Savage Kings MC Box Set 1

by Lane Hart

“No,” I answer, trying to keep my jaw from hitting the ground with the barrage of information coming at me.

  “Good luck with the case,” Donna says. “You’re gonna need it. Those guys will burn the city down looking for his son, so you should probably watch your back. Once the MC finds out your name is on the file and see your face, you could be in danger.”

  “Great. Thanks,” I deadpan before I give up on my coffee and head back to my desk to do some research on my own.

  I spend an hour reading articles about the violence in the area that happened just a few months ago, everything confirming what Donna had told me.

  It wasn’t gossip that the MC was dangerous, but the truth. Which means the judge could very well refuse to give War custody of his son. If that happens, who knows what he and the motorcycle gang would do to me, now that I’ve found myself right in the middle of the crossfire.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  First of all, I need to put aside any feelings I may have started to have for War over the weekend. Yes, he helped me out in ways I’ll forever be grateful for. And yes, I can still feel his lips and hands on my body, touching me like no one else ever has. But now I have a job to do, and that job is to make sure a child is protected from any possible danger or neglect.

  On the stack of work piling up on my desk, I find the file number with War’s son’s name, that he shares with his father, and dig into it on my computer.

  What’s even more surprising than the mother having a history of drug addiction in the past and War leaving his son with her anyway, are the recent notes added last night by the sheriff’s office.

  War was arrested for assault on not one law enforcement officer, but three!

  Holy shit.

  It’s hard to believe that this could be the same man I spent the weekend naked with, but then I click on the law enforcement link, and there’s War’s angry face staring right back at me.

  Donna was right. These guys are incredibly dangerous. War must have just been really good at hiding that side of himself from me.

  Is that really that hard to believe, now that I know he also hid the fact he has a son from me?

  Sure, we were just fooling around together, but that seems like an important piece of information that would have come up when we were talking about him being divorced.

  I keep digging on the computer and find the marriage certificate of Warren to Warren Jr.’s mother Marcie Pruitt, quickly followed by a divorce just a year later.

  The first thing I need to do after I find a temporary home placement for the child is go and visit Marcie in the hospital to get her statement before the hearing on Wednesday. That gives me two days to decide what recommendation I’ll make to the court for Warren O’Neil, Jr.

  I already can’t help but wonder if the boy may be better off away from his drug addicted mother and violent father. He’s only four, which is one of the best ages to get honest answers from kids who haven’t learned to lie to cover for their parents. Then, and only then, will I know the truth about the kind of man War is.

  Honestly, I’m a little scared to even start digging. Because once I start, who knows how much dirt I’ll find on War, ruining the image of the perfect man I met just a few days ago.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nova

  I’m not sure why I’m so nervous as I walk down the hospital hallway toward the pediatric unit. While this isn’t my first case, I haven’t handled many on my own over the last three months. Most were dealing with violent angry teenagers bigger than me, so talking to a four-year-old should be easy, right?

  Not when that four-year-old is the son of a powerful man who I spent a great deal of time being intimate with this past weekend.

  My knuckles rap softly on the open door before I stick my head inside and find a brown-haired boy sitting Indian style in the middle of a hospital bed…reading a book. He looks too tiny to be able to read.

  “Hi, how are you doing?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the woman in green scrubs sitting at the nurse’s station.

  “I wanna go home,” the boy looks up at me and says with golden eyes and a serious expression on his face that reminds me of his father.

  “Can you give us a few minutes?” I ask the nurse.

  “Sure,” she agrees with a smile.

  “I’ll find you on the way out to go over this chart,” I tell her as she walks away.

  “Warren, my name is Nova McQueen and I work for the state. My job is to make sure kids like you are taken care of the way you deserve,” I explain to him as I take a seat in the chair beside the bed. “Right now, I’m working on finding a place for you to go so that you can get out of here.”

  “Everyone calls me Ren. And why can’t I go home?” he asks. “Is it because my mom got sick? My dad’s not sick and I live with him, not her!”

  “I understand that,” I tell him. “And I’m sorry that you’re here and that your mommy got sick. My job is to make sure that you are taken care of the next few days.”

  “Why is it your job and not my dad’s?” he asks.

  “You’ve very smart for your age,” I tell him truthfully, while pulling out my notepad. “Can I ask you a few questions now?”

  “Okay,” he agrees with an exasperated sigh.

  “Some of these questions may seem strange or even silly, but I have to ask them all, and I need you to be honest with me, all right? Do you know what being honest means?”

  “Yes, telling the truth.”

  “That’s exactly right,” I agree. “So, the first question I have to ask you is this, has your mommy or daddy ever hurt you by putting their hands on you?”

  “No,” he answers without hesitation.

  “Do either of them ever yell at you?” I ask.

  He shakes his head no but then says, “Only if I don’t clean my room after my dad tells me to a bunch of times, or if I ride my bike in the street. He gets really mad then.”

  “Understood,” I say with a smile while taking notes on my pad. “Do you ever feel scared when you’re with your mom or dad?”

