by K. L. Savage
I’m soft now.
No, no, no, I need this. I fucking need this. I can’t have Dawn. She needs more than me. I’m not enough.
“You know I do, baby. What do you want?”
“I want ye to shut up and wrap that mouth around my cock.” Her fingernails run down my chest, and her hand gropes my cock through my jeans.
“So big.” Jasmine rubs me with her palm and, don’t get me wrong, it feels fucking great, but it doesn’t feel nearly as good as kissing Dawn.
“Don’t go complimenting me, Jasmine. We all know ye’d suck any cock here regardless of the size.”
She puts her lips to my ear and licks the shell of it. “I have sucked all the cocks here, Skirt. All but yours. You aren’t an easy man to persuade.”
“When I want ye, I’ll come to ye. I’m here, aren’t I?” My mind is buzzing from shooting back the glass of scotch. I don’t feel like myself. My gut is telling me to stop what I’m doing, that this isn’t me, but I’m tired of being me. I’m tired of fighting myself.
“Skirt, I want to talk to you,” Reaper says from behind me.
“Can’t it wait? I’m kind of busy, Prez.” I pick Jasmine up by her ass and notice the weight difference between her and Dawn. Jasmine is heavier, which isn’t a bad thing, but she doesn’t feel right.
It’s all wrong, and Prez knows it.
I head toward the fuck rooms where the guys go with the cut-sluts if they want privacy. It’s nothing special. Just a few rooms with a bare mattress and condoms. Don’t need anything else, especially when it’s just a quick fuck.
“See me after,” Reaper sighs, the sound of disappointment clear.
I don’t care. Everyone’s expectations of me are too goddamn high. My expectations of me are too goddamn high. I push open the curtain, kick a door open, and throw Jasmine on the bed. I don’t waste any time. I unzip my pants and fish out my cock.
“Crawl to me,” I say.
“Oh, kinky.” She giggles.
It ain’t fucking kinky. It’s normal. “Don’t speak.” Her voice grinds my nerves. It’s too fake, all moan with a pornographic edge all the time. She tries too hard. When she finally gets in front of me, I stare down and watch her tongue lick the base of my cock to the crown, then sucks the brim between her lips.
I grunt and tilt my head back, waiting for that simmer of lust. Hell, I’ll take a fraction of it if it means I come down this whore’s throat. I look down at Jasmine, and her dark hair morphs to that strawberry blonde and her brown eyes turn a bright shade of green; soon it’s Dawn’s lips I’m imagining, and she’s the one sucking me down the back of her throat.
“Fuck!” I rip my cock out of Jasmine’s mouth, tuck myself in, which isn’t difficult since I’m not all the way hard, zip up, and slam the door behind me. Dawn has fucking ruined me, and I barely know a damn thing about her.
The hallway is dark for a split second before I’m walking through the curtain again.
“Knew that wouldn’t happen,” Reaper says, slapping his hand on my shoulder. “Unless it did, and that’s the quickest—”
“No, it didn’t fucking happen. I’m not a quick shot.” Hell, I hope I’m not. I don’t know.
Reaper steers me in the direction of Church and shuts the door. I hate being in a room alone with the Prez. Usually, people get punished, and I’m not trying to have him carve anything into my chest.
“I want you and Tongue to go to Circus, Circus. There’s another bag of money to get picked up.”
Shite. I really don’t want to go there. I can’t say no to the Prez, though. “Can I ask what the money is for?”
“Just security,” Reaper says.
I narrow my eyes at him and tilt my head. Security my arse. I don’t get to ask questions, though. I don’t have a position of authority. I’m just another member. “Aye, I’ll grab the crazy fuck and get on.”
“Actually, take Knives. I want Tongue to do something else for me.”
I walk out of the room and try to locate Knives. He’s sitting in the corner, practicing throwing his ninja stars at a can that is settled on top of Braveheart’s head. Poor bloke looks like he’s about to piss himself.
“Knives, we’re heading out. Come on.”
I must have distracted him because Knives doesn’t throw it perfect. The star hangs to the left.
