Savage Beast (Max Savage Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Exclusive Max Savage Material

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright 2019 © Sloane Howell

  Cover Design: Onur Aksoy

  www.onegraphica.com

  Stock photos courtesy of Shutterstock, Pixabay, and Stocksnap

  Copy Editing: Spellbound

  All rights reserved

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Sloane Howell. Please do not participate in piracy of books or other creative works.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  WARNING: This e-book contains violence and some adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, away from under-aged readers.

  1

  YOU CAN’T UNDERSTAND BEING IN the middle of nowhere, until you’ve been in the middle of nowhere.

  Lightning fireworked across a few distant thunderheads behind Crossroads Gentlemen’s Club. The humid air buzzed with electricity as the storm brewed in the distance, gathering energy. I glanced left then right, before strolling across the intersection of the two perpendicular county highways that stretched into thin blurred lines on the horizon.

  The late-afternoon sun beat down on my head, and I walked across the gravel parking lot to start my shift. Being a bouncer at a topless bar wasn’t ideal, but it was a quid pro quo situation. I worked one day a week for minimum wage and in return, Ike, the owner, allowed me to make long-distance phone calls and have mail delivered there.

  I didn’t like having a mailing address in my name. Didn’t like being found.

  The parking lot was bare, save for two beat-up farm trucks—one Ike’s and another that must’ve belonged to a customer.

  Good, it’s slow today.

  I pushed through the door of the eighty-year-old clapboard building, disappearing under the billboard sign that read FINE BEER, FINE WOMEN. Ike was hunched over the oak bar top, scrubbing a sticky ring off the polished wood with the towel draped over his shoulder. A line of barstools ran in front of the bar, tables scattered everywhere else, and a string of chairs along the stage—pervert’s row.

  Ike looked at me.

  I looked back.

  His eyes flicked toward one of the tables, back at me, then he shook his head.

  Not a good sign.

  I glanced over.

  Melissa, the new girl, stood in front of three men, early-twenties, dressed in Army fatigues. One of them reached for her and she pulled away. He let his hand trail down her leg, clearly against her wishes.

  No touching.

  The sign couldn’t be any larger on the wall. It was a rule in virtually every strip club in America.

  Ike started to say something to me, but I’d already headed that way. The stench of alcohol increased threefold as I approached and burned in my nostrils when I was within ten feet of them. Either Ike had served them up a fifth of whiskey each, or they’d done some pregame drinking.

  “Come on.” The soldier in the middle drew out his last syllable. He gripped her by the wrist and her face twisted up in pain. He tried to pull her onto his lap. “You know you like it.”

  She resisted—barely able to keep him away. He had a good seventy-five pounds on her.

  I folded my arms across my chest and cleared my throat, loud enough for the whole place to hear.

  All four of their faces snapped in my direction.

  I nodded my head toward the NO TOUCHING sign and said nothing.

  The man dropped Melissa’s wrist, and all three of them made a show of kicking their chairs out and standing up. I didn’t want to hurt them, but I did want them to leave. It would be tricky. All three were E-3 private first class, probably just back from deployment. Maybe looking to blow off steam. Maybe not. Either way, I didn’t care. It was no excuse to be an asshole.

  They would have some skills learned in basic training. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Make an example of one, the others would leave peacefully. That’s how it usually worked.

  Melissa bolted backstage as soon as he’d let go of her arm. The one who’d grabbed her stepped too close, into my personal space. I didn’t appreciate that.

  His bloodshot eyes flicked up to mine. “There a problem here?”

  “You’re looking at it.”

  He snickered and held his hands out, like a half shrug. “We’re just having some fun.”

  “Have it somewhere else.”

  One of his buddies stepped in closer. “You’re going to kick out soldiers?” He glanced to Ike. “I don’t think people’d be happy to know you treated veterans like this.”

  Ike shrugged like he’d be fine either way.

  The three soldiers didn’t appear to appreciate that.

  I stared right at the guy who’d just spoken. “What kind of soldier doesn’t follow orders? You saw the sign. Those are your orders, if you want to stay.”

  The first soldier who’d done the groping poked a finger into my chest. “We take orders from our commanding officer, not—”

  I gripped his finger and turned it a good one hundred and eighty degrees. His face screwed up tight and he pawed at his wrist with his free hand.

  I stared like I could hold him there all day. “You were sa
ying?”

