“He would,” she agreed. “He would need an edge. Suppose his talent is stronger than Tony’s. Or Leonardo’s. Or all his other brothers, if they have any talent. It’s possible to steal a talent, Savage. It can be done.”
“How would that be possible?” Savage kept any alarm from his voice. There was alarm enough in Seychelle’s voice. In her body language.
“Bending and twisting voices isn’t that difficult, Savage. I can do it. It’s gathering strands of pitches, much like a musician takes the various sounds he hears and puts them together to form a song. Brandon’s talent may not be as strong as mine, but if he managed to steal his brother’s or even several of his brothers’ talent, should some of the others have it as well, he could become quite powerful.”
“There was a man we ran into,” Savage admitted. “The international president of the Swords club. He was pretty fuckin’ powerful, and it was a few voices that brought him down in the end. Voices.” He repeated the word softly. “So I’m in his way because I’m standing in front of you.”
He didn’t move his head from her belly, but he turned it, settling his chin on her soft skin, feeling the firm muscles contracting with the weight.
Seychelle bit her lip, eyes worried. “If he thinks he could command me, take my voice, take my talent away from me and use it for his own, then yes, I think he’d go so far as try to get rid of you. He could wreck the chapter of the Diamondbacks his brothers are in. If he managed to get in another chapter, he could do the same thing and continue to do so over and over for as long as he could control it.”
Savage breathed a little easier. Control. That wasn’t Brandon’s strong suit. “This entire thing that the Diamondbacks are worried about could be Brandon stirring up trouble because he didn’t get into their club. That’s really what you’re saying. If he’s doing the same thing, talking to someone in the Venomous club, using his voice to persuade them to keep going after the Diamondbacks, he’s going to start a war. Maybe that’s his ultimate goal.”
She nodded. “And he probably either put out the hit on you himself, which I doubt, or he persuaded someone else to do it. I hate that I’m responsible, Savage. I really hate it.”
He loathed that she sounded like she might cry. It made him want to go find the fucker right then and show him why he’d earned the name Savage. Instead, he kept his voice gentle. They had no proof of anything. It was all speculation.
“You’re not responsible. I told you, Seychelle, everyone other than you pretty much wants me dead. I’m used to it, and I don’t much give a damn. I’m still alive. Brandon Campbell is a cunning little weasel. If you’re right, then he’s contracted with someone in the clubs. Code will find out who is coming after me. It isn’t open-ended, baby. He got a specific hit man. We’ll find him. In any case, we could be way off.”
“Don’t you think it would be so much smarter to skip this run? Between all the dire warnings to Alena and now this with you, maybe Torpedo Ink just shouldn’t go this time.”
She shifted her weight subtly, and he couldn’t help smiling, knowing her bottom was uncomfortable sitting so long in one position. He kissed her belly. “We have no choice. Don’t worry about the run. And you’re our ace in the hole. Brandon can’t go on it, so we’ll have your voice, if needed, to calm everyone the fuck down.”
She sighed. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” She shifted a little more when his hand moved over her thigh, close to her heat.
“Nothing is going to happen to me.” Murmuring it almost absently, he covered her mound and bare lips, needing to distract her. “So wet for me, baby. I love that you’re always so ready for me.”
“I want you so much. Every time I moved on that chair, it felt like your marks on me were igniting a wildfire, Savage,” she admitted in a whisper.
His gaze met hers. Her eyes were deep blue with need. He loved seeing her like that. His. How the hell had a man like him gotten so damn lucky?
“Tell me about the book.”
He wanted her burning for him. All night. All the next day on the ride to the run. She had to be half out of her mind with frustration. With need. She would find it difficult to be around all the other clubs, the parties, drugs, alcohol, the open sex. Torpedo Ink would surround her, protect her, and he would do his best to shield her, but he knew what was going to happen. There would be a lot of rage swirling among his crew, rage that would inevitably end up in his gut, growing like a monster in him. He would need to bleed some of that off. He would need her.