Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
SAVAGE
S avage got little sleep last night. His brain would not shut off. He wanted nothing more than to find the man threatening Savannah and make it very clear what would happen if he did not stop. Now, after having coffee with her, he stood at the window, his jaw clenched as he watched Savannah's car pull out for work. Something about her behavior this morning gnawed at him, a nagging sensation he couldn't shake. He’d asked her basic questions about the job and received no actual answers. After she’d agreed to text him when she arrived at work and again when she left for the day, she’d all but rushed out of the building, muttering a hasty goodbye.
What was going on with her? Was it fear of the ex? Or just discomfort with the unknown of the motorcycle club's lifestyle? With a frustrated growl, Savage turned from the window and stalked towards the table where Lucky and Tater sat. He poured himself another cup of joe and thought about Savannah.
His gut had been churning since the moment Savannah Wright had walked into The Citadel. She’d been absolutely adorable in her getup, but her eyes had never stopped moving. There was something about her, a flicker of unease beneath the carefully constructed little facade. He’d seen countless women come and go, but Savanah was different. Her eyes held a spark of intelligence, a calculating glint that belied her innocent exterior. She’d also seemed afraid, on edge. She’d been tense and never answered his questions, instead deflected or asked her own. There was no doubt, she was hiding something. He dismissed it at first, but something nagged at him, a persistent itch he couldn’t ignore. It all made sense now. An abusive ex-boyfriend. He had little use for douchebags who hurt women.
“You look like hell, brother,” Tater said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Something's not right with Savannah,” he answered.
Lucky leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What do you mean?”
“I can't put my finger on it,” Savage admitted, running a hand through his hair. “She's jumpy, secretive. Like she's looking over her shoulder all the damn time. Even here, where she should be safe. She avoids answering my questions altogether. I don’t like it.”
Tater and Lucky exchanged a glance, years of friendship allowing silent communication.
“You think she's in some kind of trouble?” Tater asked carefully.
Savage's fingers drummed restlessly on the table. “Maybe. I can't shake the feeling that there's more going on than an abusive ex-boyfriend.”
Lucky's eyes narrowed. “You care about her.”
It wasn't a question. Savage felt a flicker of irritation, quickly suppressed. These men knew him too well.
“I care about doing my job and keeping the club safe,” he growled. “If she's got baggage that could bring an issue, we need to know about it.” But even as the words left his mouth, Savage knew it wasn't the whole truth. Savannah's smile, rare but radiant, flashed through his mind. He was starting to fall for her. He knew in his gut she was his. But he had to find out what she was hiding before he could move forward.
“So, what's the plan?” Tater asked, his tone serious now.
Savage leaned back in his chair. “We dig. Social media, background checks, the works. If there's something to find, we'll find it.” The investigation began subtly. He wasn't one for overt displays of power, preferring quiet observation and the slow accumulation of facts.
Lucky's chair creaked as he leaned forward, his salt-and-pepper beard catching the dim light of the clubhouse. His eyes locked onto Savage's. “Agreed. We need to know what we're dealing with here.”
The trio reached for their phones. “I'm starting with her Facebook,” Savage muttered, eyes scanning the page. “Tater, you take Instagram. Lucky, see what you can dig up on her work history.”
Savage's mind raced as he scrolled through Savannah's timeline. Pretty girl with a sweet smile, he thought, pushing away the unwelcome warmth that threatened to bloom in his chest. Focus, dammit.
“Anything?” Lucky's gruff voice cut through the quiet.
Tater shook his head. “Nothing too suspicious on Insta. A few selfies, some artsy shots, pictures of food. Typical millennial stuff. Looks like she posted regularly before her mother’s diagnosis and then it slowed way down. She barely ever posts anything now.”
Savage frowned, a nagging sense of unease growing in his gut. “It's what's not here that's bothering me. No mentions of exes, no old photos with guys. It's like she never had a boyfriend at all, or she’s scrubbed that part of her past completely clean.”
Lucky's eyes narrowed. “Could be nothing. Maybe she didn’t want a reminder of her ex-boyfriends. Could be she lied about ever having one. Keep digging, boys. We need to know what we're up against."
