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“It wasn’t great,” he says. “It was dangerous, and it led me down the wrong path pretty damn quick. I did some things I’m not proud of.” He scratches his neck, and I can’t help staring at the tattoos, how strong his hands are, the way he moves. “I wasn’t part of the club for long.”
“Why? What happened?” I sit forward, tucking my knees underneath my body, and setting the wine glass down on the table.
“A lot of shitty things,” he says. “I was in a bad place when I joined the club. I was looking for revenge in the wrong places, and I thought they would help me get it.”
My pulse races. “Revenge?”
He downs his wine in one swift motion and sets it aside. The glass looks ridiculous in his huge hands.
“Yes. Revenge. But the leader of that club, Davis, made promises to me that he couldn’t keep. It was a trade. I did what he wanted, he was supposed to help me get what I wanted,” he says.
I’m stuck on every word.
“But he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain,” Savage continues. “And I realized that the parts of me I liked were gone. And all that was left was anger. So I decided to leave.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip. “You left? Is that a thing you can do?” Granted, my knowledge about motorcycle clubs comes solely from motorcycle club romance novels, but whatever.
“Not easily,” Savage says.
“But you’re fine now?”
“That depends on your definition of fine, Princess.”
My stomach pirouettes. I love it when he calls me that. I shouldn’t, because I’m half convinced it’s a reference to how helpless I am and how everyone looks after me, but from his mouth… My God.
“You met Cash after you arrived in Heatstroke, right?”
“That’s right,” Savage says. “Your brother saved my life.”
“Are you serious? I had no idea.”
“It’s how we met.” Savage takes a breath.
I’m so nervous my palms are clammy. Before, all I had to go on was my raw physical attraction to Savage, but now that he’s opening up to me, things are getting so much worse. He’s fascinating. Mysterious. Strong.
“I arrived in Heatstroke late at night. You know the overlook on the bay?”
“Sure.” There was a road that ran up the hill encircling the bay on the coastal road into Heatstroke
“I stopped there,” Savage says. “And I was, uh, considering my options. I wanted to be rid of everything that had happened over the past couple of years. I was going to drive my motorcycle off the cliff and end it.”
“Savage, I’m so sorry.” I press my hand over my mouth.
“But your brother happened to arrive up there in time to stop me. He was practically a kid. He’d just brought Alex back to Heatstroke, and he was up there having a night off. He talked me down,” Savage says. “I owe your brother my life.”
“That’s—”
“It is what it is,” Savage says. “There’s no amount of favors I could do for him that would repay what he’s given me.”
“Cash wouldn’t want you to feel indebted to him,” I say. “He’s not like that.”
Savage doesn’t answer me, but the quiet in the room grows. He gets up and comes back a minute later with a battery-powered radio. Music drifts from its tinny speakers. Romantic music.
“What about you?” Savage asks.
“What about me?”
“What do you enjoy that excites you? Motorcycles did that for me. Still do when I get the chance to ride. What does it for you?”
