing before you and Lyric ever met?”

  “Sully Rentz admitted to me that he had business dealings with the cartel, dealings that involved my vice president. That's all I know about that. What can I say? If you don't mind, I've got to get my new bride to the hospital.”

  Special Agent Heather Shelley looks at us and pinches her lips tight, waving us away with a shake of her head.

  “Go. But don't do anything else that's outside the rule books. My reach only extends so far.”

  “Thank you,” Lyric says as she nods her head at the woman and turns with me, walking back to my bike as people cheer and call out her name. She turns a baffled look and a raised brow to me, but I simply shrug my shoulders. Hell if I know. “Where are you really going?” she asks me, but I just smile.

  “Taking you to the hospital,” I say and her full ripe lips pinch into an angry line.

  “I'm not starting day one of our marriage as a widow, Royal.”

  “We need to confirm if that shipment really is in town and if it is, then where. Lyric, you've already proved yourself over and over again. Let me handle this, baby. And do what you do best. Go to the hospital. Give your statement. Talk to the press. Lyric Rentz-McBride, you're the next mayor of this bloody city so start acting like it.”

  I reach down and take her face between my hands, kissing her long and deep and not caring that a hundred people are recording it. Good. This is a new moment, a new start for the city, the Wolves, and us—my wife and me.

  We just have to take care of this last scrap of unfinished business first.

  One last brawl, one last fight, and then … hell, maybe this rat bastard of a man can finally live happily ever fucking after?

  Watching Lyric walk into the hospital, her dress plastered to her shapely legs, her heart-shaped face glancing over her leather clad shoulder at me, makes my chest feel tight, like a little piece of my soul is being torn away. My breath hitches as I stare at the Alpha Wolves logo on the back of Lyric's borrowed jacket and shove wet hair away from my eyes.

  “I'm on my way from Trinidad Community Hospital,” I say, using the radio in my helmet to communicate with the boys. “ETA twenty-five minutes.”

  “Make it twenty,” Glacier growls through the mic. “We're heading up the hill now, but the guys just radioed in to report that the truck's been joined by two black sedans and a van. According to them, it looks like the whole caravan's getting ready to haul ass outta here.”

  “If they leave, let them go and watch their route. If they decide to head for the highway, they might take Stanford and Purdue. We can ambush them on Broadway.” Despite the name, fuckin' Broadway is nothing but farmland and a thick wall of brush that separates the quiet road from the highway. The perfect spot for a bloody shoot-out. “If they take Humboldt Hill Road all the way down, maintain a good distance and get some guys to cut them off at the end of Redwood Highway as well as R Street near the waterfront, see which way they go.”

  “On it,” Glacier says and then cuts out into static.

  I crank up the speed, fully aware that there are no highway patrols out at the moment. Not a single one. Every available officer will be either at the wharf, the compound, or
dealing with crap around town. There's nobody to write me a speeding ticket today.

  I take advantage of the nearly empty roads, rocketing south down the 101 and straight out of Trinidad toward the Arcata/Eureka area. Trees tower above me, ancient sequoias watching my Swinger whip around tight curves like it's nothing, the tilt of my body matched up with the roaring beast beneath me as I pass tourists doing fifty and locals doing seventy.

  Rain pelts my helmet and soaks my bare arms, but I block it all out, my thoughts consumed with the desperate need to be with my new wife.

  One last obstacle to care of and that's it; she's mine.

  Soon as this nightmare is over, I can start living the dream.

  Provided, of course, I don't get myself shot.

  “They're moving, Pres,” Glacier says, his voice hard and cold even though the mic. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “Five minutes,” I say, cranking up the speed and watching the small town of Eureka disappear into a blur around me as I make my way to the outskirts and straight into rural suburbia. Cows smile back at me as I swing up the exit and let my bike skid to a stop in the parking lot of the old corner market. It's closed now, and the weather is just starting to get brutal, skimming off the surface of the sea and throwing itself into the little seaside town with a vengeance; I'm the only one here.

  Good.

  “I'm at the market,” I say as I wait for a response and get nothing. “Jesus, fuck, Glacier, answer me.” Still nothing. I wait one more minute and then head back out onto the road, moving up Broadway from the other end and noticing right away that a massive moving truck is parked dead center in the middle of the road.

  I park my bike in the brush and hop the small fence that lines one of the nearby pastures, crouching low and running along the dense foliage as I try to get a handle on what's happening here.

  “It's me,” I say, grabbing the radio at my waist, even as I hear gunfire echoing in the wet, foggy air. Thunder cracks overhead and an icy deluge rains down on me. “Can I get a fucking answer for Christ's sake?”