Savages Series Boxed Set

by Jessica Gadziala

  I just... I fuckin' wanted her back.

  If I lived through the week, I wanted her there with me, getting the fuck out of this shit town once and for all and building a new life. I wanted her there. In my bed. Across from me eating dinner, trying to bite her tongue about how much more comfortable it would be to eat in bed. Laughing with me and Shoot over some stupid comedy.

  If I lived, she had somehow become part of my future plans.

  And I didn't even know where the fuck she was.

  Damn it.

  And I only had a day and a half to figure out where she was and come up with a plan that didn't ensure bloodshed and death. Well, at least not ours.

  I got up from the couch and made my way out to my truck.

  A day and a half.

  Either way, I was walking into Lex's house in less than thirty-six hours.

  Come what may.

  EIGHTEEN

  Alex

  Okay. It was cold. Like cold cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like you'll never get warm again. It was also dark. And the woods were creepy as hell. And with just a map with a line drawn for where the woods would break to a side road, I was not feeling super confident that leaving was the right choice after all.

  Well, no. That's not true. It was the right choice. For Breaker and Shooter. My leaving didn't make things simple. Breaker was going to have to come up with some excuse for where I was. Or find a way into Lex's to get Shooter back before Lex called him. But that was something I had confidence they could handle. They were professionals. They got themselves into and out of situations all the time. They would be fine.

  Or, at least, that was what I had to keep telling myself or I wouldn't have the will to keep pressing on. As it was, each step sent a stab into the vicinity of my chest.

  Which was something I was trying to ignore.

  I was just starting to lose faith in Jstorm (whilst cursing myself for being such a fool) when the line of trees finally broke and there was, at last, a paved side road. No houses that I could see. Or businesses for that matter. Just a road. My instructions ended after finding the road. So I figured that meant I was on my own.

  Which was fine.

  I had been on my own all my life.

  I was used to it.

  Until Breaker.

  Goddamn it.

  I pushed that thought away. It wouldn't help. It wasn't going to help me press on, thinking about how nice it was to not have the weight of every decision weighing on me. To know I could share it- hash it out- make a mutual decision.

  Just a short stay with Breaker and my life had changed so much. Hell, I didn't even have to wonder about what I was going to eat because Breaker cooked. He let me try once and I succeeded in somehow turning a box of angel hair pasta into one giant, doughy glob of disgustingness that even I couldn't palate and I had been surviving on sodium-laden ramen and old Chinese for longer than I cared to admit.

  Breaker had just laughed, tossed the pasta, and made a fresh batch that came out annoyingly perfect.

  I knew I had only gotten a small view of his life. A life when he was home which, he admitted, wasn't often. He was off on jobs all the time. In town. Out of town. All around the country. I only got to see vacation Breaker. I didn't see him coming in covered in blood. I didn't see him coming in covered in gashes and bruises. Things I knew happened frequently because his body had more scars than I could count. I didn't know what it was like to worry about him not making it back.

  I got only a small view of his lifestyle.

  But I feel like I got a full view of him. As a person.

  And I liked what I saw.

  Too much.

  I've never known much about relationships between people. I had never been given the opportunity to get close with another person. And maybe that could be blamed for the irrational, overwhelming connection I felt to him.

  I knew nothing about love. But it took six kisses to get from his mouth to his ear. Nine, ear to collarbone. Sixteen, collarbone to hipbone. And sometimes, when he was tired, he was ticklish right there in that hollow. No, I knew nothing about love. But I swear all I wanted to do for the rest of my life was lie on his chest, stealing his warmth, feeling him trace shapes into my hip. I wanted to slip my fingers in between his. There were seventeen scars on his hands. I wanted to know the story of every last one.

  If that wasn't love... well, then I didn't know what was.

  It didn't matter that it was too soon.

  It didn't matter that it flashed brilliant and then I had to extinguish it before I even got a chance to bask in the heat. It didn't matter that I would never feel his hands on my skin anymore, hear my name shiver off his tongue. It didn't matter that I would walk around missing him and what we had forever.

  All that mattered was that he got to go on breathing. Go on receiving kisses. Giving warmth. Making perfect pasta. Even if it was for other women. Maybe especially if it was for other women. Women like me. Women who never knew a touch that sent currents through their body. Women who didn't know how nice it was to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Women whose lives would be forever changed just by knowing him briefly.

  That was why I was doing what I was doing.

  Because the world needed men like Breaker.

  I wasn't going to let the world lose him.

  I would throw myself in front of Lex first.

  I sighed, standing up, and moving down the side road. I had no idea where I was. Where the road led. If I would be happened upon. If there would be anywhere for me to stop and warm up.

  It was getting late. It was impossible to tell how late, given the season and the fact that it was dark by five. But I felt like I had been walking for hours. I probably had if the aching in my legs was any proof. But I wasn't familiar with the area where Breaker lived. So I had no idea where the road I was following might lead. Back into town? Which wouldn't be a good thing. I needed to get as far away from town as possible. First, because of Lex and his goons. Second, because if I knew Breaker (and I was pretty sure I did), he would be looking for me too.

