Savage Hunger (Savage Trilogy 1)

“And never came back. You sent her a Dear Candace letter.”

“I had no choice,” I repeat. “I was protecting her.”

“From what?” she demands.

“Bad people.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she says. “What does that mean?”

“It means I was protecting her, and damn it, I cannot leave this earth without kissing her one last time.”

She snorts. “She’s engaged. Her future husband is rich, good looking, and present. Do you want to take that from her?”

Engaged.

I could double the fuck over. Somehow, I stay standing.

“Oh God,” Linda whispers. “You really do still love her.”

I don’t even care what she just saw in me to draw that response. “Every day of my life,” I assure her, the stabbing pain of her engagement not going away. “Every day.”

“Then why did you leave?”

My fingers curl in my palms. “I told you, I had no choice.” I turn and head for the door, shoving it open, a bar and some of that Texas tequila in my sights.

“She doesn’t love him.”

At those words shouted by Linda, I stop dead and rotate. “She’s fucking marrying him.” I don’t wait to hear her reply. I know Candace. She wouldn’t marry someone for anything but love. I’m a fool to have thought that she did anything but bury my memories. It’s been too long and I did her too fucking wrong. I turn and start walking again and this time I don’t stop until I’m inside that bar, ordering that “fuck you” tequila. “Just bring the damn bottle.”

The bartender arches an eyebrow. “The bottle, son?”

“That’s right, old man. The bottle. Got a problem with that?”

He grabs the bottle and sets a shot glass in front of me, filling it to the brim. I down the contents.

“I’ll take a glass to go with that bottle.”

At the sound of Adam’s voice, I turn to find him sliding onto the stool next to me. I scowl my worst scowl, the kind of scowl that makes lesser men run for their lives. “You little prick,” I say, about as loving as I ever get these days. “What part of ‘stay the fuck away’ do you not understand?”

He doesn’t run. He smirks and motions to the bartender. “Where’s that glass?”

The bartender sets a glass down in front of him and pours the tequila to the brim. Adam downs the contents and then grabs the bottle to refill our glasses. “Drink,” he orders. “We get along better when you’re not a whiny little sober bitch.”

“I should kill you for that.” I down my shot.

“Bring it,” he says. “I’ll give you a scar on the other cheek.”

“That’s your wet dream, right? The idea that you might actually be able to beat me in a fight.”

“Shut the fuck up and drink,” he orders.

“Only because I want to,” I say, downing my shot.

Half a bottle later, I want to punch someone or something, an invisible knife carving out a piece of my heart. “She’s marrying another man,” I murmur roughly. “She deserved better anyway. She’s getting it.”

Adam arches a brow. “You sure about that?”

“Come on, man. I was a piece of shit before you and Walker found me.”

“You thought you were killing bad guys,” he says, justifying for me. “We wouldn’t have brought you into Walker if we didn’t believe that.”

“I didn’t care who I was killing or I would have figured my shit out sooner. I was a cold motherfucker.”

“Cold motherfuckers don’t wallow in tequila over the love of their lives.” He doesn’t give me time to reply, adding, “What are we doing here, Savage?” He pokes the bar. “Right here where the only woman I’ve ever heard you talk like she mattered lives.”

“Apparently, she’s marrying that other guy while I protect her so she can do it.” I grab the bottle and take a slug all direct and shit.

“Why did he bring you here, man? Why does Tag want you here? I need to know what we’re into.”

“I owe him a favor. One more hit and he’ll leave Walker the hell alone.”

“You aren’t that fucking gullible. You don’t believe that shit. There’s always ‘one more.’ He’ll keep coming at you and he’ll do it over and over and over again.”

“Yup. That’s why I have to kill him and all his compadres.”

“Alone?”

I love this bastard. He doesn’t say: no, you can’t kill them. He just questions me doing it alone. “You think I can’t?” I challenge.

“I think you have a woman on your mind, and her being here, where this ‘one more’ hit is, isn’t an accident. That’s what Tag wanted. For you to be distracted. And come on, man, what are the odds this is some random hit that just happened to be here?”

“I assume he thought of me when he found out the job was here.”

“Or it’s something else. You’re being set up.”

“Maybe,” I concede. “But I’ve been out of this shit for years.”