4. SAVANNAH
Chapter four
SAVANNAH
S avannah's breath caught in her throat as she approached the large ocean-liner-shaped beach house at North Avenue Beach. Its sleek, white exterior and panoramic windows gave it a modern, nautical charm, standing proudly against the golden sand.
She looked around, wondering which of the faces in the crowd would be Blake’s. She had no idea what a private security contractor would look like. Maybe he’d be huge and scary, like the Incredible Hulk. Or maybe he’d be small and forgettable, able to blend into the background.
Whatever he ended up looking like, today was a big day. With the help of private security, she felt sure that she’d be able to infiltrate the Lucifer Club. It was the moment she'd been waiting for. A chance to expose the truth that had haunted her for years. She wished she'd plucked up the courage to call Paladin ages ago. In the end though, it had been fear that pushed her over the edge.
She sat on a bench near the beach house, swinging her long pale legs. Her legs, like every other part of her, were spattered with pale brown freckles. Her skin never got tan in the summer no matter how much she exposed herself to the sun. She only ever went slightly pink, and then—once the pink faded—right back to ghostly white.
Today, she was wearing white hotpants and a yellow t-shirt with a cartoon sunshine on it. She didn’t need to hide in the shadows right now, so she felt able to be her usual sunny self. But the longer she waited for her burly bodyguard to arrive, the sillier she felt.
What if he didn’t take her seriously? She was twenty-five years old, but dressed more like a kid. Hell, she even wore kids’ clothing. She was only five-foot-tall and bought clothes meant for fourteen-year-old girls. It was kind of convenient, seeing as she was a Little.
The sound of footsteps drew her attention, and she turned to see a tall figure with dark hair approaching with slow, deliberate strides. Blake Marks? It had to be. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt and looked larger than life, more muscular than an action figure. His intelligent blue eyes seemed to be drinking in every detail around him, assessing the situation with expert precision.
There was something about the man’s presence that demanded attention, and Savannah felt a shiver run up her spine as he locked eyes with her.
"Blake?" she asked hesitantly.
"Miss Sweet." His voice was deep and commanding, and Savannah couldn't deny the thrill it sent through her.
"Y-Yeah, that's me," she replied, clearing her throat. "You can call me Savannah if you like. Or Savvy! Thanks for agreeing to meet with me."
Blake's gaze roamed over Savannah's form, taking in her petite figure and curly auburn hair. She felt a flush creeping up her cheeks as she noticed his lingering stare. She had encountered a lot of stares in her life. She had been teased mercilessly as a kid for her red hair and freckles. Not to mention the clothes she wore, the way she acted, and the fact she was an orphan. So, she was used to being looked at. But not looked at like this .
Blake stared at her like he was looking deep, deep inside her, and like he was taking something from her at the same time.
“Stand up,” he ordered her.
She swallowed. She hadn’t been ordered around like this since she was in foster care. Back then, it had been a wholly negative experience, but something told her that with Blake, it was going to be quite different.
"Alright," she said, obeying him by jumping off the bench. "Let’s get straight to the point. I need your help, sir. I want to hire you for a night."
Blake arched an eyebrow, smirking at her. “You want to hire me for a night?”
She blushed some more. “Gah, not like that. Not in a . . . you know. A weird way.”
Stay cool, Savvy, stay cool!
She didn’t normally get nervous like this when she talked to men. She was cool and composed, used to talking to all kinds of jerks and bullies. But Blake . . . he was so calm, so confident, so intense, that it made her all kinds of uncomfortable.
A gust of wind whipped Savannah's auburn curls around her face as she stood on the bustling boardwalk, the salty scent of the ocean mingling with the sweet aroma of nearby treats.
“Anyway,” she said, trying to focus. “Let me tell you the plan. I’m going to infiltrate—”
"Stop right there," Blake said gruffly, his eyes scanning the area. "Let's get some ice cream first.”
“Some . . . ice cream? Sorry, what?” she asked, confused. First this man had invited her to the beach and now he wanted to get ice cream? Had she actually called Paladin Security last night? Or was he some kind of rent-a-beach-buddy escort?
“We don't want to draw attention," he explained. “As far as anyone else is concerned, we’re here for a day at the beach. So, let’s damn well look the part.”
"Fine," Savannah agreed, annoyed by his brusque demeanor but recognizing the wisdom in his suggestion. Even though there was no chance someone would be tailing them, it didn't hurt to be cautious.
They made their way to a nearby ice cream stand, the colorful sign declaring it "The Best Ice Cream in Chicago."
“Flavor?” he asked her brusquely.
She almost laughed out loud at the sight of this tough guy asking her what kind of ice cream she wanted. But she stopped herself at the last minute. This wasn’t a funny situation, after all. She was about to ask Blake for the most important favor of her life.
