Taz (Tarnished Souls MC Book 2)

by Dusty Lassetter

  “You need to take her home, Saint,” I declare, giving my brother my full attention. I know what you’re thinking. Wow, what an asshole. She saved your sorry ass, and did unspeakable things for a monster just to make sure you survived. That is the exact reason Serenity doesn’t need to be here. I’m like a disease. I cause nothing but misery and suffering to the people I’m close to. She’ll be better off without me. Pushing her away is the only true kindness I can show her.

  “Think about what you’re saying,” Saint suggests, at the same time Serenity is trying to close the distance between me and her. I silently tell her to stop by placing my hand out, and the difficulty in the movement further agitates me.

  “Was I voted out?” I ask, knowing the answer already. Buck wouldn’t allow Serenity here if I were, regardless of how long and hard she fought him on it.

  “No,” Saint answers, looking down at the ground. Not out of fear, or uneasiness. He’s trying not to argue because of my condition. Saint doesn’t agree with my decision, but I don’t give a shit what he thinks.

  “Then take her home.”

  “No,” Serenity rushes out, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I never turn my head in her direction because the moment I do all my will-power will vanish. I can hear the emotion clogging up her voice. The sound of it piercing me deeper than any knife could. I can see the nurse out of the corner of my eye, watching us like we’re here for entertainment. This further pisses me off, regardless of how ridiculous it sounds, I don’t want anyone to be a witness of Serenity’s pain. Even if I am the asshole causing it.

  “NOW!” I growl out, forcing Saint to move.

  Tilting my head down I prove to everyone what a pussy I am. I have to force myself to stay on the bed as another man overpowers Serenity. The way she cries my name, and begs me to stop what is being done, brings me back to the hell we just survived. Only this time I am the reason for her tears, for her screams.

  Lying in this bed with my eyes closed I try to keep from seeing her face. There are multiple images I could be picturing, ones that would most likely put a smile on my face, but the only one burning behind my eyelids brings me guilt. Slasher standing over her like a knight trying to guard his queen with a knife in his hand.

  “It’s not like you to daydream.”

  “It’s not like you to barge in without knocking,” I counter.

  “My title means I don’t have to knock.”

  “Since when does being club-president allow you to be rude,” I reply with my eyes still closed. I told the hospital staff I didn’t want to see anyone. No visitors, I remember specifically stating. It should come as no surprise that Buck managed to weasel his way in.

  “I’m not coming here as your president, Taz. I’m here as Serenity’s father.”

  I can hear the hidden anger in his tone. I guess I should count my blessings he hasn’t introduced his fist to my mouth yet. There’s always a silver lining.

  “You’re wasting your time, Buck. I sent her away,” I state, finally opening my eyes. Buck is standing a few feet away from my bed, arms crossed over his chest, black hair longer than I’ve ever seen it, and a face full of peppered stubble. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

  “Saint mentioned it, but I’m here to make sure you don’t change your mind. You and my daughter will never happen. I think you know I’ll do anything in my power to see that it doesn’t.”

  His words piss me off. Despite me agreeing with them. I know there is no future for me and Serenity. Just like I know there is no future with me and any other woman, but I’ve never liked being ordered around. Regardless if I respect the man doing it or not.

  “I think you are wasting your time, Buck. I have no interest in your daughter,” I lie because that’s what I need to do. Not just for me or him, but for the entire club. A rift between members, especially our president and vice president, could tear the club apart. Without this club, most of the brothers would have nothing, including myself.

  Buck takes the few steps needed to be within reach. Removing a large envelope from under his jacket, he places it on my chest.

  “There are four disks in there. All of them addressed to me,” he says taking a step back. “There were computer monitors in one of the houses we searched. Scarlett destroyed them before I could see Serenity. I was pissed at first, but now I realize what a blessing it was. When we found you and Serenity I couldn’t recognize her? If I were to see what happened in that dungeon, I would lose it, and my daughter can’t afford for that to happen. She’s broken Taz, and I’m going to be the one to fix her.”

