Savage Savior (Savage People 3)

I get Graham.

Because he’s right.

I never belonged, and I never really cared up until now. I’m owning up to this relationship, because he is the man who brought me here and didn’t even flinch when people talked about mom and me like we were trash.

I squeeze his hand in mine and nod. “You’re right.”

He rewards me with another kiss, after which he gets up from the table and cocks his head to the door. “Let’s give them some space to talk about us. It’s not like they have anything else to do with their useless lives.”

Again, I find myself grinning like an idiot. He’s such a badass for saying these things right to their faces. We walk out hand in hand, leaving my sandwich and our coffees behind us, almost untouched. For the first time since I moved here three years ago, I feel proud.

“Remember, kiddo, gossip says a lot about people. But not the people who are talked about. Only the people who do the talking.”

The drive to New York is surprisingly pleasant. I say that because Graham is not a pleasant man, and he is not a very chatty guy, either. But if we’re really going to do this, be a couple, I need answers and a ton of them. I ease into the creamy leather seat of his vehicle and close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

“What have you done to Shawn? This is the third time I’m asking, so please just give me the whole story.”

I can feel Graham shifting slightly in his seat, but I know it’s not because he is uncomfortable with my question. Mostly, he doesn’t give a damn. If he’s not intimidated by Shawn’s father, he is not intimidated by an eighteen-year-old blonde chick.

“I may have added some color to his face.”

There’s a brief silence before I ask, “Aren’t you afraid about him telling his dad?”

He chuckles softly next to me, and my body melts in my seat. His voice gives me chills.

“He’s not going to say a word.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he doesn’t have any teeth to say it with,” he deadpans dryly. I twist my head to look at him in shock, but his facial expression is still relaxed as he stares at the road ahead of us.

“I scare people, Dolly. And when people are scared, they lay low. Don’t worry about Shawn.”

This brings me to my next question, though to a slightly different subject.

“Are you a mobster?”

Deep down I already know the answer. The number of weapons he has in the safe in his office; I’d sneaked a peek a few months ago when his back was to me when he opened it. The cash, the car, our house, his shady joints. He’d been arrested twice before he married Annabelle and I’m not sure what for, but I have a feeling that it wasn’t for jaywalking while hurrying to save a puppy.

“Do you really wanna know?” His jaw clenches now, and I take a moment to admire his strong profile again. I nibble on my lower lip.

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

He takes a sharp inhale of breath, throws me a glance and goes back to fixing his gaze on the road.

“I do what I have to do to take care of my family.”

“Do you even consider us that?” I snap at his vague answer. “Your family?”

“I consider you my family,” he says curtly and cocks his head to his window like he is trying to show me something. This is the first time I actually realize where I am. Deep in Brooklyn in front of a cemetery. Tombstones everywhere, and it’s not a pretty well-kept one either. My mouth goes dry instantly. “Your mother, not so much. But you? You’ll always be my family. But you’re not the only family I was referring to. Unbuckle yourself, Dolly. We’re going for a walk.”

When we get out of the car, I hug myself protectively. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s really cold and dry outside or because of the graveyard. I feel uncomfortable but strangely enough, I’m not scared. I should be. He’s told me what he did to Shawn

, and even though he dodged my mobster question, I know it’s only because the truth is ugly. Now he brings me to a graveyard, but I’m still not terrified of this man. Eerily, I am intrigued.

Graham links his arm in mine and we start walking toward the black iron gate, which is spikey and scary, toward the cemetery. It’s open and with a light push, Graham opens the gate and tilts his chin toward the entrance. I walk in, and he does the same, closing the gate behind us.

It seems like he knows where he’s going while he strolls up the narrow path of a small hill, littered with tombstones. It looks like a regular Catholic graveyard, full of Irish names like Donovan, McDonnell, Murphy and O’Shea. We spend the walk to the mysterious destination in silence and my heart pounding so fast and loud I can feel it in my toes. I have a feeling he is about to share something important with me, and I don’t know what or how I’m going to react. We pass another chunk of tombstones until we get to a smaller lot, one that looks remarkably taken care of in comparison to the other rows of gravestones. These look bright and new, smaller and most of them have fresh flowers on top of the stones.