“Ow! Fuck you, Knives!” Braveheart groans as he cups his ear. He brings his hand away, and I wince when I see blood in his palm and his ear split in half. Right down the fucking middle. “My ear!”
“Doc!” I shout and grab Knives by the cut. “Sorry, lad. We got to get going. Club business. Have Doc stitch ye up.”
“It isn’t even that bad!” Knives tries to defend himself. “He’s being a pussy.”
“Aye, but not everyone likes sharp objects being thrown at them, Knives.”
“He shouldn’t have offered.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.” Knives swings his leg over his bike and cranks it. “Okay, no.”
I bark out a laugh and start my engine, the loaner bike Tool is letting me use until I can find a replacement for mine. The rumbling vibrates between my legs, the sound nearly making me hard, and I peel out of the parking lot and press the button for the gate. I forgot to put on a shirt. Oh, well. Circus, Circus isn’t exactly the best establishment anyway. Free nipples and shit. That’s my opinion.
We’re roaring down the open lonely road, blazing toward the strip. I lay my hand on my knee and wish I wore my kilt. The jeans are too damn tight. How did I used to wear these all the time? My balls hate me right now.
I look out onto the beautiful desert horizon and notice all the cactuses pointing to the sky, and I feel betrayed. A low throb builds in my arse, reminding me how many of those damn needles got me.
I think about Dawn and all the what-ifs and could bes. If I give up fighting, I can be the man she needs, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. It’s an outlet for my pent-up anger. What if I don’t have it, and I take it out on her? Give her bruises? I’m starting not to trust myself, and I had no idea how much I didn’t until she spoke Cohen’s name.
Casinos and bars illuminate the strip and causes an aurora of lights to glow against the darkening sky as the sun sets. King’s Club is somewhere in there. Maye I’ll stop by there tonight to hear Tool’s ol’ lady sing a tune, and then I’ll grab a drink. I need to get my head lost in something, because right now it’s lost in everything.
We turn down the strip and Circus, Circus is there on the right. I don’t know what people see in this place. It’s a shit hole, and it has a creepy fucking clown smiling down at me from the sign. It’s nose lights up red and for second, I think about the movie IT. Pennywise is about to fucking eat me.
I roll into a parking spot and turn off the engine, staring at the entrance of the casino. I know Maximo is there and when he sees me, he’s going to ask me to fight, and I’m not going to be able to say no. Not today.
I’ve been out of the game too long, doing dirty business for the club. It’s time I jump in the fighting scene again. Who cares if it’s a little on the illegal side?
“You okay?” Knives asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I hop off my bike, and a few guests give me and Knives the evil eye.
Knives never takes his eyes off them as he pulls out one of his ninja stars to clean in between his teeth. “Boo!” He fake jumps toward the old couple and they gasp, then run inside to save their lives.
“Aw, that’s just mean.”
“I don’t care.”
We gather a few looks like we always do, but I ignore them. There’s no need to get in a fight right now. In and out. This is a quick job. When the doors slide open, the thick veil of smoke mutes the lights on all the slot machines. Maximo is standing right in the middle of the floor, duffle bag is his hand.
He is tall, Italian, always wears black, and when it comes down to money, he doesn’t care what he has to take to get it. He places his drink on the
serving tray as one of the cocktail waitresses passes by, turning his deviant smile my way.
It’s the kind of smile that tells me he just found another way to make cash.
“Skirt, long time no see,” he greets, holding out the bag for us to take. “I’m grateful for the Ruthless Kings offering me protection. Reaper is a good President.”
Knives lifts a brow at me, wondering how I know this guy.
“Aye,” I utter and reach for the bag, but Maximo holds on to it. Knives senses tension, and he pulls out his star, ready to slam it between the Italian’s eyes. We stare at each other, not saying a word, and I wait for the demon lurking inside his soul to come out and take mine. I know that’s what he wants.
He chuckles, then releases the bag, putting a cigarette between his lips. He lights it. An orange ember glows in the haze of fog as he inhales, then blows the smoke into my face. “I’ll be seeing you around, Rohan.”