  With that said, he walks out of the room, leaving me to feel the weight of everything that happened on my chest. He’s right. The videos on these disks would destroy him. I will avoid Serenity because that’s what is best for everyone. She is broken, but I can’t be the one to fix her. Just like I couldn’t be the one to save her when we were living through our own version of hell.

  Serenity

  Five weeks later.

  My heart is racing, my body is trembling, and my eyesight is starting to vanish along with my sanity. Wiping the traitorous tears from them, I sit up in bed. I know this is my room at my dad’s house, yet there is a nagging voice in my head telling me something is wrong. My sense of smell is playing tricks on me again. The sweet scent of Slasher’s cologne lingers in my nose as if he were just here. That’s not possible, and I know this because my father has made sure no Blacktop Sinner can get anywhere near me. Even the stray dogs in the neighborhood know to stay away. Irish, a member of Tarnished Souls MC, stands guard in the house by the front door, while Teller, another member, is hidden in the shadows outside. It’s a routine that has proven to be comforting to me. My dad is asleep in the room next to mine because he refuses to go back to the master, saying it is too far away. I argued that I would scream as loud as I could if something were to happen, but he ultimately wouldn’t budge.

  Mentally slapping myself for being a sissy I place my bare feet on the soft carpet. Like so many other nights, the contents of my stomach are threatening to come up. I’ve learned a glass of water and new surroundings help keep the nausea at bay. Most nights I can calm myself down without having to tip-toe through the house like a criminal. The last thing I want is for my dad to realize just how screwed up I am. Yet, the minute I smell that cologne, I know there is no amount of self-motivation that will help me.

  “If you’re so concerned, why not ask her yourself?”

  Making sure to stay quiet, knowing it’s Irish on the phone, I creep closer to hear better. Peeking around the wall I’m hiding behind I see him standing in front of the door. His left foot is propped up on the wood, and he is leaning back, looking, as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Holding the phone with his shoulder while picking his nails with a sharpened knife, I can’t help but notice how attractive he is. He has brown hair with a red tint, cut short on the sides. The top is long enough for a woman to run her fingers through it. I wonder if he had that in mind when he chose that hair style. I can’t see his eyes, but I know the deep chestnut-brown color makes it hard not to stare into them. Unlike most of the members who typically wear white shirts and black jeans he’s always wearing Irish colors. He is a proud Irish man, hence the nickname. His accent is weak, probably because he’s been in the states for three years now, but when he gets angry it comes out stronger, making it almost impossible to understand him.

  “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Irish’s voice doing a better job at hiding his humor than the smile on his face. Right here, right now, he looks carefree. I almost feel bad for eavesdropping on him. Then I remember that he could be talking to Taz, and just like that the guilt is gone.

  I haven’t spoken to Taz since he woke up in the hospital. Not from lack of trying because I’ve done everything in my power to reach him. He refuses to see me or take any of my calls. There is no way of knowing if anyone I ask to give him a message actually does. I tell myself it’s just his way
of coping with everything that happened. He’ll eventually let me back in, he has to.

  “I told you already, I’ll call if anything happens,” he declares before putting the phone back in his pocket. A little discouraged that I wasn’t able to find out who was calling, I quietly start to sneak back to my room. For me to get to the kitchen, I have to walk right by Irish. With just one glance he’ll know I’m guilty. Looks like I’m getting tap water out of the bathroom sink tonight.

  “You want me advice?” I hear him say making my heart rate speed up. I’ve got two choices. Run back to my room, forcing him to believe he was talking to himself, or I could act like it doesn’t bother me that he caught me being nosey. Let’s face it people, everyone has been curious at least once in their life. Just because I am surrounded by men that could potentially be talking about something incriminating doesn’t make it worse, does it?