As Savage delved deeper into Savannah's online presence, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was crossing a line. But the memory of her skittish behavior, the fear he'd glimpsed in her eyes, steeled his resolve. Whatever secrets she was hiding, he'd uncover them. For the club's sake. And, more importantly, for hers.
He clicked on a photo album labeled “Family,” and a grid of images filled his screen. His breath caught as he zeroed in on a picture of Savannah, her arms wrapped around a young girl with matching auburn hair. His heart skipped a beat. Was she a mother? He let out a breath after reading the caption. An aunt. He wouldn’t have minded if she was a mother, but it would have added a level of questions and concern to the puzzle.
“Well,” Tater leaned in, peering at the screen. “Looks like Savannah has at least some family, after all.”
Savage nodded, his jaw clenching. "Niece, and there's a younger sister too.” He pointed to another photo, this one showing Savannah sandwiched between the child and a woman who could've been her twin. “Looks like the two of them have moved to Denver, from the looks of it.” The photograph was recent, and the caption gave him the info he needed.
Lucky's brow furrowed. “Interesting she never mentioned them considering how close they look in the photos. Any sign of past relationships?"
Savage shook his head, scrolling through more photos. “Nothing. It's like her romantic history's been wiped clean.” Or, she didn’t have one. That would mean she’d lied to him. He tried not to jump to conclusions. She wouldn’t be the first woman to delete all proof of an ex from her socials.
Tater snorted. “Maybe she erased it. Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to erase their past.”
As Savage studied a photo of Savannah beaming at her niece, a knot formed in his stomach. The joy in her eyes was genuine, but there was something else there too – a shadow, a hint of worry that he recognized all too well. What was eating at her?
“Why wouldn't she at least tell the girls about them?” Savage muttered, more to himself than the others. She’d definitely given off the vibe that she was all alone in the world. His protective instincts, honed by years in combat and the club, kicked into overdrive. “Something's not right here. I can feel it in my gut. I don’t think she is trouble, but…”
Lucky leaned back, his face etched with concern. “But you think she is in some kind of trouble?”
Savage's eyes never left the screen, taking in every detail of Savannah's smiling face. “I don't know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I'm damn well going to find out.”
He froze mid-scroll as a black-bordered post filled the screen. The words "In Loving Memory" hovered above a photo of an older woman with Savannah's kind eyes and smile. His breath caught in his throat.
“Fuck,” he whispered, the weight of the emotion behind her post settling on his broad shoulders like a physical burden. Savannah had a way with words, and he could feel every ounce of her grief. Her mother had been her best friend, and her loss left a huge void in her life.
Tater leaned in. "What is it, brother?"
“Her mother,” Savage managed, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Passed away six months ago. I knew they were close but this post cements exactly how close they were. I know she’s still grieving.”
The clubhouse seemed to grow quieter, the usual background noise fading as Savage stared at the image. He could almost imagine her grief-stricken face as she stood by her mother's grave.
“Her mother’s death broke her,” he murmured, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
Lucky's voice cut through the silence. “There's more. Look at the comments.”
Savage scrolled down, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he read a particular message: "So sorry for your loss, Savannah. Let me know if you need help with the funeral expenses. I know times are tough for you right now.”
“Funeral expenses?” Tater echoed, leaning closer. “Those can set a person back thousands of dollars.”
He continued to read. “Thank you. I’ve got it covered. I took out a loan for her medication and had enough to cover the funeral.”
Savage's mind raced. Savannah worked for housekeeping at a cheap hotel when her mom had cancer. No way she was able to take out a loan of that size without collateral. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up information on loan companies near Savannah's old address. A familiar name jumped out at him, sending a chill down his spine.
“Fucking A.”
“What?” Tater looked over his shoulder.
“The loan company a block from Savannah’s mom’s house is a front for The Rejects,” he growled, his jaw clenching.
Lucky's face darkened. “You think she borrowed from them?”
“If she had, would she have been able to pay them back? If not…” Tater’s implication went unspoken but not unheard.
