Sax (Savage Kings MC Book 9) Page 3

  “He didn’t visibly flinch when I threatened to out him, but I could tell he wasn’t looking forward to that information reaching his ‘friends’. That information should prove useful to deter Mr. Long from discussing our arrangement with the other members, don’t you think?”

  “Ah, yeah. I guess so,” I say even though I would never out Ian and Gabe to the Kings, no matter what fucking happens. Doesn’t mean I’m above using the threat for leverage.

  “If you succeed in this endeavor, then I’ll process Mr. Long’s paperwork,” Washington agrees.

  “And how will you know if I succeed?” I ask.

  “My daughter won’t step foot out of North Carolina again before the election. Not unless she’s treating kids in impoverished nations with a photographer capturing every second. You’ll also need to persuade her to get her job back and try to repair our relationship. If you fail to make those things happen, I’ll put you and the rest of your gang in cells right next to your friend, Ian.”

  Fuck me. I’m actually going to do this shit for him. But what other choice do I have? Besides, manipulating a woman I’ve never met and don’t give two shits about sounds easy compared to life in prison for everyone I care about.

  “How do I find her?” I ask our state’s dickhead leader just as the cell door swings open.

  “I have the number to the burner phone they seized from your boat yesterday. I’ll send you the address of the next bar she’s sighted at. Isobel was recently spotted in Georgia, so I’m predicting she’ll be in South Carolina this week. That will give you the perfect chance to swoop in and stop her from leaving again.” Then, to the men in suits, he says, “We struck a deal, so he’s free to go. I’ve already cleared it with Agent Green. You can call him if you need to.”

  Great, it looks like I’m a free man again.

  Or at least as free as I get to be for the next few months while I’m stuck under the governor’s fucking thumb.

  Chapter Three

  Sax

  “Hey, man. How you been?” I ask when the guards bring Ian into the visitation room and we clasp hands and slap each other on the back. The dude was thick before prison, but now he’s massive. Guess there’s not much to do other than workout. And apparently fuck around with Gabe…

  “I’m as good as I can get in here,” Ian replies before taking a seat in one of the chairs at the empty table next to us. “After a stint in solitary, being back in the cellblock is almost as good as being home.”

  “I heard about the, ah, ‘altercation’ with a certain politician,” I tell him. “That’s actually why I’m here.”

  “Jesus fuck,” Ian groans as he slouches in his seat. “What do they have on you?”

  “Evidence,” I reply, leaving out the fact that he’s blackmailing me about my past. “Not just evidence to implicate me, and all but two of the Kings. It’s serious, man.”

  “So you caved, huh?” he asks.

  “What choice did I fucking have? We’re all looking at life without parole.”

  “Life?” he repeats with his eyebrow raised. “No shit? All of the Kings?”

  “Life for everyone, well, except for Reece and Cooper,” I say again. “But they could take them down with RICO too.”

  “Even Gabriel could, you know, get life?” he asks in concern. The two are obviously closer than everyone thought.

  “Ah, yeah. He was there that night.”

  “Fuck. Then I guess you have to do what you have to do; right, bro?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I agree. “And I was hoping we could, ah, just keep this between us. Did you tell anyone about the governor’s visit yet?”

  “Nope,” he mutters. “Only Gabe visits on the regular, and he couldn’t come while I was in the hole.”

  I try not to let my reaction show that I’m well aware of exactly what takes place on those visits with Gabe that involves coming and holes. I think I can trust Ian without throwing that sort of personal shit in his face as blackmail. If or when him and Gabe are ready to tell us what’s going on, I’m sure they will. Until then, I’ll keep their secret.

  “Okay, good,” I say in relief. “I’m gonna do what the asshole wants, and then we’ll all be free and clear, even you.”

  “I don’t want jack shit from that prick,” Ian huffs.

  “Aren’t you ready to get the hell out of here? It’s been too long, man.”