  I reached into the bag that Jstorm left me, fumbling for the burner, powering it up, and checking the time.

  Seven thirty.

  I sighed, forcing my legs to keep moving despite the intolerable soreness.

  And just when I was thinking it would be better to slip back into the woods unseen and lie down for a while, I saw the neon green motel sign.

  With a groan of relief, I pushed my legs to close the distance, throwing open the door to the office and praying there was availability.

  "Hey there darlin'," a man's voice greeted me from behind the desk.

  I walked over, resting my arms on the desk and looking over to see someone sitting in an old recliner, feet up, watching a game on TV. He was middle aged with thinning dark hair and a beer belly, his round face a little oily. Exactly the kind of man who looked like he ran a rundown motel in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

  "Hey. Are there any rooms?" I asked, reaching into the bag Jstorm left me and dragging out the cash and fake Ids.

  "Sure are," he informed me, lifting his body out of the chair and coming toward the desk. "Just you stayin'?" he asked, his eyes raking down my body in a way that made my mouth taste sour.

  "No. My boyfriend just went to grab some takeout."

  At this, he nodded, turning away as if disinterested. And I got the sneaking suspicion that if I hadn't just lied my ass off, there was a chance that he would have shown up at my door later. With a key. And a hand full of roofies.

  Gross.

  "Well you two can stay in room seven. It's all the way on the end," he said, handing me a key. As in... a key. Not a credit card key. An actual metal one. Weird. "You putting this on a card or..."

  "Cash," I said immediately.

  "Seventy for the night or fifteen for the hour."

  Double gross.

  I didn't even know pay-by-the-hour places actually existed.
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br />   "Seventy it is," I said, thumbing through the money and handing him eighty.

  "If you need anything at all, darlin', anything at all... you just come here and talk to Bob, okay?"

  It took everything I had not to grimace. "Thanks," I said, taking the ten he was holding out, making sure our fingers didn't so much as touch, shoving the money in my bag, and making my way quickly back out of the office.

  Creeps were creeps were creeps.

  But Bob who ran a pay-by-the-hour motel and used physical keys (meaning there were very likely duplicates), and referred to himself in the third person? Yeah, that was like... super creepy.

  I made my way toward the room at the end, stopping at the vending machine to grab snacks and a drink, then grabbing a bunch of discarded beer bottles off the curb, before sinking my key into the lock and going into my room.

  So motels were gross. Didn't matter where they were across the country, they were nasty. Dated wallpaper. Dirty carpets. Old box TVs. A bedspread and sheets that probably hadn't been washed in weeks.

  Skanky, skeezy places.

  But it was my only option. So I tried to look past the peeling of the dingy brown wallpaper. I kept my eyes off the stained carpets. And I went nowhere near the bed. I dropped all my things on the top of the folding table that had seen better days but looked relatively clean then made my way to the bathroom to check the sink for roaches. Thankfully, none. Then went to the bed, lifting the mattress, and searching for bed bugs. Again, none. But I wasn't taking any chances anyway.

  I nabbed the empty bottles off the table, moving to the door, securing the locks and chains, then balancing one bottle on the knob and laying the rest on the floor in front of the door. There was carpet so the bottle on the knob wouldn't break if it fell , but if it fell and landed on the other bottles, I'd hear it. Even if Creepy Bob had a key, there was no way he was getting in without me knowing it.

  I washed my hands and went to work on eating though I had no appetite. I hooked up my laptop and linked into the unsecure network the motel offered, checking around online.

  Nothing from Jstorm.

  Nothing from the posts about Glenn's death.

  Just... nothing.

  I sighed, plugging in the name of the motel and seeing where I was. What was around. How I could get from where I was to where I was going. Which, well, I had no idea of yet.

  Apparently a city bus had a stop right out front and would take me through the town and could drop me off at the train station where I could buy a ticket to any number of places.

  Jstorm had the plans all laid out.

  I just had to go through the motions.

  I sighed, powering down the laptop and dragging the second folding chair closer so I could prop up my legs. I had never been one of those 'can sleep anywhere' kind of people. I needed a bed and a blanket and a pillow. I needed to be able to stretch out. But with the looming threat of Lex, of Creepy Bob, and the very possible incurable disease I could catch from getting within three feet of that bed, well, I was just going to have to learn how to sleep sitting up.

  The door to the room next to mine opened and slammed. I heard laughter, a deep male voice, a high female one. Then the bed squeaked loud once. Then, not two minutes later, started squeaking fast and frantic.

  Apparently room six had a pay-by-the-hour guest.

  Lovely.

  I switched on my TV, letting the religion station blare on and on about sin and other shit that didn't mean shit in a sleep-and-fuck motel. Or in the kind of life I lived in in general.

  The couple in the next room made mewling and groaning noises. The bed stopped squeaking. There was shuffling. And then the door was closing. Apparently all they needed was twenty minutes.

  Sleep was elusive despite my aching body.

  I figured this was due, in large part, to the aching somewhere else.

  The kind of aching that felt like it was never going to stop hurting.

  The kind that only got worse from ignoring it.

  So I let down the wall and I let the thoughts come.

  I thought about him.

