Savage Savior (Savage People 3)

I spend the rest of my day aimlessly looking for college courses in New York City on the Internet. Trust me when I say there’s nothing I’d like more than to take out my PocketRocket and drill it into my clit until I scream Graham’s name so loud the walls will shake, but I can’t.

I can’t take a chance of him hearing me or catching me doing it again.

I’m so engrossed in reading about a college in Brooklyn that’s offering a pulp fiction course—I have no idea what it entails but I bet there’d be a ton of hipster hotties—that I don’t even notice that I’m not alone in the room anymore.

“This looks like the shittiest course a person could take,” Graham offers from behind me, and I jump so high I almost reach the ceiling. A yelp leaves my mouth and my heart is racing in my chest.

“Jesus Christ, Graham. That’s the second time in a week. Do you not have any doors in Ireland? Fucking knock, dude.”

Oh, great. I mentioned the masturbating incident. Real smooth, Dahl. But as I swivel my chair to inspect him, he looks as stoic and unfazed as ever. And hot. So, super-hot. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled to his elbows, revealing taunt forearms and manly veins, and he’s got his hands tucked into the pockets of his navy blue dress pants. His tie is undone but still hangs over his neck and his green eyes are twinkling. With what, I’m not sure, but they make me feel like I’m on fire.

No, they make me motherfucking burn.

“Even a monkey could pass this kind of course,” he continues his line of thought, tilting his chin toward my computer screen and I fake a bright smile, letting my inner sarcastic bitch come out and say hi.

“Good news for me, then,” I mutter.

“You can do so much better.” His voice is low and gruff, but it doesn’t sound like a compliment. More like a statement. “You’ve got potential, kid.”

“Oh, are you wearing your stepdaddy hat tonight?” As opposed to the “guy who watched me masturbate” hat. I liked that hat better, but of course I don’t mention it.

“Busting my balls and it’s not even eight p.m. What’s going on, Dolly?” It’s the second time he calls me that. “Need to unwind a little?”

Suggestive, but maybe it’s just in my head. I lift one eyebrow in question, erecting my slack body. I’m trying to remind myself that Graham is not a friend, he’s a very bad man, who does very bad illegal things, and just because he’s started talking to me since I gave him a lap dance doesn’t mean that he’s to be trusted.

“It’s Friday, what are you doing home anyway?” I ask.

“Your mother’s not here,” he answers like this explains anything.

“I know. She went to my grandmother’s.” I roll with her lie. He chuckles softly and shakes his head, and we both share a moment where our eyes meet and the truth passes between us. Relief washes over me, but I’m not sure why. At least he knows.

“I wanted to check on you,” he finally explains. My heart melts for this guy. I can’t believe he’s just said that. I can’t believe that he cares. I’m sure my expression softens because Graham takes a step forward and cups one of my cheeks. I lean into his warm touch. Shit, I want to bathe in his gaze and drown in his touch. I’m so hungry for physical affection—starving, really—and his touch makes me feel so small and secure.

“I’ll be okay,” I croak.

“Never had a bloody doubt. Dress up, we’re leaving,” he commands cuttingly and out of nowhere, withdrawing his hand from my face and I snap out of my reverie.

“What? Where?”

“You’re going dancing and drinking. And, as per our agreement, it’ll be by my side. I’ll come back to pick you up in fifteen minutes and you better be ready. One more thing—if I see you with that black little thing you wore the other night and called a dress? I’m ripping it off you. Not in the way you’d like. Make smart decisions, Dolly.”

My stepfather drives a black McLaren P1. It costs over one million dollars and looks like a femme fatale; all curves, soft edges but with a dark, dangerous silhouette.

Inside, it’s spacious and warm, the scent of new leather drifting into my nose. Last time I saw him in New York, he sent me back home in a town car. This is nicer. Much nicer. The night is cold and rain knocks on the tinted windows but does nothing to blacken my mood. This is the weirdest weather we’ve had in a while, too cold for April, but not quite as cold as the man next to me. I sit beside him in my sensible knee-length red dress and ankle boots and try not to hyperventilate about where I am or who I’m with. I keep telling myself he’s just trying to keep me out of trouble, because the last thing he wants is for me to do something stupid and have my mom come back to New Jersey to babysit me from her vacation.

Only my mom would never actually rush back to New Jersey, unless I’m critically injured or dead.

And Graham never really seemed like he cared before.

I watch his strong profile as he cuts through the busy Saturday night traffic from New Jersey to New York. His jaw clenches and his eyes are hooded, and the old scar on his temple is glittering at me, making his otherwise beautiful face imperfect and dangerous.

My thoughts run to questions like where he might be taking me and whether he’s going to let me drink again and if I could call Jade and ask her to tag along. If he’s going to do business, I need to keep myself occupied.

“Are you going to drag me around to make sure I stay out of trouble?” I ask finally, unable to stand the silence between us any longer.

“On the contrary, Dolly. I think I’ll drag you right into hot trouble tonight,” he responds, his face still void of expression.

“Why are you calling me Dolly?”