Savage pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. “I'd bet my last fucking dollar on it.” His heart pounded, a mix of anger and fear coursing through his veins. “If they've got their hooks in her…”
He left the sentence unfinished, but the implications hung heavy in the air. Savage's mind whirled with possibilities, each more dangerous than the last. The urge to protect Savannah, to shield her from whatever trouble she'd stumbled into, surged through him with an intensity that caught him off guard. If she was in over her head, maybe she’d come here to run from them. If she was running from The Rejects, it would be a lot more serious than running from an ex.
“We need to dig deeper,” he said, his voice low and determined. “Find out exactly what kind of mess she's in.”
Savage's fingers tapped urgently on his phone, scrolling through his contacts. His piercing blue eyes narrowed as he found the name he was looking for. Without hesitation, he hit the call button.
“Jay,” he barked when the line connected. “Need your expertise, brother.”
“Savage? What's up, man?” Jay's voice crackled through the speaker, a mix of curiosity and concern clear in his tone.
Savage scrubbed his hand over his face. “Got a situation. Need you to dig up everything you can on a loan from The Rejects. Recent, probably within the last year. Under Savannah Wright. I need to know if they have their hooks in her.”
“The Rejects?” Jay whistled low. “That's some nasty business, Savage. You sure you want to poke that hornet's nest?”
Savage's free hand curled into a fist. “I'm sure. It's important, Jay. She’s mine.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Savage could almost hear the gears turning in Jay's head. “Alright, I'm on it. Give me a few hours to work my magic. You know I've got ways of gathering information. If there’s a digital trail, I’ll find it.”
“That's why I called you,” Savage said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You're the best at what you do.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Jay chuckled. “I'll hit you back as soon as I've got something solid.”
“One more thing. Could you send me the footage from the playdate?” There was a pause at the end of the line, and he wondered briefly if Jay would tell him no, which was within his rights.
“Done. Check your inbox. I’ll get back to you about the rest, soon.”
“Thanks brother.” As Savage ended the call, he felt a mix of relief and trepidation wash over him. Jay's skills were unparalleled, but the information he might uncover... Savage wasn't sure he was ready for it. Still, he knew it was necessary. For Savannah's sake and the sake of the club. If the Rejects were looking for Savannah, they’d stumble into Watchmen territory and nothing good would come from it.
"Jay's on it,” he announced to Tater and Lucky, his voice gruff with emotion.
Lucky nodded approvingly. “Good call, brother. We need to know what we're dealing with here.”
He checked his inbox and saw the video surveillance link was already there. They carefully placed the cameras at The Citadel to protect confidentiality. There weren’t any in the dungeon or play spaces, but the rest of the building was covered. He watched as she pulled in. She appeared anxious, but that wasn’t too abnormal for a little attending their first real life in person event.
For liability reasons, the bar area was under video surveillance, and there were signs up to let members know that. Savage watched intently as Savannah approached and ordered drinks. A look of pure terror flashed quickly across her face, before she carefully masked it. There was no doubt she recognized the bartender. Who was he? He sent a text to Jay to inquire about the bartender. He’d barely hit send when his phone alerted him.
One of the side effects of having a TBI was short-term memory loss. Multi-tier reminders were set for all appointments and events. His phone would send him an alert one week, one day, and one hour before his appointment. Savage pushed away from the table, his chair scraping against the worn floorboards of the clubhouse. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his seat.
“I've got to head out,” he growled, shrugging into the familiar weight of the leather. “Promised Phantom I'd help with the gym today.”
Tater raised an eyebrow. “You sure that's a good idea, man? With everything going on with Savannah…”
Savage's jaw clenched. “I need to clear my head,” he admitted, his voice low. “Besides, I made a commitment.”
As he strode towards the door, Lucky's voice rang out. “Just remember, brother. Whatever's going on with this girl, we've got your back.”
“My girl,” Savage corrected, a lump forming in his throat. He pushed through the clubhouse doors, the late afternoon sun warming his face. The ride to Valhalla was a blur, the steady thrum of his bike doing little to quiet the storm in his mind.
When he pulled into the parking lot of the new gymnasium, Savage spotted Phantom's truck immediately. The sound of power tools and shouted instructions filled the air as he made his way inside.
“Savage!” Phantom called out, waving from atop a scaffolding. “Glad you made it, man. We could use an extra set of hands on these support beams.”