  “And what exactly will I come home to? I barely have a penny to my name after spending everything I had on a worthless attorney.”

  “You know you can stay at the clubhouse however long you need.”

  “Where? In someone’s bathtub? All the rooms are taken.”

  “No, most are empty now,” I inform him. “All the guys are shacking up with their old ladies. Hasn’t Gabe told you?”

  Chuckling as his eyes dart away, he says, “You know how our boy is. I come in the room and the fucking waterworks turn on, so I end up talking about the shiv of the week and shit.”

  Right. Guess they don’t have much time for talking when they’re doing other things together.

  “Gabe’s a sensitive guy who looked up to you when you sponsored him. He hates seeing you in here,” I respond. “We all do.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s on me. I fucked up getting caught with heat on me, now I have to do the time.”

  “You’re getting out of here, and soon,” I assure him. I won’t let him and the other guys down; because if I fail, not only will Ian stay behind bars, we’ll all be joining him.

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I reply. “But it would be good to have you back at the table again.”

  Before he can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, I read the new text message.

  “Shit. Speak of the devil…” I start.

  “You gotta split?” Ian asks.

  “I better get on the road and get down to Myrtle Beach to take care of business.”

  “Do what you need to do, but watch your ass,” he says. “You can’t trust this prick. One favor will lead to another; and before you know it, he’ll own your ass.”

  “That’s never gonna happen,” I assure him, even though I honestly have no idea how to ensure the governor won’t keep holding this shit over my head in the future and asking for more favors if I succeed.

  ***

  The biker bar on the strip is the last place I expected to find the governor’s daughter. Tonight, it’s so packed that I have to park my bike in the Huddle House parking lot and walk over. I can hear the hoots and hollers of drunken men over the music from across the street. One good thing I notice when I step inside the packed room is that at least I don’t have to worry about standing out. The majority of the patrons are also wearing denim or leather cuts with MC patches. Hell, some of the guys playing pool are even local Savage Kings. I steer clear of them, though, and head to the bar to start searching for the woman in the picture the governor sent me along with the address. A girl on stage angrily belts out Joan Jett and the Blackhearts “I Hate Myself for Loving You” much to the rowdy crowd’s delight.

  “What can I get you?” the giant, bald bartender comes over and asks.

  “Bottle of Miller Lite,” I answer. Then, before he turns away, I pull out my phone and ask, “Have you seen this woman in here tonight?” His dark eyes narrow to look closer at the photo on the screen. His head tilts to the side and then he grins. “Why, yes, I have.”

  “Is she still here?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So where can I find her?” I ask, getting annoyed with his runaround.

  “On stage,” he replies. “Although she looks a little different with the blue hair. An improvement, if you ask me.”

  “On stage?” I repeat as I swivel around on my bar stool to face the front of the room, the center of every man’s attention. And now I see why.

  Fuck me. The angry little singer is sexy as hell. She’s a petite, five foot nothing even in her fou
r-inch black heels with long, wavy, turquoise hair that falls nearly to her narrow waist. In fact, her hair probably covers more skin than the black leather zipper dress she’s wearing. Her eyes are heavy with smoky makeup, and her lips are thick and sensual as she belts out the well-known rock ‘n roll lyrics.

  That’s the governor’s daughter?

  If her hair was brown and you remove all the makeup, then yeah, I think I can see the resemblance of the young woman in the photo to the singer.

  No longer the sweet girl saving children, now she could easily pass for a pin-up girl from Easy Riders’ magazine. No fucking wonder Washington wants someone to tame her. If the press got their hands on a pic of her like this, singing on stage, he’d probably have a stroke.

  As a man, I can definitely appreciate her sexy show; but for some unknown reason, there’s a small part of me that would love to throw a long trench coat over her body to cover up her cleavage and mouth-watering thigh gap from the lecherous eyes of all the men currently gawking at her.

