Teller (Tarnished Souls MC Book 4)

by Dusty Lassetter

  “You couldn’t spring for a new pair?” I joke with him because it helps to stop my brain from going in several different directions. There could be multiple reasons why he has me covering myself with this dirty and holey material. Does he want us to dismember a body together? Is he going to force me to help torture someone he needs to question? Are we cleaning up a crime scene? The list goes on and on, and right now I need a way to keep myself from freaking out.

  Teller doesn’t even crack the smallest of smiles before he turns around, fully expecting me to follow his retreating back. To his pleasure, and my annoyance, I do just that. Walking through the clubhouse, passing men that stare at me with smirks on their faces, I speed up my pace to be right on Teller’s heals. He’s just going to have to get over me stepping on him occasionally if he’s going to parade me around. I continue to follow him like this all the way to his garage where he turns on the light before shutting us in.

  Instead of the usual mess, I see a floor that is free of all the scattered parts and tools. Saint’s bike has been pushed forward while the others are still sitting in the back of the shop waiting for their turn to be fixed. Now that he has organized his belongings, the shop looks like it’s grown in size. He could probably fit five more bikes in here if he wanted. I’m just happy to have the walking space.

  Teller catches my attention when he lazily walks to one of the bikes before throwing his leather jacket over the seat. This is the first time I have been in here with him at night. Judging by the way he is digging through tools and parts, I can bet we are going to be working on his brother’s bike.

  “This is my punishment?” I ask the question even though I already know the answer. I am wearing men’s coveralls after all. Turns out all the crazy ideas I had in my head were just that, crazy ideas.

  “I used to help my dad fix small things on his motorcycles,” I say. It’s not often I tell anyone about my time before I came here. I find my past to be both depressing and indifferent. I feel detached from it because of all the experiences I’ve been forced to live through. Growing up is hard, but growing up the way I did was nearly impossible.

  Teller throws me a pair of gloves that will be too big for me, so I decide to go in bare handed like he is. With a shrug of his shoulders, he lets it be known he doesn’t care either way. Taking a seat on the stool he’s placed close to the bike, I wait for his directions.

  “Remove everything,” he growls.

  Anytime he is forced to talk, Teller gets a look of disgust on his face. Some people may perceive it as pain, but I know the difference. Using his voice isn’t painful, it poses as a constant reminder of what was done to him.

  Without further comment, I begin to work on removing the rest of the charred pieces. It is obvious Teller wants to strip the bike down to the original frame so he can use it to build his brother a look alike. In this moment, I find that Teller is starting to mean more to me than just a protector. Deep down, where no one has ever bothered to look, this bad ass biker is something special. Taking another look around the room, I’m confronted with the truth. The reason it took so long for him to dole out this so called punishment is the time it took for him to clean the place up. Whether he will ever admit it or not, I’m starting to grow on him just as much as he is on me.

  Night two of my punishment is going much like night one did. Teller is completely engrossed in his work, and I am contemplating on how to peel back the layers that is this dangerous man. I want to know more about him, and in return tell him some of the things I’ve never told anyone else. I know he would never judge me for my past. His younger years are just as colorful as mine.

  “I would like to go with you next time you visit Saint,” I say into the quiet room.

  It’s been a while since he last brought me to the center with him. At first it didn’t bother me, but now that I have become more intrigued with Teller and everything he does, I’m a little hurt by his dismissal. There is no telling what I did or didn’t do to cause him to start leaving me behind. I just know I need more time with him than what I get while fixing this bike.

  I look up from the crash bar I’m trying to remove hoping to see Teller nodding his head in agreement, but disappointment soon floods my system when I see he’s ignoring me. At least I think he is ignoring me.

  “I would like to go with you next time you visit Saint.” I repeat louder, looking directly at him this time. There is no doubt in my mind he heard me, so why is he acting as if I’ve said nothing? I pride myself in knowing I am patient and kind to most people mainly because I try to avoid them. Teller is probably the only person I’ve meet that makes me want to throw something. He has a way of getting under my skin unlike anyone else. Not even Carlos could drive me to this point of insanity.

  “I’m done,” I declare, tossing the tool I was using down by his foot. Some would argue I threw it at him, but I prefer to say I tossed it back to its owner. I don’t need this aggravation. I have enough on my plate already. I’m not going to keep begging this man for attention like a dog would his owner for a bone.

  Another wave of frustration washes over me when I make it back to the clubhouse without Teller stopping me. I know it’s ridiculous to throw a fit hoping to get a reaction out of someone, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. Not only am I unhappy about his lack of interest in me. I’m also worried about my safety. Sometimes I feel like he would protect me, and others I feel like he would feed me to the wolves if the deal was sweet enough.

  “Scarlett.”

  Hammer says my name in warning. He’s just a few steps in front of me, watching something or someone behind me with large eyes that say I should spin around. A lump of uneasiness forms in my throat because I know when I do turn there is going to be a ticked off biker behind me. Hammer’s face says it all, and it’s currently telling me that I screwed up.