  “Let go. Let go of my damn hand!”

  I didn’t let go.

  The eyes of his two friends went wide. One of them stepped toward me, and I crushed my heel on top of his foot. He howled and hobbled backward.

  “All right, then. Out you go.” I twisted his arm behind his back, gripped his neck with my other hand, and marched him toward the door.

  I caught Melissa watching from behind the curtain, a satisfied smile on her face.

  When we reached the door, I shoved it open, pushed the guy into the entryway, and kicked him right on his ass. He flew face-first on top of the gravel. He’d have a couple scrapes but nothing serious.

  I turned back to his buddies, letting the door slam behind me. “Anyone else need escorted?”

  They both stomped toward the door, one of them glaring at me, the other with his head down.

  “People are going to hear about the way we’ve been treated.”

  “Run your mouth and you can get treated at the hospital.”

  He glared. “We’ll see.”

  I stepped up, got eye to eye with him. “You disgrace that uniform again and I’ll find you. I’m good at finding people. Understood, private?”

  He stared at me, trying to maintain some dignity, but his hand quivered like a leaf in the wind. Finally, he nodded, and they both walked out.

  I strode toward the bar.

  Ike didn’t look up, just stared at the bar top, going about his business. “That might be a problem for me.”

  “Have to set a precedent with guys like that, or it’ll become a bigger problem.”

  He sighed. “Yeah.” After a few seconds he said, “They know people.”

  “Everyone knows people. You’re the only place to get a beer and see a naked woman in a hundred-mile radius. You’ll be fine.”

  “Sure.” He glanced around. “Paper came for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  He pulled out a day-old copy of the Tulsa World. He never asked questions, but I could tell he thought it odd I’d have an Oklahoma paper delivered in the middle of rural Kentucky.

  I whipped out the paper and started my usual ritual, thumbing through the classifieds.

  “Friend of yours called.”

  “Sean?”

  “He didn’t say. But he sounded like he was in a hurry, all out of breath. Said you needed to get to Tulsa and get his computer, wouldn’t say why. The phone cut off. Maybe bad reception.”

  I put the paper down. “Said it was an emergency?”

  “Acted like it was.”

  “You couldn’t tell me that when I first got here?”

  Ike grinned. “You were a little busy.” He gestured to where the men had been sitting.

  I thumbed the classifieds some more, eyes scanning, stomach tightening with each ad I read. I didn’t have a good feeling.

  Then, I found it.

  “I need a favor.” My eyes darted up to Ike’s after I’d read it.

  “Which is?”

  “I need to borrow your truck.”

  He slid his keys across the counter.

  I swiped them and headed for the door, speaking as I went. “Can you have your old lady drive you to pick it up from the bus station later?”

  “Christ, that’s two hours both ways. You serious?”

  I turned back and nodded.

  He shrugged. “Okay then.”

  When I turned to leave, Melissa strolled out from the back, fully-clothed this time. She reached out lightly for my arm. “Thanks.” Her fingers were still trembling from the encounter. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” Her thought trailed off and she winced.

  I looked her right in the eye. “Word of advice?”

  She nodded, her eyes glossy like she’d cried in the back. She was definitely new to dancing, and if she couldn’t handle this, she really needed to find a different line of work.

  “There will always be guys like that around. Learn how to defend yourself, and always be alert. Don’t rely on people being decent.”

  I headed to the door, just as a loud thunderclap shook the building. Rain beat down on the roof of the building and echoed through the place.

  “You coming back?” Ike shouted from the bar.

  I paused in the door frame. “Not for a while.”

  I walked head on into the storm. Something had happened to Sean.

  2

  THE FIRST DAY I MET Sean Callahan he told me Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys invented Western swing music in 1935. They played it at Cain’s Ballroom in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

  I stepped off the Greyhound in the heart of downtown twenty hours after leaving Crossroads, at the corner of 3rd and Detroit. I wondered how far it was to Cain’s Ballroom. I’d need to check that place out, after I figured out what had happened. The detective’s division of the police station was where I would head first. If Sean was okay, I could find him after. If something was wrong, they’d have the laptop.

  An old black man, maybe seventy, with a leathery face and a charcoal fedora cocked sideways on his head panhandled for change against a wall.

  I dropped fifty cents into his Styrofoam cup. “Detective’s division? Know where it is?”

