Savage Ending (Savage Trilogy 4)
“Who’s blackmailing you then?”
“It’s better you don’t know.”
“I’m involved. Not only am I your courier, I’m the one who buried those insurance policies.”
“You’re not the only one who buried a few secrets. And you don’t want to know more. Give me the drop location. You’re done afterward. We’re even.”
“I got ambushed,” I remind him. “How the fuck am I not in this if I got ambushed? How did they know I was going to be there?”
“I texted you from what I thought was a safe burner. Obviously, I overused that phone. But yours was scrambled. I know yours was scrambled. No one can find you from that conversation. And I’m guessing anyone who saw you at the pick-up location is dead. You’re out of this, man. Just give me the drop location and forget this happened.”
A part of me wants to push. Another wants this to just be over. He’s given me answers. Ones I’d hypothesized. Reasonable answers. And he’s a loose cannon. You burn him. He burns you back. “X marks the spot in the woods behind the warehouse location you gave me,” I say, and finish with the coordinates.
He hangs up.
That’s a good response. It means that’s what he wanted. And now he’s gone.
I turn to face Candace and she’s already closing the space between us, her hands catching my waist, urgency in her words as she says, “What just happened?”
My hands close down on her arms and I pull her to me. “It’s over,” I say, and I mean those words, despite the fact that they don’t quite sit right on my tongue. “And now the past is the past. And we are the future.”
And before she can ask another question, I scoop her up and get her naked and in the bed with me, where she belongs. Forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Savage
Candace and I order takeout from our favorite sub shop, and while we’re waiting on the delivery, she heads to the bathroom to do all her nightly girl stuff. I head downstairs to wait for the food and use the opportunity to dial Asher.
“Savage, man,” he answers. “Hold tight. I’m at Blake’s place. Let me put him on speaker.”
Ten seconds later, I hear, “What the fuck trouble are you getting yourself into right before your wedding, asshole?”
One thing I’ve always respected about Blake is his eloquent way with words, but I’ll compliment him another day. Right now, I get to the point. “Max called,” I begin before I proceed to deliver a quick rundown of the conversation.
There’re a few beats of silence when I finish and some murmurs between Blake and Asher, before Asher says, “His explanation sounds reasonable, but we both agree it all sits uneasy, like about half a pizza too much. Let us do some digging around. Can you come by the office at lunchtime tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
And right when I would hang up, Blake adds, “We’ve got your back. If this has to be handled, we’ll handle it for you. You are going to let it go and get married and then go on that honeymoon in Sonoma your wife-to-be has been ranting on and on about. That’s an order from all of us here at Walker Security. Another order, this one from me. Get some rest.”
He hangs up.
I let his message sink in and come to the obvious conclusion. Once again, and over and over, the Walker team teaches me the meaning of family.
For the first time in my life, I’m ready to hand over the shit-show rather than deal with it myself. I want to enjoy our wedding. And he’s right. Candace is so damn excited about the California wine country and whale watching for our honeymoon. Hell, so am I.
The doorbell rings and I set aside all the bullshit, determined to unwind. A few minutes later, Candace and I are on the bed, opening the takeout bags. She’s delectable in a red silk gown with just enough cleavage to bring me to my knees.
“I need you to put on a robe, my little bombshell babe. I can’t eat the sandwich and you at the same time.”
“Stop, Rick,” she chides, “You’re crazy.”
“I’m as serious as a Jedi with a blue lightsaber. Robe. You need a robe.”
She scowls and sets her sandwich down. “I cannot believe you are making me do this,” she says, standing and walking toward the bathroom.
Her ass looks just as good as her breasts in that gown. I stand up and follow her. She has the robe in her hand when I catch her to me and toss it to the ground. “Our food,” she objects, but her laughter weakens the objection.
I’m not laughing. I’m serious as fuck about getting her out of that gown. I pull it over her head, toss it to the ground, and lift her to the counter, her pretty pink nipples puckering with the cold air. I catch them with my fingers and she gasps, her lips parting and lifting in invitation. An invitation happily accepted. This is the point when she stops fighting and goes all-in on the idea of me inside her, right here and now. I know this because she tells me.