Savages Series Boxed Set

by Jessica Gadziala

  "It just seems like," Shooter started, grabbing my attention, "maybe they were tipped off about the explosions."

  "What? Why?"

  "Because Janie is smart," Breaker said, grabbing my attention. I sat up fully, moving off his chest so I could look at him.

  "Explain," I demanded.

  "She had some kind of plan. Fuck if I know what it is because this shit she pulled? Not good. You don't fuck with four of the biggest players in town. That shit is suicidal. Especially fucking with the people who took you in and trained you," he said, meaning the people at Hailstorm, the survivalist camp she lived at and worked in. "She's stupid as fuck for doing any of this. But she's smart for making sure there were no casualties anywhere but at Lex's."

  "But why blow up the other places at all?"

  "To create chaos. Maybe give herself a chance to get away," Shooter said, drawing my attention. "Like Break said, Janie is smart. She has some sort of plan. I'm guessing the extra explosions were to throw everyone off. No one knows where to point the blame. Which gives her the chance to get away or clear her name. Who knows. We'll have to keep an eye from a distance."

  I nodded. "Breaker says we're going somewhere cold and snowy where I have to wear lots of layers," I informed him.

  "Like fuck we are," Shooter said, giving me a dazzling smile. "I have a week worth of skirt chasin' to catch up on. I ain't chasing around some fucking Eskimos. I want easy access. So we're doing warm and sunny and Breaker is just going to have to fucking live with it. Right, darlin'?"

  I smiled at him, then turned to Breaker who gave me a look that very much implied he wasn't too happy with the idea of the two of us teaming up on him. And also, knowing it was likely to happen a lot in the future.

  "Right," I agreed, squealing when Breaker reached for me, but he was smiling.

  EPILOGUE

  Breaker

  We didn't end up in a ski resort in Canada.

  No.

  We ended up on a beach in Mexico.

  And Alex bought the fuckin' skimpiest bikini she could find.

  To prove a point.

  Which we fought about.

  And I, apparently, lost.

  Because there she was, sitting her pretty little ass on a huge red and white striped beach blanket, in the red bikini that showed off almost half her ass and barely covered her tits.

  It wasn't that she didn't look good.

  She looked good.

  Way too fuckin' good.

  And other men noticed.

  And those other men noticing made me want to gouge their fuckin' eyes out for looking at what was mine.

  It was stupid that I still felt angry at seeing it. We had been south of the border for nearly six months. And she had worn the damn thing every single day for six months. Beneath the red barely-there swatches of fabric, I knew her skin was the pale, flawless white it had been before. Outside of the material though, she had surprised me by tanning to a shade of flawless copper that gave her, with her dark hair and dark eyes, an almost exotic look.

  I couldn't decide which look I liked more.

  But I was pretty fuckin' happy with either.

  "Six months, man," Shoot said, coming up to my side, holding out a bottle of cold beer to me.

  "What?" I asked, taking a swig.

  "Been with her six months. Day and night. Fightin' like an old fuckin' married couple about everything then fuckin' like newlyweds. Every day for six months," he went on.

  "The fuck you trying to say here?" I asked, looking away from Alex and at Shooter.

  "I'm saying you love her. She loves you. Can't fucking imagine why you haven't told her that yet."

  My eyes slanted back to Alex. Her hair whipped to the side in a breeze, her profile in full view, smiling off at something further down the beach.

  He wasn't wrong.

  I did love her.

  It took me longer than it would take a normal person to figure that out. Maybe because I didn't know much about the emotion. Because the only person who had showed me what it was died when I was barely old enough to remember.

  There was the love I felt for Shoot and him for me. But it wasn't the same.

  But he was right.

  I loved her.

  And I was pretty sure I had since the moment she asked me what kind of twisted porn I was into. And every single moment after that.

  Sometimes love didn't spring up on you in a moment of blinding clarity. Sometimes it crept up on you on a Tuesday night while you were standing at the sink doing dishes, the feeling settling into your soul in a way that made it too heavy to ignore anymore.

  That was how it was.

  I had been fuckin' washing dishes on a Tuesday night. And Alex was in the other room singing her smiling song. But she wasn't doing it in the soft, sweet, melodic way she usually did. She was doing it loud, out of key, and obnoxious. Because she was pissed at me and she thought it would be ironic to sing a song about smiling when what she really wanted to do was charge back into the kitchen and hit me over the head with a frying pan because I told her that she was not, under any circumstances, making contact with Janie/Jstorm again. I didn't give a fuck how much she kept trying to reach out.

  What can I say?

  Alex was still stubborn.

  I was still bossy.

  And we weren't ever gonna' fuckin' change.

  And I didn't want either of us to.

  Because the only thing better than Alex being soft and sweet was Alex being loud and angry, spitting fire at me, then letting me fuck her hard and fast until we burned through the urge to fight.

  We weren't traditional.

  We weren't the couple next door with two-point-five kids, a dog, and a meet-cute story they liked to drag out at dinner parties.

  We were dark and rough around the edges.

  We fucked as hard as we fought.

  We challenged and supported one another.

