Empire of Savages (Savage Hunt MC #1)

4. Nick

Chapter 4

Nick

My room looked just the same as the last time I was in here. White walls. Queen-sized bed opposite the door. A couch sitting horizontally against the end of the bed. A small bathroom to the right. Closet on the left.

Sitting down on the couch, I sank back into the cushions, not realizing how much I’d missed comfort. In prison, everything was hard. From the thin foam mattresses to cover the metal beds, to the steel chairs and tables, concrete floors, and solid walls. But on the outside, things could be soft.

Stretching my arms out across the back of the couch, I simply sat for a minute. Everything was the same, yet it was different, and the biggest change was Dimitri’s death. I would find out who killed him, then retribution would be swift. Leaning forward, I undid the laces on my work boots and toed them off. They landed with a soft clunk beside me before I pulled off my socks. As much as I wanted to luxuriate in my freedom, I still had a job to do.

Rising from the couch, I stripped out of my shirt and undid the button on my jeans. In the bathroom, I found fresh towels stacked on the counter alongside a fresh cake of soap and some shampoo. There was also a new toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and shaving cream. Someone had rolled out the fucking welcome wagon. Who was I fucking kidding? This had Molly written all over it.

I stared at my reflection, seeing how my face had changed while I was inside. Like everything else in prison, it had become harder too. My eyes were incapable of showing compassion. My jaw tight. My lips twisted into a snarl. I knew I had to shake it off, but for tonight, I would embrace what prison had given me.

After showering alone for the first time in five years, I toweled off, then wandered out naked into my room. I didn’t react when I found the whore who had been dancing for my two club brothers sitting on the couch. Her brown eyes drifted from my face to my cock, a smile stretching across her lips.

She rose to her feet, her stilettos boosting her higher than was natural. With a swagger in her hips, she approached. I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I watched the way she moved, my dick turning to fucking steel as I did. I hadn’t been able to fuck for five years. I hadn’t been interested in jerking off while my cell mate slept in the bunk beneath me either, so I had a lot of time to make up for.

The woman grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the couch. Because I was on board with getting my dick sucked, I allowed her to lead me there. Allowed her to push me down. Getting comfortable, I widened my legs and grabbed my cock, stroking it with a firm grip. Jesus, fuck, it had been too long.

“Gunnar said you’d be wanting this,” she said, running her hands suggestively over her breasts, then down between her thighs. She cupped her pussy, her smile turning devious.

“I want your mouth wrapped around my cock more.”

Plus, it would stop her from talking. I wasn’t interested in learning more about her. I just needed to get off, and her mouth was the perfect place to blow my load. Crooking my finger at her, I invited her to stand between my thighs. My hand still stroked at my cock, the movement drawing her attention.

“You want this, sugar?” I asked.

She nodded.

Thirsty cunt .

“Then get on your knees.”

She dropped a second later, her hot breath feathering over my shaft and hand. I held back the groan that had nothing to do with lust, and everything to do with me getting my release.

“You like that, baby?” she asked, breathing on my dick again.

I grunted, my answer non-committal. “I’d like your lips stretched around my dick more.” I pointed to where I stroked. “Now.”

She obeyed, wrapping her mouth around the crown of my cock and swirling her tongue. My hand fell away onto the couch, gripping the cushions because it felt too fucking good. With my free hand, I gripped her hair, forcing her to take me deeper. She fell onto my dick like a woman starved, taking me to the hilt and beyond the limitations of her throat.

“Fuck, you have no gag reflex, do you, sugar?” My words felt like they were being extracted forcefully from my throat. I was close to coming and she’d only been sucking for a minute. But she wasn’t a lover I was trying to satisfy. She was here to service me, and service me she would.

Holding her in place by her blonde hair, I slammed my hips up, forcing myself into her throat, driving deeper and deeper with each thrust. Saliva ran down the length of my cock as she opened up her throat to me, letting me dominate her. When she started to hum her appreciation, I fucking lost it, shooting my load straight onto the back of her tongue. My vision tunneled and turned to black for a moment, as the release triggered the endorphin rush I’d missed.

Shaking, I released her head and shoved her back. She dropped onto her ass.

My cock was red and wet—my cum and her spit covering it. I raised my eyes to her. “Clean this shit up.”

