Savage Reborn (Team Savage Book 1)

by Michael Todd

  When he reached the door, he saw Dee waiting, his shotgun out of the jacket and aimed at him. Savage took a moment to read the man in front of him before he pressed forward. It was a show of force. A reminder that turning any of the weapons against Max and his crew would be a losing proposition. He didn’t mind. Most times, he picked his battles, and pointless testosterone measurements were the kind of thing that he simply couldn’t be bothered with.

  He stepped around Dee and turned to face him as he walked away.

  “Now I have a shotgun,” he said and grinned cheekily. “Ho ho ho!”

  The man didn’t answer and used the hand that didn’t hold the shotgun to flip him off. Jeremiah chuckled and turned away to stroll back to his car at an easy pace. He knew that the vehicle, as well as all his possessions, would be there when he got back. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that it was known in this area that people who parked in the gas station were doing business with Max, and the man would take offense at anyone who wanted to get in the way of that.

  He opened the trunk of the car, dropped the duffle bag in beside his original one, and paused. Even if he didn’t intend to use the weapons he’d just bought against the people he’d purchased them from, he still didn’t want to walk around unarmed for any longer than was necessary. Quickly, he pulled the Glock out of the bag, found the rounds for it, and filled the mag hastily.

  There were a couple of extra ones included with the sale. These enabled him to fill two more and slip them into his pockets before he zipped everything up, shut the trunk, and walked to the driver’s seat. He put the pistol in the glove compartment where it would be easily accessible before he started the car and pulled back onto the highway.

  Yes, he could definitely say that he felt more comfortable. Of course, if any cop pulled him over and decided to search his trunk, he would be in violation of too many laws to count. So many that the officer would possibly consider letting him go due to the sheer amount of paperwork that would ensue from trying to bring him in. That said, he wasn’t overly worried. It wasn’t like he would spend too much time in the heavily policed sections of the city, anyway.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hey, Jer,” Anja’s voice spoke suddenly and very surprisingly in his ear. “How did it go with Max?”

  His reaction wasn’t his optimum or his fastest. He had felt jittery as he started to draw closer to the city. There were more patrol cars in the area than he’d expected, and while he was one of the best when it came to portraying a cool and calm demeanor to any who might observe him, he sure as hell didn’t feel calm in that moment. His grip on the wheel weakened for a second as his right hand moved instinctively to the pistol in his glove compartment.

  “God fucking dammit, Anja,” he retorted acidly. “You can’t show up unannounced in a guy’s ear. Just…clear your throat or something before you pop up like that.”

  “And good morning to you too, Jer-Bear,” she said. Her tone clearly indicated a grin even though he couldn’t see her. “I slept well, thanks for asking. How about you?”

  “It’s still early evening around here and you know that,” he pointed out gruffly. “But how did you sleep?”

  “It was short but sweet.” She yawned expressively in his ear. “How did it go with Max? Did he give you any trouble? You know, I really think you should have waited until I was back to help cover your actions with him. He’s kind of jittery around new players, so it might have been best if you had—”

  “It went fine,” Jeremiah interjected and shook his head. “We bonded over our mutual knowledge of you. We even had friendship bracelets made. Although his man Dee didn’t seem to like me much. He constantly waved a shotgun in my face to try to intimidate me.”

  “Wait—Dee is the guy who stands at the front?” Anja asked. “Big—and I mean huge—and sports a custom shotgun?”

  “That’s the one,” he agreed. “He’s clearly watched Die Hard, though, so he can’t be all bad.”

  “Die Hard?” She sounded genuinely confused.

  “Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me.” For a moment, he felt genuinely annoyed. “You haven’t watched Home Alone or Die Hard? I know what we’ll do if we ever meet face to face. We’ll have a movie marathon. I’ll educate you in all the American culture that you’ve missed. I almost feel bad for you. It’s like never having seen the Mona Lisa or heard any of Beethoven’s music.”

  “You’re comparing an action movie to timeless art classics?” she asked.

  “Okay, I wouldn’t really consider Home Alone to be an action movie so much as a comedy, but yeah, I’ll stand by that comparison,” he confirmed.

  “You know that I was talking about Die Hard,” she snarked and actually sounded annoyed herself. “Do you mind if we get back to business now? How did it go with Max? Did you get everything you needed?”

  “I’m now walking into any operation in this area heavily armed and raring to go,” he said and eased his car off the highway as he saw the sign for a motel a couple of miles down a side road. It seemed exactly the kind of place he was looking for.

  “Fantastic.” Anja clearly sounded proud of her work.

  “You should know that I blew all my cash on this purchase,” he said. “And while I could probably sneak these babies across state lines as long as I’m not pulled over and searched, I won’t be able to get them onto a plane. And I can’t actually take a rental car across the country, either.”

  “Well, you might want to think about buying a car for your own use, you know,” she replied. “I know you like having a car that someone else has to clean, but the fact remains that you’ll have to be self-sufficient at some point. You might as well start now.”

  “Well, with all these work-related purchases that you guys have me making, you have to know that I’ll keep all the receipts and look forward to having them refunded in full.” The motel came into view and he slowed.

