Page 3

Chapter Three

Vargan

M y head throbs like someone's using it as a war drum. The worn springs of the couch dig into my back, but I've slept on worse—prison floors, desert sands, burning cities at the edge of the Rift.

The farmhouse is quiet. Sunlight filters through faded curtains, highlighting dust motes in the air and casting shadows across a living room that's seen better days. Lived-in. Real. Not like the sterile dormitories and temporary bunks I've called home since crossing into this world twenty something years ago.

I sit up slowly, testing my ribs. The pain is there, but duller—a few days and I'll be back to fighting form. Orcs don't stay down long. We can't afford to.

My leather jacket hangs over the arm of the couch where I left it last night. I reach into the pocket and pull out my phone. Three missed calls—all from the same number.

Shit. The club's probably freaking out.

I haul myself off the couch, muscles protesting, and make my way to the kitchen. The house is empty—no sign of Savvy or the brother she mentioned. The clock on the microwave reads 6:38. She's probably already at the diner.

I dial as I fill a glass with water from the tap, then fish a couple of pain pills from the bottle Savvy left. Hammer picks up on the second ring.

"Where the fuck have you been?" The gruff voice of my MC president fills the line. No greeting, no bullshit—that's why he leads.

"Got delayed," I say, swallowing the pills.

"Delayed how? You in a cell?"

"Not yet. Had some trouble with the locals in a little hole-in-the-wall in upstate Georgia. Place called Shadow Ridge."

"Georgia? What the hell are you doing in Georgia?"

I lean against the counter, feeling the ache in my side. "Getting as far away as I could. Since Canada doesn't allow orcs to cross the border without papers, south was my best bet."

I hear him exhale, probably lighting a cigarette. "Well, shit just got worse. That shit-for-brains human you tangled with? He just died. It's murder for sure now."

My grip tightens on the phone. "Fuck."

"Yeah. That bitch you saved from him is talking to anyone who'll listen."

My vision edges with red. My free hand slams down on the counter, the beast inside me roaring. "What's she saying?"

"What do you think? That big bad orc attacked her and her boyfriend out of nowhere. That you went savage."

The image of Savvy flashes into my mind—Royce's arm around her neck, fear in her eyes, nobody moving to help her. Just like that night in the alley.

"That's not what happened! He was beating her! He had her by the throat and—"

Hammer's voice cuts through my rage. "You don't have to convince me, brother. We know you saved that woman's life. But humans are fucked up creatures. She's crying to the cops that she loved him, and he'd never hurt her, and you attacked first."

"Fuck," I mutter, gripping the counter so hard I hear the laminate crack beneath my fingers. I force myself to let go. "What the fuck are we going to do about this?"

"We need to get you to the Mexican border. Mexico's a sanctuary country, doesn't extradite orcs—not since the Retaliation Treaty. As long as we can get you across, you'll live."

I rub a hand over my face, feeling the stubble that's grown over the past few days. "Yeah, about that. I ran into a little trouble last night, and now I don't have a ride."

"Fuck!" Hammer's voice echoes through the speaker. "What the hell happened, man?"

I explain about Victor and Royce, keeping it simple—some local bigshot and his lapdog tried to recruit me for their demolition crew, wanted me to railroad people off their farms. I turned them down, things got heated, they totaled my bike. Nothing I can't handle, but it'll take time to get back on the road.

"Could be a blessing," Hammer says after a moment. "Right now, the cops only know they're looking for a wounded orc. Every pig in three states is watching the main highways."

"You got a plan?"

"Working on it. I'm sending a crew down to the border to find a good crossing point. They'll scout it out, make some connections. You focus on getting your shit together and staying under the radar. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," I say, though I'm already wondering if it's a promise I can keep. Trouble seems to find me, especially when someone like Savvy is involved. "I'll be ready."

"Good. And Crank—" He only uses my road name when he's dead serious. "Stay the fuck out of trouble. No more playing hero. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Call me when you're mobile."

The line goes dead. I stare at the phone for a moment, then tuck it back in my pocket. When I turn around, Savvy is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

She's already dressed in her uniform—a simple blue dress with a white apron, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. There's something about her that hits me square in the chest—not just that she's pretty, though she is, but the way she holds herself. Like she could take on the whole damn world and win. Feminine but fierce. Reminds me of the orc women back home.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask.

"Long enough." She steps into the kitchen, reaching past me for the coffee pot. "So what exactly are you running from?"

