Savage Road (Torpedo Ink 7)

“That’s your takeaway from what happened when I lost control on the run?” Now his stomach knotted up. “Because that wasn’t losing control. Baby.” He could feel himself start to sweat. “When it happens, I don’t want to lose you because you think it’s going to be like that.”

“That’s not what I think. I’m telling you what I learned about me, not you.” Her voice was very gentle. Those blue eyes never wavered but held his gaze steady. “I know you don’t think I could really love you as you are, Savage. You had that drilled into you, and somewhere, as a child, you began to believe it.” Both hands went to frame his face. She knelt up on the seat of the truck. “I would walk through hell to find you if you were lost. I would walk through hell with you. You don’t have to believe me now. Actions have always spoken louder than words. You listened to me when I told you I needed emotional support. I realized you need the same thing. I’ll be giving you that every day the way you give it to me.”

He caught her by the nape of the neck and dragged her to him. Kissing Seychelle was being caught in the catastrophic eruption of a volcano. They both detonated, an explosion of fireworks. That red-hot lava moving through his veins in a rush of heat and fire and adrenaline was as addicting as her laughter and sweetness. Kissing Seychelle was drowning in love.

When they came up for air, he pressed his forehead against hers. “I fucking love you so much, Seychelle. If you keep saying things like that to me, you’re going to turn me into a pussy, and I’m the one the club counts on to scare the crap out of people. It’s best not to give me that when we’re around other people.”

She leaned into him, and he felt the velvet flame of her tongue along his bottom lip. “Like the Red Hat ladies?”

He groaned. “Especially the Red Hat ladies. Those women are a menace.”

Seychelle’s laughter was more like a giggle, and he shook his head. His phone rang, the tune tipping him off that it was Czar calling. “Gotta take this, babe. You go on into the house and I’ll be right behind you.”

Still laughing, Seychelle slipped out of the truck. He did too, and rounded the hood, so he could lean against the passenger door to watch his woman saunter up the cobblestone walkway to the cottage door. Today she was in leggings and a long shirt that covered the curve of her ass, but there was no stopping that feminine sway she had. She had her hair down. It fell in wild waves down her back, that honeyed, gold-and-platinum hair that was like silk to the touch. The wind caught at her hair and playfully ruffled all that silk, making him wish he had his fingers buried deep in it. He still couldn’t believe she was his.

She stopped just inside the door and stood there as if she were frozen. She didn’t turn to look at him, but she didn’t move forward or close the door. She just stood there, her entire body stiff. Something was wrong, and he ended the call abruptly, not even warning Czar, just sprinting along the walkway, pulling his weapon, his heart in his throat, pounding out of control.

He came up behind his woman, looking over her shoulder, and took in the sight of her destroyed home. Everything was smashed. Everything that could be gotten to. Pictures on the wall had been torn off. Drawers had been pulled out, items dumped onto the floor and the drawers broken until they were nothing but splinters. The table and chairs had been destroyed with what could only have been a sledgehammer. Every kitchen pot and pan had been drilled through, so they had holes in them. Dishes were shattered and in pieces on the floor.

This was done out of pure hatred. The walls practically breathed hatred. It was impossible not to feel it. Savage wanted to shelter her in his arms, drag her out of there, but she was already moving to the bedroom, picking her way through the rubble, glassware crunching beneath her boots.

“Baby, wait. Let me.” He tried to caution her. He knew what she was looking for. He knew the moment she saw it. Her parents’ remains—their ashes. The beautiful, hand-blown entwined-roses sculpture smashed on the floor by some contemptible, disgusting human being.

Seychelle crouched down beside the shattered glass, her fingers pressed tightly over her mouth as she slowly looked up at him. The sorrow on her face tore his heart out.

“Don’t move, angel. We’re going to collect all those pieces of glass. Every last one of them.” The sculpture had been shattered against the dresser, and fortunately, there hadn’t been any other glass for the intruder to break there in that particular space. Savage found a bag to put the pieces in and began gathering each one off the floor.