“Rohan?” Knives jerks the bag from my hands and gives me a dirty look before giving me his back.
I’m so fucked.
Chapter Nine
DAWN
I’m sitting on the porch in a white rocking chair, staring at the desert sunset, watching the sky turn a bright shade of red. It’s the only place I can find peace here. Skirt’s cabin smells too much like him, and the clubhouse has too much noise going on and too many women pawing at the guys. I have no idea why they do that to themselves, but that won’t be me. I won’t allow Skirt to turn me into one of his whores, another notch on a bedpost. I want more for myself.
A guy named Tank and Braveheart are out in the front yard, building a bonfire for later. It reminds me how the world keeps spinning even if my world has come to a complete stop.
It’s been three days since Skirt told me they can’t find Aidan. It’s been three days since the kiss that changed my life. It’s been three days since I’ve even seen Skirt.
“You alright?” Pirate sits in the chair next to me, bottle of rum in his hand. “Want some?” He offers me the bottle.
“No, thank you.”
“Your kid is lost, huh?” he asks, rocking in the char. The man has a haunted look in his eyes, the kind that replay a bad memory over and over. His face is gaunt, and his hair is dirty. He’s stopped caring about himself.
“Something like that,” I say, shaking my leg from the slam of anxiety that hits me when I think about Aidan being with Cohen.
“Fucking sucks when you can’t find the people you love,” he says.
“Did that happen to you? Is that why you drink so much?”
“No one fucking asked you!” he yells at me and stands on his feet, swaying. “Don’t fucking talk to me like you’re trying to get to know me. You don’t know me.” He takes a swig of rum and points his finger in my face. “I ain’t none of your business. You’re just another whore. Another fucking slut for me to sink my dick in to. You’re nothing!”
His words, while harsh, don’t bother me. He’s lashing out. The whites of his eyes are red from lack of sleep, and his lips are chapped from dehydration. Pirate is slowly killing himself.
Out of nowhere, Pirate is tackled to the ground, and I hop up on the chair to get out of the way. The rum bottle falls down the steps, shattering on the ground.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Skirt straddles Pirate’s chest and punches his face. “She isn’t a whore. Ye owe her an apology! Tell her,” Skirt shakes him, and Pirate turns over and pukes up the rum. “God, yer a sorry bastard, Pirate. Ye need help.”
“Don’t tell me what I need,” Pirate spits out the remainder of liquid in his mouth and stares down at the bottle of broken rum on the ground. “Look what you did! Look. No.” Pirate crawls out of Skirt’s hold and fumbles down the steps until he gets to the puddle of rum. He lifts up the broken glass and licks it, then tosses it back on the ground. “No! I need it. I need this.” He lays flat and starts to lick the rum from the dirt, eating red clay instead of rum.
“Jesus Christ, Pirate. What’s happened to ye?”
“I got it,” Doc comes out of the house next with a syringe in his hand and squats near Pirate. Doc puts his arm around Pirate’s shoulder as Pirate licks another piece of glass. His tongue is bleeding, he’s cut his fingertips, but all the drunk can see is alcohol. Doc plunges the needle into Pirate’s neck, and there’s shock in his eyes for a second before he slumps over. Doc catches him before he face plants into the broken glass.
Doc carries Pirate away, probably to the basement, and I know this is the lowest point in Pirate’s life by how the guys are staring at him.
“Are ye okay?” Skirt stands in front of me, and his hand cups my biceps.
My eyes flick to meet his, and my hand reaches up to touch the black eye. “What happened?”
“Nothing that’s more important than ye. I’m sorry Pirate went off like that. He hasn’t been himself lately.”
“It’s okay. I understand fighting your demons.”
“Yeah, ye do, don’t ye?” Skirt takes another step forward, and I lean back, forgetting that I’m still standing on the chair, and I fall, losing my footing completely.
Skirt is fast, catching me before I hit the ground. The rugged handsome features on his face pinch as he smiles, shaking his head as he lifts me up and sets me on my feet. “Always needing to be carried, aren’t ye?” He roams my body for the first time since coming onto the porch, and his eyes harden when he sees what I’m wearing.
