Filthy Savage (Satan's Saints MC Book 3) Read online

  “Can you make time in your busy coffee schedule to do a visual assessment of his property today?” Silas adds.

  “Yep,” I answer. “I’ve lived at that house countless times over the years.” I take out my phone and send a quick text to check on whether Vincent is home. “Glad you and the old lady came to your senses. He’s good people.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Vincent Belmont comes from a long line of arms dealers. Last time I checked. I’m not sure he qualifies as good people, seeing as how his ancestors gave a lot of countries and nations the means to go to war.”

  “Stop busting my balls, Prez. You know what I’m saying. And besides, there’s only one difference between his family’s business and what our club just transitioned from. The difference is scale. Sure, compared to his massive operation, we were tadpole in the swamp. But we’re still in the same fucking swamp, man. We were fucking gunrunners, for fuck’s sake. We’re no better than him.”

  “All right. Go make us some fucking money from the dirtbag,” Silas shouts, scowling.

  I hold out an awaiting fist bump that he ignores. “Done. You need anything else from me today? I’ve got a few things to check out, so I may be off the radar tonight.”

  “Let me guess. You’re chasing tail again.”

  “Well, there’s that,” I admit. “But what choice do I got? I’m pretty much the last man standing around here without an old lady…except for Dean.”

  “That just means you’ve got your pick of the sack demons.”

  “Come on. They’re the entertainment, not old lady candidates.”

  “I don’t know,” Silas mutters, shaking his head. “I noticed Dean eyeing the one with the bright pink hair.”

  “He can have the whole fucking lot of them, for all I care,” I reply. I get to my feet and step around the meeting room table, ready to leave. “About tonight, you could say I’m following a Mongols lead.”

  “Whoa, what lead? You of all people know that the Mongols and Los Diablos MCs are both off limits right now. We don’t need Dean Roman on our case.”

  “Trust me, I won’t go starting trouble. Just don’t ask me to go into all the details with you right now.” I snatch up the background check document and wave it around. “You know why? Because I’ll be busy for half the fucking day filling out this shit.”

  Silas let out a chuckle and gathers up his things. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  “I’ll update you on everything tomorrow. So, we’re cool?”

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  I slap palms with my president and leave with the papers. Stepping outside, I put the documents into the satchel on one side of my Harley, already dreading the time I’ll waste filling it out. A text comes in from Vincent, letting me know he’s free and on his way home now. Perfect. I can get both tasks out of the way at Vincent’s place, and use the rest of the day doing some intel on Angel.

  I’ve been at Vincent’s mansion for over three hours. We used one of the security vans to drive around the fifteen-mile perimeter of his over five thousand acre estate, stopping at several points to walk the higher risk areas. The place is huge. I remember someone asking Vincent how large five thousand acres was, for a visual. His answer was that the property can fit six Central Parks on it and still have room for his house. This is one of the reasons I’m glad Si finally agreed to taking him on as a client. A lot of shit can go down under Vincent’s nose around here and he probably wouldn’t notice. He needs people he can trust to keep this place safe.

  Of course, as we’re long-time friends, the topic of my security clearance comes up. Vincent knows how much I hate paperwork. Once the assessment is wrapped up, he offers to help me fill out the forms. He’s probably the only person who knows everything there is to know about me, so I agree.

  We make our way back to his house and head into the main floor sitting room, relaxing over glasses of whiskey.

  Vincent unbuttons his black suit jacket and takes a seat at his desk. He takes some time to look over the blank security clearance forms. “I don’t see why you’re so worried about this, Axe,” he says after some time flipping through the pages. “You’re applying for the lowest clearance level that the Department of Defense issues.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better about filling it out? There are over a hundred fucking questions. Talk about thorough and exhaustive. I started filling it out, but just couldn’t get into it.”

  Vincent smirks, amused. “All you did was fill out your name, social security number, and date of birth. That’s all.”

  “That’s what I mean,” I shout, getting up to refill my glass. “I don’t even feel comfortable giving them that much.”

  “Relax.”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to subject yourself to this crap.”

  “I have a valid security clearance,” Vincent informs me with a blank stare.

  “What? How the fuck did you pull that off? You’d think your association with the weapons trade and organized crime would’ve raised some red flags,” I joke.

  Vincent flashes me a half-smile and raises his eyebrows. “Try passing a polygraph test while holding on to more secrets and lies than a politician.”

  “Good point.”

  “Listen. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Try me,” I answer, downing the rest of the whiskey in two full gulps.

  Vincent swivels his chair to look at me this time. “What?”

  “Ask me a question from the form,” I tell him. “A tough one.”

  “All right.” He returns his gaze to the document and flips through a few pages. “Have you ever been arrested?”

  “Arrested, yes, a few times. Charged or convicted of a crime, no.”

  “What were the arrest dates and locations?” Vincent asks.

  “See what I’m saying? How the fuck would I know? Who walks around adding their arrest dates into a calendar?”

  “Did you ever think of paying for a criminal records check at a local police station?”

  I shake my head, and he just stares at me for a minute.

  “Ask me something else,” I say.