  “600 Civic Center.” He recited the address immediately, like he’d said it a thousand times. “Right by the BOK Center. Not far.” He quirked an eyebrow up at me like he knew why I was going there. “You in trouble, son?”

  “Not me.”

  “Sure.” He exhaled a sigh. “Head south to 6th and make a right. Keep going a few blocks. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.” I nodded and took off in the direction his shaky finger pointed.

  I glanced around while I walked. Tulsa was bigger than I’d expected. I passed a few skyscrapers and some older church buildings lined up in neat rows running east to west, or west to east, depending on how you looked at it. A little girl, maybe four, pigged her nose up against the glass when I walked by, her breath fogging up the window. Her mother was on her phone, waiting for an appointment or something. I stuck my tongue out at the girl and she giggled.

  You’re still human.

  The sun hammered down on me from above at high noon. It’d been a long bus ride, and I did a quick bend to stretch my legs. One of the taller buildings caught my eye. It was a neo-gothic design, over thirty stories tall, and it had an ornate trapezoidal prism on top with a pale-green patina the same color as the Statue of Liberty. Has to be copper. The color was the result of exposure to the elements, the same way iron turned to rust. Old pennies before 1982 would turn green if you left them on the street long enough. They were made of copper. They made them with zinc after that. It was the same reason some rings would turn a finger green. The same thing made a man a man, what he’d been exposed to. Everyone had a patina. I liked the building.

  I made a right onto 6th Street. A few blocks west and I’d be where I needed to be if the old man’s directions were correct.

  The people were the same as most people in downtowns—dressed in suits or skirts. The rest looked down on their luck. My kind of people. They didn’t bullshit, and they were interesting, like the man who gave me directions. I was sure he had a story. One I’d have liked to hear if I hadn’t been in a hurry. I liked to listen more than I liked to talk.

  I had fifteen dollars in my wallet and a folded paperback of The Prince by Machiavelli in the other back pocket of my jeans. I’d bought it at a stop and read it on the way. I didn’t need much to get by. Didn’t like lugging things around with me. It made life simple. I left the book on an empty bench in front of a building. It could be someone else’s treasure. I liked leaving books around. People needed to read more.

  The building at 600 Civic Center was unremarkable, a big white block about twelve stories tall with golden frames around each window. It looked like it’d been dropped in the middle of the city with a crane. That probably wasn’t far from the truth, only it’d been assembled with one. The BOK Center was a large arena that sat just north and looked
like a giant roll of duct tape, but in the best way possible. It was sleek and modern, juxtaposed against the older architecture of the city. Like any other arena, it was probably used for concerts and big events. Bond money at work to step out of the shadow of Oklahoma City, pilfer some of their tourism.

  I took off up some steps and into the foyer. They had one of those black boards with the white moveable letters for a directory inside. It was a government building for sure. I confirmed the detective’s division was on the third floor and took the stairs two steps at a time. Elevators left me feeling trapped. You’d never catch me inside one unless necessary.

  I shoved through the door on the third floor and walked down the hallway. Office suites flanked me on both sides. A loud bang went off when the stairwell door slammed shut and it echoed down the hall. I made my way into the suite marked as the detective’s division. A lady sat at a mahogany desk in the entryway. It read TULSA DETECTIVE’S DIVISION in block letters on a temporary wall behind her. Offices formed the perimeter and a bullpen of cubicles made up the center. The place where the worker bees did the work.

  “Can I help you?” The lady smiled between phone calls.

  “Sean Callahan.”

  “Does he work here?”

  I stared.

  We locked eyes in silence for about five seconds before she picked up her phone. “Sean Callahan?” She nodded to the sound of the voice coming from the receiver and turned to me, then hung up the phone. “One moment, please.”

  I gazed around the lobby. Nothing exciting. A few chairs. A magazine or two. Tulsa Police Department logo on the wall.

  A man and a woman walked around the corner. Both had brown leather holsters strapped around their shoulders. The guy looked like a detective out of a movie. I almost laughed. All he needed was a mustache to match his wavy brown hair. The woman wore black slacks that said professional, but they hugged her hips just right. A crisp white button-down tucked itself into them. She was not unattractive at all, sandy blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail. Natural color. Emerald-green eyes.

  “Hi, I’m Detective Shirley.” She reached out with an outstretched hand.

  The man glared. I shook her hand. I needed information. He didn’t look pleased that she spoke before him. That wasn’t information I cared about.