Savage Ending (Savage Trilogy 4)

“Where did he come from?” I ask when it’s over.

Blake adjusts the footage, and it becomes clear that Kirk was sitting at the bar, working on a laptop, when Candace approached the bartender. Blake keys through the footage, looking for something, and then says, “He’d been there about fifteen minutes. He’d entered from the outside of the hotel, and never went to his room.”

A buzzer goes off on Blake’s computer. He quickly adjusts his view and we now have a visual of Kirk’s room. He’s just exited to the hallway.

“Where is he going, that little bastard?” I murmur.

The answer turns out to be the hotel bar again, where he proceeds to order a drink, sit down, and make a phone call. A pretty brunette sits down, orders a drink, and he seems to see an opening. The horny hound dog makes a move. And she doesn’t mind. She leans all into the encounter, welcoming him to sit down with her.

“This is my cue,” Adam says, glancing back at us. “By the time he convinces her to go to his room, I can be in and out.”

Blake says, “Do it. Asher, go with him. We need in his computer.”

“How are you going to get in the room?” I ask.

Adam gives me a “really?” look and then he and Asher exit the vehicle.

My gaze shifts back to the camera feed and to Kirk. His hand is already on the woman’s leg, the bastard. “They better work fast. He sure the fuck is.”

“Don’t assume the worst about this,” Blake cautions. “From what I’m seeing, he hit on Candace and now he’s all over this chick. He could just be a horn dog.”

“Spare me the comfort coddling. If you believed that bullshit, you wouldn’t have two of our guys breaking into his room and stealing his computer data. Something feels off to you. Furthermore, is him being a horn dog to my future wife supposed to make me want to kill him less?” I don’t wait for a reply. “Sitting here and doing nothing is making me lose my damn mind.”

“Which is why I didn’t fight you when you wanted to come,” Blake says. “If this is nothing, you can go to your wedding tomorrow and know it’s nothing.”

I don’t comment. I have nothing good to say. I text Candace: Are you home?

I am, she replies. And my father is in his hotel room. I spoke to him about half an hour ago. When I got off, I found Smith and Linda at our island, where they remain. They’re flirting. It’s really adorable.

You’re adorable, I answer. Nothing involving Smith is adorable, especially his feet. I’ve seen them. They’re ugly.

Because you hate feet, she accuses.

I answer with, Not yours.

Because you love me, she replies.

Yes, I do, I think, as Blake points to the camera footage and I quickly understand what he’s telling me. The woman is holding her room key out to Kirk. He accepts it and they both stand.

“Thank fuck, they’re going to her room,” Blake murmurs.

And thank fuck turns out to be real damn right, considering it’s another fifteen minutes before Adam climbs back into the vehicle. He’s wearing a staff uniform. We don’t ask where he got it. “No weapons,” Adam announces.

“I did a surface check of his computer,” Asher adds. “Checked his socials and email. He looks clean. There were a shit ton of business documents for his company, but nothing that looked off.” He holds up a drive. “I got everything he had. I’ll spend a couple of hours tonight doing a deeper check”

Blake’s phone buzzes with a text. He glances at it and then says, “Let’s get out of here. Lucifer and Dexter are now on the premises and going nowhere. They’re going to discreetly see Kirk through security at the airport tomorrow morning.”

I draw in a breath and Adam rotates around in his seat to look at me. “It’s time to think about you and Candace, man. You’re marrying her tomorrow. Live in the moment with her.”

He’s right. He’s absolutely fucking right.

I motion for Asher to take us home.

Live in the moment.

I’m all in.

But I want a whole lot more than a moment with Candace.

And I can’t seem to agree with the idea that Kirk’s only sin is to be a horny bastard.

It doesn’t feel right.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Candace

Nerves get the best of me. I can’t sleep. I know I can’t sleep.

“We have to go to bed,” Linda presses for the third time, laying on Rick’s side of the bed, both of us in long john style pajamas.

Apparently, she’s not as obsessed with Fixer Upper as I am, because she says, “I have spoken,” grabs the remote and turns off the tv. “You need your beauty sleep,” she explains.

“I can’t sleep,” I repeat for about the fourth time. I change the subject. “You’re sure you and Smith weren’t flirting?”