  We loved with a love that was half-possession and half never wanting to tame the wildness in the other.

  Shoot was right.

  I couldn't imagine why I hadn't told her yet either.

  –

  Alex

  I was getting really freaking sick of the beach.

  Sure, it was nice for a while. Getting a tan. Sipping margaritas. Catching up on some books I had been meaning to read.

  But it was getting boring.

  And on top of that, I fucking hated the red bikini I had bought to spite Breaker.

  Six months of slipping into it every day when I knew all it was going to do was ride up my ass and chafe my tits all damn day. But, well, it was the principle of the thing. He didn't like it. He told me not to wear it. I didn't like it either. But he sure as hell wasn't going to tell me what to wear. So I wore it. Despite the angry red burns it gave me under my boobs at night. Despite having to keep discreetly moving the waistband every few minutes so it would stop giving me a wedgie.

  Such was life with Breaker.

  Both of us standing our ground, too stubborn to give in. And both of us really, really liking that quality in the other one.

  Okay. Well.

  I actually loved that quality in Breaker.

  In fact, I loved pretty much everything about Breaker. Even the things (maybe even especially the things) that pissed me off. Like his possessiveness. His borderline psychotic jealousy. His bossiness.

  I loved the things, too, that made me go all melty inside.

  Like how he said my name when he was holding me at night. Deep and soft. And how he taught me how to shoot a gun. And grapple. Never once so much as hinting that I was somehow less than a worthy opponent because I was female. Like how he took me to concerts and movies. How he taught me to snorkel and ride a surf board. How he attempted to show me how to cook. How he always remembered to buy me the puffed cheese curls and not the crunchy ones. How he gave me soft and sweet when I needed it and hard and rough when I wanted it.

  How he brought me out of my shell and showed me a
hundred thousand things worth living for.

  The first night we made it to Mexico, I snuck out while Breaker was sleeping, grabbing the little baggie of heroin out of my boot and walking out onto the moonlit beach.

  I walked up to the water, the wind tossing my hair around, realizing that for the very first time in my entire life, I wasn't thinking about Lex. Or my mom. I wasn't obsessively focusing on all the things that had gone wrong, that had been taken for me.

  I was, in a way that was soul-deep in its intensity, happy.

  And it was new and wonderful and terrifying.

  But I knew that there was no going back. Not ever.

  So I opened that baggie Breaker had bought me back when I thought death meant nothing. Because my life meant nothing. And then I watched the contents fall into the water and drift away into the infinite beauty of the sea.

  I stood there for a long time, lost in my own little revelation until I felt Breaker walk up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.

  "Fuck you doin' out here?" he asked and I rested the side of my face on the side of his.

  I closed my eyes tight against the discomfort I still felt at sharing my feelings, then opened them, looking out at the water.

  "Realizing for the first time that I'm really happy to be alive," I said honestly.

  His arms squeezed me tight. "Oh, doll..." he said.

  Then he gave me soft and sweet. Right there on the moonlit beach.

  "Why don't you just admit you hate the fuckin' bathing suit as much as I do?" Breaker said, sitting on the edge of our (yes... our!) bed, watching me as I slathered aloe onto the painful chafe burns under my boobs.

  "Because you don't get to win that easily," I shrugged.

  "Easily? Doll, you've had burns on your tits for months. What the fuck is easy about that?"

  "They're my tits," I reminded him.

  "Yeah and I'd like to get my hands on them without you wincing for a change. Buy a new suit."

  "Maybe I'll give the nude beach a try," I said instead, giving him a wicked smile.

  "You do that, you better prepare to be dragged into police custody."

  "Why?" I asked, brows drawing together.

  "'Cause you do that, Al, I'm gonna be forced to fuck you silly right on that beach so everyone knows who you belong to. Which would probably get us both locked up for public ludeness."

  "Do they arrest you for public ludeness in Mexico?" I asked, still not knowing nearly enough about the place that had been our home for half a year.

  "Fuck if I know. Just sayin'. You on a nude beach means you suddenly find yourself very into exhibitionism."

  I laughed, slipping a soft white sundress over my head, still smiling at him as I walked over to the bed, putting my knees on either side of his hips until I moved to straddle him, his hands going around my back.

  "You know what, Bryan Breaker..." I started in a serious tone that he must have picked up on because he started shaking his head.

  "Nuh-uh, doll. I got something to say first."

  "What? Um. No. I started first. I get to finish first. Not my fault you were pussy footing around."

  "Shut up and let me speak, woman," he said, shaking his head.

  "No. You're not going to pull the bossy card. I started speaking first. I finish first. Case closed."

  So yeah.

  That was totally us.

  Arguing over who got to talk first.

  "Alex Miller," he said, pressing his hand over my mouth, effectively shutting me up, making my eyes lower at him. "You are the biggest Goddamn pain in my ass. And I swear you can pick a fight with me over the sun coming up in the morning, then another one about it going down at night. But there ain't no one else in the world I'd rather fight with."

  I felt the tears stinging my eyes because I hadn't expected that. Whatever I thought he had been preparing to say, that was not it.

  I didn't expect words like that from him.

  And I wasn't prepared for it.