I consider lying. It's safer that way—for both of us. But something about the way she faced down Royce last night, the way she dragged my ass home and patched me up without flinching... she deserves the truth.

"I was in New York three days ago," I begin, leaning against the counter. "Coming back from a late run when I heard a commotion in an alley. A man had a woman up against a wall, beating the shit out of her."

Savvy pours her coffee, watching me carefully. "And you stepped in."

I nod. "I just wanted to stop it. Pull him off her, cool things down. But he pulled a knife, came at me hard—"

“Your wound?” she gestures to my side.

I nod. “He would have killed me given the chance.”

Realization enters her eyes as they widen before she gains control again. “So you…”

I can’t look at her and say it, so I turn to the window and look out over the unplowed field of weeds. “I just found out he died.”

Savvy’s quiet for too long. I hear her footsteps, but I’m not sure if they’re bringing her closer or taking her further away. If I were her, I’d be hauling ass to the nearest human with a gun.

"So it was kill or be killed," she says, her voice right behind me.

I release the breath I’d been holding and face her again. "Yeah." The memory flashes in my mind—the glint of the blade, the man's eyes wide with hate and fear, the woman screaming. "I didn't want to kill him. But he gave me no choice."

"So why not just explain that to the police?" She takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving mine.

I give her a look. "You saw how those people in your diner reacted to me. Who's gonna believe the word of an orc—trained to kill by this country's military—over a distraught, weeping human woman? She's saying I attacked them unprovoked. That I went savage."

Savvy's quiet for a moment, studying me. I can almost hear her thoughts—weighing what she knows of me (almost nothing) against what she's been taught to believe about my kind (probably nothing good).

"I believe you," she says finally.

The words hit harder than they should. "Why?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "The way you stepped in for me last night. You didn't have to do that. In fact, it would've been smarter not to."

Smart was never my strong suit.

"Last night, I mentioned Silas Granger," she says, changing the subject. "He used to run the garage in town before Victor drove him out. He still has tools, and he eats breakfast at my diner every morning around seven. If anyone can help you with your bike, it's him."

I nod, grateful for the information and the change of subject. "Thanks."

"Get cleaned up," she says, setting down her coffee cup. "I'll wait."

Twenty minutes later, we're walking across the street to the diner. The morning air is cool, the sun already promising a hotter than average spring day. Savvy moves with quick, efficient steps, and I adjust my stride to match hers.

"I called Willie this morning," she says as we cross the street. "Asked him to stay with his friend Jacob another night." She glances up at me, her expression guarded. "If you need a place to crash, you can stay one more night. But that's it."

"Appreciate it," I say. "Should have the bike ready to go by tomorrow."

She nods, like that's what she wants to hear, but there's something in her eyes—worry, maybe. Or doubt.

Greene's Diner is already open and busy when we arrive. Through the window, I can see it's been cleaned up from the chaos of the night before and I wonder just how early Savvy had to wake up to make that happen. My bike is still where I left it. But the broken pieces have been piled up and pushed up against the building. Savvy pushes through the door, drawing every eye in the place.

The conversations die down as they take in the sight—their beloved waitress walking in with a massive orc trailing behind her. Whispers start immediately. I'm used to it. Savvy seems unfazed.

"That's Silas," she says quietly, nodding toward a booth in the corner where an old man sits alone, focused on his breakfast. He's the only one not staring. "I need to get to work. Try not to break anything else."

There's a hint of a smile on her lips as she walks away, heading for the kitchen. I make my way to Silas's booth, aware of the eyes tracking my movement.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask.

The old man looks up, his weathered face impassive. He's in his seventies, white-haired, with hands scarred from decades of hard work. Ex-military, if I had to guess—he has that look about him.

"Free country," he says, gesturing to the bench across from him. "Or so they tell me."

I slide in, the booth creaking under my weight. Silas returns to his eggs, seemingly unfazed by having an orc join his breakfast.

"Heard you gave Victor and his nephew a bit of trouble last night," Silas says, not looking up.

"News travels fast."

Silas snorts. "Only entertainment this town gets these days. About time someone stood up to those vultures." He finally meets my eyes. "Name's Silas Granger."

"Vargan."

"I know who you are. What I don't know is why you're still here."

I nod toward the window, where the mangled remains of my bike are still visible in the parking lot. "Need to get that running again."

Silas leans to look, then whistles low. "They did a number on her."

"I heard you might have tools I could borrow."

