Chapter 12
12
SAVAGE
I left her sleeping. Naked, sated, and wrapped in the sheets like a gift I didn’t deserve.
The room smelled like her. Sex, sweat, and mine. Her pale skin was flushed, lips kiss-swollen, wild curls tangled on my pillow like spun honey. It took everything I had to tear myself from that bed. To walk out knowing if she woke up alone, she’d worry over me.
But this bullshit needed to fucking end.
No matter what happened tonight, I was ready to move forward with my future.
With Tamara .
I was done holding back from my woman. When I got home, I’d give her my property patch and slide my ring on her finger.
The clubhouse was quiet and dark as I stalked through it, but my boots echoing against the concrete as I stepped into the garage and found everyone already waiting.
Fox leaned against the hood of his blacked-out Charger, arms crossed, glaring at Racer, who sat behind the wheel with a giant grin.
“Not happening, citizen,” Fox barked. “Get in one of the fucking SUVs before I break your nose on the steering wheel. And if you get so much as a drop of blood anywhere, you’ll be swallowing your teeth next.”
Wrecker was perched on the edge of the workbench, flipping a wrench between his fingers. Whiskey leaned back against the wall, checking the magazines in the guns lined up on the table next to him. We all had our own firearms, but the club had a cache of weapons for when we needed something untraceable or specialized. As our sergeant at arms, he was our chief security officer, so among his many duties, he oversaw the club-owned armory.
Hawk crouched near the front tire of his bike, checking the pressure and talking casually with Maverick and Hunter like we weren’t heading into a war zone.
“’Bout time,” Wrecker muttered when he spotted me. “We figured your girl wrapped herself around you so tight you couldn’t pry her off.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Whiskey added with a smirk.
“Didn’t ask for commentary, assholes,” I growled, grabbing my helmet.
Fox pushed off the Charger and met my gaze. “Got the layout?”
I nodded once. “Seven rooms. One of ’em used for housing the patients. Two for procedures. There’s also a lab and an office. The last ones look like storage. And they’re using the alley behind the building as a patient drop.”
“The test subjects?” Fox asked.
“Six of them inside. All sedated. Four women, two men. No IDs. No clothes. Just medical bracelets and tracking chips.”
Fox’s jaw ticked. “We take them first.” He shot a look at Racer. “Get the fuck outta my car, go grab the bag of clothes Dahlia left inside by the door, then get your ass in the SUV and meet us there.”
Racer’s grin was gone, all business now. “On it,” he muttered, climbing out of the Charger and stalking back into the clubhouse.
“Secure the evidence next,” Fox continued. “Then we get the bastards.”
Maverick tossed me a small duffel. “Zip ties, hoods, and a couple of extras in case you get bored.”
Wrecker snorted. “He doesn’t get bored. He gets bloodthirsty.”
I gave him a look. “Keep talkin’. You’ll see which one I am tonight.”
The tension crackled as we mounted up, engines snarling to life like beasts stretching after a long cage. The ride out was a blur of cold wind, the growl of our hogs loud in the dark night.
It didn’t take long to reach our destination. Just a few backroads and a grim silence stretched between the thunder of engines.
We parked the bikes four blocks out—close enough to move fast but far enough to avoid attention. The old canning plant behind us was nothing but broken windows and rusted metal, forgotten by everyone but stray cats and weeds. Fine by me. I was in no mood for witnesses.
Midnight met us at the corner of the property. “Techs just left for a dinner break. Got about twenty minutes till they’re back. I’ll be in the van across the street monitoring the perimeter.”
He handed Hawk an earpiece since he was the only one on comms tonight. It left the rest of us with no distractions so we wouldn’t let down our guard and get caught unaware.
We slipped to the building like shadows. The security here was a step up from the storage facility, but Deviant was already in the system. As I approached the back door, there was a beep, then the red flashing light on the lock turned green. Still, I waited.
“All clear,” Hawk murmured a few seconds later. “Cameras inside are looped. Only Deviant can see the feeds.”
The door creaked when it opened. Even knowing the employees were gone, I hesitated, making sure we weren’t surprised by a fourth tech we’d somehow missed.
No one appeared, and I didn’t hear another sound, so I wedged the door to stay open and stepped inside.
The smell hit first. Stale air that hadn’t moved in hours. Bleach. The sharp scent of chemicals. But none of that completely masked the smell of human sickness.
Hawk and I took point while Whiskey and Maverick swept left. Fox and Hunter circled right, with Wrecker covering our backs.
It didn’t take long to find them.
We cleared nearly every room when we heard a soft moan. Then another.
The sound led us down a dim hall until we reached a locked door. Again, I waited until the red light turned green, then pushed inward. The moment the door swung open, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
“Son of a bitch!”
I stalked in, chest rising with every breath like I couldn’t get enough air. My fists clenched at my sides.
This room was colder than the rest. Glancing around, I saw no uniforms, no proper equipment—just makeshift crap that screamed rushed setup and no accountability.
Tamara’s words echoed in my head. Those names that had vanished, the files that didn’t match up. This was where they went.