She blinked at me for a moment before scrambling to her feet. With both hands on my thighs, she licked and sucked my cum from my cock, making a show of the tip of her tongue rolling around the head of my dick. Did it feel good? Fuck yes, it did, but I got what I wanted from her. I stood, forcing her to shuffle backward if she didn’t want to get stepped on. Moving to my closet, I opened the door and pulled out a clean Henley and a pair of jeans. When I turned around, the whore was sitting on the couch, her position mimicking my earlier one—buck naked and legs spread. She was playing with her pussy, dipping one finger into her opening, and rubbing her juices all over her clit.

“You coming to return the favor, baby?” she asked coyly.

“Get out, sugar. We’re done.”

“But—”

Irritated, I walked to my door and opened it wide. “Out.”

One of the patched members just happened to be walking by at that moment. Karter stopped in the doorway, staring at her bared cunt like it was a feast.

“How about you come to my room, sugar?” he suggested. “I’ll be better company than this motherfucker.”

The woman went from scorned to siren in a heartbeat. Without bothering to get dressed, she draped herself over Karter’s shoulder, pressing her tits against his bicep.

“We have Church in twenty,” I reminded him.

The bastard grinned at me over her head, then left. As I shut the door, I heard him call out to his best friend, Jaxon King. Those two shared everything.

After pulling on my clothes, I found a new cell phone on the nightstand and pocketed it, then noticed something I wasn’t expecting to see. Dimitri’s dog tags. I brushed the tip of my finger against the cold metal. I remembered giving these to him on our sixteenth birthday. We both had a set. I’d lost mine along the way, but D still had his. There was a spot of dried blood on the metal, and I rubbed the pad of my thumb over it gently. This was the last thing I had of D’s—this and that damned mutt. Sliding the chain over my neck, I tucked the tags into my shirt and left the room.

Down the hall, I passed Rixon’s office and entered Church. I was the first one there, and I took a moment to breathe it all in. The rectangular table was once smooth and polished, but after years of punishment dished out by fights, boredom, and Rixon’s gavel, the top was worn, dented, and scratched. It was big enough to seat twenty, but it had been a long time since we’d had that number. All patched members were expected to attend unless they were out of state on a job. The prospects weren’t invited unless something pertained directly to them. Even then, Rixon would let them know individually if needed.

Memorabilia hung from the walls, photographs of the founding member, Doc Jones, who started the club after the Vietnam War. There were mug shots of members who had served time in the name of the club—including mine—and photos from rides. Certificates from charity shit Rixon had gotten into. Parties. Family days. Doc’s cut was encased behind glass and hung pride of place above the head of the table—Rixon’s spot. I inhaled, taking in the scent of wood polish, leather, and lemon. Fuck, I didn’t realize just how much I’d missed this place. On the opposite wall to Rixon’s seat was a clock that ticked quietly, watching over our proceedings. Pulling out the chair to the left of Rixon’s, I sat, feeling a sense of peace fall over me. It was something that I only got when I was at the clubhouse—this sense of belonging. This sense of rightness.

“I heard you were back, brother.”

I looked up to find Maverick Williams striding into the room. Mav was our resident pretty boy, so his dark-blond hair was tied at the nape, his beard trimmed perfectly. He flashed me a smile with his perfectly straight teeth and lifted me out of my chair in a bear hug.

“Nice to see you too, brother,” I huffed out.

“Stop fucking humping him,” someone else grumbled, and I peered around Mav’s shoulder to see Silas Tate, our club’s secretary.

“Silas is still a moody bastard? Good to see some things haven’t changed.”

Silas held out his fist to me. “Fuck you, Russian.” I knocked my fist with his. “Someone has to be the serious one around here.”

As a qualified accountant, he was smart as fuck and as serious as a heart attack, but that’s what made him good at his job. He was just taking his seat on the opposite side of the table as Ryker Lee and Vox Jameson strolled in. Ryker was still rubbing the grease from between his fingers, pocketing the rag before sitting down at his place. Vox was our road captain, and if the skull mask that covered his face from nose to throat didn’t scare you, the dangerous vibes he gave off sure as shit would.