  The world around me ceases to rotate on its axis as I slowly twist my body around to see Teller is standing just a few feet behind me. His eyes are burning bright with annoyance and anger. The sneer on his face says more than his mouth ever has, and I’m finding it hard not to run and hide behind the club’s treasurer. Surely, Rebecca would have no problem with me using her crush as a shield.

  “I…I…I’m sorry.”

  The stuttering mess he has reduced me to is both embarrassing and a reality check. I was playing with fire, and now I’m about to get burned. I should have kept my distance and not tried to force our relationship into any other direction than tolerance.

  “Listen man, I think you should think about what you are doing. You’re scaring her.”

  Hammer’s words fall on deaf ears as Teller eats up the space between us. Raising his hand the same height as Hammer’s face he tells him exactly what he thinks by bending all his fingers down but one. Tossing me over his shoulder, he doesn’t bother to be gentle as he carries me back to the garage.

  “I will never d…d…do that again. I am very sorry.” I begin to apologize once I’m back on stable ground. Note to self, only a stupid person with a death wish would toss something at a man that has anger issues. Retreating into a corner of the shop, I watch as he stalks toward me, only stopping when he is three steps away from touching me. The way he aggressively crosses his arms over his large chest tells me I should burrow further into my haven.

  “You’re like a baby bird,” he growls. Amazingly, the sound of his voice is even harsher when he’s angry. I try not to cringe from the roughness of his tone, but I know my muscles give away my unease at hearing the new sound. “Easy to scare and incapable of taking care of yourself,” he finishes more coarsely due to my reaction.

  Taking a page out of his book, I stay completely silent. I’m not sure I would be able talk without stumbling over my words, and this isn’t an argument I could win anyway. I do scare easy, and I have never taken care of myself. First it was my dad and his club, then Carlos, even if his care was horrific, and now there is Mia and Torch.

  In a shocking turn of
events, Teller reaches his hand out and begins to unzip my coveralls. I stand frozen in fear as the sound of the metal teeth separating fills the room. His eyes go from holding my stare to zeroing in on the motion of his hand. I can’t see anything in his gaze that would suggest he is about to do what so many others have, but there is a part of me that knows a man only undresses a woman for one thing.

  “P…P…Please don’t,” I manage to get out.

  He hesitates at my request, but eventually his hand continues its downward decent. When his blue eyes once again capture mine, I can see the challenge outlining them. Does he want me to fight back? Is this a test to see if I will actually stop him?

  “Make me,” he growls before reaching his large hand into my open coveralls to inch his way up my loose t-shirt. The feeling of his warm skin on mine reminds me of all the times I have been forced to endure this type of touch. I don’t want his, or any other man’s, hands on me. Not now, not ever again without my permission.

  “No,” I state, just a bit louder than a whisper.

  “Try again,” he suggests, taking a step toward me. The space I had chosen for my safety is now becoming too small. I can’t escape, not without him letting me, and the tears I’ve tried to hold back are now threatening to turn my eye sockets into tiny water fountains.

  The closer his thumb comes to the underside of my breast, the louder my heartbeat becomes in my ears. The thumping sound is completely blocking out all other noises. It isn’t until I feel his other hand take a hold of my chin in a grip that leaves no room for movement, that I realize I was trying to tuck into myself. The blue in his irises begins to mock me, telling me I’m not even capable of protecting myself from a man that I know would never hurt me this way.

  “You want me to fuck you, don’t you.” He declares with confidence.

  When his hand changes direction, now traveling down my stomach, I get a sense he will keep going until I make him stop. I take a deep breath to provide my muscles with enough oxygen to push this behemoth off me before placing my hands on his chest then shoving with all the strength my arms possess.

  His large body easily stumbles back, letting me know he wasn’t trying very hard to keep me from overpowering him. The small grin on his face is enough to make me feel confident and proud. I finally fought back, even if the danger wasn’t entirely real. He gives me a short nod of approval before going back to work on the motorcycle like none of this just happened.

  Straightening up my clothes, I follow his lead. Sitting back on my stool by the crash bar, I feel foolish for having to ask him for my tool back. I should never have acted like a brat. When I look up from the bike, I come face to face with the socket wrench I will need to complete my work. My cheeks instantly start warming with embarrassment as I take the tool from his outstretched hand.

  “Thank you,” I mumble before looking down again.

  We spend the remainder of our time working in silence until Teller stands up to let me know it’s quitting time for the both of us. I move around the shop putting up the pieces of the bike I have taken off and placing the tools in their rightful spots. When everything is cleaned to our liking, I take a grease towel from the toolbox and try to wipe off as much as I can. I don’t like going into the house and getting the bathroom sink dirty with all this black oil. It’s not good for the plumbing or the porcelain. Teller always waits for me to finish cleaning up. He doesn’t bother to do the same, probably because men don’t think about the elbow grease that’s needed to scrub dried oil out of sinks.

  Looking closely at my two hands, I nod in approval before placing my towel back in the drawer. Turning around, I see Teller waiting by the open door with a look of boredom on his face. Walking out into the night air I almost feel like I’ve slayed a dragon. I took a step in the right direction tonight, and I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Teller.