“A rainbow cone, please,” she asked sincerely. She’s always wanted one of these but had never allowed herself one.
Hers wasn't the kind of life that included treats. Sure, she had her cute clothes and Mr. Whiskers, her stuffie, and her coloring pencils, but they were more about necessity than indulgence. This rainbow cone ice cream was nothing other than pure indulgence.
“One rainbow cone and one vanilla,” Blake said to the server.
Savannah couldn’t hide a small smile that crept into the corners of her mouth. “Vanilla? Doesn't seem like you.”
Blake turned back to her, his eyes—just for a brief moment—roaming down her slim frame. “Babygirl, I’m anything but vanilla. I just happen to like my ice cream . . . uncomplicated.”
Babygirl?
Savannah did her best to hide the flush of excitement and surprise she felt. Did Blake somehow know she was a Little? Should she be upset with him? Flattered?
Blake handed her a cone layered with five distinct slabs of ice cream. “Go on then,” he said, as they started walking down to the beach. “Tell me everything.”
Savannah licked her ice cream, savoring the creamy goodness of the layers in combination with one another. Orange sherbet, pistachio, Palmer House—which, she discovered was cherry, walnut, and vanilla—plus strawberry and chocolate. “Ohmygod,” she gasped. “How do such completely different flavors work so well when they’re squashed up close together?”
Another quirk of the eyebrow from Blake.
“Uh, anyway,” she said. “Enough about squashing stuff together.”
Yep. She was blushing again. Of course she was.
“I need you to protect me for one night only,” she blurted quickly. “Ideally tonight.”
Blake, who was in the middle of licking his vanilla ice cream with a tongue that somehow looked as strong as the rest of him, locked his eyes on Savannah’s. “Where?”
She blinked up at him. He had to be at least a foot taller than her. “The Lucifer Club.”
His jaw tightened. “Why there?”
"I'm not willing to share that information just yet," Savannah replied cautiously, licking the melting ice cream from her cone. "It's my story, and I need to be the one to break it."
Blake furrowed his brow, clearly displeased with her answer. "I don't care about stealing a story from you. You hired me for protection. The more I know, the better I can help you."
Savannah hesitated, the weight of her investigation bearing down on her. She knew he had a point, but divulging too much information could jeopardize her story. Finally, she relented, giving him a small piece of the puzzle.
"Fine," she sighed, wiping a stray drop of ice cream from her chin. "Something's happening at that club aside from the usual illegal activities. People go in, but not everyone comes back out."
"Sounds dangerous," Blake mused, finishing his ice cream and tossing the empty cone into a nearby trash can. "But it's still not much to go on."
"Trust me, I'm aware," Savannah snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "That's why I need to get back in there and find out exactly what's going on." She paused, looking at the trash can. “You don’t bother eating the cone? Isn’t that the best bit?”
Blake studied her for a moment, his intense blue eyes searching her face. “You interested in how I eat ice cream or are you trying to deflect?”
Savannah took a deep breath. “I’m the one paying, aren’t I?” she said bravely. “But you’re acting like you’re interviewing me for a job.”
Blake didn’t say anything for a while. She couldn’t help but steal glances at him. If he wasn’t so freaking scary, he’d be hot.
“I'm a professional and I'm assessing the situation. Let me tell you what I think," Blake said at last. “You’re putting yourself in too much danger. Your intentions are good, but the benefits outweigh the risks. You’re dealing with some real bad guys by the sounds of it. You want my help for one night. But . . . what then? You think the bad guys are going to lay off you? Give you an easy ride? They won't.” He stopped walking, an d gripped Savannah’s wrist just as she was about to take another lick of ice cream. “Little one, the minute they realize you’re trying to expose them, they’re going to kill you.”
Savannah swallowed. “I might be small,” she said quietly, “but I’m fierce.”
The ghost of a smile played on Blake’s lips. "Is that so?"
She nodded, feeling yet another blush creep up her neck. "People are getting hurt, maybe even killed. And I'm going to find out why."
"Even if it means putting yourself in danger?" Blake's voice was low and steady, like the rumble of distant thunder.
"My life is no more important than anyone else's," she retorted, her jaw set stubbornly. "Someone has to stand up to the bad guys." As much as she was enjoying her ice cream, she threw it into a trash can, cone and all, and crossed her arms. “See? I can throw away my ice cream too. I have willpower. And just so you know, I’m doing this with or without you.”
Blake let out a long sigh. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Alright," he conceded, his gaze never leaving her face. "But if we're going to do this, we do it my way. You follow my lead, and you stay close."
"Deal," she agreed reluctantly.
"Alright,” said Blake. “I’ll walk you home so you can get ready.”
