Savage Love (Savage Trilogy 3)

He catches my waist and pulls me to him, pressing his forehead to mine. “I can’t promise not to kill him.”

“I know,” I say, and my hand settles on his cheek, over the scar he’d gotten that night he killed Wes’s wife, but ultimately that scar exists because my father convinced him to join the black ops team. I’m not sure what to do with that information.

Rick eases back to study me, his expression probing. “I’m not talking about Tag. I’m talking about Gabriel. If he lays the wrong hand on you, I will kill him.”

“You’ll be too busy killing Tag.”

“If you’re trying to convince me you should be at that party, you’re failing.”

“I’ll be protected,” I remind him. “And the party is high profile. There will be plenty of security present. I need to help you, Rick, and I need my father. If I don’t show up at that party, Tag will know something is up and that puts you and my father at risk.”

He looks skyward, seeming to struggle a moment before he fixes me in a turbulent stare. “You do not leave that party with him. And I mean you do not leave that party with him. I don’t care if you have to make a scene. Do you understand?”

Cotton forms in my throat. I swallow hard. “You’re afraid he’s already decided to kill me.”

“He and Pocher already decided that you’re disposable should you become a problem. We didn’t hear them make the definitive decision to get rid of you, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t made.”

My heart swishes in my ears and begins to thunder while the cotton in my throat grows more dense. I can hardly breathe. I didn’t love Gabriel, but when I met him, I thought he was a good man. I didn’t expect him to turn out to be a man who planned a hit on my life. No one can expect such things.

Rick’s hands come down on my arms. “Candy,” he says, softly, and I stare at him, this man who owns my heart and soul, this man who calls himself a killer. And yes, he is, but he’s not a monster. Gabriel is a monster.

“I need to hear you say it, baby,” he urges.

“I won’t leave with him. I promise. No matter what it takes.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Savage

Candace fixes her face while I stand at the window of the hotel bedroom, contemplating going all caveman and shit on her. I could put her on a damn plane and send her to New York. The only reason I don’t is Pocher who lives in North Hampton. He’s a bad news dude, a powerful man with the resources of the Society, which is basically the backdoor government, Washington’s underground. Which is why I need Kane Mendez. He doesn’t just legitimately own the oil industry, and buckets of cash, he’s connected to a drug cartel. And he and that cartel, hate Pocher. Kane Mendez might be dirty, but he’s the kind of dirty we need.

Minutes later, Candace and I enter the dining room to find Asher, Smith, and Adam at work on laptops. They also have donuts and coffee. I drag Candace to a seat next to the donuts, which places me across from Adam and Candace across from Smith. They have coffee. We’ll fight them for it if necessary. “Where the hell is that dipwad, Adrian?” I ask, opening the donut box.

Adam smirks. “He loves you, too, you know?”

“Of course, he does,” I say. “I’m just so damn lovable. A teddy bear with a gun. Everyone likes to play with a teddy bear with a gun.”

“And bad jokes,” Smith snipes.

I snort. “Says a guy who wouldn’t know a joke, if it came up, bent him over, and spanked his butt cheeks red.”

“He’s not a dipwad,” Candace says, claiming two coffee cups and setting one in front of me, while I claim an éclair and offer her one, which she happily accepts and sets on a plate. She loves the shit out of éclairs.

“Adrian or Smith?” I ask while she grabs my éclair that is now on the table and sets it on a plate.

“That’s wasted effort,” I say, picking up the éclair and taking a bite.

“Neither are dipwads,” she says. “What is your problem with Adrian, really?”

“Gut feeling,” I motion to my gut with my donut. “Just don’t like him.”

“The dipwad,” Asher says, from his spot at the end of the table, “is scouting Candace’s house. We heard the call between her and Gabriel.”

“I don’t like him sending her a doctor,” Smith adds, standing to reach directly across the table to hand me the thermal pot of coffee. I take it and fill both cups, before setting down the pot and handing Candace the creamer. “For all we know the doctor could—” he glances at Candace and then me. “I don’t like it.”