No matter what, Sia.
I scrubbed my body through the pain until the water was no longer red. Then I wrapped a towel
around me. After a careful gaze at my clothes, I decided not to get dressed in the bathroom. Dangerous move? Yes, but was worth the risk.
Carefully, I stepped out. He wasn’t in the room. No one was. Music streamed from downstairs, too
loud. What was this place? I took a quick glance from the shut windows. I was unconscious when
they’d brought me here. There were a lot of men in cuts and women dancing, drinking, making out and
even fighting in what seemed to be the front yard of a house. This must have been the Wicked
Warriors’ clubhouse itself.
I placed my clothes on the bed and snooped around, looking for something to use as a weapon. I’d
searched the bathroom before I showered for a razor, but he didn’t have one, only an electric shaver, not that he—or anyone here—seemed to be using it. Of course, they’d taken my gun, and Savage had
his when he left. Perhaps he had a backup somewhere. This was the South after all.
The muffled voice of a man speaking right outside the room stopped me in my tracks. I hurried to
the bedside, pretending I was getting dressed.
The door opened, and my heart thudded as Savage walked in. He had a shirt and his cut on,
smelling of beer and smoke. A guy like him couldn’t stay clean for a few minutes.
He raked me from head to toe, lingering more than usual on thetoe. He either had a foot fetish or—
“Get your left foot on the bed,” he ordered.
Please let it be the foot fetish. The other reason he might ask to see my foot could mean I was
already dead. “Is that the kind of business you want from me? Something foot related?” I played
dumb.
He strode toward me, closing the distance between us. He took an unhurried look at my face up
and down. Then he let his fingers slide down my arm, staring at my lips. “I don’t like to repeat
myself.”
My flesh broke in goosebumps under his gaze, under his touch. “You don’t like to respect a girl’s
mind either.”
He grunted something that sounded like a sarcastic chortle. Then his other hand dropped between
my lower thighs.
I trembled. “What are you doing?”
Holding my gaze, he smirked, and then, abruptly, roughly, parted my legs and forced my left leg up.
I almost fell down, but his fingers stopped touching me, and his arm supported my waist, saving me