“Get ready?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking down at her clothes. “If you’re going to this club, you’re gonna have to wear somethin’ . . . sexy.”
She scowled. “I don’t think so, buster.”
Blake raised his palms. “Not for my sake, sweetheart. I think you look plenty sexy just as you are. You have to blend in with the Lucifer crowd.”
Savannah couldn’t help letting out a small giggle. “You think I look . . . never mind. Okay. Sure. I guess I’ll walk home via the shopping mall, then. I don’t actually own anything like that.”
“You don’t live anywhere near the mall,” replied Blake. “I’ll drive you.”
“You know where I live?”
Blake grinned. “I know all kinds of stuff about you, babygirl.”
Savannah felt heat rise in her. Why didn’t she find the things Blake said creepy? Why did they seem to excite her so much?
“Right,” she said. “Take me shopping then, henchman.”
“Watch it, young lady,” he replied. “Or I’ll . . . forget it. Let’s go.”
Forget it? Had he just been about to threaten to spank her ass? It sure sounded like it. And the thought of it made her shiver inexplicably with excitement.
***
Savannah checked she wasn’t popping out of her dress for the millionth time.
Blake hadn’t just driven her to the mall this afternoon. He’d also helped her pick out a sexy little black minidress that showed off her bosom, as well as all the freckles on her chest, which she usually tried to hide with t-shirts and sweaters. She’d noticed his eyes fixed on that area of her body several times on the way over here, and she couldn't help but wonder what he thought.
"Listen, Savannah," Blake said, his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "I need to know exactly what happened the last time you were at this club. Why do you need my protection tonight?"
"Does it matter?" she retorted, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "You're here to help me, not interrogate me."
"Dammit," he growled. "This isn't a game, Miss Sweet. Tell me or I'm out."
"Fine," she snapped, her emerald eyes blazing. "I got caught snooping around last time. Happy now?"
"Far from it," he muttered darkly, his gaze never leaving hers. "If they recognize you, we could be in serious trouble."
"Then I'll just have to make sure they don't," she replied, her voice thick with determination. "I'm not backing down, Blake. Not when I'm this close to uncovering the truth."
“You’ve got one of those faces, though,” said Blake.
“What faces?” she shot back angrily. “Ugly and freckled?”
Blake’s eyes widened. “What? No, of course not. Memorable. You have a memorable face.”
“Good memorable or bad memorable?” asked Savannah, annoyed that she even cared.
“Very good to me,” replied Blake. “But then I’m a sucker for freckles like yours. Kinda like your skin has been splashed with stars.”
Stars.
Why did that stir some kind of memory deep within her?
Someone else had described her freckles like that once. It’s the reason she felt so connected to the night sky. The reason she felt like the stars were her protectors, looking down on her from above.
“Anyway,” she muttered, trying to focus. “I bought a wig for tonight.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a shiny blonde wig, cut into a razor-sharp bob. She put it on, pushing all her stray red hairs under it and adjusting her new bangs, and turned to Blake. “Ta da!”
"Jesus, babygirl," he grumbled, running a hand through his short, dark hair. "You look a lot better as a redhead.”
She smirked. “I thought you’d be the type of guy who went for blondes.”
Blake didn’t take the bait. “You stick to me like glue, you understand? If anything feels off, we get out of there. No questions, no arguments."
"Fine," she agreed begrudgingly.
As they approached the entrance to the club, Savannah felt a thrill of excitement course through her veins. She knew the risks were high, but nothing could stop her now—not even her own fears.
“This is it,” she said quietly as they reached the door.
“Hold my hand,” Blake instructed her.
“Seriously?” Savannah asked.
“I want you close, remember?” Blake murmured in her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.
She slipped her hand into his, shocked by how big and strong it felt around her slender palm. He gripped her hand tight, as though he’d never let it go.
With one last glance at Blake, she stepped into the lion's den, ready to face whatever fate had in store. They slipped through the doors of the Lucifer Club, blending into the crowd like shadows.
The music pulsed around her like a living thing, the beat thudding in time with her heart. She scanned the faces in the crowd, searching for Scarface, making sure she kept well clear of him tonight.
"Keep moving," she whispered to Blake, tugging on his hand as they wove their way deeper into the club. The smell of sweat and alcohol filled the air. “We need to head for the back room.”
As they passed the bar, Savannah spotted him: the lean, wiry man with darting eyes and a jagged scar across his cheek. The one who had apprehended her outside the club last night. He was standing near the door that led into the back room.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she tightened her grip on Blake's arm. "He's here," she hissed, trying to keep her voice low and steady despite the pounding in her chest.
"Who?" He asked, following her gaze.
"Scarface. The guy who saw me last night."