  “No, well, except when I couldn’t wake my mom up yesterday. That was scary.”

  “I’m sure it was,” I tell him. “And I’ve heard that you were very brave and called an ambulance to come and help her.”

  “Yep,” he says. “Is she gonna be okay?”

  “I believe so,” I tell him. “I’ll be going to see her a little later today, and then I can let you know when we see each other tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” he agrees. “What about my dad? Will you see him too?”

  “Maybe.”

  “When can I see him?” he asks, tears filling his golden eyes.

  “Soon, I hope,” I say, even though I don’t know what the judge will decide on Wednesday. Worst case scenario, they’ll keep Ren in the state’s custody for thirty days to conduct an investigation, but at least allow War to have visits with him. “Now,” I start. “I have a few more questions for you, okay?”

  Ren nods but doesn’t respond verbally, probably because his chin is still quivering.

  “Do you ever get hungry but there’s not any food in your house?”

  “No,” he answers aloud now. “There’s always a ton of food.”

  “Good,” I say with a grin, wishing that answer was true for me too. “And you sleep in a house in a bed every night?”

  “Yep. Where else would I sleep?” he asks.

  “Right,” I agree, since sleeping outside on the street is not something he’s even aware people have to do when they don’t have a roof over their head. “When you get sick, do you go to the doctor?”

  “I hate getting shots,” he replies, which I take as an affirmative response.

  “Me too,” I reply. “And do you go to daycare?”

  “Yep,” Ren says proudly, then juts out his chest to add, “In a few weeks, I’ll be going to kindergarten.”

  “That’s great. I bet you’re gonna do really well,” I tell him honestly. �
��Now, let’s go back to talking about your daycare. Is there anyone there who hurts you?”

  “Nope. Becky and Laura are really nice.”

  “Good,” I say. “Then, I think that’s all of my questions, except for one. Has either of your parents or anyone else ever touched the parts of your body that are in your underwear?”

  Ren’s forehead crinkles in confusion, like most kids his age at the question that likely sounds incredibly bizarre if they’ve never been sexually assaulted. It sucks, but it’s one I have to ask them all.

  “Only during a bath,” he answers.

  “Okay,” I say. “Thank you for taking time to think about and answer my questions truthfully.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replies, and then his small shoulders seem to relax a little.

  And I feel awful. Awful that he’s here and I can imagine War is going crazy with worry.

  But I have a job to do. And until I have all the facts, I can’t let a few nights with him cloud my judgment and the safety of an innocent boy.

  The reason I got into social work is because some people take for granted the enormous gift they’ve been given. They have children they don’t want or care for, never understanding just how lucky they are. They have something wonderful. Something I’ll never get to experience for myself. So, I made a career out of helping the kids who may not have anyone to look out for their best interests.

  Chapter Fourteen

  War

  “As soon as you get my retainer paid, I’ll make a general appearance in the case, so that I can represent you at the hearing Wednesday,” family attorney Greg Bishop tells me.

  “Fine, I’ll go to the bank and get a cashier’s check today, but when will you find out where they’re keeping Ren?” I ask.

  “Oh, they’re not going to tell me that,” he says. “And you can’t go around trying to bully that information out of anyone either, do you understand? We need to present you as a cool, levelheaded father. Not a raging asshole on a motorcycle.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I agree sheepishly before I shake his hand and leave.

  Torin and I tried the bulldozing way this morning, and no one would tell us shit at the Social Services office or the sheriff’s department. Not even Jade could come up with a location or a phone number.

  So, after I go to the bank, I drop off the attorney’s check by his office and decide to take a ride to Wilmington on my bike. There doesn’t seem to be anything more for me to do in town, other than to lose my shit and get arrested again, so I decide it’s finally time I tell Audrey what’s going on.

  Thankfully, it’s the summer so she’s not taking any classes. There’s no way I would stress her out with this shit if she was in the middle of a semester. My little sister only has one more year to go before she’ll be the first person in our family to graduate with a college degree. Our parents would be really fucking proud of her. I know I am.

  I park my bike in the back of Audrey’s apartment building and then take off my cut where I keep my gun, remove my big KA-BAR knife, and then my wallet chain to lock them all up in the saddlebag before I start walking around to the front entrance. It’s a damn nice place. I know because I helped her pick it out, and I’m the one who pays for it.

  A girl is coming out of the usually locked apartment door, head down, typing on the phone in her hands when I reach out and grab it to keep it from closing. She looks up at me suspiciously, like she’s trying to decide whether or not she should call the cops.

  “My sister Audrey lives here,” I tell her. “Audrey O’Neil in apartment two-twenty-eight B,” I add.

  The girl gives a slight nod of her head like she’s going to give me a pass, so I slip inside and climb the stairs to the second floor. When I’m in front of her apartment door, I raise my knuckles and knock.

  I’m less than thrilled when she pulls the door open. The look of surprise on her face at seeing me makes me think she didn’t even bother to check the peephole first.

