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  SAVAGE

  by Krista Holt

  Savage

  © 2016 Krista Holt

  This is a copyright protected work. All rights are reserved.

  First Edition

  ISBN: 978-0-9981824-0-7

  The copyright holder does not give permission for this work, or parts contained within, to be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form, including, but not limited to, copying, recording, uploading to any/all sharing sites, or downloading from the aforementioned type of sites. Copyright infringement is illegal and punishable by law. Please respect the hard work of this author and purchase this work from a valid source.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and procedures described within are from the author’s imagination, and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to living or deceased individuals, businesses, current events, or historical events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: by:

  Najla Qamber, Najla Qamber Designs

  www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Editing by:

  Chelsea Kuhel, Madison Seidler Editing

  www.madisonseidler.com

  Proofreading by:

  Lea Burn, Burn Before Reading

  www.bbrediting.com

  Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  www.perfectlypublishable.com

  Table of Contents

  Savage

  Dedication

  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

  Dear Reader

  This one is for my parents.

  Without you both, this book would have never seen the light of day.

  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  SAVAGE

  Not many people can claim that a knock on their door changed their life forever. Even fewer can point to the exact moment their life spun out of control.

  I can.

  It all started with him. Nic.

  One happenchance meeting collided two lives together, setting off a series of events that neither of us could contain.

  The beginning was simple enough. Words like forever and for always were exchanged like promises. It was intense, blinding even, and then, at the end of a normal date on a normal day, he disappeared.

  I tried to start over. I moved across the country for a new job, but some things are unavoidable. At least, that’s what I told myself as I stepped out of a crowded D.C. bar a year later and came face to face with the man I thought I’d left behind.

  Tossed into the middle of a high profile congressional investigation, trying to track down an anonymous whistleblower, I can’t afford to be distracted. But I am.

  And unbeknownst to me, Nic has a reason for reappearing.

  The twists, turns, and lies that follow are so tangled and convoluted that even I’m not sure what is true. All I know is that it’s too late to walk away.

  Because Nic isn’t the only one with something to hide—I’ve been keeping a secret, too.

  From debut author Krista Holt comes a story about love, betrayal, and survival that will leave you questioning . . .

  How well do we really know the ones we love?

  CHAPTER 1

  “Reagan.”

  I close my eyes, relishing the way his voice stresses every consonant, dragging out the sound of my name. It’s impossible to ignore, no matter how much I want to go back to sleep.

  “Sweetheart, are you awake?”

  “You woke me up,” I mumble into the phone. “I was sleeping.”

  “Mmmhmm. I can tell.” Amusement colors his voice.

  I smile to myself. “Nic . . .”

  “You know I love you, right?”

  “I know. I love you, too.” I yawn. “But I also know when you’re buttering me up for something.”

  He chuckles softly. “I know you’re probably tired and want to stay in, but let me take you to dinner tonight.”

  “Yes, very tired.”

  “Do you have plans?”

  I try to cover up another yawn. “I guess not.”

  “Well, you do now,” he tells me, ignoring my answering groan. “How was the final?”

  “It went fine. I’m just glad it’s over. So I can sleep.”

  “I told you Braven’s essays were easy. And I can take a hint. Get some sleep. I’ll call you in a few hours.”

  “You always say the right thing. Exactly what a girl wants to hear.”

  “It’s part of my charm.” He ends the call with a quick goodbye. I drop the phone onto the comforter beneath me and roll over onto my side, trying to get comfortable again.

  Spare time and sleep have been in short supply over the last few weeks. Between prepping for finals and figuring out my plans for summer break, I haven’t laid eyes on him in days.

  Just the thought of his handsome face brings another sleepy smile to my face. It’s ridiculous and mushy, I know, but I don’t care. He’s such a big part of my life now. It’s hard to fathom that he was never a part of my plan.

  Everything was mapped out the second I received my acceptance letter to Stanford and secured my financial aid. I’d major in political science, with an emphasis on public policy, graduate with honors, get a job in Washington, D.C., with an elected official and work my way up the ranks. There was no room for a guy. I didn’t have time for a relationship and the distractions that come with it. I didn’t even want to consider it, until I met Nic.

  After our first week of classes, my roommate, Becca, had wanted to go out and celebrate. Despite my plans to stay in our room and start my assigned reading, she dragged me down to Redwood, a local college bar.

  She ordered drinks at the bar with her fake ID and I grabbed one of the last empty tables. I pulled my Political Theory textbook out of my purse, hoping to sneak in a chapter, but between the loud music and constant chants of “chug, chug,” I couldn’t focus. Everything was a distraction, including the group of guys engaged in a friendly game of pool.

