Savage Lust: Savage Bloods MC, #2

By Ember Sparks

She upset the wrong people…
Journalist Nicole Andrews is known for her hard-hitting, no-holds-barred reporting about issues affecting her small hometown of Hell, Michigan. She's never shied away from a story, including ones that threaten her safety—like the recent expose she wrote about a local biker gang suspected of trafficking drugs, guns, and women. Now, they're determined to shut her up. Permanently.

He owes a debt…
Harland "Hothead" Carter, President of the Savage Bloods MC is a man of his word, so when an old friend calls in a favor, Harland can't say no. But playing bodyguard to a nosy, stubborn journalist is the last thing he wants to do—especially when his club is launching the biggest mission of their lives: rescuing his younger brother, who's supposed to be dead.

More than their lives are at risk…
When he learns she's been targeted by a rival club, Harland's got a lot more to worry about than just keeping her safe. As the sparks fly between Nicole and Harland, a war brews between the two opposing clubs. If he can't find a way to keep the peace, he'll lose everything that's ever mattered to him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kara Leigh Miller
• Release date: May 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224474615

Book preview

Chapter 1

Nicole Andrews

The sweet smell of fresh coffee surrounds me and fills my apartment as I impatiently wait for the pot to finish brewing. A knock sounds on the door, startling me. I’m not expecting anyone at this ungodly hour in the morning.

I swear, if those little punks are playing ding-dong ditch again, I grumble as I shuffle, still half asleep, toward the door. I yank it open, knowing full well I’m not going to find anyone on the other side.

And I’m right. The hall is empty. I narrow my eyes and strain to listen. Nothing. I move to go back inside when my toe hits a box. What the hell? I bend down to inspect the package. A long, rectangular white box with a bright purple bow sits there, almost as if taunting me. I glance around again, but I’m still alone. The silence is eerie.

I snatch the box and spin to go back inside. I kick the door closed behind me. Something sticky coats my fingertips, and that’s when I notice that one corner of the box is stained a dark red.

Blood.

My heart pounds, and my eyes widen. I rush to the kitchen and drop the box onto the table, and then I do a quick inspection of my hands, arms, and face. Definitely not my blood, but I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

I move to the kitchen sink and scrub the blood from my hands—twice, just to be sure it’s all off. My mind races with possibilities as to where the blood came from. Had the delivery boy cut himself and didn’t realize it? Or is this some sick prank? Who would want to prank me like this, though?

The Taipans, perhaps?

I shove that thought away as soon as it forms. Now’s not the time to panic or jump to conclusions. My work with The Taipans Motorcycle Club is over, has been for years now. I doubt they even remember who I am. God knows I try to forget about their existence.

Satisfied my hands are clean, I return to the table to inspect the box a little closer. Blood’s seeping out onto the table, and I frown. With a deep breath, I fling the box open and gasp. I cup my hand over my mouth. Despite what’s staring back at me, I can’t look away.

Inside are a bunch of purple and white orchids covered in blood. Fresh blood from the looks of it. The stench of iron is so strong my stomach curdles. I force back the urge to gag and lean a little farther over the box. Not touching. Just looking.

The blood-covered flowers are horrifying enough, but I don’t see anything else. I grab a dishtowel from the kitchen and use it to soak up the blood on the table. After washing my hands again, I call the local police department. I don’t have high hopes that they’ll do anything, but all that blood came from somewhere. Or worse—someone.

A full body shiver works through me as I pour myself a cup of coffee. My hands shake, and it’s a small miracle I don’t spill anything. Holding the cup with both hands, I bring it to my lips, savoring the comfort the warm liquid brings me.

A hard knock sounds at the door.

The noise makes me jump. Jesus, Nikki, get a damn grip. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten a nasty gift. As an investigative journalist, I make more enemies than friends. But this is by far the most twisted and disgusting thing I’ve ever received.

Nicole! I know you’re in there. Open the door!

I groan. He’s the last man I want to deal with right now. I open the door, my hand still trembling. What’re you doing here, Uncle Richard?

Greg said you called the station this morning talking about blood. What’s going on, Nicole? Are you hurt?

I should’ve known. My Uncle Richard and Greg, the chief of police, are as thick as thieves. Then again, my uncle rubs elbows with a lot of people in positions of power. And some that fly beneath the radar in terms of legalities.

No, I’m not hurt. I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot, giving my uncle a look that demands answers.

Greg owed me a favor. He gave me a heads up about your call in case you were hurt or in some sort of legal trouble. Richard clears his throat. Are you?

Classic Richard—always thinking like a criminal defense attorney. Well, I didn’t kill anyone if that’s what you mean.

Richard exhales with visible relief. Whether his relief is over me being unharmed or my admission of innocence I’m not sure. With him, it could be either. He can be so infuriating at times. I roll my eyes, stalk into the kitchen, and grab my cup of coffee.

I called Bobby on the way over to let him know you might be in trouble, not that he’ll care or do anything about it, but I know how you feel about him.

I clench my jaw, slowly count to five, and then take a deep breath. It’s been eighteen years, Richard. Get over it. I have.

Get over it? The man tried to sell you for his own gain. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness.

He was grieving just like the rest of us. And I wasn’t exactly the easiest teenager to handle after Mom died. My mother’s death and my stepfather’s subsequent actions are a big point of contention between me and Uncle Richard. Normally, we avoid this topic for the sake of keeping the peace, but apparently, he wants to dredge it all up this morning. And he didn’t sell me.

He would have if I hadn’t intervened.

I take another sip of coffee, refusing to have this same argument with him again. Bobby may have been a shitty stepfather, but regardless of what Uncle Richard thinks, Bobby never sold me to anyone. He traded me to save his own ass, but no money ever changed hands. I shake the thoughts from my head. I’m past that time in my life, and I will never live in that time again.

Are you going to tell me what the call to the police was all about? he asks.

I set my mug on the counter. This, walking back to the table and flinging the box open, is what it’s all about. I force myself to breathe through my mouth so I won’t have to smell the repugnant stench of blood and flowers. Again. It was sitting outside my door this morning. I don’t know who left it, and there wasn’t a… I take a closer look at the flowers and notice a small black card tucked beneath the orchid petals. Carefully, I remove it.

There wasn’t a what? Richard walked over and stood behind me, leaning over my shoulder to get a better look. What is it?

A note card. I turn it over. With… The color drains from my face, and my heart stops.

With what? Uncle Richard presses.

A snake on the back. I drop the card back into the box, wishing I could make the flowers disappear.

A snake? He inches closer, and I squeeze out around him, needing space and air. What kind of snake?

Does it really matter? I snap and reach for my coffee, but my hands are trembling too much, so I forego the caffeinated liquid.

Wait. Uncle Richard spins to look at me, his bushy brows raised. Is that…?

The Taipans Motorcycle Club logo, I finish for him.

He curses under his breath and drags his fingers through his thinning hair. This is why you should live in a building with a doorman.

What good would a doorman have done? I still would’ve gotten the flowers. And chances are, if the Taipans delivered those flowers, anyone who stood in their way would be dead.

Maybe, but a doorman might have seen who delivered them.

He has a point. But I refuse to acknowledge it to him. He’s already overbearing enough. I don’t need to give him more reason to shove his way into my life.

He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a stern look. I feel like I’m twelve years old again and about to get the I’m-disappointed-in-you lecture.

Is this the first time you’ve received anything like this?

Yes. Now that my hands aren’t shaking so much, I retrieve my coffee and take a sip, hoping it will calm my nerves. It doesn’t help, and the fact that it’s now lukewarm only serves to irritate me more. Christ, I called the police half an hour ago. Where the hell are they?

I asked Greg to hold off until I had a chance to assess the situation. I’m sure they’ll be here soon. They won’t be able to help you much anyway, unless you’ve been physically threatened or harmed.

Sometimes, coming from a family of lawyers is a pain in the ass. Someone sent me a box of blood. It came from somewhere, or God forbid, someone. Unless it’s animal blood. But either way, I’m pretty sure the police will be interested in finding the source of it.

And knowing what I do about The Taipans, that blood is more than likely human. The thought makes my stomach twist.

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. God, I hate that. I doubt it. Especially the police force around here. They’re incompetent. Get rid of the flowers and if anything like this happens again, I want you to call me immediately. He takes a step as if he’s headed toward the door, but then he stops and turns back to me. You should’ve called me in the first place.

This is exactly why I didn’t call you. I’m not getting rid of the flowers until the police have a chance to see them. I shake my head. Nothing he can say would make me budge on this point.

Richard shoves his hands in his pockets, his face expressionless save for the concern in his eyes. Aw, hell. That’s his I-promised-your-mother-I’d-take-care-of-you look, and I fall for it every damn time. Will I ever learn?

I told you not to get involved with that gang in the first place, and you refused to listen. Have you been digging around again?

I narrow my eyes. He knows damn well my initial involvement with that club wasn’t my choice, but I’ve made it my mission to shine a light on the horrific things they do. Until recently, they haven’t bothered me.

I take a deep breath. I’ve been getting phone calls at work. Whoever calls never speaks. It’s just a lot of heavy breathing. Then the calls started coming here, and I started noticing strange things I just chalked up to coincidence. I pull my bathrobe tighter around me.

What kinds of strange things?

Well, I say on a sigh, tightening the grip on my coffee mug. I’d come home and there would be a window open I’d sworn was closed when I’d left. I’ve been so busy lately I just assumed I’d closed it and forgotten. One day, the welcome mat outside my door had been spray painted. I figured the kids down the hall did it. They’re always causing trouble. Really, they were such inconsequential things I didn’t pay much attention to them.

Why the hell didn’t you tell someone about this sooner? He gestured wildly with his hands, a habit he has when he’s really agitated.

As a child that used to intimidate me. Now, as an adult, I find it kind of humorous, especially when his perfectly coiffed hair becomes disheveled and falls across his too large forehead.

I take my coffee mug to the sink and rinse it. I love Uncle Richard like a father, and God knows I wouldn’t be where I am today without him, but he can be a handful. I told you. It’s probably nothing. I’m fine. Really.

You’re going to come stay with me and your Aunt Mandy until I’m confident you’re safe, Richard says with finality, and a nod to confirm his point.

I lived under his roof for years after my mother’s death, and I swore to myself when I finally got out, I’d never go back. I appreciate the offer, but I’m not going to stay with you. Now if you don’t mind, I have to get ready for work. I’m already running late.

You’re just as stubborn as your mother and look where she is now.

That’s a low blow. I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him.

Richard never did fight fair, but to use my mother’s death against me is a new low even for him. And it really pisses me off he would imply my mother was somehow responsible for her own death.

Fine. Then I’m going to hire you a bodyguard.

Another thing about good ‘ole Uncle Richard — he has more money than sense. I roll my eyes. I don’t need a bodyguard. Really, Uncle Richard you’re overreacting. So some pervert is breathing heavy in my ear. Big deal.

And how do you explain that? He points at the flower box. The Taipans left their calling card. For you. You know damn well what that means. His face reddens as he speaks. You’re not safe here.

I remain silent, unable to argue with him. He’s absolutely right. The Taipans have targeted me for some unknown reason, and I’m not safe here. Then again, I’m not really safe anywhere. I know how relentless they can be when eliminating those they deem as a threat.

Richard pulls his cell phone from his inside suit pocket. You can either stay with me or have a bodyguard. Your choice.

Neither option suits me, but I’ve butted heads with Richard before, and it works out about as well as trying to stop a train with a picket fence. I’ll take the bodyguard. My tone is begrudging. I’m way more freaked out by everything than I’m willing to admit. Having a little protection might be nice.

Thank you.

His methods might be heavy handed and unappealing, but he does have my best interests in mind. I can’t fault him for that. You can go now. I need to get ready to leave for work. I’m already late. Hopefully, repeating myself will get my point across.

I’m not leaving until your bodyguard arrives. Richard dials his phone.

What? You mean you’re having one⁠—

He holds up his hand to silence me, and then walks farther into my apartment as if he owns the place. I sigh, realizing nothing I say is going to change anything.

Chapter 2

Harland Hothead Carter

This is fucking bullshit, and you know it. I point my finger in Slade’s face, my anger rising with each passing second.

He shifts his weight and crosses his arms. He’s as stubborn as my sister, and I swear she holds the world record in that category.

He’s my brother. I stab my finger against my chest to emphasize my point and look around at the rest of my brothers.

They’re all sitting with stoic expressions. None of them even flinch when I raise my voice, and I don’t know if I’m impressed that they’re so used to my outbursts or upset that I can’t intimidate them like that any longer.

And you’re our president, Slade says coolly. When I was in prison, you led every mission because you had to. You no longer have to.

That’s not the fucking point, I say through gritted teeth. "Caleb is my brother. I failed to save him the first time. I pause and swallow the lump in my throat. I gave the order to leave him there."

A collective breath releases in the room, and the tension thickens.

We all thought he was dead, Sawbone says. I’m the one who made that call, remember? His voice is filled with regret and anger. And if you hadn’t pulled us out when you did, a hell of a lot more of us would be dead.