  “Warren? What are you doing here?” Audrey asks, her dark eyebrows still raised. And god, she looks more and more like our mother every day, with her long chestnut-colored hair and deep brown eyes. I got my dad’s size and looks, and she got our mother’s petite features. It makes me wonder if she sees Dad in me like I see Mom in her.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say. “And I wanted to clear my head, so I figured I could come see how you’re doing and tell you in person.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “No,” I answer, with a shake of my head.

  “What happened? You’re really starting to freak me out, Warren.”

  “Sorry,” I reply. “And I wouldn’t put this on you if you were in the middle of classes…”

  “Just tell me!” she exclaims.

  I shoulder my way past her, into the apartment that I’m glad to see is clean and tidy without any boys lurking around. Bracing my hands on the back of her blue sofa, I start explaining the situation to her. “I let Ren stay with Marcie over the weekend and, um, well, she overdosed and the, ah, the state took him.”

  “Took him?” Audrey shouts. “What do you mean, the state took him?”

  “He’s in the custody of Social Services and I can’t see him. Hell, I can’t even fucking find him! And now there’s nothing I can do until Wednesday, when there’s a court hearing.”

  “Jesus, Warren.” She pulls at my arm so that I’ll face her, and she wraps her arms around my neck. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. When she pulls away, she asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not.” I turn away from her to wipe the wetness from underneath my eyes. “I’ll see if my attorney needs, like, character witnesses or whatever.”

  “Yeah, let me know and I’m there,” Audrey says. “And poor Ren. I bet he’s freaking out. Marcie is such a stupid cunt!”

  “She really is,” I agree. “And she better be glad they’re taking her dumb ass to prison after they let her out of the hospital.”

  “What hospital? I’ll go kick her ass right now,” my sister threatens.

  “No, you’re not,” I tell her. “I’m trying to keep my head too. The attorney doesn’t want me to do anything that will make me look bad.”

  “Is he crazy? You’re the most uptight, conservative man I know,” Audrey says, since she has no idea I’m not only in a motorcycle club but I’m the Sergeant-at-Arms to the president. Of course, she’s seen the Harley that I keep covered in the garage but that’s it. For six years, I’ve been keeping that secret from her. She thinks I’m part owner in one of the automotive garages in town, which is where I earn enough money to pay the bills and her expensive tuition. I plan to keep it that way.

  “And you’re a damn good father,” she says. “The best. Do they know that you became my guardian when I was thirteen? I can testify that you did as good of a job raising me as our mom and dad did together!”

  “That’s not true,” I argue.

  “Yeah, it is. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had decided to let Social Services take me.”

  “That never would’ve happened,” I grumble. “Just like I’m not going to let them take Ren from me either.”

  “Good,” Audrey says with a sigh.

  “Sorry to worry you with all this. I didn’t want to keep it from you,” I tell her.

  Lord knows I’ve kept enough secrets from her over the years, but my sister loves Ren like he’s her son too. She deferred her acceptance to Westchester for a year to stay home and help me take care of him right after he was born. And since Marcie was a worthless mother, I couldn’t have done it without Audrey’s help, even though I hated that she postponed her life for me.

  …

  Nova

  After talking to Ren’s nurse to make sure he’s physically healthy, I take the elevator up to the third floor of the hospital and prepare myself to meet the idiot woman who took a bunch of pills when she should have been watching her son. Also, Marcie O’Neil is War’s ex-wif
e, but she didn’t drop his last name. I can’t help my automatic dislike of her for those two reasons alone, before I ever speak a word to her.

  Pushing aside that information, I try to remind myself I’m a professional doing an important job and it needs to be done right, without any prejudices against a woman who hasn’t had a chance to tell her side of the story.

  I see the tall, lean uniformed officer standing at the door, and walk up to him. “Hey, I’m Nova McQueen from Social Services. Is it okay if I go in and speak to her?”

  “Sure,” he agrees with a nod. “She’s cuffed to the bed and non-violent.”

  “Thanks.”

  I knock on her partially-open door the same way I did with Ren’s. “Hi, Mrs. O’Neil? Is it okay if I come in?” I ask when I peek inside at the dark-haired woman lying in bed with wires and tubes connected to her in various places.

  “Yeah,” she answers so I make my way in and close the door behind me.

  “Hi, my name is Nova. I’m with Child Protective Services and I’m here to ask you a few questions,” I tell her as I make my way to the chair beside her bed.

  “Oh,” she mutters.

  “If you want, we could wait and do this when you have an attorney present,” I inform her.

  “No, go ahead. Let’s get this over with,” she says with a sigh.

  “Okay,” I agree and then take a seat.

  “Can you start by telling me what happened yesterday morning? Have the doctor’s diagnosed you?”

  “Yeah, with a drug overdose, but I’m guessing that you already know that,” she replies with a roll of her eyes.

  “What did you take and why?”

  “I only took a few OxyContin,” she says.

  “How many is a few?”

  “I don’t know, three or four pills,” she replies. “But then, well, I think I was sleepwalking when I got up and took a few more.”

  “Sleepwalking?” I repeat, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice.