Savage Road (Torpedo Ink 7)

Maestro grinned at him. “Nasty little problem for a man like you to have.”

Savage would have been grinning right along with him, but he was genuinely worried about his woman. “Any one of those women she examines could have an underlying sickness, Maestro. I’m not there to stop her. She can’t stop herself. It could be a disaster.”

“Czar’s there; he knows her problem. Key’s there. Send a reminder if you’re worried. They’ll look after her. We have too much work to do here for you to have your mind on your woman.”

One informant led to the next, and they uncovered one paid hit man after another. It was Savage, Destroyer and Maestro’s job to get the information any way they could, and then kill the hit man and or informant while Ink, Storm and Ice tracked down and brought the next victims to them. The bodies were stacking up, and it wouldn’t be long before they would have to be driven off-site, bodies set on fire and dumped into the chosen ravine.

The RV had been stolen from an old site where the rigs no longer worked. Transporter and Mechanic had fixed the engine up and then driven the rusted RV right off the back side of the hill, where it had been half-buried for nearly two years. They’d spotted the hulk and begun to work on it at night, when no one was around, knowing someday they would need it for just such a use. It still smelled like rust and dirt. Now blood, urine and feces were added to the mix.

By the end of the day, with night closing in, Savage was sick of the smell and sick of betrayal. He didn’t need to bleed rage from Destroyer and Maestro or any of the others to overflow what he was already feeling, but the compulsion to do it was too strong to stop. It was shitty work and a shittier day. He didn’t envy Transporter, Ink and Mechanic having to get rid of the entire rig with the bodies they’d disposed of that day. The body count was one of the highest they’d ever had in a day, and they couldn’t call this war. Transporter would drive the RV, and Mechanic and Ink would each take a vehicle and run interference just in case there was trouble with the cops.

Savage was damn tired of the work. He had to shower in the tiny little cubicle there in the RV. He didn’t envy Destroyer trying to shower in the little box. The man would get stuck in there. After he showered and changed, he left his clothes and shoes behind and went to the larger Torpedo Ink RV to shower again. He took his time, allowing the hot water to pour over him, hopefully getting as many of the kinks out as possible and removing the stench of torture, blood and death from his body so that when he went to Seychelle, he went as clean as possible.

He was pissed as hell at her. He’d been texting for the last three hours and she hadn’t answered him once. Not one fucking time. He might strangle her. She might be upset because he’d quit texting her in the middle of the day for a block of hours. She’d texted him several times and he hadn’t responded. He’d been in the middle of taking an asshole apart, one that had come to kill Alena. He wanted to know who’d sent the man, but he got nowhere.

Czar had the grill fired up, and the smell of steak, vegetables and his famous mini potatoes greeted the three of them. Destroyer and Maestro had accompanied Savage back to his campsite in order to give him a full report. Savage was anxious to see Seychelle for himself to make certain she was all right. He might be pissed as hell, but it was unlike her not to answer him. She didn’t play games. Surely, Czar would have texted him if she had been ill.

He strode right past Czar and the great-smelling food that reminded him he hadn’t eaten all day, and went deeper into the camp area, looking for his wayward woman. He spotted her curled up on her sleeping bag. She was on her side, knees pulled to her chest, her arm under her head. She was sound asleep. She looked smaller than usual, there under the trees.

Savage stood over her, his anger at her fading as he stared down at her face. She did remind him of an angel. There were no lines on her face, her skin smooth, those long lashes, two thick crescents, her mouth a bow. He had a ridiculous desire to lie down and curl his body protectively around hers, just to feel her close. She had a way of calming the raging demons in him, and they sure as hell were raging. He needed her desperately, but she needed rest. Whatever had gone on while he was working for the club had exhausted her.