Savage Love (Savage Trilogy 3)

“Rick—” She begins to make her case, but I’m not hearing it.

I’ve already grabbed a towel from the rack that I wrap around her now. “We need to rest while we can.”

“You don’t get to use me as an excuse to become a monster.”

“And you don’t get to use some promise I won’t keep to die. I will never make a promise that requires you dying for me to keep it. Don’t fight me on this. Because it will be a fight. Let’s go rest. We both need it.” I don’t give her time to argue. I scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom. She gives up the fight, at least for now, and I grab the remote on the nightstand to darken the blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows. Before I lie down, I send one text message and that message is to Kane Mendez: I need to see you today, after four. Name the place and time and I’ll be there.

I set the alarm for two hours from now and then roll over to Candace, who’s facing me, waiting for me. My hand settles on her face. “What do you think of the bed?”

“You’re in it. It’s perfect.”

“Tired?”

“Nervous.”

I don’t ask about what. We have two enemies left to battle: an assassin in Alejandro, and the man I suspect hired that assassin in Pocher. “Don’t be. You’re sleeping with your enemy’s enemy, and he loves the hell out you.” I scoop her into me, her back to my front and wrap my body around her body. “Sleep, baby. I have a plan. Watch and see.”

She doesn’t ask what plan which is good because I doubt she wants to hear my answer. Which would be to kill everyone that’s in our way if that’s what it takes to end this.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Savage

My alarm goes off and I grab my phone and silence it. Candace snuggles deeper into her pillow and murmurs, “Come back.”

I smile and lean over and kiss her neck, but I’m also checking my messages to find nothing from Kane. What the fuck? I pull the blanket more snuggly around Candace and walk into the bathroom and then the closet. Five minutes later, I’m dressed in cargo pants and a T-shirt with combat boots, ready to do whatever I have to do today to end this bullshit. Bullshit doesn’t get a lifespan. It gets an ending. I brush my teeth and then quietly sneak out of the bedroom to head downstairs. Once I’m there I dial Kane to get his voicemail, “What the fuck, Kane? Call me back.” I disconnect and make coffee because yes, it’s headed on two o’clock in the afternoon, but my baby likes her coffee all day long and my baby is getting her coffee.

By the time it’s brewing, I dial Kane again and leave a friendly message this time. “What the fuck, Kane? And I mean, what. The. Fuck?” I pour a cup of coffee and then dial Asher, before moving on to Adrian and Smith, looking for perspectives on all fronts, and they all align—they believe Alejandro left Texas. We all believe he’s coming here. I set the phone down and dribble my finger on the island, replaying what Tag said to me before he died, and considering the connecting dots of Tag and Pocher. They do connect, I decide, in ways my gut has been clamoring about but my mind just caught up to. Blake needs to be caught up, too.

I’m about to call Blake to confirm he’s on his way when Candace comes rushing down the stairs. Dressed in jeans and a pink sweater, her hair is in long, soft, natural waves.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Candace asks, hurrying across the room. “It’s almost two now. Isn’t Blake coming at two?” She pauses beside me, pushes to her toes and presents me her glossy pink mouth, which I happily kiss.

“You get cranky when you don’t sleep,” I remind her.

She scoffs. “I do not.” She eyes the coffee pot and her expression lightens. “You made coffee.”

I wiggle my brow. “And I went easy on the scoops.”

She smiles and darts for the pot, opening the overhead cabinet. “Rick, you have two cups if we count the one you’re drinking out of.”

I twist around to lean on the island and watch her. “We have two cups. I guess we better go shopping.”

“Yes. We do have to go shopping. And I need to get some work done. I’m committed to a project I haven’t finished. Once that’s done, I can go all contract work.”

“How are you feeling about that, baby?”

“Good actually.” She leans on the counter, facing me, cup in her hand, that ring finger of hers bare and begging for a ring—my ring. “I can take on passion projects now,” she continues. “I might make a little less at first, but ultimately, I’ll make more.”