  And then I cried, promising myself it was the first and the last time. Not because I thought I would miraculously stop hurting. But because I was going to purge it all right then and there, then lock whatever was left in a chest somewhere deep inside with a note on it to be opened never.

  I would never forget. Not really.

  But I could disappear.

  Start a new life.

  Leave this all behind.

  Move on.

  I hoped.

  NINETEEN

  Breaker

  I didn't sleep. Which was stupid as fuck. I needed to be sharp. Have my wits about me. Especially since I hadn't been able to find Alex. Not a trace. She was smoke. And also because I hadn't found a way into Lex's place before he got back to try to get Shoot out.

  Rock. Hard place.

  Because I still had to go in.

  I had to show my face.

  Feed him some lie about Alex not being with me.

  Hell, tell him I couldn't un-break her. That I had to get rid of her like he had suggested. He'd be pissed, but I would likely still get to keep my life. Maybe even get Shoot's too if Lex was in a good enough mood. I guess it all depended on how his meeting went.

  Lex's place, like mine, was situated on a hill. Unlike mine, his had a walled-in perimeter and a manned security gate, two of his goons sitting in the booth bullshitting when I pulled up.

  "Truck stays out here," they told me and, given I didn't have a choice, I nabbed my keys and hopped out. And then, as expected, I was frisked and relieved of the two guns I had on me. Stupid fucks didn't check my boots. There was a knife in each. Not that they would do me too much good against his little army with an impressive assortment of guns, but it was something.

  The gates slid open and I walked up the curving drive toward the house.

  And by 'house', I meant 'mansion' because Lex lived big. Twelve-thousand square feet big. Three car garage. Endless windows (bullet resistant all). A grounds that included a tennis court, pool, and stable. Lex didn't play tennis, he never learned how to swim, and I suspected he wouldn't know a horse from a German Shepherd.

  If you looked close, you would see the security cameras. And then you would notice the shadows lurking that could have been trees, but were actually men. And they were men with guns strapped to their backs.

  Yeah. There was a good chance I wasn't walking out of there no matter what kind of mood Lex was in.

  But, for the first time, I couldn't bring myself to really give a fuck. I just wanted to get the meeting over with.

  As I rounded on the front door, one of the men moved into view, jerking his chin at me before opening the door and letting me inside.

  It was as lavish and over the top as one could expect of a twelve-thousand foot estate. Dark wood. Deep tones. Expensive, very professionally placed furniture. Straight ahead was a horseshoe staircase with white (yes... white) carpeting. There was a hallway beneath it that seemed to lead toward the kitchen/dining area. To the left of the front door was a sitting room with a giant fireplace and bookshelves full of heavy tomes I was sure Lex had never even looked inside. To the right was yet another sitting room but that one had a grand piano and obnoxious, pretentious art on the walls and statues stationed around.

  I wondered if he realized how his house looked to an outsider. How painfully obvious it was that he was trying to erase all the traces of the homeless street kid he had been back in the day. A kid who never learned how to play piano or pronounce the names of classical musicians. A kid who had never even heard of Proust or Machiavelli.

  Granted, I didn't know shit about them either. But I wasn't trying to fuckin' act like I did.

  "He wants you to see him downstairs," the nameless guard said, nodding his head toward the hallway and I moved toward it, him a few feet to my back.

  Downstairs.

  As in the basement.

  Gre
at.

  "Through here," he said, leading me into the kitchen and opening a door that had wooden stairs leading downward. "You go alone."

  Double great.

  "Right," I said, nodding, and moving toward the stairs. No use putting off the inevitable.

  I had been half expecting cinder blocks and barred windows. Maybe I should have known better. Estates like his had finished basements as a rule. His was no exception. I hit the landing and was in a sprawling space. Sand-colored tile floors, a deep reddish orange paint to the walls, a bar stationed far to one end beside a door.

  That door was the only ominous thing in the room.

  The rest of it looked like a place a man went to to relax, get away from his nagging wife, jerk off to embarrassing porn.

  "Breaker," Lex's voice called and I saw him closing the door beside the bar and coming toward me.

  "Lex," I said, nodding.

  "Where's Alex?"

  Right to it then.

  "Not here," I said, shrugging.

  "I can see that," he said, his voice getting icy. "Care to explain yourself?"

  "Not particularly."

  "I'm not a man you want to play games with, Bryan."

  "Not playin' games, Lex. She ain't here. I don't feel like talkin' 'bout it. Not a game. Just how shit is."

  "It's amazing to me that you're still breathing," he said oddly, his head tilting to the side as if it was something that truly confused him.

  "Why's that, Lex?"

  "Because you either lack the respect or the brains to realize who you should watch your tongue around."

  "That's me, a stupid, reckless, pain in the ass."

  "Used to be people put up with it because you got the job done and didn't ask questions or screw around. It seems that is something that has changed about your reputation."

  "Look," I said, holding back a sigh. "Save me the lecture. Save your money. Just give me Shoot and we can both go our separate ways."

  "You see," he started in a tone I immediately didn't trust, "that would normally be how we would handle this. You are an asset to have around even if you did screw up this job. But, unfortunately, things have... transpired since we last spoke."