He’s right, Slade says. You made the only call you could.

Oh, don’t patronize me. I shake my head and turn away.

I don’t need my brothers to pat me on the head and tell me I did good. I know I didn’t. Not back then, and if they have their way, not now, either. I can’t let that happen. I never expected Church to turn into a pissing match like this.

I turn back to face them. I’m the president of this club, and I’m going on this mission. End of discussion.

No, you’re not. Slade steps closer to me. Our bylaws state that only the president or the vice president goes on runs, but never together on the same mission. It’s too dangerous.

Which is why you’re staying here. I meet Slade’s unwavering gaze and mimic his stance. Besides, Cassie will kill me if I let you get yourself killed during this mission.

Slade narrows his eyes. Since when does your sister have any bearing on the decisions this club makes while in Church?

Shit. He has me there.

You’re too emotionally invested in this, and that leads to trouble. You taught us that, Slade says.

Sorry, Hothead, but Slade’s right. Aiden Razor Walker sits up in his chair. He’s one of our Sergeant at Arms and is usually tasked with my personal protection duty whenever we’re not within the safety of the club house walls. I can’t get behind you going on this mission.

I hesitate, my gaze sweeping the room and my officers. You all feel that way?

Only a moment’s hesitation before everyone nods and murmurs their agreement with Razor and Slade. Clearly, I’m outnumbered on this, but I’m not ready to give up just yet. This is my brother we’re talking about, and I promised Cassie I’d bring him home. I refuse to break that vow to her. Not again.

I’m going to touch base with Danny and Ethan Malone, see what new intel they have for us. We’ll revisit this tomorrow morning. Church is dismissed, I say and walk out before anyone can stop me.

As soon as I step out of the room, Theo Heathen Armstrong straightens. He’s the club Enforcer and stands guard by the door whenever Church is in session. He give me an odd look, then says, Your phone’s been blowing up.

I reach into the basket sitting atop the barstool where we store our phones and weapons while in Church. I have a dozen missed calls, all from the same number. Just what I need today on top of everything else.

I snatch my phone and stride to my private office, slamming the door shut behind me. I fully expect Slade to come walking in any moment—the dumb fucker doesn’t know when to quit—but the minutes pass, and he doesn’t barge in. Sinking into my chair, I glance at the name and number that’s been calling incessantly.

It’s a number I recognize well, and if he’s calling me that only means one thing: he needs a favor. I stifle a groan and call him back.

It’s about time, he says by way of greeting.

I bite back the urge to say something offensive. He is, after all, an asset to this club, and I can’t afford to piss him off. He’s saved our asses more times than I can count.

Morning, Richard. To what do I owe this pleasure? I ask, infusing just enough sarcasm into my voice to let him know I don’t appreciate him speaking to me that way.

I need a favor. That’s one of the things I respect most about Richard Benson—he doesn’t beat around the bush.

Figured as much, I say. What do you need?

Protection for my niece.

I blink, positive I misheard him. Of all the things he could ask me for, that was never even a blip on my radar. You need a bodyguard? For your niece? I ask to make sure I understand.

Yes. She’s being harassed. Nasty gifts. Vandalism. Threatening phone calls. And I’m pretty sure someone’s been breaking into her apartment, too.

Sounds like a job for the police, I say before I can stop myself. Or a private security firm.

Normally, I’d agree with you. But she’s being targeted by The Taipans, he says.

I damn near fall out of my chair. The Taipans Motorcycle Club are notorious in the Detroit area. They have a reputation for some really shady shit—running guns and drugs, human trafficking. If Richard’s niece is on The Taipans hit list, I’m not sure even I can save her. She must’ve done something pretty rotten.

Who’s your niece? I ask.

Nicole Andrews.

And the hits just keep on coming. Everyone in Hell, Michigan knows of Nicole Andrews. She’s the lead investigative journalist for the local paper, and she’s famous for writing articles about things she should leave alone. She’s come nosing around here more than once, and I always send her away. I rest my elbow on my desk and rub my forehead.

Will you help me? Richard asks.

I want to say no. I’m not a personal bodyguard for anyone, and I have a looming mission to save my brother. Now’s the worst possible time for Richard to call in a favor, but I’m a man of my word. After he helped the club out of a sticky legal situation last year, I told him to call me anytime for any reason, that I owed him one.

I can’t go back on my word. Expelling a heavy breath, I say, "I’m not sure how much help