Savage Savior (Savage People 3)

I love that I had him. The man who doesn’t hit on every living thing.

Carter mostly just keeps to himself. But I knew he’d love it rough. Because we are rough. Both of us. I don’t know what his story is, but I know that we both share the same narrative.

Destruction.

Anger.

Loneliness.

We do things differently, because this is how life programmed us. He scared himself last night, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Not really. He just wanted to mark me. And he did.

Long before he touched me.

I play with myself, stifling my little moans with my arm. Gia escaped the bed—thank God, I’m not too thrilled about masturbating with her so close by—and as I rub my clit, I slide two fingers into myself, then stop.

Wet.

But not the same wetness I know of myself. It’s a trickling, thick, warm liquid that slides down my inner thigh, now that I poked at it. Cum. Carter’s cum.

Fuck.

I fling the covers at the speed of light and run to the living room, stepping into my slippers in the process. I grab my coat, purse, and keys and slam the door behind me as I descend the stairs. I have to get to Duane Reade and get the morning after pill. I must.

The warm, stuffy hallway of my building spits me out to the New York freeze. It’s still snowing lightly all around us. Christmas is approaching. The apples of my cheeks turn red as I secure my coat over my chest as I lightly jog my way to the nearest pharmacy. Fuck. Shit. Oh my God. This is so stupid…but I still don’t regret being with him last night. How awful does that make me?

I’ve been with lots of men. But I know that I’m clean. Which is something I can’t say about Carter for sure. Instinct tells me that he’s far too cautious for that, but I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for him to lose control before last night, either. My biggest concern, however, is the possibility of being pregnant. I cannot have a baby. Not because I don’t like children—quite the opposite, actually.

It’s because I love them too much to subject them to life with me as a mother.

I’m taking a shortcut through an alleyway. I don’t think. Not at all. Not about how Carter warned me not to stray by myself and not about the fact taking little side streets and wandering in alleyways before dawn in New York is a fucking death wish.

My senses are blurred, drowned by the haze of lust, tears, and the trickle of fear that’s making its way to my stomach about an unwanted pregnancy. That’s why I don’t even see it coming when a hand grabs my wrist and jerks me against a brick wall.

I wince from the pain vibrating through my spine and squeeze my eyes shut tight. Maybe if I don’t open them, this won’t be real.

“Hello, Little Miss Hot Property.” Much like my father, I smell him before I open my eyes and see him. Cigarettes, the stench of cheap, old alcohol, and junk food. I don’t want to look at him, but I have no choice.

My eyelids flutter open, and I take him in.

Murray. My dad’s

former sometimes employer. Sometimes supplier. And my own personal nightmare.

“What are you…?” doing here? Talking about? Going to do with me?

I have so many questions I want to ask him, even though I know better than to expect he’ll actually answer any of them.

“What am I doing here? That’s a great question. To answer that, let’s go back to a year ago, around the same time.” The forty-something-year-old rests one of his hands against the brick wall behind my head, his other hand sliding to my waist and traveling up and down like it belongs there. I don’t swat him away. I’ve only fought back twice before, and when I did, he beat me so bad I couldn’t sit on my behind for a week straight. Murray is a sadistic bastard. He used to buy long nights with me just so he could hit me. I begged my dad to stop letting him take me. Cried. Got down on my knees and crawled to the bathtub every morning after Murray dropped me off at my dad’s door. It never helped.

“You need to toughen up, Quinn.” He’d wince and shake his leg away from my grip, like I was an old dog who needed to be put down. “The world is not all roses and smiles. You’ll benefit from it. It will make you stronger, even. Trust me.”

I didn’t. I didn’t benefit from it then, and I don’t benefit from it today.

“I see you’ve expanded your clientele.” Murray traces my throat, where Carter left a mark, and I wince at his words visibly. He chuckles darkly. “Well, that’s about to change. You’re mine again. This time, forever. A year ago, your sorry-ass father started drinking on the job. Got pretty fucking sloppy. I caught him stealing cash from my wallet. Not once. Three times. A lot of dough. Then I found out he started gambling again and lost his house.”

I close my eyes again and shake my head. No.

But my head is saying yes. That sounds like something my dad would do. Why did he reach out to me all those weeks ago when Carter caught him? Because he sold me and Murray was finally ready to get his new shiny toy. His purchase. His fucking possession.