7
Jaxson
I parked my truck in front of Savage Body a little before noon.
Savannah’s Gran Fury was already pulled into the garage, and she stood with her back to me, hands on her hips. The way her gray jeans hugged her ass heated my blood.
A part of me was still shocked that she’d actually called, wanting to meet.
I tried to read her scent and body language as I approached. She looked nervous and agitated, though I wasn’t sure if that was about whatever caused her panic attack the night before or about entrusting her precious car into our obviously unworthy hands.
She shook her head violently at my mechanic. “No, I just need you to fix the front bumper and check out my right back wheel.”
She must have sensed my approach because she glanced over her shoulder. A faint blush spread across her face when she noticed me. “Hi.”
I gestured for her to head inside. “You wanted to talk. How about my office?”
She nodded and started in, but she paused at the door and turned back toward the mechanic. “Don’t touch anything under the hood, please.”
My mechanic gave her a quizzical look, and I raised my brow at her. She shrugged and stepped into the shop office as I held the door. “The last time you had my Fury, your guys stripped her to pieces.”
A soft laugh escaped my throat. “It needed new pieces.”
Her expression only darkened. “It did not. That car is the last thing I have from my parents. Nobody tinkers with it, not without my permission.”
I studied the hard creases at the corners of her mouth. She’d said her panic attack had been about finding old photos of her parents.
Some wounds cut deep. That, at least, was something I could understand.
I put my hand on the door frame, turned back to the mechanic, and growled, “Not a thing gets touched on that car without Savannah’s permission. Treat that vehicle like it belongs to the Moon Mother herself, and make sure everybody in the shop knows it.”
My mechanic glanced at the vehicle and swallowed. “Right, boss.”
“Will that do?” I asked.
“Yes. Thanks,” Savannah mumbled.
I took her into my office in the back and shut the door. Her tangerine citrus scent made me dizzy with need, and I had to take a deep breath to calm my desire. “Are you okay? What happened last night?
She swallowed hard, and her eyes lingered on my mouth before she dragged her gaze to mine. “It…it was nothing. Just old photos. I’m not ready to talk about it. That’s not why I’m here.”
Confusion spiraled through my thoughts. “Then why did you want to talk?”
“I have some bad news.” She paced back and forth, her unease unmistakable. “One of the Order’s special agents showed up this morning. She had questions about the bikers who attacked me. And about you and the pack.”
So much for a heart to heart.
If constantly dealing with the LaSalles and the out-of-state packs wasn’t bad enough, the last thing I needed was the Order snooping deeper into our business. They’d been on our ass for a while, and when they couldn’t pin the abductions and murders on us, I was sure it had upset a few agents.
My mood rapidly growing dark, I leaned back against my desk and crossed my arms. “What kind of questions?”
“She’s investigating an MC in Michigan that’s been pushing a blood-based drug called Scarlet, which I’m betting was made by Kahanov. Apparently, the supply has run out, and word on the street is that a certain redhead can be used to make more.”
Fuck.
“Your blood.” I recalled the shifter we’d tracked down after Savannah was kidnapped. Right before I’d torn his throat out, he’d said that Kahanov had wanted her for her blood. It’s like his.
Savannah nodded. “She thinks that your pack is involved and that I helped you cover up the abductions and murders in Wisconsin.”
“Of course the Order does.” Trying to get a grip on my emotions, I reached down and sank my claws into the oak desk. It audibly cracked under the strain. “And what does this agent want from you?”
She stopped pacing and watched me closely. “To cooperate. To tell her the truth.”
“What did you say?” My tone was harsh, and Savannah winced ever so slightly before frowning.
“Nothing. I’m not a rat,” she snapped.
I relaxed. “I know. Sorry. I trust you.”