  “Be ready to leave tomorrow at six.” Teller growls the command at me as we walk toward the clubhouse. I try to stop the huge smile from stretching across my face because I don’t want Teller to think I’m rubbing my victory in his face, but I am too happy to care. He’s given me two amazing things tonight. Hope for our future together as friends, and the knowledge that I do a have a backbone, even if I don’t always use it.

  Scarlett

  Something about following Teller into Saint’s room feels right. To have this feeling while merely walking at his side, moving into the room as he holds the door open for me, and then standing on the opposite of the bed as him, seems strange. Maybe it has nothing to do with Teller, and everything to do with getting back into a routine. I was so used to coming here every night that the sudden change in my schedule threw me for a loop. I’m a person of habit. I like predictability. I hadn’t realized not having that was bothering me so much.

  “Some of the color is coming back into his cheeks.”

  Instead of being quiet this visit, I have decided that small talk would help the time go by faster. There is no false hope that Teller will join in on my useless banter. Without a doubt, he will stand at his brother’s side not saying a word. Maybe, if I am lucky, he will grunt every now and again to let me know he’s not fallen asleep. It’s not in my comfort zone to have useless conversations, but there is something about Teller that makes me want to open up. It’s like the demons I’ve kept hidden see him as a friend, someone they could get along with.

  “Even his tattoos seem brighter,” I continue to break the silence with my observations. “I wish I could get a tattoo…”

  I wait to see if Teller will look in my direction. If he does, I know it will be because he wants me to carry on with my thoughts. It seems like forever before I see his baby blues penetrate me, but the moment they do I feel the victory of my small win take hold in my chest. Apparently, Teller does find me somewhat interesting.

  “There’s something appealing about covering my body in beautiful art. Like it would somehow work to camouflage everything my bodies been through, but putting needles anywhere near my skin is out of the question.”

  During my quick story, I had once again focused my attention on Saint. Now that I have revealed one of my fears, I look up to see that Teller is still staring at me. His head is titled slightly to the right. To anyone else the look on his face would seem creepy. To me, it’s the first time he has ever showed any interest in my past.

  “Everyone has fears, and behind those fears is a story. Mine just happens to be worse than most…

  I no longer have the luxury of knowing what day it is. I don’t even have the ability to tell you what time of day it is. The basement they keep me locked in works perfectly to make sure the only light that enters the area is from their dim lightbulbs. Sometimes, I like to close my eyes and pretend the sun is beating down on my face. Other times, I enjoy humming to myself, imagining I’m under the stars with the moon’s rays shining down on my skin.

  It’s been awhile since I have seen Carlos or one of his henchmen. Which is just as well because the last time one of them came down here was to beat, rape, and then take Maddie away. That’s probably the hardest thing about this never-ending Hell I find myself in. It’s not the multiple whippings, the lack of food and water, or the men that take what they want no matter how hard you fight, cry, and scream. No, those events have just become a routine to me. It’s the girls, and women, I meet down here. To form a relationship with someone you know will be ripped from you in a horrendous way is never easy. That is why I prefer not to talk to the other victims. The less attached we become, the better off we will be, but Maddie was different. She was just an innocent child. Younger than I was when Slasher ruined my life forever.

  “Mija.”

  The sound of Carlos’ voice booming off the walls is enough to cancel out all thoughts of Maddie. Him being down here can mean only one thing.

  “Do you know what today is?”

  The question is rhetorical. He knows I don’t. I just wish I could turn around to see his face, but the small cage they’ve force
d me into won’t allow even the tiniest of movement. I can no longer feel anything other than the metal digging into my knees and elbows. Curled up naked, completely vulnerable to him, I have no say in what happens to me anymore. That was a hard lesson to learn, but Carlos eventually forced me to understand it as my miserable reality.

  “Today is my birthday, Mija, and I want you to be my present.”

  His voice has grown louder behind me which causes my body to instinctively clinch. I know what he’s about to do. It’s what he always does when coming to see me. I try to get my body to wiggle, but there is no use. The cage is so small I barely fit into it. With my knees pushing into my chest, my bare waist is left exposed for him to do whatever he wants.

  “Tsk…tsk..tsk. You are not happy to see me,” he laughs out as he forces his finger into my vulnerable entrance. I ignore the burning sensation his unwanted touch brings because there is nothing I can do to stop him. Thankfully, he decides not to prolong my humiliation and pulls his hand away.

  “Get her out of the cage. It’s my birthday, and I am in the mood for a pretty piñata.”

  The opening to the cage is just above my head which is pushed against a wall, so to get access to the entrance they kick me in the sides until I am now facing them. Every time they knock their boots against the metal, my ribs absorb some of the force. I force myself not to cry, knowing this pain is just the beginning of a long night. The longer I cry, the more my eyes hurt the next morning. Luckily, it’s only two more kicks to my side before I am positioned to their liking.

  Forcing me to rise to my feet, by grabbing a handful of my hair, Carlos’ man faces me toward his boss. To keep my head from turning, the man harshly grabs onto my chin. Standing in front of me is the monster that holds my life in his hands. With just a snap of his fingers, I would be nothing more than a body for the worms to feast on. Looking up into his muddy brown eyes, I silently pray for him to make that choice.