Page 9 of Savage Devotion (Savage Reign #1)

From the second I crossed Harlon’s parish boundaries all I’ve heard is Reaper’s name on everyone’s lips. The prodigal son has returned…the new president…he’s changed…darker…

The list goes on and with every new item added to it, the more I want to throw my boxes of books in the car and hit top speeds getting out of this parish.

Yet here I stand.

When I cooked up the bright idea to search out the little parish, set up shop and get to know the father of my child before I start showing, I thought it sounded like a reasonable plan.

But the more time goes on, the more I think I just wanted to put myself in the path of the man I couldn't get out of my head. And heart, if I want to be honest.

It’s funny though. With all this inner turmoil, I’ve yet to see the man since arriving in Harlon.

I either hide when he walks into a place or chicken out at the last minute thinking I can just drive out to his biker compound. But the second I see the high walls and the guarded gate I pull a U-turn.

Fear of rejection is a bitch.

You would think two months is enough time for me to work up the nerve, but nope. I cling to my bookshelves and books hoping he’ll somehow discover me here in my tiny little nook, whisk me to the back of my store, and take me up against a bookcase all the while professing his undying love for me.

I laugh at my cowardice.

My attention falls back on Charli as she cracks open a fairly worn copy of a reverse harem romance I recommended a couple of weeks back. Apparently, she’s done with the unpacking part of helping me.

“Did I tell you about what happens on page one-oh-eight of this one?” She kicks back in her chair and shakes the paperback in my direction.

“Honey, that shit ain’t natural. But it was fun to try to imagine.

I like it when she stabs him and then he still saves her. Here, let me read this line to you.”

I eye the dark red cover. Oh, God. “Do you carry that around with you?” I hold back my laugh, cutting in before she can read that line.

“Uh, yeah.”

Good Lord, I’ve created a monster. “I know exactly what happens. I read that one. Twice.” I put a hand over hers and hand to God we both blush.

“Charli?” a sweet voice calls out from the back of the store.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about Angel Baby. Poor girl. I left her in the middle of the dark mafia reverse harem aisle. She’s probably freaking out. Gotta go. I love filthifying my friends with new favorite authors.”

As the mother hen type with the Savage Reign crew and anyone else she comes across she likes, Charli takes my face between her palms and looks me dead in the eyes. “Think about the book club? I want your answer in two days. Got it? I’m not gonna let you hide.”

No one tells Charli no.

“Promise,” I reassure her.

An hour later Charli and Angel—a Savage Reign club candy—walk out with at least a weekend’s worth of books and the promise to be back Monday. God, I need to restock already.

At this rate, that woman will have half the town’s female population hooked on alien dick and mafia smut.

I smile feeling oddly accomplished. Love.

Is love. Is love. Spreading it in the form of books puts a bit of spring in my step.

Maybe Charli is right. I should give Harlon a little longer to grow on me.

At least here I don’t have a stepdad wanting to use me as a drug pusher or a mother bleeding me dry emotionally.

Reaper or not, a close-knit parish like this would be a good place to raise a child.

I inhale the clean fall air and love the scent of wood-fire scent drifting in the early afternoon fog as I lock up and head for Josie’s diner not too far down the street. Some pie and coffee for lunch sound perfect after such a huge book sale.

The good thing about a small parish versus the big city I’m used to is no traffic. I start across the quiet street. Halfway there a roar of motors forces my knees to lock in place.

Bikers rumble down the road and I barely move out of the way from getting my toes crushed as they roll by. The hard eyes of their road captain pierce my skull and shivers of dread scrape down my spine.

I’m not a freaking delicate flower by no means, but right this second, I wish I had someone or something between the vultures and me.

Fucking pigs on wheels.

When the last of the bikers are past me, I head for the far side of the street but my path is cut off as they start to ride a circle around me, cutting off any hope of escape. I turn to backtrack to my store, but another bike swoops in, cutting off my last chance at a quick exit.

My chest clenches, and the fear of my teenage years grips my muscles.

Inhale.

Exhale.

This is not the same. I’m not a kid needing to fight off trashy men looking to rape a girl.

The president of the Harlon’s rival MC gang swerves and stops an inch from where I stand. He’s so close I can see the tobacco stains on his shirt. My nostrils will carry the stench of his sweat for hours. I back up but yelp when his buddy revs his motor from behind.

The Vultures are a gang of assholes from the next parish over.

Péril, Louisiana is about as welcoming as it sounds.

No one ventures over there unless they want trouble.

And now trouble is coming to find me. Again.

While I don't have to fear my step-father wanting to use me to push his drugs, the Vultures have no problem wanting to use my bookstore to do the same.