The patients— victims , I silently amended—lay on narrow folding beds that lined against the walls. Four women and two men who were barely covered by a thin sheet. IVs dangled from rolling poles. Machines beeped in soft, erratic rhythms.
“Status?” Fox asked from behind me.
“Alive,” I growled. “Barely. Drugged. But breathing.”
“They restrained?” Wrecker asked, stepping into the room beside me.
“Some of them.” I nodded toward a young man on the corner bed nearest us. Early twenties, wrists strapped, and bruises across his jaw. “This one fought back.”
Wrecker’s lip curled. “Bet they didn’t like that.”
Hawk’s eyes glittered with restrained fury as he took in the scene. “They aren’t trying to kill them. They want to fucking use them. To test, to control. It’s a game to these sick bastards.”
“Get Blade on the line,” Fox snapped as his eyes swept the room.
“Already here,” Blade’s voice called out as he entered through the rear with two brothers pushing stretchers from a club-owned ambulance. “Mav told me about the run. Figured we’d need a medevac.”
Two younger paramedics followed them. Trusted kids who knew how to keep their mouths shut.
“Start loading them. Quietly,” Fox ordered.
We moved fast—removing IVs, helping the groggy patients to sit up, and dressing them in clean sweatpants and shirts from the emergency duffels. Then Blade and his team got to work checking vitals and transferring bodies to stretchers. They’d only brought in four, so I carried the other two out to the rig myself, one cradled in each arm like broken things I was sworn to protect. Once they were carefully secured, the two paramedics climbed into the back with the patients. Blade shut the double doors, and the lock clicked from the inside.
“You good?” Fox asked him.
Blade gave a single nod as he stalked to the front and yanked open the driver’s side door. “I’ll get them to the hospital. Already called ahead. They’ve cleared an intake room.”
The Iron Rogues owned just about every inch of Old Bridge. Not just land and businesses but also the police, politicians, and we’d practically built the hospital. Blade had a clinic on the compound, but he also worked shifts in the ER. Partly because he wanted to, but it also made it easier for him to be listed as the physician on record whenever the club used the facility for injuries that needed more care but kept quiet.
“Keep me posted,” Fox said.
Blade jerked his chin up before hopping into the front cab. The low rumble of the ambulance engine was the only sound as he pulled onto the road.
Back inside the facility, we collected vials and specimens, as well as some paperwork and other evidence that would only be stored here, rather than the warehouse.
“Find much?” Hunter asked, popping his head into the lab where Hawk and I collected information.
“Too fucking much,” I muttered, tossing another file into a half-full body bag. “These assholes logged everything. Medications. Dosages. Reactions. They didn’t even bother to try to disguise that these are medical trials.”
“Cocky,” Hawk sneered.
“Fucking stupid.”
Wrecker and Mav were taking out the last load when we heard the front door open down the hall. It scraped over the linoleum, then there were voices. Three sets of footsteps. Laughter.
The techs were back.
Fox appeared beside me like a ghost. “Take them.”
We waited until they turned the corner before pouncing. One lead scientist in a white coat, clipboard still in hand. Two younger assistants behind him, wide-eyed and twitchy.
They didn’t even get a scream out before we were on ’em. They put up a feeble struggle, but they weren’t fighters. Not even close. I zip-tied wrists, put hoods on their heads, and accidentally shoved one into the wall hard enough to make him whimper. No blood, though. Not yet. Just enough fear to make them shut up and cooperate.
Racer pulled up in one of the club’s black SUVs with the side door already open. “Got room for three jackasses. Let’s go.”
Fox pointed at the back seats. “Take them to The Room. And don’t drive like the reckless son of a bitch you are on the track. Stone needs them breathing to question them.”
I stalked forward, jaw clenched, every inch of me coiled in rage. “Stone can have them after?—”
Fox’s gaze cut to mine. “Stone first.”
I didn’t reply. I just stared at him. Deadpan.
He took a step closer. “We need them to talk. To name names. You break them before Stone gets what he needs, and you screw the whole case. You gonna convince me they’ll be capable of that after you’re done with them?”
I gritted my teeth. “Can’t promise anything.”
“Exactly. You know I’m right, Savage.”
My fists curled at my sides as I snarled, “Someone needs to bleed.”
“They will,” he replied quietly. “But not until we get what we need.”
I sucked in several breaths, my nostrils flaring and my jaw clenched. Eventually, I was in enough control to nod in agreement.
Maverick walked over and shoved a red gas can into my chest. Then he held up a matchbook tucked between two fingers.
“Fire’s cleaner than fists,” he said, voice dry. “Burn it down.”
“Leave evidence, not bodies,” Hunter reminded me.
My hands clenched around the red gas can like it was an extension of my rage. Then I snatched the matchbook and looked at the building around me.
All this had been used to hurt people. To end lives. To drag my woman into something she never asked for.
I turned the container over and set it on the nearest shelf, watching the liquid drain until a puddle was on the floor.
My shoulders were tight with fury, and I exhaled hard.
Then I lit a match.