  I blinked at the tears and he kept talking.

  "You're smart and stubborn and determined and I've never met someone who I wanted to give soft and sweet to before you. I didn't think I had that. You brought that out of me. You showed me things about myself I didn't know were there. You gave that to me when you gave yourself to me," he paused, his other hand moving up to swipe the flowing tears away. "I love you, doll."

  Holy hell.

  I mean...

  I knew it.

  I had known it for months.

  But I had never heard it.

  And the words landed like a punch. Knocking out all my air. Making my heart speed up into dangerous levels.

  A warmth spread through me, foreign, yet somehow comforting. Like it blanketed all my insides. Like it would never allow the cold in again.

  "Okay. Now you can go," Breaker said, giving me a small smile as he moved his hand away from my mouth.

  "Gee... thanks," I said, lowering my eyes at him, but my heart wasn't in the fight.

  "You gonna tell me you love me or keep trying to fight with me?" he asked, lips twitching. He knew me too well.

  "I'll fight with you later," I promised, cradling his face in my hands, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back and looking into his eyes. "Right now... I need to tell you, Mr. Macho Man Badass Bryan Breaker..." I started and his eyes warmed. "That night you stormed into my apartment, pointing your gun at me..." I reminded him and he shook his head at the memory, but he was smiling, "that was the first day of my life. There was nothing before that. Not really. That day was the day I started living. And I'm pretty sure it was also the day I started loving you." His eyes closed, staying that way as he took a deep breath before looking at me again. "I love you," I finished, throwing my arms around his neck.

  There was a slow clap coming from behind us and we both swiveled our necks to see Shooter standing in the doorway, eyes soft, huge smile on his face. "About fucking time," he said, nodding at us. "Didn't mean to interrupt. But I wanted to stop by and tell you guys that I am heading back."

  "Back?" Breaker said, stiffening in my arms.

  "Yeah. It's time. Things have calmed down. No one has heard from Lex. Evidence points to him being dead. His empire is gone. It's time."

  He was right.

  I looked down at Breaker and saw the same realization there.

  We had a nice vacation. Cocooning ourselves away. But it was time to go back. Not just for Shooter. For all of us.

  I nodded at him. "Good. Get things settled. We'll be following soon too," I supplied and Breaker squeezed me tight.

  "Just can't get enough of me, huh?" Shooter teased, winking at me.

  Shooter was Breaker's (for lack of a better term) brother.

  And he had become my best friend.

  There was no one else in the world easier to love.

  And I wanted to be around when, one day, another woman realized that.

  Besides, our lives weren't in Mexico. Our lives were back at Breaker's house on the hill. And Shooter's stupidly lavish apartment in town. In Paine's tattoo shop. In all the places we left pieces of ourselves.

  We were going back.

  And no matter what Breaker thought, I was totally going to get back in touch with Janie/Jstorm.

  Because she had a pretty freaking awesome story too.

  I looked down at Breaker, his eyes smiling at me, his arms strong around me.

  Not as good as mine (in my humble opinion. Seeing as it didn't involve Breaker) but it was a doozy. And it did involve a really badass biker.

  It was something I wanted to know all about.

  So yeah... it was something Breaker and I were totally going to argue over in the future.

  And, just like always, I would love every minute of it.

  KILLER

  ONE

  Shooter

  My dad was dead.

  'Least that was what my meema was on the other end of the phone telli
n' me. Now, I was browbeaten into respecting for elders growing up, but it was takin' everything in me not to tell my grandmother to get a grip on the blubbering as if my father was a sainted human being, like he was up in Heaven getting fitted for his shiny halo and downy wings. The man was the biggest piece of shit I had ever met in my life. And given that I spent my life dealing with criminals, that was really saying something.

  He was down in hell getting beat to shit if there was any kind of justice in the afterlife.

  "Don't ya'll worry about the money," I said, wincing as the drawl slipped back into my voice. Took me a fuckin' year to lose the damn thing and five minutes on the phone with her and it was slipping back. "I'll overnight more than enough to you for the arrangements."

  Then she said six words I never wanted to hear: You need to come home, Johnnie.

  It had been years since I heard that name.

  I hadn't adopted the name Shooter because I was good with a gun, though I was. I didn't even adopt it because I was a sniper for hire, though that was definitely the case.

  I did it because I never wanted to be that Al'bama redneck with the shitty dad in the trailer park anymore.

  I never wanted to be Johnnie Walker Allen ever fucking again.

  Johnnie Walker. Yes, like the god damn scotch whiskey.

  I did mention that my dad was an asshole, right? It wasn't bad enough that everyone knew growing up that my dad was a boozer; he had to go and name me after his favorite kind of poison.

  "I can't come back, ma'am," I said, squeezing the bridge of my nose, slumping forward in my chair. If I knew anything about my grandmother, it was that the woman was five feet of concrete and butting my head up against her never got me anything other than a headache.

  And then she launched into a thirty minute crying rant about how she was too old, her heart too broken, her blood pressure too high, and her arthritis too bad to do something as strenuous as sit inside the funeral home and look through a book of caskets and flowers.