  Their banter and rough voices were more subdued than the rest of the raging freshmen. They were older, well older than my peers, and every single one of them was worth a second glance. But there was only one that caught my attention and didn’t let it go.

  His dark brown, almost black, hair fell carelessly into place. It was a little overgrown, but not too long. A navy T-shirt and dark jeans covered lean muscles, and olive skin peeked out from underneath the short sleeves. He leaned casually against a high-top table with his ankles crossed. His hand scraped over his five o’clock shadow as he patiently waited for his turn.

  There was something about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He had this presenc
e that was palpable. It was something similar to how soldiers hold themselves with a little more respect, their posture a little more resolute. He just seemed to be the type of guy you would turn to in the midst of a crisis. You knew he’d be in control. He’d handle whatever you threw at him. And even though I wasn’t one of those girls who needed to be saved, I could understand the appeal.

  I stared at him too intently, too obviously. I’m sure my brain was telling me to knock it off, to save a little bit of my dignity. But it didn’t matter; I stared. Captivated as he handled the cue stick with comfortable familiarity. Mesmerized as he leaned over the green felt and knocked a striped ball into the corner pocket. Then his eyes met mine, holding them for the briefest of seconds as a smirk tugged at his full lips.

  I’d been caught. Red-handed.

  My face flamed with embarrassment as I spun around and tried to pretend I hadn’t been staring at him like a lunatic. Becca saved me by setting two beers down on the table. I grabbed one and chugged the first half.

  “Easy, killer.” She laughed, hopping up onto the barstool. “What’s up with you?”

  “See that guy over there?” I nudged my head in his general direction.

  She quickly glanced over my shoulder. “You mean the guy currently staring over here?”

  Before I could stop myself, I locked gazes with him once again. His amused expression only added to my humiliation.

  “Yes, that one. He totally caught me staring at him a second ago. And now, it’s happened twice.” I hide my face in my hands. “I’m so embarrassed!”

  “I can’t blame you. He is very, very easy on the eyes.” She looked over at him, making it obvious that he was the topic of our conversation. “Very Italian stallion.”

  “Shut up.” I cringed. “You did not just say that—and don’t repeat it!” I tried to cover her mouth with my hand. “He’ll hear you.”

  She waved my hand away and took a sip of her beer, smiling evilly from behind the glass. I wouldn’t have put it past her to make a scene, forcing me to talk to the incredibly gorgeous guy, rather than completely avoid him. So, I tried to distract her with talk about our classes and the unavoidable study sessions we’d face in the coming weeks.

  It almost worked. My face had just about lost its blush when some drunken frat guy walked over and started hitting on Becca.

  While I was confident with my dark brown hair and blue eyes, I knew I was far from Barbie material. Becca, on the other hand, was your typical California blonde. Tanned skin, blue eyes, and a slim figure. She always attracted attention, but as we both had come to surmise, fraternity brothers were far from selective, especially when intoxicated.

  “Hey, lady. Why don’t drink . . . you . . . me?” He pointed to himself and then to Becca.

  She scrunched up her nose. “No thanks, we’re good.”

  “Why?” The word slurred sloppily out of his mouth.

  “You’re drunk, that’s why. So, no, thank you. Not interested.”

  He took a step back then teetered forward, grasping the edge of our table to remain upright. It swayed and we scrambled for our drinks, grabbing them before they tipped over.

  My textbook wasn’t so lucky. It hit the floor with a loud bang. The noise brought the game of pool to a halt as every guy turned in our direction. And they weren’t the only ones; everyone else was watching this little scene unfold.

  “No? Why not?” He frowned at Becca. “Don’t be a stuck up bi—”

  A tap on the shoulder cut him off. Comically, all three sets of eyes turned to the imposing figure behind him. It was the Italian, the one I’d been caught practically drooling over.

  “I think the lady said no. You should probably stop harassing her and leave.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to,” Frat boy replied, his face red.

  There was a pause as the Italian crossed his arms, still holding a cue stick. “Trust me, you do.”

  “I don’t think I do, dude.” He took a step toward our rescuer and shoved his chest.

  The Italian didn’t move. He watched it happen, and then he forcefully batted the frat boy’s hand away, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and jerked him forward. He leaned in just enough to say something into the other man’s ear. I didn’t catch what was said, but the expression that crawled over the guy’s face was enough to get the gist. Leave. Now.

  “Do we understand each other?” The Italian asked, still clutching the other man’s collar.

