Savage Love (Savage Trilogy 3)

Once I’m inside the black sedan idling in the driveway, I hear the driver speak to someone on the phone. “I have her now.” He disconnects and eyes me in the mirror, his heavy brows all I really can make out besides, his meaty arm. “Good evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening.”

My cellphone buzzes with a text and I grab it from my pocket to read a message from Savage: Our guys are right there with you. You okay?

Yes, I reply. I’m fine. Do your job and stop worrying about me so you don’t end up dead.

Never going to happen, he answers. I have you to come back for. Text me or call me if you need me. Now delete this message and all messages from me as you get them. Signed —The Savage that loves you.

I laugh and delete the messages before sinking back into the seat to letting out a ragged breath of tension. My momentary distraction of talking to Savage doesn’t change the fact that I’m on my way to play fiancée to a man who wants to kill me and my father. And I’m doing what I’m doing tonight, because the two most important people in my life—Rick and my father—are in danger this night, as well.

It’s a few minutes later when the car pulls up to the Ritz Carlton where the Governor’s Military Appreciation Ball is to take place but we don’t pull up to the row of cars awaiting entry at the front door. The driver pulls us to the side of the hotel and stops at a private door. Nerves rattle in my stomach and my door opens as Gabriel appears. He’s a handsome man, with blond hair, a defined jawline, and piercing blue eyes, and certainly, he wears his tuxedo well, but all I see when I look at him is monster. I wonder how I ever saw something more. “My future wife,” he declares, offering me his hand.

Steeling myself for the touch, I press my palm to his, and he all but drags me out of the car and into his arms. He tries to kiss me and I cover his lips with my hand. “Unless you want red lipstick on your face, I wouldn’t.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs. “I guess the kisses can wait.” He sets me back from him and gives me a once over. “Stunning. Absolutely stunning.” He inches around me, leans into the car and speaks to the driver and then shuts the door. “Let’s go inside and get you some champagne.”

“Perfect,” I say, and he motions to the hotel door.

Someone opens it to allow us to enter the private passage. Gabriel motions me forward and I step inside to find a giant bald Hispanic man with intense brown eyes waiting on us. He’s in a tuxedo, but for reasons I cannot explain, I know that he’s not a guest. Gabriel joins me, his hands settling on my waist. “Honey, this is Alejandro. Your new bodyguard.”

And just that quickly, I know that nothing about my escape tonight is going to go as planned.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Savage

I pull my Porsche 911 into the hotel driveway just behind my father’s Mercedes and at the same time that Candace’s driver pulls the sedan to the side of the hotel, and private entrance. It’s all I can do not to follow her, but I resist for one reason: I know Gabriel is waiting for her there and I might just kill Honest fucked-up Gabe before he ever makes it into the building and that wouldn’t serve the bigger cause of saving the General and ending Tag.

I whip around my father and the line of cars waiting for valet services. My car needs to be close and easily accessed without anyone knowing I’ve left. I’ve just parked when Asher calls. “Did you get my text?”

“What fucking text?”

“When Gabriel exited his car tonight, he wasn’t alone.”

“He brought his fuck buddy?”

“No. It was a man who is now with Candace as well. He must have been in the car when Gabriel got in back to return to San Antonio.”

“Who’s the man?”

“Alejandro Rojas. He arrived in San Antonio with Pocher, but Pocher left without him. I sent you his photo and all we know of him which isn’t much. He’s out of New York, like Pocher.”

“I’ll call you back.” I disconnect and I eye the photo. One look at the asshole and I know he’s a private hire bodyguard and killer. His location and connection to Pocher drives me to one place. I forward the information to Kane Mendez and dial his number. He answers on the first ring. “Savage,” he greets.

“Look at your text messages.”

“I saw. What about him?”

“Who is he?”

“Where is he?”

“Too close to my woman for comfort. Who is he?” I repeat.

“Someone I would hire you to—handle.”

I curse.

“What’s the problem? You can’t handle him?”