Savage felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as he surveyed the organized chaos around him. Men - all veterans like himself - worked side by side, transforming the space into something meaningful.
“Put me to work,” Savage said, rolling up his sleeves. As he joined the others, he couldn't help but think of Savannah. Was she truly in danger? Or was he seeing threats where none existed?
“You okay, brother?” Mad Dog asked, handing him a drill. “You seem distracted.”
Savage hesitated, then shook his head. Mad Dog lived in Valhalla but was also a member of The Watchmen. He was a close friend and an officer. "Just got a lot on my mind," he admitted. "But I'm here now. Let's build something good."
Sweat beaded on his brow as he hefted a heavy beam into place, his muscles straining with the effort. Laughter and the hum of conversation surrounded him. Every man there was a special forces veteran. While they weren’t all best friends, they all respected each other and would die for the other.
“Hey Savage, toss me that level, will ya?" called out Phantom, a former SEAL with a prosthetic leg.
Savage obliged, the tool sailing through the air in a perfect arc. “Nice catch, man,” he grunted, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
As he worked, Savage felt a familiar sense of camaraderie wash over him. These men understood him in a way so few others could. They'd seen the horrors of war, felt the weight of loss, and now fought daily battles against visible and invisible wounds.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, Savage's heart rate quickened as he saw Jay's name on the screen.
“Gotta take this,” he muttered to Phantom, stepping away from the noise.
“Speak to me,” he answered, his voice gruff with anticipation.
Jay's voice crackled through the line. “Hey man, I've got that info you wanted. You're not gonna like it.”
Savage's grip tightened on the phone. “Just tell me.”
“That loan Savannah took out? It came from The Rejects. Savage... she's in deep with some really bad people.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis as Savage processed this information. The Rejects were notorious for their brutality. If Savannah owed them money… It explained everything. Why she was so jittery and looking over her shoulder. It wasn’t an ex she was running from; it was a rival motorcycle club.
“I’m looking into Tim as well. There are some major inconsistencies in his background that the new human resource manager should have caught. I’m calling her when I get off the phone with you. I’ll let you know what I find out. It could be a coincidence, or he could be one of them sent to spy. If that’s the case, they know where she is… and they could be coming after her at any moment.”
“Thanks, Jay,” he managed to say, his mind already racing with implications. “I owe you one.”
Savage's jaw clenched as he pocketed his phone, his mind a turbulent sea of conflicting emotions. The weight of his duty to the club pressed down on one shoulder, while his growing feelings for Savannah tugged insistently at the other. He ran a calloused hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
“Everything alright, brother?” Phantom called out, concern etching his weathered features.
Savage forced a tight smile. “Yeah, just club business. Nothing I can't handle.”
But even as the words left his mouth, doubt gnawed at him. Could he handle this? The Rejects were no joke – they'd leave Savannah in pieces if she couldn't pay up. He took out his phone and texted her.
Savage: What are you up to, sweetheart?
Savannah: Changing sheets in a guestroom. These sheets cost more than a week’s pay. Did you need something?
Savage: No. Just thinking about you. Don’t forget to text me when you leave work and head this way.
Savannah: Okay.
Satisfied that she was currently safe, he tucked his phone back in his pocket. Damn. He couldn’t wait for the okay to turn into a yes, Daddy. He picked up a nearby sledgehammer, the familiar weight grounding him as he rejoined the work. With each swing, Savage's thoughts swung between loyalty and protection.
“You seem distracted,” Mad Dog observed, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. “The little girl from the playdate giving you trouble?”
Savage grunted, throwing his weight into another swing. “She's not giving me trouble. She's in trouble.”
“Ah,” Mad Dog nodded knowingly. “And you're torn between helping her and protecting the club.”
The sledgehammer connected with the wall, sending a shower of plaster raining down. Savage turned to his friend. “What if they're one and the same?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if protecting her is protecting the club?”
Mad Dog clapped a hand on Savage's shoulder. “Then you do what you do best, brother. You fight like hell for both.”
Savage nodded. He’d fight like hell alright. He'd unravel Savannah's secrets and face down The Rejects in the process if he had to. The Watchmen, their partners, and now, Savannah was his entire life. He’d protect them or die trying.