  “How is your advice going to be any different than everyone else’s,” I reply, allowing half my body to peek out. Over the past five weeks, I’ve had countless people give me their advice. I get it, I really do. Everyone is worried about me. I’ve tried to hide the damage that was done, not only to my body, but to my mind.

  Torch thinks I should talk to Mia and her sisters. They’ve been through it, but I can’t talk to Mia without Scarlett. Call me immature, call me insane, I’ll probably agree with you, but every time I think of her I think of Slasher tearing into my skin with that knife. To hear the man you love say he has slept with someone you consider a friend hurts. Just as much as every slice of that blade did.

  Saint thinks I should start school again. He said it’s the best cure for depression, which I have not been diagnosed with because I refuse to see a shrink, like going to class, writing countless essays, and trying to fit in with my peers would somehow be the miracle cure. Little does he know being around a big crowd makes me anxious now. There is no telling who is there waiting. Most children grow older and no longer believe in the boogie man. I know he exists.

  “Because there isn’t another man out there like me. I wouldn’t waste your time with nonsense,” Irish responds bringing me back to the present. He closes his knife before shoving it into his pants pocket. With a thud, that sounds louder to my new sensitive hearing, he places his propped-up foot back on the floor.

  “What you need is a man to help you. Someone to make sure you feel safe,” he says, now standing in front of me. His frame isn’t as large as Taz’s but he still towers over me. He has large scarred, calloused hands that look like they were made for fighting.

  The comment catches me off guard. No member, mainly because my dad would see it as a sign of disrespect, has ever openly hit on me before. Looking into his chestnut brown eyes, I try to imagine what it would be like to wake up next to him in the morning.

  “Okay,” I whisper despite my heart screaming at me to take it back. What am I doing?

  My dad would kill him if he ever found out, and I’m in love with someone else, but I’m also exhausted. Not only my body, but my soul too. I’m tired of chasing after a man that doesn’t want me during the day, just to lay my head down at night and try to keep my thoughts away from a man that haunts my dreams.

  With my agreeance, a devilish smile stretches across his face before he reaches out to cup my face. Slowly running the pad of his thumb over my lips, Irish forces my sense of feeling to zero in on the warmth from his touch.

  “You are a temptation I’m having trouble walking away from, but he would kill me,” Irish declares, his voice dropping an octave. The gravelly tone soothing away any embarrassment I may have from being so forward.

  “He doesn’t have to know,” I whisper, leaning into his touch. Irish isn’t the man I love, or the man I pictured my first time to be with, but something tells me he could chase away the demons, if only for one night. He gets a look of skepticism on his face, the skin beside his eyes wrinkling, before replying.

  “You would hide this from him? After everything you’ve been through together.”

  While I find the statement odd, I nod my head in agreeance. Of course, I’ve been through a lot with my dad. What daughter hasn’t? For a split second, I start to think we aren’t talking about the same person, but quickly dismiss the thought. There is no one else he could be referring to.

  “I wouldn’t let my dad hurt you, even if he did find out,” I say.

  With a smile that would make any one of the Greek Gods feel ugly, Irish lets out a throaty laugh. I find the sound to be comforting. “It’s not your father I’m worried about, Serenity. I think you know that.”

  “He doesn’t want me,” I say the very second the light bulb goes off. Now I understand he is talking about Taz.

  “That’s not true. If it were, we wouldn’t be standing here discussing the idiotic bastard. Another bit of advice, sweetheart, fight for him. Then, and I don’t think you realize how hopeful I am he’ll screw this up, if he’s still being a dumbass, I’ll take what I want,” he says, removing his hand from my face.

  “I can’t continue to fight a losing battle,” I whisper missing the warmth our skin-to-skin contact brought me.

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have been eavesdropping on my conversation. It was him by the way, calling to check on you.”