"Shit." Blake cursed under his breath. "Alright, stay back and don't make eye contact. We'll need to find another way to get closer without drawing attention."
"Okay," she agreed, backing away from the man who could potentially blow her cover. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a plan, her determination to uncover the truth now mixed with a desperate need to avoid detection.
"Let's head for the VIP section," she suggested, gesturing toward the roped-off area near the back of the club. "Maybe we can find a quiet corner to regroup and figure out our next move."
"Good idea," Blake replied, his tone tense but focused. "Just remember: if he starts coming our way, we need to be ready to get out of here as quickly and quietly as possible."
Savannah was about to ask Blake’s advice on what to do next when suddenly, out of nowhere, he pulled her close. She could taste the faint hint of mint on his breath as his lips crushed hers.
"Act natural, Scarface is coming," he murmured against her mouth as his strong arms encircled her waist. His intense gaze locked onto hers for a split second before he deepened the kiss. His tongue didn’t ask for hers to participate, but it did anyway. She kissed him back like it was all she’d ever wanted. She kissed him back like she belonged to him.
And then he broke apart from her.
“Fuck,” he panted under his breath. “Sorry about that.”
His arms were still around her, pulling her in close to him. Maybe she was imagining it, but she swore she could feel a hardness between his legs, pressing into her stomach. Was he as aroused as she was?
"That was . . . inappropriate," she managed to stammer out, looking away from him to hide her reddening face.
“Like I said, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you,” Blake replied unapologetically.
“Is that what you tell all your clients?” she asked, annoyed with herself for how much she’d liked it.
"Like I said, I’m sorry," Blake replied gruffly, though his eyes betrayed a hint of satisfaction. "But it worked, didn't it? Scarface was heading this way. He would have seen you."
Savannah glanced around nervously, scanning the crowd for the wiry man with the jagged scar.
“Keep your eyes on me, babygirl,” Blake said.
Savannah looked up at Blake, feeling her cheeks blazing a ferocious red. She knew how obvious her lust was right now, and she was sure that Blake felt the same way. Unless that was a gun pressing into her abdomen, he had the mother of all hard-ons right now.
“You have beautiful eyes. You know that, little one?” he said out of nowhere.
Savannah swallowed. “I do?”
“Yep. I really fuckin’ like the fire in them.”
Now, it was one of those blushes that crept all the way down her neck and spread to her chest. She hated the way she blushed like that, so much so that she looked away, hoping Blake wouldn’t see her like that.
To her horror, as she turned, she saw Scarface not far off, his darting eyes locking onto her just as she tried to look away. Panic rose in her chest, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
"Damn it," she whispered, clutching Blake's arm. "He saw me."
"Stay close," Blake ordered. "We need to move. Now."
But it was too late.
The lean man's furious gaze bore down on Savannah like a hawk zeroing in on a rabbit. His lips twisted into a sneer as he spat out his words, "Well, well, look who we have here. Interesting hair you have tonight. Guess even a wig is an improvement on that frizzy red stuff you have naturally. Where’s your secret camera tonight, Freckles? Guess I’ll have to conduct a very thorough search to find it." He reached out for her breast, but Blake swatted it away.
“Hands off, asshole. She’s mine.”
Savannah's heart hammered in her chest, adrenaline surging through her veins. Why did it feel so good hearing Blake say she was his just then?
"Think you can protect her?" the wiry man taunted, his eyes narrowing with malice. "You're in over your head, pretty boy. This girl’s got a target on her back."
"Talk is cheap," Blake retorted, his perfectly timed fist connecting with the man's jaw. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, momentarily stunned by the force of the blow.
Savannah gasped.
"Come on," Blake urged, grabbing Savannah's hand and pulling her through the crowd. As they made their escape, she found herself marveling at Blake’s strength and quick thinking.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her breath coming in short gasps as they dodged partygoers and navigated the dimly lit club.
"Somewhere safe," Blake replied without missing a beat, his grip on her hand reassuringly firm.
As they slipped out a side exit and into the cool night air, relief washed over Savannah. They raced as they darted through the shadows of a narrow alleyway, the damp air clinging to her skin. She could feel Blake's hand tightening around hers.
"Are we safe now?" she panted, her chest heaving with exertion.
"Keep moving," Blake urged, his voice low and tense. "We can't risk stopping until we're far enough away."
“My place is in the other direction,” she said weakly.
"Listen," Blake said, stopping abruptly and gripping her shoulders. "You need to trust me right now. I'm doing what I need to do to protect you."
She looked into his eyes, searching for anything that would betray his intentions. But all she saw was fierce resolve and something else . . . a hint of vulnerability?
"Fine," she relented, her voice softer than before. "But only because I don't have any other choice."