Savage Burn (Savage Trilogy 2)

I follow the crowd gathering at the back door, and once I’m packed in the hallway, smashed like a sardine going nowhere, I read the note: McDonald’s. We’re hungry, too.

In other words, Tag’s people have been watching us.

I grab my phone and call Adam. “Gordan’s dead. Take Candace to the hotel, not the house. I’ll meet you there.” What I don’t tell him is to clear any cameras in the place. Asher will make sure that happens if Tag’s men haven’t done it already.

“Where are you going?” Adam demands.

I hang up and linebacker my way through the crowd once more, stepping outside into the drizzle now weeping from above. The way I’m about to make some assholes weep. I take off running for my car, and once I’m inside, I spy the firetrucks now in front of the building. The police will follow at any moment. I rev the engine and waste no time getting the hell out of Dodge—hell on wheels, headed toward McDonald’s. I’ve never killed a man with a Big Mac, but I’m creative when I’m pissed. I’ll find a way.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Savage

You want to see me, Tag, motherfucker, here I am.

I pull up to McDonald’s and park right in front of the window. Fuck you, Tag. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on—and probably fucked because that’s the kind of sick bastard you are. I count four people inside and the staff behind the counter. There’s also a line of cars at the drive-thru.

I grab my phone and dial Adam. His phone rings and goes to voicemail. Adrenaline surges inside me. I don’t like it. Candace is with him. I dial Candace. “Rick?”

The sound of her sweet, feminine voice sends a rush of relief over me that I’m not used to feeling. “Where are you?” I ask.

“With Smith on the highway. Where are you?”

I counter with, “Where’s Adam?”

“I don’t know. Rick, where are you?”

“You don’t know?” My tone is sharp. I’m pissed, and not at her. At Adam for leaving her when I trusted him to protect her. “I told him to protect you.”

“I’m with Smith,” she repeats. “I think Adam went to help you.”

In that moment, there are three knocks on my passenger window. I slide it down just enough to hear Asher mutter, “Open up, jerkwad.”

I unlock the door. “I have to go, baby,” I say, and already Asher is climbing into the Porsche. “Where’s Smith taking you?”

“The penthouse is all I know.”

“Good,” I say. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful,” she says.

“Always.” Which is sort of the only lie I’ve ever told her. I’m never all that careful, but a man can change. I can change for her. I disconnect our call and eye Asher. “You tracked my phone.”

“Of course I tracked your damn phone. If anyone kills you, it’s going to be me or Candace.”

“I’m the last person who needs a damn bodyguard.”

“Said every asshole who ended up cocky and dead,” he snaps back. “What are we doing at McDonald’s? Aside from the fact that you eat like an elephant.”

I tune him out, my gaze follows a new customer entering the restaurant, a big man with gray hair, slumped over to walk with a cane. He’s even carrying a trash bag. The man looks homeless and familiar. “I won’t ask where Adam is,” I say because I know Adam, master of disguise. And that’s Adam.

Asher doesn’t confirm or deny Adam as the homeless man. “Back to why we’re here,” Asher says.

I hand him the note. “It was on Gordan’s body.”

He reads it and shoots a photo before texting it to our team. His cellphone buzzes with a text before anyone has time to see his message. “Our team watching Candace’s house has eyes on a couple of guys lurking in the shadows.” He cuts me a look. “They seem to be waiting on your return to Candace’s house.” He glances over at me. “Could be they hoped Candace would return home alone while you were here.”

“There’s a reason I had her taken somewhere other than home.” I thrum my fingers on the steering wheel, considering my next move.

Asher’s impatience has him asking, “What are you doing, man?”

“I’d planned to beat someone with a Big Mac and choke them on a chocolate shake, but since it appears my victims are no shows,” I look over at him, “why stay? Let’s go pay those assholes lurking in the shadows a visit.” I start the engine and crank the music to something that isn’t country. I’ve had all the country I can stand right now.

About halfway to the house, Asher’s phone pings with another text. “They entered the house and left,” he says, eyeing me. “Why would they do that?”

“Because no one wants me to have fun tonight, apparently. No McDonald’s Big Mac massacre for me tonight. And now, no backyard brawl.”