Page 11 of Savage Devotion (Savage Reign #1)

REAPER

A fter I helped Arabelle clean up our mess, she told me she had to head to work. Twenty minutes later, I found myself at Savage’s Pour House. I watch Belle laughing with Lily, the sweet club-candy who’s been working here since she moved into the Savage compound a couple of years back.

Lily is a good girl, but a biker bitch through and through. The crew swears she gives good head, but I’ll leave it at that. I’m not into tasting used goods. That probably makes me sound like a real son-of-a-bitch but I know what I want. And what I don’t.

Shit. I haven’t been with anyone since that night with Arabelle. My dick has been in knots over her for over four long-ass, dry months now.

My eyes are glued to Arabelle as she scoops up a tray and helps deliver it to a rowdy load of fuckers just getting off work. Every dip of her hip drags pre-cum from my dick and I swear I’m so hard already I could pound railroad nails into solid cement.

“You nail them with any meaner look, and you’ll pick a bar fight. I mean, I’m down with a little rough-housing, Prez, but can I at least finish my beer first? What’s the new girl to you, anyway?”

Ash’s scowl isn’t any better than mine. He leans back in his chair, props an arm over the back, and takes a deep swallow of his cold brew. I hear him and he has a point but I can’t seem to pull the scowl on my face back now that it’s front and center.

The only thing that will help me is getting Arabelle the fuck outta here. The messed-up part is I own the joint. This is Savage’s territory.

“She was the girl I told you about back at the Voodoo Lounge a few months back.”

Ash lets out a low whistle.

“Got it.”

Savage’s Pour House is located right over the parish boundary of Harlon and an easy ride from the compound when I want something new to look at.

On this side of the line, local law has limited access to the place. It’s no more than a converted warehouse, which sometimes serves as storage for what the club needs to keep away from the compound—gambling and illegal poker games. The club has to make money somehow.

The back is where that goes down and is what makes it a valuable asset for the club among the many we have between here and in New Orleans.

Back in the day, it used to be closer to a strip club we own.

During a territory grab back in my dad’s day, it was damn near destroyed.

After the ashes were cleaned away, my dad relocated it out here, threw down some gravel to serve as a parking lot, brought the old slab of wood to serve as the bar top, and called it good to go.

It’s all high-top tables and stools, neon beer signs, and sticky floors. Frankly, it’s on the verge of being a dive bar, but I like the food. My crew works hard to keep it civil during business hours out front. It’s where the locals come—MC or not.

There are also a couple of rooms back there for a few club patches who need to crash or whatever.

Right now, I’m thinking Arabelle could use a little tour of the full establishment and I can introduce her to the room reserved for the prez of the club.

Ash clamps a hand down on my shoulder and I shoot him a fuck-off look.

His shit-eating grin speaks of the years we’ve known each other. Too many to count. He raises both hands. “You wanna go over there and ask her to dance or somthin’? Cuz you might as well be eye fucking her.”

“Fuck you, Ash,” I say with no heat. I can’t be mad at my friend for calling it how he sees it.

“Look, I’m just sayin’ you might not come here but she does. She waitresses here every weekend for extra cash. At least that is what Charli tells me.”

This is news to me. I’ve been so wrapped up in helping the Bratva Savages I’ve let a few details slip by me here at home.

Ash nudges my arm. “Everyone here loves her. You don’t need to watch her every fucking move, man. Don’t believe me? Watch.” He jerks his chin toward the bar top and a few tables positioned close by.

There’s not an empty chair to be seen, and it’s all because of Arabelle. She’s got the local fuckers smitten with her sweet talk and flowy skirts.

I twirl the cold beer in my hand but I can’t bring myself to drink it. I’m too busy watching her work the room with that cherry-red painted smile. My God. She’s got everyone wrapped around her little finger.

And I know the feeling. I’ve been tied up in her for months.

I scoot my full beer away and level my eyes on Ash. “Let’s get to club business. Pull whoever is in-house and meet me in the back. We need to deal with what happened today and talk about this.” I toss a black baggie on the table about the size of a matchbook with a large “E” on the front.

“Shit. Euphoria’s made it to our small parish?”

I nod. “Picked it up off the street today.”

“The Vultures,” Ash states flatly.