  “All right, moving along. Have you or anyone you associate with ever been a member of a cult, a secret society, or a group-awareness program?”

  “I’d say the fact that I’m an executive member of Satan’s Saints MC biker gang is a pretty fucking secret society. Tell me, how do I answer that?”

  “I’d check the no box if I were you.”

  “I was going to check yes and add ‘Can’t tell you or it won’t be secret anymore, dumbass’ in the explanation section.”

  Vincent rubs his temples. I can tell that I’m testing his patience, but he knows this clearance bullshit is a pain point for me. “How about this one? Have you ever been treated for alcohol, drug, gambling, or sex addiction?”

  I hold up my glass of whiskey. “As you can see from my third glass, it’s a no to the first question. Ditto for drugs, which you would know as we’ve pretty much tried every drug that’s out there. Those were some good times, huh?”

  “Real good, from what I can remember,” he agrees.

  “Gambling is a straight no, but the last one sounds like a trick question.”

  “So it’s a no. Next question. Have you ever been delinquent on alimony or child support payments?” Vincent continues.

  “I’ve got no kids, so that should be a not applicable, unless there are kids out there I don’t know about.”

  “Let’s just answer no.” He flips a few pages. A look of discomfort registers on Vincent’s face. “We’ll skip this one.”

  “Hang on. Ask me.”

  “I know the answer to this question.”

  “Oh.” I look away. “It’s about my parents, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It asks whether any of your immediate family members are deceased. I checked yes.” Vincent folds the form and places the pen he’s using on top. “That’s enough for now.”

  “Agre
ed,” I say, and force the gripping and agonizing images of my parents’ deaths to the back of my mind again. I’ve had enough. Finishing my drink, I get to my feet. “We got a lot more done than I thought. I gotta go now, but if you’re free tomorrow, I can come by to finish up the rest.”

  Vincent nods. “No problem at all. I’ll see you out.”

  “Thanks.” I pick up the half-finished application. “I’ll have Sabrina send you the service contract for the grounds security work too.”

  “Perfect,” Vincent answers, moving ahead to lead me through the familiar maze of wide, bright arched corridors. “Thanks for coming by today, and for convincing your associates to take on the work. You know how cautious I am about protecting our privacy.”

  “I do.” I shake Vincent’s hand at the front door. “You’ll be safe with us, brother.”

  3

  Angel

  I swirl the ice in my drink around the glass, wishing I ordered two double gin and tonics. The one I ordered didn’t cut it. I’ve already knocked it back like a shot and need more to take the edge off. Drinking too much before I meet up with my best friend Sonya’s cousin, Dean in this seedy dive bar probably isn’t the best idea. Not that I can understand why I need to meet him at all. It’s not like the text message Sonya sent me to pass along to him is top secret or anything.

  But for Dean, it probably is.

  Sonya and her entire extended family are mistrustful at best. Sonya’s been my best friend since before high school, yet she’s never once invited me to her house in all that time. They don’t like the idea of traditional government, they shy away from society, and they don’t, under any circumstances, talk to each other on the phone. Something about wire-tapping. Which is why I’m playing the real-life telephone game with the two of them. I’ve known Dean for years too, and he buys into the same ideology.

  At least we’re not meeting up for long. I’ll catch up on how he’s been for a few minutes, give him her message, and leave. Ever since Sonya left the country for a conservation scientist work assignment somewhere in Eastern Europe, I’ve been passing messages from her to Dean from time to time. But the messages have been coming more frequently since her employer moved her out to study somewhere in the Bulgarian desert, a place I can’t even pronounce.

  Like all of Sonya’s other notes, this latest message isn’t newsworthy. She wants me to let Dean know that she’s fine, that she’s working outside of cell phone range and will be unreachable for up to two months. That update is simple enough, yet Sonya insisted on me meeting Dean in person at this saloon to tell him.

  I check the time again. It’s early. One of their relatives owns the place, so Dean is usually around when I get here. Shit. I was hoping to pop in and leave, as a few of my coworkers are at our after-work lounge two blocks from the library. That’d give me an excuse to be up and close to where I met that big, sexy biker this morning.

  Axe.

  He hasn’t phoned, but I hope he does. For all I know, he might think I put a fake number into his phone. It’ll be his loss if he doesn’t at least try to contact me.

  I need to get laid soon.

  Huffing out a breath, I look around and take in the sketchy characters near the bar. One of them is wearing too much denim. The man next to him, not enough hair. Too drunk. Not tall enough. I snap my head forward to face the bartender when the short one notices me looking and gives me a seedy wink. Nope. This is not the place for a casual hookup. Besides, I’m still holding out some hope for biker guy.

  Axe.

  What a name.

  I clutch my glass and lick my bottom lip as I remember the smoking hot man who had my panties soaked from only a five-minute coffee shop conversation. Our banter was a random bright spot in an otherwise dull day. Most men can’t handle my larger than life personality or my confidence, not to mention the fact that I’m plus-sized. He, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy what most would call my smart mouth. I remind myself that for now, I’m not looking for killer verbal skills, unless his tongue does killer things down south.