That’s why it’s surprising to see them pushing their luck. Charli has filled me in on the unspoken local rules. At the top of that list is no Vultures in Harlon without permission from the Savage Reign crew.

“Go the hell away, Grayson.” I shoot daggers his way and force bravado into my spine and act like I’m not trembling on the inside. I try to keep walking but my attempt at getting away is short-lived. I stumble back and lose my step when one of his goons tries to use my foot as a speed bump.

Gurgling acid bubbles in my stomach. Worse yet, it hits my tongue just saying the asshole’s name.

I cast around to see if anyone is watching, but there’s not a soul in sight.

Shit.

Grayson “Grudge” Caine is the epitome of what his name implies.

I know I have a personal problem with motorcycle gangs and hey, that’s on me.

Sure. I accept that. But in the case of assface with the stained wife beater and dirt-covered jeans revving his Harley I’m right on the money.

And I’m not alone. He thrives on the fear his club instills and likes to get his hands dirty as often as he can.

From what Charli has shared, he came up during all the early-2000s rivalry with the older members of the Savage Reign crew and takes his hatred of the Harlon’s gang seriously.

But to me, all biker gangs are the same no matter how hard Charli professes the Savage Reign crew is different.

And isn’t that a helluva thing to realize right now?

“You give any thought to my proposal, fresh meat?”

My gut churns at Grayson’s nickname for me. “Go to hell!” I pair my harsh words with a slash of my hand and firm, “Never happening!”

Inside, my heart lurches and thumps wildly in contrast to my brave words. I grab for the mace in my bag, but the slick layer of sweat coating my palms makes gripping anything nearly impossible.

They continue riding in a circle around me. One step forward and I’ll be riding bitch or one step back and I’d be road kill under the wheel of another.

I can’t see past the cuts of the Vultures but I can hear the rumble of louder motors coming from the north.

Maybe I won’t die today after all. They’ll get busy fighting each other and I can slink away unseen. As plans go, it’s as good as they get on the fly.

I whirl and sure enough. Over Grudge’s shoulder, the Savage Reign crew pour into the parish’s main street.

Instead of feeling safe though, my gut clenches, and my knees turn to noodles. What if they start shooting? I have nothing to protect me and my baby. I’m out in the open, surrounded by one MC while another rides up, murder in their eyes.

Oh shit.

Could tonight get any worse?

I left upstate New York to get away from my stepdad’s gang. No way did I mean to land right smack in the middle of a town with two others.

Apparently, my new hometown doesn’t think like I do.

But in my defense, no one from Harlon grew up looking over their shoulder wondering when the rough gang their stepdad led would roll up looking to harass everyone in their way.

He and his motley crew of criminals ran guns, dealt drugs, and trafficked people.

Anything that would put green in their pockets.

Just like the Vultures. And no doubt the Savage Reign.

I shudder with disgust. What the hell was I thinking?

The Savage Reign crew come in hot. The second I see the flash of a gun barrel, I hit the pavement and hug my knees. I dare to turn my head just in time to see a few Vultures burn rubber in the opposite direction.

Ire boils in my veins and replaces the sickening feeling of disgust sitting in my belly.

You know what, I’m done playing the weakling.

I gather my fear, shove it down and force myself to my feet. I shove my hair from my face and steel my spine with the same level of grit that helped me drive my skinny teenage knee into the nut sack of a thirty-year-old years ago.

I was never anyone’s toy then and I am not starting today.

I shove my hand in my purse, raise the black canister tucked in a side pocket, and fuck picking which of the assholes to aim for or hoping the Savage Reign crew is here to save me.

Arm raised outward, I press the little red button and soak the nearest biker in nasty pepper spray.

Thank God there isn’t too much wind today or I would be rolling on the ground right alongside the dude with the acid green mohawk. Metal crashes to the cement and I cringe.

Oops. That’s gonna cost thousands to repair. And I don’t feel an ounce of remorse.

“You cry like a good baby,” I hurl before hiking my long skirt to my knees and lunging over the squirming biker grabbing at his face.

I haul ass and don’t look back when I hear fists meeting flesh. Grunts and manly cries chase me across the street, but I don’t care who is beating who right now. All I need is my safe space.

“Arabelle.” A deep, tightly coiled voice strikes my ears.

The sound of my name on his lips almost has me stopping.

Keys in hand, the thumping tread of heavy motorcycle boots chases me into the back room of my bookstore. I barely manage to get behind the closed door before the sound of wood crashing against the back wall fills the room. I turn to see a set of familiar black-as-coal eyes.

“Reaper.” The blood in my veins hit molten lava heat levels in a flash. I’m suddenly so hot I can’t think and forget trying to breathe.

He’s across the room in three long strides. Hands are in my hair and hard, unforgiving lips crash over mine.