  “Here you go,” the bartender says from behind me. “That’ll be three bucks, man.”

  It takes me several long moments to pull my eyes from the singer’s sensual dance moves to finally fish the money from my wallet to pay up.

  Grabbing my beer, I swivel back around to face the stage. The crowd noise dies down when the rock goddess speaks to them with her fingers wrapped erotically around the mic. Grinning, she says, “We’re gonna slow things down for you wild boys. This next song is dedicated to the sad, hungover women who’ll wake up beside your ugly asses tomorrow.”

  Deep rumbling laughter fills the air as one of the guys on stage brings over a stool and places it in front of the microphone stand. The siren climbs up on it daintily and crosses her legs; then someone hands her an acoustic guitar that she begins to strum.

  She sings the first few words so softly into the mic that I don’t have a fucking clue what the song is. All I know is that the hairs on my arms are standing straight up because she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. Her notes rise gradually as the drums come in, and then she closes her eyes and croons the familiar chorus of “Angel of the Morning.”

  When those smoky eyes of hers eventually reopen, I swear they land right on me even though I’m at least twenty-feet from the stage in a crowded sea of people. I’m certain I must be mistaken, that she’s just looking in my general direction. But her piercing gaze locks with mine until the very last note, paralyzing me and making my heart skip a few beats.

  There haven’t been many moments in my life that have stayed with me in excruciating detail – the first time I rode a bike and a Harley without dropping it, when I walked across the stage to accept my high school diploma, the night I was given my Savage Kings’ patch, and the phone call I had with April’s parents when they told me she was gone. But without a doubt, tonight there will be another unforgettable memory seared into my brain – the first time I saw and heard an angel sing.

  Chapter Four

  Isobel

  “Thank you so much for having me tonight! Rock on, Myrtle Beach!” I tell the crowd after my set; then walk off stage ready to grab a cold drink and cool off. Maybe I’ll even get to talk to the blond biker sitting at the bar, the one I could feel staring at me through the entire last song. Plenty of men look at me with desire in their eyes while I’m on stage, but this guy was…different. It felt like he could actually see me, who I am underneath the costume and makeup. I wasn’t just a random singer to him. The stricken look on his face said I was someone he recognized even though we’ve never met before. I would’ve definitely remembered him if we had.

  “You were fucking amazing, Izzy,” Tim, the drummer, says when he follows me off stage, his blue t-shirt drenched in sweat.

  “I appreciate you guys letting me sing with you. It was fun,” I tell him while crouching down to put my guitar back into the case. Now I’m only three states away from my goal of singing on stage in all fifty.

  “Just fun?” he says when I stand back up and face him. “Why the hell don’t you do this for a living? I bet record labels would be lining up to sign you if they heard you sing.”

  “Eh, I’m not interested in any deals or tours,” I assure him. “There’s too much I want to see and do in the world. I don’t want anyone holding me back, especially not some label telling me how to live every second of my life.”

  “Yeah, but the money would be awesome,” he replies with a grin as he rubs his finger and thumb together.

  “They may pay out millions, but then they own you. No one is ever going to own me again.”

  “I hear ya,” he says with his palms up in the air. “If I didn’t have to get back out there, I would offer to buy you a drink.”

  “Next time I’m in town maybe,” I say. “See ya, Tim.”

  “Bye, Izzy,” he says with a smile before heading back on stage, leaving me alone in the hallway.

  That’s the thing about traveling around so much, I spend a lot of time alone. Sure, I’ve met some great people, but they’re only temporary. We’re ships passing in the night or whatever, sometimes literally. After practically being a nun for the first twenty-some years of my life that I spent with my nose buried in books, I have a lot of catching up to do in the bedroom. And it’s nice to be close to another human being for a few hours, even though I know I’ll be leaving them behind as soon as the sun comes up.

