Chapter Two
The Woman I Should Have Buried
Savage
Raven Blackwood is a fucking problem.
Not the loud kind.Not the obvious kind.She’s the kind that sits in your chest and changes the way you breathe.She twists your insides until you don’t know if you’ll ever be normal again.
I stand at the bar with a glass in my hand that I haven’t touched, watching her across the clubhouse like she might vanish if I look away.She’s standing with Mama M near the kitchen entrance, jacket off now, sleeves pushed up, posture relaxed in a way that makes my skin itch.
She looks like she belongs here.That’s the problem.
Saint moves up beside me, silent the way only a man who grew up fighting in my shadow knows how to be.He doesn’t look at Raven.He looks at me.
“You gonna tell me why she’s here,” he says quietly, “or you want me to pretend I don’t already know?”
I don’t answer right away.I don’t trust my voice yet.
“She says cartel,” I finally say.
Saint exhales slowly through his nose.“Everything about her says trouble.Just like it always has.”
“She wouldn’t come here unless she ran out of road.”
That gets his attention.He turns, studying my face like he’s looking for cracks I don’t let show.
“That’s not trust,” he says.
“No,” I agree.“It’s worse.”
Across the room, Mama M swats Raven’s arm with a dish towel, sharp but affectionate.Raven laughs, actually laughs, and the sound hits me harder than any punch I’ve taken in the last ten years.
It’s warm.Unapologetic.It doesn’t belong in this place.And yet, the men closest to them are smiling.
Fuck.
Mama M points at something on the counter.Raven leans in, listening.Nods once.Then, Jesus Christ, she reaches out and starts helping, grabbing a tray like she’s done this a hundred times before.