Ash signals for the men of our crew to follow. “We have a couple of enforcers, me, you, and I think Jax, one of our patches.”

“Leave the patch out for now. Tell him to keep an eye on Arabelle and his dick in his pants or lose it.”

I push up, turn and leave the chaotic front and head toward the back where I can hear myself think. After years of open road and silence, it’s going to take some time to get used to all the noise pounding my brain.

Stale cigar smoke and old beer are the first thing I smell when I push the back door open and step into a back room used for high-stakes poker nights. It’s not too big, but there’s enough space for club business.

Ash leads the men in and we form a circle around the table.

“Prez, what’s up?” Elias “Beast” Carver—a Savage Reign enforcer and my sergeant-at-arms—straddles a chair and braces his arms over the back. Haze “Cipher” Gravmont, our other enforcer, is hot on his heels with a beer in hand.

I hate formality and all the meeting shit, so I keep everything low-key. My dad was all about rules and treating club meetings like a military unit.

No thanks. I see no need to waste anyone’s time with that level of detail.

“Listen up, men. I know I haven’t been your president long.

Two months ain’t shit on the job, but you know me from before our dicks knew how to work.

My dad brought most of you on before he got sick, because all our dads rode together.

His passing hit us all hard and the club ink on my chest has hardly healed over. ”

There are a few gruff “yeahs” and I pause to meet each of their gazes.

Ash looks me dead in the eye. “We trust you, man. Tell us what you want.”

“The Vultures seem to think losing our old president has made us weak. Their president seems to think he can ride through our parish and harass our women. And then there’s this.” I jerk my chin toward Ash and he tosses the black baggie I gave him on the table.

Cipher reaches for the baggie and holds it up. “I’ve seen this around back at the Voodoo lounge. I tossed a rowdy group of college kids out on their asses for popping this shit. They say you can’t overdose on it.”

I grunt. “Bullshit. You come across it again on Savage property let me know.”

“Copy that, Prez.”

“Drugs aren’t our thing, in case anyone needs a refresher. Make sure our patches know that.” Ash slams a fist down on the card table with a thud. “They will be out before they can raise an argument. Understood?”

Our enforcers nod. “Preaching to the choir, but we feel you, Ash.” Cipher takes the pills and dumps them into his palm. “If this was on the Vultures, that means they are getting into shit that will eventually pull us into a war.”

I hold Cipher’s gaze and nod. “Glad we are all understanding the same thing.”

Beside him, Beast growls like a demon and looks ready to send some souls to hell. “What do you want us to do, Prez? Overdoses on our watch is bad for business.”

I lean over the table and brace my weight on my knuckles.

“The beat down y’all gave the bastards today will force Grudge to save face.

Ride the lines. Not one Vulture crosses into our parish.

We don’t seek out violence, but we don’t allow it on our turf either.

The people of Harlon have our word they are safe. Let’s make damn sure we keep it.”

And I’m going to find out what Grudge wants with Arabelle.

I don’t say it but I hope that filthy bastard tries to do something that makes me put a bullet between his eyes.

Heads nod in agreement around the room and then they pile out leaving me to my thoughts which is never a good thing. These men are good people. Men who haven’t seen the levels of death I have and thank whatever god they believe in for that tiny miracle.

I’m a killer.

If it were up to me, I would burn every fucking Vulture establishment down to the ground. Our rivals are the scum of the bayou and it’s been that way for decades. Drugs, prostitution, and even human trafficking are on the table for those men. But not in Harlon. My crew doesn’t work that way.

Back when my grandfather established this club, he had a purpose. A drive to do good. Even if it meant getting dirty to make sure those who needed help got it.

But not if it meant hurting others to get it done. Hurting people for money is not how my family operates. With nearly one hundred years of my family’s blood running in my veins, I will die before I let the Vultures ruin what my family has built.

It’s why I came back. It’s why I am here after swearing the nomad life was for me.

These men trust me. I have more than just my reputation to lose if I let anyone destroy this parish.

I catch the hint of honey and jasmine over the stench of the place when I leave the back room and head toward the front.

I cast around but I don’t see the woman it belongs to.

I grab Jax by the collar and growl, “You had one fucking job, patch. Where is she?”