Keeping Her (Savage Brothers Second Generation 2)

The memories make me smile, but I lock them down for now, needing to concentrate on the here and now.

“I have quite a few dipshit officers, Dancer buddy. You’re going to have to get a little more specific,” Garner replies.

“Dewayne Lagger,” Jasmine says, her voice so angry that hell… she reminds me of myself.

“Shit,” Garner hisses, looking at my little girl. “I’m sorry Jasmine. Did he do that to your face?” Garner asks. Garner is a good guy. He came on the job about the time Crusher left for Tennessee. He’s worked well with the club through the years and has always been above board. I respect him, and I can’t say that too often about the boys in blue that I’ve dealt with.

“Yeah. He thinks he’s in the eighties and it’s cool to wear his fucking class ring even though he’s thirty,” Jasmine growls.

“There’s nothing wrong with rings, querida. A man just has to have the balls to wear them correctly,” Skull says, giving her a wink.

“Daddy, please, I’d rather not hear about your balls,” Gabby admonishes.

“I’m still trying to figure out why you are here, asshole,” Dragon grumbles. “This concerns my club, not the Blaze. I swear, I bailed your ass out of one jam after another and asked you for help one fucking time and now I’m stuck with you for life.”

“I came because my Gabriella and Jasmine are close. Jazz is like another daughter to me. Besides that, mi hermano, you know that without me you would be like a sheep lost in the cruel world, vulnerable to the wolves.”

“Christ,” Bull mutters under his breath. Torch throws his head back and laughs.

“I really should have cut your tongue out the first time you tried to get Nicole in your bed.”

“Not this story again,” Dom and Thomas say in unison.

“It’s bad form to remind me of that when you know that I thought mi cielo was gone forever,” Skull grumbles. “And to make it clear, it wasn’t my tongue you threatened to cut off. Although my Beth says I am legendary—”

“La, la, la, la, la, I can’t hear you!” Gabby cries out, putting her fingers in her ear.”

“Fuck a duck, will you all just button it. Garner, I want to know what you’re going to do about this fuckwit who hurt my daughter. And I want my son-in-law released immediately.”

“Hold up. Have we charged your son-in-law? Shit, did you get married, Jasmine? Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding? Damn it, Bull, you know how much I love your wife’s banana pudding. How is Skye anyway?”

“She’s married,” he growls. “And why don’t you just keep your fucking eyes off of her.”

Garner laughs, flipping him off and Bull returns the gesture. I pinch the bridge of my nose, wanting the fuck out of here. Anywhere near jails and police stations have my skin crawling. The walls begin closing in and I just need to get the fuck out of here—drive fresh air into my lungs.

It’s been a lifetime and a past that I quite literally buried and put behind me, but the memories still cause reactions that I can’t control—even if they don’t tear me apart like they used to.

“I didn’t get married, Chief Garner. I’m engaged. I’ll be getting married in a couple of weeks when our house is finally ours and we move in.”

“You are?” I ask, this being news to me.

“I love him, Daddy. He’s good to me. He wants me to adopt his daughter and have more kids with him. I’m happy,” she says, looking up at me with stars in her eyes. “He’s like my father, the best man I’ve ever known.

She’s still holding my hand. For a minute, the past and the present collide, and I see my little girl as six-years-old again, telling me she loves me and that I’m her hero.

“Are you sure, Princess?” I ask clearing my throat from the sudden emotion that threatens to choke me.

“He’s my troll,” she whispers, my eyes closing as the sweetness hits me.

“Troll? Did she say troll? That doesn’t sound like she loves him. Sounds to me like she needs to drop kick him in the balls,” Torch says, and I got to admit there’s part of me that wants to do that very thing. Instead, I clear my throat and bring my attention back to Garner.

“You need to handle this shit—”

“We’re here to collect our man!” An angry looking man with thick wavy brown hair, covered in tattoos says, after pushing the door open so hard it slams against the wall. For a minute I wonder if it’s going to break, but it doesn’t. There’s three men, and they none look happy. They’re also wearing cuts that say Demon Chasers—cuts like my future son-in-law.

This fucking shit just got a hell of a lot more complicated.