  Frat boy’s head bobbled in agreement, and the Italian released him. His face was even redder when he turned back to Becca and tugged at the bottom of his shirt. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Then he spun and left as quickly as his drunken steps could take him. My mouth dropped open as I watched him go.

  “You both okay?” our rescuer asked as he bent down to pick up my textbook. His hand wiped at the cover before he set it on the table in front of me.

  I was at a loss for words. Becca wasn’t. “Yes, I think so. Thank you. He was being a prick,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Becca, by the way.”

  “Nic.” He took it, shaking it firmly. His eyes slowly raked down my body, and then back up, making made my heart race. His brow arched as he waited for me to fill in the obvious blank.

  “This is my roommate, Reagan.” Becca waved a hand toward me.

  A slow smile spread over his face, one I hated and kind of loved. “Reagan, huh? I noticed you earlier, but it’s nice to officially meet you.”

  I was still staring when Becca decided to take things into her own hands, again, and kick me under the table.

  “Ouch!” I glared at her, rubbing my poor shin.

  His smile burst into an outright grin, and warm brown eyes laughed at me. “You all right?”

  “Uh, yeah . . . nice to meet you. Thanks for your help,” I finally replied, extending my hand to him.

  He took it in his and immediately, I felt the roughness of his skin. “Happy to help a damsel in distress.” The smirk was back. “What year are you?”

  “We just started our third year. Do you go to Stanford?”

  “I’m a little further along, started my last year of law school a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” I cringed as soon as the words left my mouth.

  “Yeah, it is,” he grinned, finally releasing my hand. I pressed it against my leg, hoping the shaking would stop eventually.

  He watched me intently, like he was searching for something. His scrutiny was so intense I shifted nervously in my chair.

  “Nic!” someone called from behind him. “We’re heading out.”

  He threw up his hand, telling them he needed one more minute. “If you ladies think you’ll be safe from unwanted attention, I have to head out. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

  Becca lifted her glass in a mock salute, and he moved a little closer to me. “Glad we had a chance to talk, Reagan. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”

  “Sure, I guess. Thank you . . . for before. You know.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “See you ladies around.” His fingers slowly left my arm as he walked away.

  I waited as long as I could before turning around, wanting to catch one last glimpse of him. He paused at the front door, as if he had anticipated my action. A smug grin overtook his face, and he gave me a clipped wave.

  I ignored it, whipping back around to Becca, who was barely containing her laughter.

  “I doubt that’s the last you see of him,” she quipped. “He seems like the type to get what he wants.”

  I rolled my eyes. He was totally out of my league. I couldn’t even talk in front of the man without sounding like an idiot. He couldn’t have meant what he said. They were just the smooth words of some guy at a bar. Meaningless.

  A week passed and I had convinced myself I’d never see him again, when he suddenly reappeared. Standing right outside the door of my political thought class with nothing in hand, no pretense of accident
ally crossing my path, he simply asked me out.

  I politely declined, and he took it with a smile, but he was determined. He spent the next couple of weeks walking me to my classes and showing up with flowers, gradually wearing me down until I agreed to one date. Just one.

  Now, close to a year later, I couldn’t imagine life without him. The only blip in our happiness was his graduation next week. He’d be relocating back east and taking the bar in another state while I finished my last year here. We had talked about long distance, but it wouldn’t be the same as seeing him almost every day.

  I can’t think about that right now. I’m not ready for it. I close my eyes, and adjust the pillow under my head. Later. I’ll think about it later.

  CHAPTER 2

  Steam starts to collect in the small tiled bathroom, when my phone rings. I glance at it, jamming one last bobby pin into my thick hair before I grab it off the counter.

  “Hello?”

  “Good, you’re awake,” Nic says. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Sorry, I just got up.”

  “Can you be ready in an hour? I’ve got reservations.”

  “Do we have to go out?” I frown. “We could hang here. Becca’s gone. I’m still tired, and—”

  “I’m just going to spare you the half hour you’re about to spend going back and forth with me,” he cuts me off, amused. “We’re going out. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  I roll my eyes even though he can’t see it. “When have you ever?”

  “It’s happened, trust me.”

  “I doubt that. You always seem to get what you want.”

  “When it comes to you, I do. You like me.”

  “Yes, yes I do.” I sigh. “Okay, fine, I’ll be ready. Are you picking me up?”

  There’s a pause, and I can almost hear his smirk. “Of course I’ll pick you up,” he replies. “I am a gentleman . . . most of the time, anyway. See you in an hour, love.”

  My shower is cut short given the new timeline. I quickly curl my hair, brush on some mascara, and pull a dress from my closet. My hands are up in the air, trying to zip up the back, when my phone rings again.