Page 2 of Dark Savior

He sighed, eyeing me suspiciously for a moment. I held his stare, daring him to try to pick out my lie, and thankfully, he didn’t pry. “You need money for clothes since you’re still irresponsible?”

I ignored the dig and the irritation that swept through me at it. I had a part to play, which was to not let them know what was going on—not yet. Granddad hadn’t brought them into this, so I wouldn’t either. But still, I hated that he thought I was still the same reckless teen who’d left home three years ago.

“If you’re offering, then fuck yeah. Broke as shit,” I lied. Truth was, Granddad kept money flowing into a bank account for me so I never had to turn to my parents or the club for some kind of financial support.

Carter snorted. “Somehow, I doubt that, but I’ll get you some cash in a bit anyway.”

I grinned and clapped him on the back as he pushed open the last door at the end of the hall. “You’re the fuckin’ best,” I told him as I stepped around him and into the room. It was bare of everything but furniture. The bed was unmade. The dresser and nightstand drawers were pulled out a bit to let them remain aired out. The closet and bathroom doors were open—both rooms empty.

I had a lot of shopping to do, apparently. Just great. I hated shopping. It was too damn time consuming.

“No sheets?” I asked, turning to look at my brother.

Carter shook his head. “Nope. You want sheets, you buy sheets.”

“Dick,” I muttered.

He laughed and lifted Emma’s hand to wave at me. She squealed, and I couldn’t stop the smile from tilting my lips. Carter grinned at me, his expression soft. “Good to have you back home, sis.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

I doubted he’d keep that same happiness when he found out I wasn’t here for a casual visit.

Smoke filled my lungs as I inhaled on the blunt before lowering it from my lips and slowly blowing the smoke out. I knew it was only a matter of time before Mom and Dad found out I was here at the clubhouse, but I was putting off dealing with them as long as possible. Carter had promised me he wouldn’t say anything, but that didn’t mean one of the other members wouldn’t run their mouths.

I loved my parents, but this club had always come first for them. Didn’t matter how old Carter and I got, that had never changed. And while things had been mostly pleasant the last three years I was away, even if we did fight, I knew it was only because we weren’t in each other’s physical presence.

In person, shit rarely went well. I was too headstrong. Never wanted to fall in line. And them? Yeah… they liked being obeyed without question.

Newsflash for them—I didn’t wear a cut. Never would. I was their daughter. Not a fucking patched member.

“Well, well, well, look what the fuckin’ cat dragged in.”

I looked over, my heart lurching into my throat at the sight of the man I’d been in love with since I was a teen.

Callan Elliot—Sergeant at Arms of the Royal Saints MC.

He was older than me by ten years, a bit of an asshole, overbearing, overprotective…

And the hottest fucking man I’d ever laid my eyes on. Even now, three years later, he had the ability to make my body come alive with one fucking look from those dark, nearly soulless eyes.

His beard, which used to touch the top of his shirt, was gone, leaving him clean shaven and sharp. He still wore black t-shirts and grease-stained jeans, if his outfit was anything to go by. His dark eyes were covered by his shades, but I knew they would be hard and unflinching. Cold. Just as they always had been. And even though he seemed unfeeling as fuck—a bit detached from the world—something about him had always soothed me.

“Got some new ink, I see,” I noted, nodding at his muscular arms, which were now fully covered in tats.

He grunted and sat beside me on the picnic table. “I see you did too,” he noted, taking in the tribal ink that covered my right arm. I shrugged in answer and held the blunt out to him. He took it, placing it between his lips. “What brought you back to this shithole?” he asked, passing the blunt back to me after he blew smoke into the air.

I hummed nonchalantly. “Felt like a change in scenery,” I lied.

He snorted, and I knew he didn’t believe me. I could lie with the best of them, but somehow, Callan always saw through my shit. Every single fucking time. It was annoying… and also a bit nice for someone to actually see me. He was the only person who ever had.

“You sure about that, girly?”

I looked over at him, blowing smoke out the corner of my lips. “The fuck are you? My daddy?” And dammit, just like that, he made me defensive. Fuck.

He placed his hand on the picnic table behind me, his thumb brushing against my ass through my leggings. My breath hitched in my throat. Warmth curled in my lower stomach, and my nipples threatened to rip right through my fucking bra.

Christ. He’d barely even touched me.