Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 163885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 656(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 656(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
“Tammy O’Neil? Yes, of course.”
“Think you could ask her how this woman is doing and whether they’re keeping her there or if she was sent home?”
Blythe studied his face for a moment too long. He didn’t like that she saw things she wasn’t supposed to see. At least not in him. He wanted her to think he was naturally worried about a woman who had saved his life. He told himself that was the reason he was asking a favor, but it was so far out of character, he knew she thought there was more to it. He didn’t know what to think, so he kept his expressionless mask and forced himself to look straight at her.
“Yes, of course I can do that for you. What’s her name?”
“Seychelle Dubois.”
She stood up. “Give me a minute.”
“If they’ve kept her, can you get her room number?” Shit. He hated to ask that. “Should probably thank her.”
Blythe studied him again and then slowly nodded. “I agree. She’s definitely owed at least that much. I’m extremely grateful that you’re still with us.”
Savage wasn’t certain why. He had the opposite point of view to Blythe’s every time. She never seemed to take offense, and she didn’t start yelling to make her point. He appreciated that trait in her. She’d gotten under his skin. It was the children. She genuinely loved them. The club had rescued Darby and Zoe from human traffickers. They’d had no family other than Emily. Blythe had lied her ass off, bringing forged papers with her to claim the children. Darby had backed up her claim, and Czar and Blythe eventually adopted the three girls.
The club had found Kenny in the basement of a mansion in Occidental. Needless to say, the teen had nowhere to go. No one knew what to do with him, so they’d brought him home to Blythe. She had taken him in, and the adoption was in process. They’d be signing the papers to make the boy theirs in a couple of weeks. Kenny was pretending it didn’t matter, but everyone knew he was happy.
The latest family member, a six-year-old boy named Jimmy, they’d stumbled across on the internet. There was an auction for him, and they’d ended up in Vegas to free him. He had no family, so naturally, Blythe and Czar took him in. He hadn’t been with the couple long, but Savage knew it was only a matter of time before he came around. He seemed to like the survival classes Torpedo Ink gave to the children every other week. That was Blythe, taking the children in and then allowing them to do whatever it took to find their way to sanity.
Even Savage could see that Blythe was special. Every single member of the club would give their life for her. She was that kind of woman—the kind for pedestals. He hadn’t believed a woman like her existed, although Czar had told them she was the best. Now they all knew it and guarded her like the treasure she was.
He stayed close to the door, looking the way he always did: calm, expressionless, menacing. He didn’t move a muscle, going still so that he seemed to fade into whatever background he stood in front of. Shadows were what he was most familiar and comfortable with. He didn’t feel calm inside, and that was something he wasn’t familiar with.
He didn’t like anything that he couldn’t explain. Whatever the weird reaction he had to Seychelle—and God help him if he was that big of a monster that his body reacted because she was hurt or crying—he had to see her. He shut down that way of thinking.
He knew he needed violence. The rage would begin to build in his gut first, churning there like some terrible storm he couldn’t control. It would spread through his body like a cancer, and when it finally hit his brain, he would go to San Francisco and participate in the underground fight clubs there. His brothers went with him to pull him off his opponents before he killed them. He needed violence. He needed to feel his fists hitting flesh. He needed the blood . . .
“Savage, she’s got a concussion and there’s some damage to her leg. She didn’t call anyone, nor did she put down anyone as an emergency number. She was just admitted. This is her room number.” Blythe pushed a folded piece of paper into his hand.
He closed his fist around it. “Thanks, Blythe. I appreciate it.”
“Please tell her thank you from me as well. If you think she needs anything, let me know. I don’t like to think she’s alone in the world and needs help after saving one of ours.”
He hesitated, but he wasn’t the type of man to hug or kiss. He didn’t like to be touched. Reaper, his birth brother, was the same way.