Short shorts and Sarah’s black tank top that doesn’t really fit. My boobs are too big. It’s more like a crop top on me. He stares at my bare stomach, and his square jaw tightens as a strand of hair falls from his ponytail. His fists clench at his sides, and right as I think he’s about to take my mouth again, he turns around, slams his fist against the door and dents it as he vanishes.
“You have him all fucked up,” Reaper states from the other rocking chair across the porch. “Skirt’s always been a bit lighthearted, a fighter, a bit serious some days, but I’ve never had to worry about him before.”
I ignore Reaper’s words and storm in after Skirt. I’m not about to be blamed for someone else’s problems. I won’t be blamed for a man’s actions ever again. It isn’t my fault. I watch Skirt go into the rooms that the other guys go in when they take a slut, and my anger blows through the roof.
I’m done dancing around him. I kick open the door to see Bullseye getting his cock sucked, and I hurry and shut the door before he can see me. My face heats, and my pussy throbs from seeing the intimate act. I shake my head and kick open the next door and Skirt is there, by the window.
Alone.
His arms are up on the windowsill, stretching his muscles that have me tightening in all the right and wrong places. He’s a tortured soul, a man clawing his way from the trenches of whatever hole he’s made in his head.
“Skirt.”
His shoulders tense when he hears my voice, but he doesn’t turn around to look at me. He stares out the window. “Ye don’t need to be in here. This isn’t the place for a lass like ye,” he says.
“You don’t get to tell me where my place is. I decide that. Not you.”
“Ye maddening woman!” he shouts at me, and I jump. He spins around and charges at me, and I back up until I’m against the door, and his hands hit the wall on either side of my head. “I’m a fighter,” he hisses through gritted teeth as his eyes rake over my face and stop at my mouth. “I’m not the kind of guy ye need. And seeing ye, all the fucking time, dressed in these tight little shorts, it drives me mad. Do ye like doing that? Driving me crazy?” He circles his finger next to his head. “Cause ye are.”
“I didn’t know,” I gulp. “I haven’t seen you.”
He tilts his head left and right, inching his way closer to my lips. “I know. I’ve been watching ye. I can’t get enough of looking at ye. Those fucking lips, this hair, the moment I saw ye laying in the road I knew ye’d fuck me up in ways I wasn’t ready for.” His chest heaves, and he opens the door for
me to leave. “Go. I’m meeting Olivia in here.”
“Olivia? Another slut coming in here to suck your dick?”
He looks shocked that I know that.
“Jasmine is running around telling everyone how she got to suck your dick.” I lift my hands and shake my head, biting away the anger twitching my tongue. “Whatever. Have her suck your cock. I don’t care.” I take a step out the door, ready to call it quits on this fucked up clubhouse and hire a private detective to find my son, when Skirt grabs me by the back of the neck and yanks me back into the room.
He slams the door, locks it, and pushes my body against the wall with his. His weight holds me down and my breasts rub against the wall, my nipples tightening.
My ass is aligned with his pelvis and I can feel how hard he is for me. “What I want, you can’t give me. Not right now,” he growls into my ear. “This can’t happen.”
I know that. I have too much on my mind that’s more important than falling for a bad boy biker who is also a fighter. The days get longer without my son and having no new update. That leaves me thinking about Skirt.
A bed bangs against the wall from the bedroom next to us where Bullseye is. I gasp, thinking about him fucking the girl he had in his room.
“Ye like that, don’t ye? Ye hear Bullseye fucking that slut?”
I nod, barley able to move my head since my ear is pressed against the wall. I can hear everything going on in the next room.
“Bullseye, fuck me harder. Yes! You’re so thick.”
By complete accident, I saw his cock, and I’d have to agree with the woman.
“Shut up and just take it,” Bullseye orders, and the hard slap of his balls hitting her ass is erotic.
Skirt rocks against my ass, and every instinct is telling me to stop, to run, that there are too many red flags waving in the air in the clubhouse, but I can’t seem to get my voice to work. I’m safe here. A deeper part of me knows that, and I think that’s why my feet are glued to the ground.
