Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 163885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 656(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 656(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
He knew he would have to bring her into his world as fast as possible. Already, nearly a month had passed, and he could feel the familiar violence beginning to build in him. He had time, but it was a limited amount. Seychelle would have to be entirely on board. Bog, but she was beautiful to him, and so courageous. She would need that courage to be his partner—to love him, and he wanted her to love him.
Savage stared at Seychelle as she took her first steps into the very pressing crowd, his mind trying to fully comprehend that she’d come, his lungs trying to draw in air when he couldn’t really breathe. He did manage to get his arm into the air, and he sent a high-pitched whistle into the room that reverberated over the music and the crowd for less than a second. That would be enough of a signal to alert his fellow Torpedo Ink members that his woman had just walked in.
Reaper, his older brother, sat with him, as he had these last Thursday nights when Savage had come to the bar. Savage knew Reaper was concerned about his state of mind, afraid he might pick a fight and “accidentally” kill someone.
“You’ve got your mouth hangin’ open, and your woman is goin’ to get assaulted in this crowd lookin’ like that,” Reaper said. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” There was a trace of amusement in his voice, but not on his face. Maybe in his eyes. “Does she sing as good as she looks?”
Seychelle looked out of place in the bar. Too young. Too sweet. She didn’t look around for him, and that pissed him off when he couldn’t take his eyes off her. When he was practically devouring her.
“Sings like a fuckin’ angel. Her voice, Reaper. It’s something else.”
Reaper’s woman, Anya, was the bartender, along with Preacher, another member of Torpedo Ink. Anya glanced around the bar as she shook something ridiculous for three women who had come to shake their tits at the band members. She caught sight of Seychelle and flashed her a smile. She’d recognized that signal, the one they’d all been hoping for. She was Savage’s sister-in-law, and she was extremely worried about him.
“Hey, girl. We’ve been waiting for you. Give her some room, guys, and keep your hands to yourself,” Anya called out.
No one messed with or made a play for Anya unless they were new to the bar. Most everyone knew she belonged to Reaper and he wasn’t pleasant if anyone got out of line. Savage felt equally possessive of Seychelle. The trait ran deep in the family. It hadn’t occurred to him someone might decide to touch her. The place was crowded, and it was easy enough for a man to slide his hand over a woman’s ass or tits as she walked by. Depending on what club they were in, some felt like it was their just due.
Savage stood up slowly, still blending in with the shadows. Reaper and he had perfected that art when they were children, all the better to stalk and kill the ones holding them prisoner. Now, standing, Savage could better see Seychelle’s progress as she made her way to the bar. Anya waved her to the bar stool that Bannister, a regular, had vacated in order for her to have a seat. She was short, and her feet didn’t quite hit the floor when she slid onto it. Zyah, Player’s wife, sat on the other side of Seychelle.
The band members, Keys, Master, Maestro and Player, exchanged relieved smiles and then swung into one of their very popular songs. Each of them, in his own way, was a genius when it came to music and playing instruments. They were good—very good—far better than most bands, and it showed. They knew, as much as Seychelle was auditioning to see if she fit with them, they were auditioning for her. If she didn’t like their music, they had little chance, especially since she was sitting on the fence because of Savage.
He had eyes only for her. On her face, just below her left cheekbone, there was a small scar. Over her left eye, bisecting her eyebrow, there was another one. Those belonged to him. They were so small, no one would notice them, but to him, they stood out and said something about her and the kind of woman she was. She’d gotten those scars saving his life.
He knew how to help her now that he understood how her gift worked, but stopping her from healing others when she couldn’t control the compulsion was going to be difficult until she was on board with it. Savage wasn’t the kind of man anyone said no to, least of all his woman. Still, he knew there had to be a balance—he had to give to her just as much as she was giving him. She hadn’t run screaming from him. She had the courage necessary to face him, to show up at the bar even though she was terrified of the choice she was making.