Kaash was the next one through the door. He dipped his chin in my direction but said nothing. He took his seat opposite me at the table, his ice-blue eyes weary. Kaash and I had history, but I never let it get in the way of club business. He had a few more scars than the last time I saw him, and the brow piercing was new, too.

Gunnar and Rixon were the next to arrive, along with some members I hadn’t met yet. When Rixon walked into the room, everyone shut up and showed the president the respect he deserved. He took his seat at the table, looking around at everyone there.

“Where the fuck are Karter and Jaxon?”

As if by magic, the remaining members of the Hunt filed into the room. Jaxon had a smear of lipstick on his mouth and Karter’s pants were still undone.

“Where the fuck were you two?” asked Rixon.

“Just being hospitable,” Karter replied with a grin, buttoning his jeans and pulling up the zipper.

Gunnar smacked Karter upside the head as he sat down—the admonishment for his lateness and the smart remark he gave the president.

“Right, now that everyone’s here, Church is in session.” Rixon slammed the gavel against the table, and the mood in the room shifted from jovial to serious.

“First order of business,” Rixon said, his voice booming. He turned to face me, his voice a dark baritone. “Welcome home, son.”

Every single member called their agreement, Maverick slapping me on the back.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say that you were missed.” He cleared his throat. “Now, we need to find out who killed Nick’s brother.”

My hand resting on the table curled into a fist.

Rixon’s eyes darted to it briefly before settling back on my face. “This is what we already know. He was shot in the back while walking across campus after his class. No witnesses. No clear motive right now. Campus security said their CCTV feed was malfunctioning at the time of the shooting. There are no leads.”

I asked, “The Devils a suspect?”

Rixon sighed. “No, not our first. Things have been quiet with them lately. No hits. No retaliation.”

“What about the New York Italians or the Boston Hispanics?”

“The Mafia?” Maverick asked, wrapping his knuckles soundlessly against the tabletop in thought. The platinum ring on his middle finger glinted with each rise and fall of his hand.

My eyes shifted around the table. “It’s not an impossibility, right?”

“No, it’s not,” Rixon supplied. “But starting a turf war with us wouldn’t be in their best interest.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve been working with Vasily Markov. He’s our new supplier of AK-47s. If the Italians or Hispanics fucked with us, they’d be fucking over the Russians, too, and they don’t have the sort of manpower in the US to take on the Bratva.”

Jesus, fuck.

I looked at Rixon. “The Hunt run guns now?”

Kaash spoke before the president could. “A lot’s changed since you went away. Allegiances have changed, too.”

I frowned. “No shit.” It was my own fault. I hadn’t wanted to know—plausible deniability and all—but the guns were a shock. Before I went away, Rixon was adamant that we wouldn’t get involved.

Rixon glared at Kaash before saying, “Markov provides us with the product that we run into Canada.”

“And sell them to who?”

“The Arcaro Crime Family.”

Shit. The Calabrians . “I thought they were at war with the Russians.”

Kaash said, “As long as nobody tells the Canadians about it, it’s fair game.”

I shifted my attention from my VP to my president, holding Rixon’s gaze. “We haven’t gotten back into drugs, too, have we?”

“No. Our legit businesses are tiding us over. The strip club, Muse, is our biggest earner. We’re making good money there?—”

“But we could be making more,” Kaash interjected.

Prez turned to him, and that same tension I felt when I walked into the clubhouse suddenly filled the room—suffocating in its animosity. “I’ve already told you this is something we’d discuss in private.”

“Why should it be in private?” Kaash replied with a sneer. “This affects the whole club. The decision should involve every goddamned member of this club.”

Nash shifted in his seat, his eyes flickering between Rixon and his VP. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Rixon said, silencing Kaash with a dark glare. “It’s nothing that needs to be discussed now. What’s on the table right now is getting revenge for Nick.” Sweeping his gaze across the men, he asked, “What other possibilities are there?”

Ryker rubbed a hand along his jaw. “It could be a complete freak fucking accident. Wrong time, wrong place kind of thing?”

“I find that hard to believe,” Vox replied. “Too fucking much of a coincidence.”

“Why would you say that?” Jaxon asked from across the other side of the table.

“Nick was getting released from prison the week after. I think it was strategic.”