  I don’t say it, but I don’t have to. By the look on Irish’s face I can tell he sees what I can’t hide. HOPE. He has given me hope that maybe, just maybe, this war that Taz has declared between us can be won. I will fight for him, whether he wants me to or not.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t know how hiding out in Taz’s room and waiting for him to arrive ever crossed my mind as a good plan. How was I to know he would be gone all day? It’s way past the time my dad will start panicking, and still no Taz. I just hope Irish, my partner in crime, can hold off dadzilla long enough for me to talk to his stubborn vice president.

  The sudden rattling of a door knob alerts me to someone’s arrival. Just when I start to feel joy knowing I’m about to get what I’ve desperately wanted, I hear a giggle, followed by a moan. Looking around in a panic, wondering how I ever thought this was a good idea, I try to find a spot to hide. No way do I want some random whore to witness my humiliation from being caught stalking. Quickly escaping into the closet, just like you would see in the movies, I get myself settled just in time for the two of them to come stumbling through the door.

  Taz’s hands are busy getting familiar with whatever is up her shirt. Did I mention I can see his entire bed through the small crack I left opened? His hands start cupping her fake breasts, which I’m sure feel like a bag of sand, while his lips make their way up her neck. It’s hard to hold back the vomit threatening to projectile across all his clothes, but somehow, I manage.

  With a dark gleam in his eye, he starts ripping the shirt from her body. When he sees the red-laced bra, a look of satisfaction crosses his face. I so badly want to rip his pecker off and shove it down his throat.

  Would he be touching her like this if he knew I was watching? I hope not, but there is no way of knowing unless I want to get caught, and I really don’t need that to happen.

  I know Taz has never been a saint. He’s screwed every whore in this club, but a part of me was expecting it to be different now. I thought what we went through together changed our relationship, but there is no hesitation on his part. No signs of him wishing it were me instead of her.

  When the nameless blonde falls to the bed, and Taz starts to slowly peel off her pants, I make sure to close the door all the way. I can’t watch as the man I’ve been in love with since the first time I saw him screw someone else. Sitting in the dark, the noises coming from the other side of the door make it hard not to drift back into my nightmare constantly waiting on me- the memories in my mind that refuse to surface during the day, but enjoy drawing me into their darkness at night.

  “Princess, it’s time to wake up,” Slasher whispers into my ear, waking me from a restless sleep. Lifting my head off the hard floor, and bringi
ng my face closer to his, I can sense what frame of mind he is in just by the smile on his face.

  “Slasher.” I say his name, knowing he will enjoy it. Whenever he’s in an easy-going mood I find it’s best to keep him that way. He likes it when I call him by his name, instead of the many, clever insults I’ve been known to use.

  “You’re learning, princess. This pleases me,” he says, helping me off the floor. When I’m no longer wobbly on my feet he releases my arms. Glancing around the room for Taz, I start to get alarmed when I can’t find him.

  “He’s not here. Turns out the cuts to his back were more severe than we thought. He lost a lot of blood and the doctor is with him upstairs.”

  Taking two steps forward, reaching out to grab the man that is responsible for all this, I start pleading with him to let me see Taz.

  “I need to be with him. I have to make sure he is alright. Take me…”

  Faster than my tired body can register, Slasher’s hand lands on the side of my face, sending me flying to the floor. The sting to my cheek, and the coppery taste coating my tongue, is not enough to keep me down.

  “PLEASE,” I cry while shuffling to my knees. “You have to take me to see him,” I continue to say, struggling to get back to my feet.

  “That is where you are wrong, princess. I don’t have to do anything,” Slasher laughs out, walking around me like a lion would his next meal. From the volume, his boots make while scraping across the floor, I can sense his circle is getting tighter. He’s closing in on me and there is nothing I can do to stop him.

  “I came down here because he needs medical attention, and that doesn’t come cheap. Your club killed my vice president, so why should I spend my hard-earned money keeping yours alive? Then I remembered there is something I need as well, but your attitude is not pleasing. Maybe I should go find someone else to meet my needs.”