  Picking up my guitar case and throwing on my crossbody hobo purse, I head out the back entrance of the bar and into the darkness, reveling in the coastal breeze as it whips strands of my hair around into my face. In fact, I’m so distracted by the cool night air that I don’t notice I’m not alone until a strong hand clamps down on my bare shoulder.

  “Back off!” I yell as I whirl around on the stranger, slamming the end of my guitar case into their knees.

  “Shit,” the short man in khakis and a dark polo shirt curses. When he glances up, I get a good look at his face and let out a breath of relief since I recognize him.

  “What are you doing here, Stu?” I ask my father’s main henchman.

  “Sorry to startle you, Miss Washington, but I need you to come with me,” he says when he places his hand on my forearm that’s still holding the case. “I’m afraid your father insists.”

  A huff of laughter is my first response to his statement. “My father can insist all he wants, but I’m not going anywhere with you,” I tell him. “Now get your hand off of me,” I order through gritted teeth as I try to break free from his grip. He only squeezes my arm tighter.

  “Yo, asshole, does she need to draw you a picture?” a deep voice asks from behind us. I squint at the figure approaching but can’t make out many of his features. The street lamps behind him are casting his face into shadow as he strolls over to us. He’s tall, broad-shouldered and wearing leather, which usually means trouble. The next thing I know, he’s wielding a big ass knife and pressing it across Stu’s throat as he gets in his face. “Take your fucking hand off her before I slice your head clear off your body.”

  Whoa! That’s one harsh threat from the stranger, but it works. Stu releases my arm and even takes a step backward, most likely to get the knife blade further away from his jugular.

  “Go home, Stu. Be sure to remind my father that I’m not a dog and I don’t appreciate being treated like one,” I say to try and diffuse the situation before my dark knight decides to draw blood.

  “H-his birthday dinner is tomorrow night at seven,” Stu informs me. “He would love for you to come.”

  “I’m sure he would,” I mutter. “Take care, Stu.” Giving up, probably because he realizes it’s a lost cause, my father’s errand runner finally turns around and leaves, heading to the street to try and cross the busy highway.

  “Um, so thanks, but he wasn’t going to hurt me or anything,” I tell the stranger, watching as he closes and puts his potential murder weapon back into the knife holster on his belt. His arms are bare, making the glow of the stre
etlight dance along his thick, chiseled biceps as the muscles flex with his movements.

  “No problem,” he responds. “But I wasn’t going to actually hurt him. Well, unless he kept on insisting.”

  When I lift my eyes to his face, he’s grinning down at me in such a playful, friendly way that I think I imagined his violent display just moments earlier. It’s pretty dark out here, but I would almost swear he’s the same blond man I saw from the stage. That’s highly unlikely, though.

  “Right, of course not. You were just posturing,” I say sarcastically. “I bet that knife of yours wasn’t even real.”

  “Totally a fake. I’ve just been carrying it around, hoping for the chance to come to a beautiful woman’s rescue.”

  “Oh, so that was like your pickup line?” I ask, unable to prevent my lips from forming into a smile.

  “Exactly,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets to try and appear more casual and less threatening. Damn, if it doesn’t work too. Now he just looks like a good ole southern boy with a handsome, easygoing face and a rock-hard body.

  “Well, it worked much better than just coming up and asking if you can buy me a drink.”

  “If you think about it, it’s a pretty genius plan. Now I bet you want to buy me a drink as a thank you for running off that grabby jackass.”

  He’s obviously flirting with me; and while the good girl in me knows deep down he’s a dangerous guy I shouldn’t waste another minute on, the inner bad girl I’ve been embracing recently wants to go back into the bar and see where things go with him. Even if it doesn’t work out, I can always search for the blond biker I locked eyes with from the stage.

  “Okay,” I agree. “Let me put my guitar case in my car and then I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Reaching down, he takes the case from my hand and whispers, “Should I be worried about you slipping a roofie in my beer so you can take advantage of me?”

  “How else am I supposed to seduce a man like you?” I joke.