“You’re fucking talking out of your ass,” Kaash snapped, leaning back in his chair. “I fucking know who it was.”

My fingers gripped the edge of the table in front of me, and a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I glanced over at Maverick.

“Kaash thinks he knows who it is,” Rixon said, his tone hard. “But what he really has is a fucking hunch without any evidence.”

“Who the fuck needs evidence when the history between our clubs is all the fucking proof we need.”

I glanced across the table to Gunnar, thinking I’d see disbelief on his face, but all I saw was him nodding his agreement with our VP.

“The Devils?” Maverick asked. “You think the Devils shot Dimitri?”

Silas asked, “Why?”

Kaash slumped back into his chair, looking as relaxed as fuck. “Because they want to start that war. Their association with the Mérida Cartel is making the size of their balls grow. They want in on the Canadian market, and everybody knows the Arcaro Crime Family will work with whoever sells them guns the cheapest.”

“So,” Silas started, “you think that the Devils hit D in some sort of roundabout way to start a war with us? Get us out of the way so they can run guns to the Canadians?” He met everyone’s eyes. “Does anyone else see how fucked up that logic is? If they wanted to start a war with us, they should’ve taken out Prez.”

I bristled at Silas’s words. Talking about killing our president so casually was setting off alarm bells.

Kaash smirked. “That’s what I would’ve done—targeted an associate of the club rather than a direct member, then run interference until I could get what I wanted.”

Shouts of dissent suddenly rang out around the table. I hadn’t realized how cutthroat Kaash had become. He wasn’t afraid to not just rock the boat, but capsize the whole fucking thing.

Rixon had to slam the gavel onto the table a dozen times before quiet filled the room. Letting out a sigh, he said, “It’s obvious we have no leads right now, and for that, I’m sorry, Nick. I think it’s best if you and Gunnar do your own digging. See what his source has to say… if anything. All right, moving on. Where are we on the next shipment of AKs?”

“Everything is on track,” Gunnar said. “Mac and Kai are picking it up as we speak.”

“Half a dozen crates, right?” Rixon asked.

“Correct. After they’re picked up, they’ll be taken to the warehouse and held there until Whittaker gives us the go-ahead to cross.”

“Whittaker?” I asked.

“Our inside man in US Customs,” Ryker replied, then said to Rixon, “Do we need to grease the wheels a little more given the volume?”

“It’s already been taken care of,” Rixon replied. “It’s expected the shipment will go across the border sometime in the next week. Arturo Arcaro has paid upfront as a show of good faith, so I don’t need to tell you that things need to go smoothly with this. Kaash, you’ve got point on this one.”

The VP nodded.

“All right, is there any other business we need to discuss?” Rixon asked, picking up the gavel. “No? Then let’s get this motherfucking party started.”

Two sharp raps against the table, and the meeting was over. Karter and Jaxon—the Wonder Twins—were first out the door, the pair already talking about which of the club girls they were going to fuck tonight. Vox disappeared from the room, and I wondered whether he’d show for the party later. Ryker, Silas, and Maverick left next, Silas whispering something into Rixon’s ear on the way out.

“Are you ready to get your dick wet again?” Gunnar asked, slinging his arm over my shoulder, his smile saying he was proud of sending that club girl to me earlier. “Five years is a long time. You blew your load quick, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Come on, man, let’s go get fucking wasted.” Gunnar tried to draw me out of the room, but my eyes were locked on Rixon and Kaash. The pair were talking in low, angry voices until eventually, Kaash’s voice rose above a violent whisper. Gunnar turned to listen, too.

“You’re gonna sink the fucking club, Prez.”

“I already told you this shit wasn’t up for discussion. It doesn’t need to be brought up to me every single fucking day.”

“It’s a deal that affects the club. The club needs to hear about it in order to make a decision.”

Rixon rose to his full height, towering a good foot over Kaash. “I said this isn’t up for fucking discussion, and it’s not. Bring it up again at my meeting, and we’re going to have a fucking problem.” He stalked from the room.

“What the fuck, man?” Gunnar asked.

“Fucking bastard is gonna destroy this club,” Kaash muttered, ignoring Gunnar’s question and leaving Church.

Gunnar and I looked at each other for a moment. “Come on. Let’s celebrate your release.”