He studies me for a long moment, then nods. "I might. Used to run the garage till Victor raised my rent so high I had to close shop. Wife was sick—cancer. Needed the money for treatments more than I needed the business." His voice turns bitter. "Lost her anyway."

My beast sturs. "I'm sorry."

He waves off my sympathy. "What kind of parts you need?"

I list off what I can tell from looking at the wreckage—new fork, probably new handlebars, maybe work on the frame depending on how bad the bend is. Nothing I can't fix with the right tools and time.

"I got most of that," Silas says. "Been collecting parts for years. Might have to improvise a bit, but we can get her running."

"We?"

A grim smile crosses his face. "Been a while since I got my hands dirty on a proper job. Besides, anything that helps stick it to Victor Hargrove is worth my time."

Savvy appears at our table with a fresh mug of coffee, setting it in front of me. "Getting acquainted?"

"Young man here needs some help with his bike," Silas says. "Thought I might lend a hand."

Savvy's eyes flick to mine. "That's real generous of you, Silas."

"Least I can do for the man who finally put Royce on his ass." Silas takes a sip of his coffee. "Though I expect that's why they wrecked your ride. They don't take kindly to being shown up."

"Seems like they don't take kindly to much," I say.

"They're bullies," Savvy says flatly. "Been running this town into the ground for years."

Silas nods. "Victor's got some deal with a developer. Wants to turn Shadow Ridge into one of those fake rustic tourist traps. Most folks have already sold out—couldn't afford not to with the way he's been squeezing everyone."

"But not you," I say to Savvy.

She straightens her spine. "My dad worked that farm and built this diner with nothing but sweat equity and his bare hands. Worked every day of his life to keep it all going. I'm not letting his legacy get bulldozed for some vacation condos."

There's fire in her eyes when she talks about her father, about the diner. It's the same look I've seen in warriors defending their homeland. Pride. Determination. Savvy might be human, but her spirit is pure orc.

"She's the last big holdout," Silas explains after Savvy leaves to take another table's order. "If Victor can get her to sell, the rest of us individual properties won't stand a chance. We'll all have to go."

I watch Savvy move through the diner, efficient and strong despite everything. "She's been holding off these two men by herself?"

Silas nods. "Almost a year now. They've tried everything—cutting her supplies, sending health inspectors, even having Royce charm his way into her life for a while."

That last bit catches me off guard. "Her and Royce?"

"For a few months after her daddy died. She was vulnerable, and Royce is good at spotting weakness." Silas's voice drops. "Whatever happened between them ended bad. She won't talk about it, but she hasn't been the same since."

Something dark stirs in my chest—a protective instinct I have no right to feel. "Why has no one helped her?"

Silas looks at me with tired eyes. "We've tried. But Victor owns most of the town already, and the ones he doesn’t are too scared to cross him. He's got the law in his pocket, the bank manager on his payroll. Man like that, in a town this small..." He trails off. "Savvy's the only one strong enough to keep fighting."

I'm quiet for a moment, watching her work. She catches my eye briefly across the room, and that same strange feeling twists in my chest.

"You know," Silas says, interrupting my thoughts, "I'm surprised Royce hasn't retaliated for you staying at Savvy's place last night."

My head snaps back to him. "What?"

"Town like Shadow Ridge, nothing stays secret long. Everyone knows you spent the night at her place. Royce considers her his property, even though she dumped his sorry ass. He doesn't like other men getting close to her."

I'm suddenly very aware of the danger I might have put her in. "I'm fixing my bike and leaving. Today, if possible."

Silas studies me, then shrugs. "Your call. But if you're worried about Savvy, you riding out might be the worst thing you could do for her."

"Why's that?"

"Because right now, you're the only thing standing between her and them." He drains the last of his coffee. "You leave, and there's nothing stopping Royce from making his move."

I look out the window at my broken motorcycle, the symbol of my freedom lying in pieces. Then back to Savvy, strong and proud, fighting a war she can't win alone.

I've spent my whole life running from one fight to the next. Never staying. Never putting down roots. It's safer that way.

But for the first time, running feels like the wrong choice.

"Let me think about it," I tell Silas. "In the meantime, let's get those tools and see what we're dealing with."

As we leave the diner, I catch Savvy's eye one more time. She gives me a small nod, like she's already accepted that I'll be gone by sunset. Like she's used to people leaving.

I look away first.

I don't make promises I can't keep. But something tells me I won't be crossing that border anytime soon.