Savage caught her wrist gently, but his fingers dug deep. “Don’t be a fuckin’ moron,” he snapped, his voice equally as low. “Absinthe said you had a brain. You think he’d tell you all that shit about him—about us—if he was turning you over to Holden? You think you’d still have your fuckin’ weapons? Choose your targets but don’t tip them off. We don’t want civilians hurt and they’re all over the place. Be fuckin’ cool.”
“Iron, if you think I’m turning my woman over to you for any reason, you’re wrong. She’s mine. Your club makes a try for her for any reason, any reason, we’ll consider that war.”
Absinthe ignored the byplay between Savage and Scarlet as if he hadn’t heard it. He didn’t so much as look at her and she was glad. Savage was right. She just was so ready to always believe the worst, and it was really her lack of confidence in herself. Savage wasn’t gentle in the way Absinthe was. She had the feeling if she was his woman, he would have delivered some kind of punishment, if not on the spot, then later. As it was, she felt the heat of his glare and was totally humiliated that she’d made such a mistake.
“War?” Iron smirked. “Last time I looked, you got shit members, Absinthe.”
“Well I guess you’d better take another look.”
Absinthe kept walking and Scarlet kept pace, although she wasn’t certain if it was really her own choice. Something inside wouldn’t allow her to stop. It was as if the moment Absinthe had given her that order in the coffee shop, she couldn’t find it in her to disobey him. She did as Savage said and chose her targets.
She noticed that Lana was missing and did a subtle, quick look around, her gaze behind her dark glasses going to the rooftops. Lana was lying on a building behind a fence, rifle at her shoulder. She wasn’t the only one. A good-looking man covered in tattoos sat alone in a chair at one of the tables, wearing the Torpedo Ink colors. Gathered around him, on the ground, were six big ravens. She glanced at the telephone line overhead. A dozen more ravens with thick, wicked-looking curved beaks sat on the line, making it sag with their heavy weight, while at least six others flew in a lazy circle in the air. She gave a delicate shudder. The scene was a little too reminiscent of an old scary movie she’d watched once.
Absinthe swung onto his bike while Savage faced the members of the Venomous club who had loosely trailed after them. Scarlet turned to face them as well.
“Put the helmet and jacket on,” Absinthe commanded tersely.
Okay, maybe he was upset with her. She couldn’t blame him, but it had been a momentary lapse. Hopefully, once she explained herself, he would be his usual understanding self. She vowed that whatever he had done that he said would “piss her off” she would be very understanding about.
She caught up the Torpedo Ink jacket he all but shoved into her hands and slipped it on without a word. The helmet was next. She tucked in her hair and then put her foot on the peg and was behind him, wrapping her arms around him. She heard several bikes start up.
“What about Savage?” She had to yell in his ear to have him hear over the loud pipes.
Absinthe glanced at her over his shoulder with a look that asked her if she was crazy. She looked at the man who just stepped right into Iron, backing him and the other six men he was with away from Absinthe’s Harley, making room so he could turn onto the road and drive onto the main highway leading back to Caspar. Several bikes dropped into formation behind them.
Scarlet wished she could be in two places at one time. She wanted to see how many had stayed behind to make certain Savage was safe. He hadn’t seemed in the least worried facing the seven members of the Venomous club. In fact, they’d looked more scared than he had. She knew the reputation of the Venomous club because she made it her business to find out. They were working hard to make a name for themselves. To do that, they were getting as dirty as possible, which meant running drugs, guns and girls and getting bloody when they had to.
They always looked for new allies. Only the smaller clubs who had no one