  “You do know that all the purchases you’ve made thus far over your time with Pegasus were made with money we gave you, right?” Anja reminded him.

  “Well, yeah, but it’s the principle of the matter.” Jeremiah turned slowly into the motel’s parking lot. The place looked well-lit, and the absence of trucks and the scattering of cars in the lot told him what kind of place this was.

  “You should get your own car in the morning,” she insisted as he put the rental into park. “You can turn the rental car in. There should be a drop-off point in the city.”

  He let the moment of silence hang as he yanked the parking brake and stepped out of his car to open the trunk.

  “And yes, of course I’ll wire you some money.” It seemed like she was only talking to end the awkward silence that had ensued. “It should reach you tomorrow morning. Let me know which room you get in the motel.”

  “Oh, come on,” he said with a grin as he hauled both bags out of the car. He fumbled briefly to hook the one with the weapons over his shoulder and held the other in his left hand as his right hand closed the trunk and locked the car. Walking awkwardly with the weight, he made his way to the front desk. “I thought you would be able to track me through the cameras or something like that.”

  “I could hunt the feeds that come from some no-tell outside the city, but how about, instead of that, you simply tell me which room you’re in and save us both some time?” Anja asked. “I have a job and a life to get to that doesn’t involve you, you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Jeez.” He chuckled dryly. “I was only teasing, sorry. Do you think you should go ahead and get yourself a morning coffee?”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” Her voice lost its snippy quality as he stepped up to the front desk, which was manned by a younger man who looked like he was more intent on watching something on his phone than taking care of his station.

  Then again, he couldn’t really blame the kid. The place was all but deserted at this time of the night, and if he didn’t have anything else to do, he could keep on watching whatever it was that ha
d him so absorbed. Hopefully, it wasn’t porn, although given his age, it most likely was.

  “Hi,” he said and suppressed a smile when the kid scrambled to put his phone away and stand behind the desk. “I’ll need a bed for a couple of nights. I’ll pay in cash, if that’s okay? Oh, and how long does the complimentary continental breakfast last?”

  The young man looked at him and his mouth gaped in bewilderment for a few seconds, which made Jeremiah wonder if he wasn’t high on something. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think we offer—”

  “Yeah, I know. I was joking, kid, don’t sweat it.” He shook his head. “Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you could lose the name on the registry form.”

  The clerk smirked and selected a key from the stacks behind him. “It’s nice to have you with us, Mr. Smith.”

  With the check-in completed, Jeremiah sauntered toward his room, which thankfully had the afternoon sun rather than the morning sun blazing through the windows. He growled in irritation and rolled his aching shoulder as he reached the door and pulled it open. His bruised rib ached far worse, if the truth be told, but he’d deal with that once he was settled.

  This place was cheaper than the one where he’d stayed in Philly, but at this point, they all simply looked the same to him. He didn’t even bother to put anything in the safe yet as he locked the door behind him. Right now, he needed a nice long shower and some sleep before he applied himself to the task of hunting Carlson and tracking the man’s every move. He wasn’t sure if intel gathering was part of what Anderson and Monroe had hired him for, but if not, he could always say that it was for his own good. He didn’t like to walk blindly into any situation.

  “Nice digs,” Anja said, and sarcasm seemed to ooze over the earpiece. Before he could even wonder how she could tell, she answered his unasked question. “I’ve accessed the motel’s site. They seem to cater almost exclusively to nameless trystees. If you stay there for a couple of nights, you’ll probably be their longest-staying customer in the past decade or so.”

  “Yeah,” Savage growled. “I honestly don’t think that any guy has it in him to last a couple of days. Besides, when you come to a place that charges by the hour, stamina probably isn’t what you have in mind when you rent a room here.”

  “You’re gross,” she retorted and groaned.

  “Yep, I’m a terrible person all around,” he agreed. “While it’s nice to work for someone who can actually foot the bill that comes with all this intelligence work for a change, I really wish that I had an ID that would allow me into a hotel that doesn’t have all the Pay Per View porn channels laminated.”

  “And that’s my cue to cut this conversation short,” she said and laughed. “Have a good rest, Jer. I hope you sleep well.”

  “Thanks, that makes two of us. If you need me, call me on one of the phones. I might answer but then again, I might not. That’s simply how mysterious I am.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I know, I’m tired.”

  “Is that the title of your sex tape?” she asked.

  “Now who’s gross?” Savage asked ruefully. “Anyway, I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

  “You do that.”

  He removed the bud and placed it carefully on the bedside table. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having something that he would put inside himself touching the surface. In all honesty, he had serious doubts about how well it had been cleaned but there was no real alternative. He was exhausted at this point. All he wanted was a shower, some food, and sleep. That was all that mattered right now and damned if he didn’t intend to get it.

  As he settled in, he realized that he hadn’t been kidding about working for someone with money now. The US government was known to pinch pennies anywhere that it could, and the fact that they always fought with weapons that were made by the lowest bidder hadn’t escaped his notice. There were almost always problems with the equipment they carried. It had reached the point where they had to assume that something would go wrong—something like Murphy’s Law, but with military equipment.

