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He slightly shifted, driving himself deeper, forcing me on to my tiptoes. I made a muffled sound in response, curling my fingers into the leather fabric.

“If you want to come, you’ll beg for it. Make me think you deserve it.”

“P-please,” I managed to gasp out. It was the best I could do. I don’t know how he expected me to beg when I couldn’t even talk.

My body jarred against the sofa as he showed no mercy. His balls slapped painfully against the groove of my ass.

I felt a cooling sensation trickle down my spine. I came on a soundless scream, turning rigid in his hands. His cock jerked twice. He let out an almost inaudible groan and found his own release.

He rested his forehead on my shoulder, replacing it with a feather light kiss before he pulled away.

“I was trying to tell you I think I know where they might be.”

I slouched onto the couch, trying to catch my breath. Why didn’t he just lead with that?

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

I’d been revisiting my past a fuck of a lot the last week, and can’t say I enjoyed it.

I stared at the rundown house with the patched roof and recalled the cold nights when rain declared open season on all our shit, and days when I’d come back to find racoons with their faces in our bare supply of food.

“I can’t believe we lived here,” Grimm mused, stepping up beside me.

“Thank fuck we don’t now,” I agreed.

We’d been teens then.

It was a year before I killed the old leader and took his place as the head of what was now the Savages.

It was pitch black outside, but two of the lights and a television were on inside, showing me all I needed to see.

Dhal sat right at the fucking table, laughing with someone I couldn’t see clearly; two more men were on the couch. In a back bedroom, a couple was fucking right in front of an open window.

None of them signified where they’d come from, but each single one of these dead fucks was in a building that belonged to me.

Tallying up how many motherfuckers I was about to kill, I walked back to the hatch of my jeep.

It was just a small group of us: Cobra, Grimm, me, and Luther. Like the good old days. I could have sent the army, but I was the motherfucking army.

I’d assumed Dhal had gotten over whatever weird bullshit dilemma she’d gotten herself into a few months back. Obviously, I’d assumed wrong.

Now here I was, playing the fucking rescue role again. I genuinely didn’t give a shit about Arlen, but I did give a shit about my girl and Grimm, who had a soft spot for the loud mouthed fugitive.

And then there was the principle that the bitch had been taken right out from underneath me, which, in my eyes, was stealing. And in my world, when you stole from me, that was delivering your own death warrant.

For once, I didn’t want to do this shit nice and slow. I wanted it hard and fast. My gorgeous girl was at home trying to bake cookies with Bryce on guard duty. She’d probably burn the fucking house down.

I handed Grimm a buckshot shotgun and took one for myself.

Shutting the hatch, I made my way back to Luther, who took the gun in with little surprise.

“It’s showtime.” I jerked my chin towards the back of the house where Cobra was slinking up.

He carried a freshly severed ram head in his hands. He crouched right under the open window of the couple still going at it and gave us all thumbs up.

“Fucking goof,” Grimm chuckled, heading for the back door with Luther as I went for the front.

I made it to the house without any issues. Peering around the porch, I jerked my chi