Page 2 of Savage Temptation (Savage Reign #2)

“Yep, that’s him in the flesh.” The words come out, but my mind is on the fact that I don't see a ring on his finger when he throws his hand up to block the camera from getting in his face.

He mumbles something about backing the fuck off and then he’s right back inside with a female detective moving in right after him.

“Mm-mm, baby. I’m so sorry you had to leave all that scrumptiousness at the altar. If it wasn’t for Oliver, you coulda had a god like that between your sweet little legs… on top of you… under you…”

“Jada!” I blurt, shaking my head. We’re both here against our wills, but for Jada it was better than the life she had. She’s not fighting Oliver’s will over her.

I do it every damn day.

Red sequins fill my vision. Some people have no boundaries. Jada is one of them. She will get in your space and speak her mind to make sure you hear her words.

“It’s okay, baby girl. But if you squeeze those roses any harder those buds are gonna pop off. You wanna talk?”

I catch three stretchers being rolled out of the club’s side door over Jada’s shoulder. I never knew Jagger or his biker crew to push drugs. We have too much history with losing loved ones for him to play with that crap.

“You doin’ okay? You seem stressed. More than usual I mean.”

I smile, but I don’t feel a single ounce of happiness right now. “Yeah. I’m going to take these to Oliver and then shower. Being in this city and so close has old feelings coming back.”

“I know, baby.” Jada pulls me in for a tight hug and I just let her hold me for another minute before I pull back and turn for the door again. Best friends are hard to come by. She knows everything there is to tell about Jagger, my past and why I’m here.

I leave my dressing room and head down the short hallway that dead ends with a large room filled with endless racks of costumes.

On the other side of tons of feathers and pantyhose is where I find Oliver’s office door cracked open.

I walk up, ready to knock, when I hear an unfamiliar voice speak from the other side. And he sounds pissed off.

“You said you had another week in my city. I expect seven more deliveries. You knew the cost of coming here, Ollie.”

I press closer and try to get a view of who the voice belongs to but the roses are in the way.

“Hey, what I’m doing for you here I can do anywhere. You think New Orleans is the only place I have connections? You need me .”

That’s Oliver.

I can’t make out the next exchange and then I hear. “My crew isn’t ready for mass distribution. Not yet.”

Crew? That makes me think the other man is a part of the mob or is a biker.

“It will be. Let this man speak. What plan do you have to help us move our product?”

I stiffen. There are two people inside with Oliver.

I squeeze closer to the opened slit in the door. That voice belongs to a Russian by the sound of the soft vowels and broad intonation. An aura of authority weighs on his words, too.

I catch a glimpse of leather on one man. He turns, giving me the view of a skull with a dagger through the mouth and a large bird behind it.

Biker.

The Russian is just out of view and says something I can’t make out. If only I can get a little…

The door gives and I tumble forward, catching myself on the arm of a chair before I face plant. I right myself and stand, but the flowers I had with me are not so lucky. Red roses lie scattered at my feet.

“What…what the ever loving fuck!” the biker barks from my right, like he thinks I’m the FEDS raiding the theater. His face flashes pale white before a flood of red fills his cheeks. It would’ve been almost laughable to see a man his size nearly pee his pants if I were not in some serious trouble.

The Russian doesn’t look phased one bit. He’s on my left, his hands at his side and his dark eyes taking in everything about me.

Then there’s Oliver dead ahead. His murky green eyes swing from two dozen red roses then back to me.

My gut twists. “Um, this isn’t what it looks like,” I manage, voice thin.

It’s not the scattered petals that freeze my heart. It’s their attention, the way all three men pivot toward me at once, their gazes as heavy as stone.

And then there’s what tumbled out of the bouquet.

They see it.

And so do I.

Oh, shit.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus on the three hulking figures looming in the office, icy dread trickling down my spine.

“Oliver.” I croak, fighting to keep my voice steady as my throat goes dry.

He eyes me with regret and something darker. “Emilia. I really wish you hadn’t come back here.”

Same, I silently scream, but I lock my features into a mask, refusing to let fear show.

Oliver retrieves a little black baggie from among the flowers.

It’s Euphoria. The fat “E” on the front of the baggie is a dead giveaway.

You come across a lot of drugs in this business.

Dancers and performers are always looking to do better and think taking any form of enhancers is the key that will make them a star someday.

It makes Oliver happy which earns them a few more freedoms.

It’s ugly. They get hooked and then end up dead when they no longer serve Oliver. I’ve been here long enough to see a few come and go the hard way.

Oliver’s beady eyes turn dark with anger. But that doesn’t keep my mouth from putting my thoughts out there for everyone to hear.

“You greedy bastard. Running us ragged isn’t enough for you. Now you’re crawling into bed with the local thugs?” I don’t need to look at the Russian or the biker to feel their eyes drilling into me, hard and unblinking.

The Russian turns his massive body to fully face me and I quickly recall all the self defense moves I studied with Jagger.

Stomp on foot.

Dick punch.

Upper cut to nose.

Run like hell.

All that is paused when Oliver moves his large body in front of me, his condescending smile turning predatory.

And frankly creepy as hell. Like he woke up this morning and decided he was tired of hiding his true nature and ripped off the nice guy mask he uses for all the adoring crowds.

What lies underneath makes my stomach churn with acid-covered dread.

My heart slows. My eyes refuse to blink.

Suddenly, tunnel vision narrows my focus down to only the three hundred pounds of pissed off man in front of me. And the snub-nosed revolver he pulls out of his inside suit jacket.

But what really has my heart tumbling to roll in the glitter on the floor is the sound of the hammer clicking with metal against metal.

I am so focused on Oliver, that I don’t see the biker move in on my right until his hand comes down on my shoulder.

But before he can latch those bony fingers onto my flesh, my feet move.

I don’t know how but I blow by the Russian and out the door before anyone can catch me.

Everything is a blur as I put one bare foot in front of the other. Glitter crunches beneath my feet. I run. Just keep moving, Emilia. I hit the side door to the theater and I don’t stop, or look back. Not until I see the familiar glow of a neon sign.

If I’m getting a bullet tonight, I’d rather it be from a man I love than a man I loath.