She gave him a faint smile. “Why? Are you pregnant? You really should tell me these things, Savage.”
“Very funny, angel. No, I just would like to get it done.” He made the turn onto the farm property, driving through the open gates.
He didn’t want to tell her he wanted her married to him before the rage overflowed and the sadistic monster got loose. He knew he would never believe she loved him again. His insecurities would get the better of him. How could they not when he let go of his control? He gripped the steering wheel tighter with one hand while carefully holding her gently with the other.
“Get it done?” she repeated softly.
There was the tiniest thread of amusement in her voice, although she still sounded desolate overall. He was grateful he could interject even just that little bit of humor into her.
“As in get married? That’s how you view our getting married? Getting it done? That’s a very interesting way to put it. And it isn’t the first time you’ve said it like that. You aren’t exactly a white-dress-and-veil-in-the-church-with-a-thousand-witnesses-watching kind of guy, are you?”
The house was on top of a small hill surrounded by tall, beautiful redwood trees, the trees a good forty or fifty feet from the house, a perfect spot for defense. The clearing in between was planted with low-lying shrubs, ground cover and colorful flowers, so no one was going to sneak up on the occupants easily. Beautiful metal structures turned with the wind, adorning the yard closer to the house. The sculptures created movement, flowing with breathtaking colors in the moonlight, giving visitors the idea that this was the home of an artist. Savage looked with different eyes. He believed each of those sculptures hid something much more lethal. He noted all the cameras and motion detectors that were in plain sight and knew it was the ones no one could see that visitors—or enemies—should worry about.
Two stories, the house appeared to be built like something out of a storybook, with its wraparound porch and many gables. He drove up the long drive leading to Casimir’s home. As they approached the house, they could see the beautiful art sculptures closer. Because it was night, the lights on the spinning blades spun dazzling colors into shapes and patterns that were sideways rather than upward.
“You knew I wasn’t a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy, baby,” Savage reminded her, parking the truck. He passed the pad of his thumb over the ring on her finger as he took in their surroundings, judging how safe it was to allow his lady out of the truck.
Because Casimir wasn’t one of the original eighteen Torpedo Ink members, he tended to dismiss the lethal side of the man—and his woman. Now, seeing their setup, he realized that was a big mistake. Casimir was a fully patched member of Torpedo Ink. A brother. But he wasn’t one of the original eighteen charter members, and Savage didn’t know him all that well yet. He was Czar’s birth brother, and he’d attended one of the four schools in Russia. None of the schools had been easy. Casimir had trained as an assassin, and he’d served their country. With Lissa, Casimir had been the one to free all of them by killing Sorbacov and his son. Every single one of them owed Casimir and Lissa a debt that could never be repaid.
“Actually, honey, that’s exactly what you are. You are a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy, very romantic at heart. I count on that.”
She could slay him with just that look she gave him and a few soft words. He kissed her fingers, her knuckles and that sacred ring, making up his mind. Casimir was a brother. He was Torpedo Ink and Czar’s birth brother. It was time Savage learned to trust him. “Come on, babe.”
She looked around her. “Where are we? It’s late. We can’t just visit people this late at night, Savage.”
“I texted them we were coming to see them.” He slid out of the truck before she could protest and went around to open her door.
Savage kept Seychelle tight under the protection of his shoulder. He had never been big on asking favors of others, yet it seemed he was learning he could do so for Seychelle. He only hoped Casimir’s woman could come through for him. He knew the chances were slim. Fucking Shari had shattered the roses. There were some larger pieces, but most were small, and a few pieces were powder. Still, Lissa was a talented glassblower.
Savage didn’t even know the proper protocol for asking for something like this—a favor. A huge favor. That didn’t matter. Only getting his woman what she needed mattered. He’d texted that they were coming along with the pictures of the original sculpture and what was left of it. Lissa had said she thought she might be able to do something. It wouldn’t be exactly like the original, but she could preserve the ashes in a sculpture. Casimir had texted immediately back that they would be expecting them.