Savage and Racy

By: Violet Blaze

(Bad Boys MC Trilogy #3)



I emerge from the Trinidad Police Department splattered with blood and hurting, but alive.

The night is wet and dark, shadowed in fog and heavy with salt tinged drizzle that obscures the gathering crowd at the bottom of the steps. Too bad it can't stop the flash of smartphone cameras and the chatter of reporters.

I lift my right arm up to cover my face as I blink away stars and curl my bare left hand into a fist by my side. I can't decide if that was a mistake or not, taking Royal's engagement ring off before I stepped outside.

“Miss Rentz, can you tell us what happened in the Sea Salt parking lot tonight?”

A girl's pretty face, dark with wet mascara, her chest blooming with blood.

That's what happened tonight; I shot somebody. I shot several somebodies.

“What can you tell us about the FBI's involvement in the matter?”

I raise a brow at that one—where the hell did they get that information from—but I'm not about to stand here and field questions that I don't know how to answer. My name is Lyric Lenore Rentz, and I'm the mayor's daughter, an outlaw's fiancée, and … tired as hell and covered in other people's blood.

I run my hand down my face as my sister grips me tight on one arm while my mom digs her fingernails into my bicep on the other side. It feels more like I'm comforting them than vice versa.

“The mayor promised the agreement with the Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club would help clean up the city; what prompted such a violent crime spree?”

The three of us push into the crowd, Kailey and Mom huddling up against me as we try to move through the thick cluster of people. The department's managed to spare one officer as an escort, but even that's a stretch. Trinidad was never built to deal with a mass shooting or a drug cartel; resources are stretched to the breaking point right now.

“Deputy Mayor, do you have any comments on tonight's tragedy?”

I keep walking because if I do decide to talk to reporters, I want to talk them as myself, not as Pint-Size the Biker Chick or Deputy Mayor Rentz. At this point, I'm not sure I know how to do that properly. But I'll figure it out; I always do.

“Can I take your car?” I ask Kailey as she unlocks the black sedan with her key fob and then just stands there, blinking at me with big, watery green eyes. My hands are shaking as I hold one out to my mom and gesture for my purse.

“My car?” Kailey echoes as she tucks some blond hair behind her ear and stares at me like I'm a crazy person.

I can feel my lips flattening into a tight, thin line, but I can't let go of the resolute control I have over myself. I'm in desperate need of a shower, some food, and a nap—in that order. But there's something else I feel like I need first.

The crowd follows us over, but keeps a short distance, just enough for the three of us to form a half circle against my sister's car, our backs to the crowd. The officer—some wet behind the ears, fresh out of the academy rookie—stands facing them.

“May I have my purse, please?”

“What do you need your purse for?” my mom asks, her mouth quivering as she reaches up to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. Who uses handkerchiefs anymore? That's right—my mother. Looking at her, you might think she was the one who was kidnapped tonight. “You're coming back to the house with us anyway.”

“I'd like my purse,” I repeat as my mom sighs and grudgingly passes over the wet leather of my bag. The police recovered it from the Sea Salt parking lot and gave it to her while I was giving my statement. There's about a ninety-nine percent chance that she rifled through it already, probably found the two condoms I was keeping in there for emergencies. “And I'd like to borrow Kailey's car.”

“You can't go anywhere,” my mother says, holding her hand out toward the police officer, like he can somehow keep me from leaving. But I'm not under arrest here, and I'm still free to do what I want.

Mom stares me down with her matching green eyes as I hold my hands out for Kailey's keys.

“I'll meet you back at the house in a few hours,” I tell them as reporters shout my name, and the situation starts to take on this edge of urgency. I don't blame the crowd; this is the biggest thing that's happened in the city since that shooting ten years ago between the two motorcycle clubs. People are hungry for a taste of danger and strife and, maybe, just a little chilled with fear.

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