Savage Savior (Savage People 3)

I rose up, crawling on my forearms all the way to her, and kissed her long and hard, forcing her to taste herself on my lips. It was leisurely. Slow. I wanted to postpone the moment I told her what I had just discovered.

“Do you mean that, baby?” I needed to be sure. With tears in her eyes, she shook her head yes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

“I love you, Quinn. I think I always have.”

Now, we make love all the time. All the fecking time. Quinn assured me that I can’t hurt my baby with my cock, and I started to trust myself a little more.

But as I said, happily-ever-after was never in the cards for me. Christ, look at my starting point. You can’t recover from that shite quickly.

My happiness comes to a screeching halt on a Tuesday afternoon. I am walking with Quinn in our neighborhood, the ugly wee rat she calls a dog at our feet, following us eagerly on her studded pink leash. I steal glances to the redhead who stole my beating heart right out of my chest and stored it in her designer handbag. I catch her smiling at me for no reason in particular. Then I stare ahead, a satisfied smirk on my face, as we cross the road on our way to the pharmacy to pick up some more ginger pops.

Just then, fate collides with my happy ending.

Just then, the door to one of the local pubs swivels open, and out walks my nightmare.

Just then, my girlfriend—I have a fecking girlfriend now—spins her head in the same direction, almost in slow motion, a smile frozen on her face.

Just then, my heart stops beating.

No.

Not her.

I haven’t seen my cousin since I was working the bar at Hot N’ Bothered, but that’s okay, because I never wanted to see her again.

Mandy is my nemesis. I’m not even going to sugarcoat that shit because she’ll think it’s cocaine and try snoring it, too. When I was younger, and my dad was in full swing trying to sell me for drugs, I ran to Mandy’s parents—my mother’s sister is her mom—begging for a place to stay. They lived in Long Island in this picture-perfect, red-bricked estate and had plenty of spare rooms. Mandy’s dad is a PR manager in one of the biggest companies in Manhattan, and Mandy’s mother always had a soft spot for me. I was only sixteen when I knocked on their door. Mandy was the one who opened it. We are exactly the same age, Mandy and I. Only two weeks separating us, but we couldn’t have been less alike.

She was born into a rich family and decided to become a cokehead.

I was born into a shitty family and have decided to try to rise above the shit cards I was dealt in life.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The reason why I hate my blonde bombshell of a cousin is because when I got to her house—hungry, desperate, and without a dime in my pocket—I begged her to let me talk to her mother. It was raining. Mandy was inside, where it was nice and warm. She’s always been pretty, but the fact that I didn’t look like a gremlin somehow threatened her. She said I looked slutty and that my lips were too big and my eyes too wide, like a blowup doll. I told myself she was just jealous. Jealous women weren’t anything new to me. Ever since I sprouted breasts, men’s eyes would linger a little too long and women looked at me with curled lips, like they just smelled something foul. I could deal with Mandy.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She shook her head slowly. “Mom is not around.

She’s at the country club, and Daddy is out of town on business. It’s just the maid and me. I’d say call Mom and tell her that you’re here, but you don’t even have a phone, do you? How unfortunate for you. Try again tomorrow.”

“But I have nowhere to go! Mandy, I’m in trouble,” I cried out, frustrated.

“Yeah, that’s true.” She flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder, sighing dramatically. “But I don’t think Mom would approve of me letting a prostitute in the house while she’s away…because that’s what you are, right? That’s the rumor mill, anyway. Mom’s not gonna let you anywhere near her innocent, impressionable daughter.”

I never tried Mandy’s parents again.

Even if they were to believe me when I told them it was against my will, I didn’t want to live with Mandy. She had always been a headache and saw me as a competition.

So yeah, I wouldn’t say that I’m particularly happy to see her right now, in my neighborhood, walking out of a random pub in the middle of a Tuesday, but I’m trying not to let it get to me too much. After all, I’m at a different place now. I’m pregnant. And I have Carter. He protects me and takes care of me in more ways than one. He’s my rock, and if I need him to be, he is also my water, my food, and my air. He’s everything I need, and more. I’ve got this.

“Oh. My. God!” Mandy lets out a squeak, and I visibly flinch. Is it just me, or did her voice get louder and even higher with time? I tug at Carter’s coat, silently asking him to try to take me away before she starts talking to me, then turn my head to look at him and realize that he is completely frozen.

My eyes focus on my boyfriend, who is staring at Mandy like she is the bane of his existence.

Then I turn my head and look at Mandy, and to my horror, I realize that she’s looking at him and not at me. In fact, I don’t even think that she realizes that I’m here. Next to him. Her own cousin. Though, why would she scream ‘oh my God’ when seeing Carter? Do they know each other?

Before I can ask myself more questions about their relationship, she strides over in confident steps, her Louboutin shoes clacking against the concrete like gunshots. I close my eyes slowly and inhale. Please don’t let it be true. Something like this can downright destroy me. Carter is still frozen, and I no longer tug at his sleeve. I need to see what happens, even if it’ll be my ruin. I need the truth.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite lad.” She stretches out the last word and winks, peppering the gesture with a lick of her lower lip. Her lipstick is bright red, and her coat is pretty and made of real fur. I hate real fur. I would never wear it. But dammit, it looks good on her, and I hate that she looks like a million dollars and I look like about a hundred on a good day. Even now, after all these years, she’s still the Long Island estate, and I’m still the rundown house in Harlem.