  Now that he worked for someone who could afford proper equipment, maybe he could convince them to spring for quality stuff that he didn’t have to buy second-hand from a two-bit arms dealer outside of the capital of North Carolina. Sure, he wouldn’t discuss it with them outright, but it was something he could possibly look forward to. Assuming, of course, that he survived this fight and was called upon to fight another.

  He pulled his clothes off, moved into the bathroom, and turned the light on. It was surprisingly pristine, he realized, which made him wonder exactly what had happened in the bathroom with the previous occupant that necessitated that it be cleaned to a much higher standard than the rest of the hotel.

  Then, he decided that he really didn’t want to know.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carlson didn’t like this town. Admittedly, this was where most of the larger weapons developers situated their labs since the testing laws in this state were significantly laxer than they were in the rest of the country. That, sadly, still didn’t alter the fact that there was far too much of a small-town vibe to the capital. Most of the restaurants—even the higher-end ones—all had something they called a “She-Crab” Bisque. Honestly, it seemed like the kind of thing he would try when he was drunk, hungry, and rocking some low standards. At any other time, he would prefer his crab to be served in a ceviche, paired with some white wine, and followed by a medium-rare steak.

  Regrettably, he had to play the politician around there, and honestly, when it came down to it, he didn’t mind. These people were impossibly easy to please. He simply made sure they realized that the man who used to run the company had come down there to ensure that everyone who had been in the company for a while received raises and had their grievances heard. This detail guaranteed that they would agree to help him rather than the faceless woman and military man who had forced their way in.

  He would never be caught dead trashing his new bosses, but he didn’t need to. It really was a simple matter of hinting at their ineptitude before the rain of IRS inquiries and congressional hearings began to make the company’s stock plummet. They would clamor for someone to save them from their woes, and now that he had a couple of scapegoats to feed to anyone who came looking for guilt, he could walk away from all of this like it was a bad dream.

  That said, he wasn’t only there for the politics of it. While he did need these people on his side when push came to shove, he also needed to oversee the way his people covered his tracks. They needed to be reminded that it was their tracks that they covered, too. He needed to remind them that all the money they’d made over the past decade or so of prosperity had a paper trail that would point a finger at them as much as it would at him. All the research had to be pushed to new locations that he had control over, not Dr. Monroe. Most important, that locale needed to be far, far away from the people who tried to break him.

  Carlson took another sip from his fifth scotch of the day and paused before he swallowed. It wasn’t even mid-afternoon yet. He needed to get a grip on his drinking if he wanted to trust his own judgment in all this. Shaking his head, he muttered, “I’m not an alcoholic.” He was fully aware that he’d had the same discussion countless times with a wide variety of people, ranging from ex-wives and friends to business partners. “I merely need to take the edge off.”

  He wasn’t wrong. At any other time, he only drank socially. He’d take a sip of champagne for a toast and order water for the rest of the evening. True, he had suffered from drinking problems in the past, but a couple of months of therapy had helped him kick the worst parts of the habit. These only resurfaced in times of great stress like the past few months had been.

  Crap, had it only been months? It felt like years.

  “On to your next appointment, sir?”

  The executive looked up from the almost obsessive twirling of his glass and saw his driver looking at him. He recognized the man’s face. It was one of hi
s men, a hardened combat veteran a few years out of the service and who now made more money than he ever had while wearing a uniform.

  Well, he still wore a uniform, if you could call a mid-range suit, sunglasses, and a sub-machine gun a uniform. Carlson could. He liked to think that there was something a good deal more terrifying about a faceless horde of men in suits than a man in military dress. Men in the military weren’t supposed to instill fear in the people they encountered. Not the kind of fear that came with a suit, at least. The shock of civility mixed with the barbarity of violence was so much more powerful, he mused.

  “Call in the teams,” he said and rubbed his temple as he took a sip from his glass. “We’ll head out to the compound. No more delays. We need this shit done now.”

  He had been in this town for the past three days, and all the assurances that the compound would be evacuated before the weekend had been dashed after a call he’d received from one of the managers of the location. He’d told him that there was still a lot that had to be done, and they wouldn’t be finished with it by closing time on Friday. And considering that most of the people who worked on site kept regular hours, that meant that anything that wasn’t done would have to be finished on Monday.

  And that was simply un-fucking-acceptable. He needed everything around there to be wrapped up in a pretty little bow before he returned to Philly and Dr. Monroe’s conditions for his surrender. Anything that hadn’t been resolved before then would be a vulnerability. He was not a man who dealt in vulnerabilities—unless, of course, they belonged to his opponents. In which case, he thought with a hard smile, they were useful.

  With this in mind, he headed out to the damned location and hoped that his presence would help to streamline the process. As a last resort, he could probably authorize overtime to make sure that the people stayed for as long as it took. That was what he would have to do if it came down to it, but he would rather keep all trace of what was happening there off the books. There would be a huge influx of cash for the IRS to track down, of course, but that was intentional and could be traced back to Monroe, not him. An overtime authorization would point a finger directly at his chest.