All Chapters of Savage Heart: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The thunder of motorcycles cut through the night like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. Rain pelted against Raven Steele's leather jacket as she stood beneath the flickering neon sign of the Broken Spoke, a dive bar on the outskirts of Blackridge where respectable folks never ventured after dark. Her dark hair clung to her face, mascara threatening to run in rivulets down her cheeks, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore—not since they'd taken everything from her.Six weeks. Six weeks since Michael’s mutilated body had been pulled from the river, weighted down with chains, his fingers cut off and his tongue removed—the Diamondbacks' signature for dealing with traitors. Six weeks of police giving her the runaround, of leads going nowhere, of a system that didn't care about one dead biker. But Raven had spent those weeks learning, watching, preparing. She'd studied the motorcycle clubs, their territories, their wars. She knew exactly what she was walking into.The recording device

Three days later, the clubhouse of the Savage Saints MC buzzed with predatory energy. The converted warehouse on the industrial side of town was a fortress, surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Guards armed with assault rifles patrolled the perimeter, and security cameras monitored every approach—designed to keep law enforcement out and club business in.Raven followed Jax through the main entrance, acutely aware of the stares that followed them. The main room was cavernous, with a long bar along one wall, pool tables and dartboards scattered throughout, and a stage at the far end where a pole stood ready for the evening's entertainment. Leather couches and chairs formed conversation pits, most occupied by members of the club and their hangers-on.The atmosphere was different from the Broken Spoke—more organized, more territorial. This wasn't just a bar; it was the heart of an empire built on violence and controlled chaos. Men moved with purpose, conducting bu

Two weeks later, Raven sat in a corner booth at the Black Fang, a dive bar in the heart of Diamondback territory. The establishment reeked of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and the kind of desperation that clung to places where people came to forget their problems rather than solve them. Neon beer signs cast sickly light across scarred wooden tables and a clientele that looked like they'd crawl over broken glass for their next fix.It was her seventh visit to various Diamondback establishments, part of the carefully choreographed plan to make her presence known without appearing threatening. Each time, she'd sit alone, nursing a drink, the photograph of her fictional dead boyfriend Michael Rodriguez visible on her table. A beacon, Ghost had called it when they'd planned this operation. A lure designed to attract exactly the kind of attention she needed.Tonight felt different. The weight of eyes on her was heavier, more focused than during her previous reconnaissance missions. She'd dre

The Saints returned to the clubhouse just before dawn, their bikes rumbling through the gates like mechanical thunder. Raven had been unable to sleep, pacing the halls and nursing cup after cup of bitter coffee while she waited for word. When she heard the engines, she rushed outside, her heart hammering with a mixture of relief and dread. Jax was the first through the gates, his Harley gleaming despite the dried blood spattering his kutte and the torn sleeve of his t-shirt. Even injured and exhausted, he was magnificent—his long dark hair whipping in the wind, his powerful frame radiating lethal confidence. When his hazel eyes found her waiting by the clubhouse entrance, something primal and possessive flashed in their depths. He killed the engine and dismounted in one fluid motion, stalking toward her with predatory grace. Before she could ask if he was hurt, he had her pressed against the brick wall of the clubhouse, his hands braced on either side of her head, his body caging her

Three days later, Raven found herself deeper in Diamondback territory than ever before, sitting across from Venom in his private office above the Black Fang. The room was a study in controlled menace—expensive furniture mixed with obvious displays of wealth and power. Stacks of cash sat openly on side tables, and she could see the outline of at least three different weapons within easy reach of his chair."Your first assignment went well," Venom said, pouring himself a glass of aged whiskey. He didn't offer her one, which she took as both an insult and a test. "Snake was impressed with your composure under pressure.""I just followed instructions," Raven replied, keeping her voice neutral. She'd spent hours preparing for this meeting, rehearsing responses and reactions that would reinforce her cover story."Modesty is refreshing in this business," Venom smiled, but the expression never reached his cold eyes. "Most people who work for me are eager to prove how important they are, how m