  Heat rises up my neck, and I close my eyes and down the rest of my now watery drink. I take a quick glance down my body to be sure I’m still as put together as when I left work. Good thing I swapped my black suit jacket for this pale pink top with short capped sleeves. It’s less inhibiting and a lot more casual this time of night.

  “Hello, lovely,” says a slurred voice coming from behind me. “I’m Troy. How about I buy you a drink?”

  I turn slowly until I’m face to face with the inebriated patron from the other end of the bar. The man can barely stand straight, let alone have a conversation. I rattle the ice in my glass and narrow my eyes at him. “I appreciate the offer, but I like buying my own drinks. Thanks, though.”

  He grazes his less than subtle eyes down my body, taking twice as long as most because he’s probably seeing double at his level of intoxication. I glance down into my glass with a frown, bracing for an inappropriate remark.

  “Hey, excuse me,” says a more familiar gruff-sounding voice. “I’m going to cut this off because the lady isn’t here for you, okay? Just mosey on over to that table over there.”

  I glance up in time to see drunk dude unceremoniously lifted out of his chair, and my biker from the coffee shop slides in beside me as if he owns the spot.

  “What a welcome coincidence, slugger,” I say, unable to contain my smile.

  “Hey.” He has that cocky smile on his face. I won’t forget it anytime soon. “You didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?” he asks in a voice that makes my core clench as its baritone vibrations made its way to the base of my spine.

  “Actually, I thought I would’ve heard from you hours ago,” I admit, giving him a sideway glance. “Axe, right?”

  “Yes.” My mystery man slaps a pink sticky note on the counter in front of me. A square of paper from my sticky pad, and with a note in my handwriting. “You dropped this outside Desert Java.”

  “Oh, thanks. I was wondering what I did with that address. Good thing I’ve been here a few times before. Otherwise I wouldn’t have made it.”

  He holds out his arm for a handshake, revealing a forearm covered in colorful ink. I shake his hand and hope he doesn’t notice the goosebumps running up my bare arms. My eyes trail up his muscular chest, broad shoulders, and grizzled chin, skimming the rest of his face when I lock with his green eyes. God, they’re sparkling just as brightly indoors as they did under the blinding sunlight this morning.

  “Nice to meet you again, Angel.”

  “Same here.”

  That split second seems like an eternity while we hold on for way too long in that handshake. I can’t quite figure out why I don’t pull away. Every molecule in my body tells me to hang on, but there’s a tiny part of my mind wrestling hard for control, urging me not to invest any time in this man with biker gang bad boy written all over his face. Am I stereotyping him? Yes, because the last thing I need in my life is trouble, even if Axe does have a whole lot of sex appeal smashed onto a muscular, godlike body and a killer smile.

  I need to put my guard up.

  Way up.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, and releases my hand.

  I press my lips together and arch a brow, weighing how bad it’ll be if I’m too relaxed around this man. Then I think better of it. “I should probably lay off the alcohol. I’ve got a bit of a drive home.”

  Axe idly drags his callused fingertip over the top of my hand that’s still resting on the counter. “I’d be happy to get you home safely tonight.”

  “That’s really sweet of you, but I’m not looking for a designated rider—I mean driver,” I add quickly, jerking my hand out from under his electric touch. Maybe I am a little tipsy. Why else would I say something so spicy?

  “I’d ride you home anytime,” he says with a grin.

  “That was a slip of the tongue.”

  “I got that. It’s still kinda cute… and sexy as hell.”

 
“Do you have to be so smug and cocky right now?” I ask. “Look, I’m sorry if I come off as rude, but I’m waiting for a friend, all right? That means I have to be here.” My eyes roam around to the bar entrance, wishing Dean would make his appearance so I can get the hell out of here and snap out of whatever spell Axe has me under.

  “I like your honesty. All that spunk needs a better outlet. Something with less talking and more grinding.”

  “Are you really going there?” I bark. I’m trying my best not to show how attracted I am to this man, but every inappropriate remark he makes causes the hairs at the base of my neck to stand on end. I press my thighs together to stop the throbbing in my core. Mr. Pussy Whisperer over there has a voice that’s hardwired to my body. Having him sit next to me is downright intoxicating.

  “I get the impression that you like the idea a lot more than you care to admit. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “You’re full of yourself, even if you’re right,” I say then immediately bite down on my lip for fueling him on. I desperately wish I was stronger than this. Maybe the trick is to keep my mouth shut. Dean will be here soon. Yes, silence is the best course of action. He can’t tempt silence.

  Axe licks his lips. “What exactly are you afraid of?”

  That question makes me swallow hard. “I’m not afraid of anything,” I squeak.

  “Angel.” The sound of my name on Dean’s commanding voice coming from behind me makes me straighten up in my bar chair and whip my head around.

  “Dean. Hi. I was wondering when you’d get here,” I say to him, but his eyes are locked onto Axe’s as they size each other up. The intense expressions on their faces are way too scary to be about me. These men have a history.

  “Is this guy bothering you?” Dean asks, folding his arms as he gestures over at Axe.

  “I’ve got a name, Roman,” Axe informs him.

  “Right. Since we’re going with last names, I’ll stick to Voltaire. Angel, is Voltaire harassing you?”