“What’s normal?” Alena shrugged. “None of us know. We all just get by, I suppose. Here comes your man. You’ll do fine tonight, Seychelle. Just do whatever Savage tells you to do, and if anything goes wrong, stick with the band until he gets to you.”
Seychelle nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. She’d been happy, feeling like she had it all, maybe a little nervous to come to the exalted clubhouse, but still, Savage made her feel like she was extraordinary. She felt as long as they were together, they could face anything. With the dire warnings the two women had passed on to her, she suddenly felt as if she shouldn’t go on the run with Savage after all—and she’d been looking forward to it. And now, after wanting to sing with the club’s band again, she wanted to go back home and be safe in her cottage.
Savage wrapped his arm around her, pulling her under his shoulder and up tight against his side, his all-too-seeing gaze sweeping over her face. “What’s wrong, babe?” He glanced at Alena and Lana as they walked away, heading toward the back rooms. “They say something to upset you?”
His tone was low, even, but there was a small underlying note that warned Seychelle Alena and Lana were right: Savage wasn’t going to tolerate anyone—not even his brothers and sisters in the club—making his woman uncomfortable. She tried a tentative smile but kept her eyes veiled with her lashes, knowing the man could read her like a book.
“I don’t exactly know what’s going on tonight, and the atmosphere is pretty tense. This is definitely a club thing. None of the women are here other than Alena and Lana. Are they going to be in the bar?”
“Some will be. I didn’t want to bring you, babe.” Savage walked her to the door and caught up the jacket hanging there to hand to her. “We need your voice tonight. This is important, Seychelle. I can’t stress it enough. When you first go in and look around, I want you to signal to me if there is anyone in the bar who is extremely ill or has something that is going to distract you in any way. If so, I need to know. We’ll take care of it. The club will politely get them to leave. After that, I need you to focus on the Diamondbacks. Just on them, especially the ones who will be in the back room with Czar and a few Torpedo Ink members. You can do that, right? You can feel everyone in the building, even at that distance?”
Savage held out the jacket, so she turned and put her arms into it. He always had her turn her back to him so he could slide his arms around her and zip it up. He nuzzled her neck, first with his chin, and then he trailed kisses from her neck to her ear. He tugged on her earlobe with his teeth until she had goose bumps.
There was no doubt in her mind he was as worried as Alena and Lana had been. “Did it occur to you that you should have discussed this with me before you brought me into the situation, Savage?” She turned around and tilted her chin at him, her gaze meeting his directly.
Savage didn’t look away from her. She knew he wouldn’t. His piercing blue eyes were back to glacier cold—that dense blue that was icy and could chill to the bone. She refused to back down.
“Yeah, baby, I thought about it for a long time, but I thought it would just make you more nervous. And I don’t know what this meet with the Diamondbacks is about. Not even Czar knows. We don’t have any idea what to expect. They called a meet recently in the middle of the night, so no witnesses. That didn’t go well. This time they wanted it in the full bar, with civilians, and on a night when the band was playing.” Savage stroked caresses in her hair. “We gotta get there, Seychelle.”
“Maybe we do, honey, but I need to know what you’re going to be doing while I’m singing, and where you are, so I’m not terrified something’s going to happen to you.” She refused to budge in spite of the hand he put on her back, urging her to move out the door.
His eyes went flat. They were already cold. “Baby, you worry about the other guy, not me. Now get your ass on my bike—we’ve got to go now. I want to know you can feel us in the back room. We have to set up.”
Seychelle went with him, her stomach churning. Their “honeymoon” period was coming to an abrupt end. She didn’t say a word as she took her place behind him on the bike. The night was foggy, as it often was on the coast, but just barely. She thought of it as a gray cloud enveloping them as they made their way to the bar. What had been something she’d been looking forward to was now a little frightening—and her temper was stirring.