Taz (Tarnished Souls MC Book 2)

by Dusty Lassetter

  “Going on a vacation?” I ask, knowing it’s more likely to do with the club than it is rest-and-relaxation, but I realized I needed to say something before he caught me staring.

  “Buck is sending me, Saint, and Teller to follow up on a lead. I shouldn’t be gone for more than three days,” he replies, taking the top four pillows from the middle, throwing them to the floor. Now there is only one layer of protection between me and him.

  “Hey!” I holler out.

  “Only a naïve girl would believe those fluff-bags could protect them from me, Serenity. If I want to get to you there is nothing that will stop me,” Taz declares, stretching his large, barely-clothed, body out on my bed.

  “I’m not ignorant,” I argue, bringing myself to a sitting position, and making it easier for me to stare down at him.

  “Nope.” He says, popping his “p”. “You’re just bat shit crazy.”

  “Take that back,” I command in a threatening tone. Ever since we’ve thrown down the white flag, he has tried everything to push my buttons. I usually let it slide, deciding I don’t want to give him the benefit of knowing he is annoying me, but I’m finding that difficult on this night, night seven. He wants to poke the bear, well I’m awake, and it’s about time I bite back.

  “What are you gonna do? Smother me with one of your weapons if I refuse,” he states with laughter in his voice. His head is resting on his hands, leaving his chest completely open, with his eyes closed like he hasn’t a care in the world.

  Picking up the pillow my head was just laying on, making sure to keep my movements soft, I start a countdown in my head.

  Five…Four...Three...Two...One.

  I pounce on him like a baby lion would his first victim. My movements are jerky and wild instead of smooth and effective like I was going for. My knee lands on his abdomen, causing him to huff out a breath, before I can stick my weapon of choice to his face. I don’t press down hard because I don’t want to actually kill him, I just want to annoy him and show him I am a force to be reckoned with.

  “What’s the matter, Taz, am I taking your breath away,” I laugh out, not at all happy with my choice of words. I blame my stupid one-liner on the fact that I am concentrating on keeping the upper hand. His hands may still be behind his head, but his twisting and turning is forcing me to loosen my grip.

  “I don’t think so,” I growl out before straddling his waist to get better leverage. I did this to teach him a lesson. Twenty seconds of no air is not a lesson, more like a hiccup.

  My mistake is soon realized when he quickly removes his hands from behind his head, grabbing onto my hips, and quickly changing our position. I’m now on my back, holding the pillow between us, his large body pinning me to the mattress.

  “You tried to suffocate me,” Taz states sounding winded.

  I can’t stop the small smile that spreads across my lips knowing I did achieve a small victory. The big-bastard may not have suffered long, but he was affected, that’s all I wanted.

  “I believe in an eye for an eye, angel,” he growls out before slamming his lips onto mine.

  The unannounced attack on my mouth has me gasping out in surprise, but Taz doesn’t seem to care that I’m not kissing him back. He starts to take his time trailing my bottom lip with his tongue. The sensation makes it hard to keep up my protest, but I manage to stay strong until he bites down on the corner of my lip.

  My body takes over and tells my mind to screw off. With my hands still clutching the pillow between us I can’t wrap my arms around Taz’s neck, so I have to lean forward to deepen the kiss. I feel his lips pull into a small smile before he starts rolling his tongue onto mine. The slow and sensual way he moves leaves me wanting more. I want him to own my mouth. I need him to leave me thinking about this kiss for the rest of my life.

  Just as quick as he started it, the kiss comes to an end. Taz pulls his lips from mine just before a low growl leaves his chest. If his evil-plan was to leave me breathless it worked. I can’t stop my teeth from biting onto my swollen bottom lip, the butterflies in my stomach still flying wild, while trying to remind myself to breathe.

  “Goodnight, Serenity,” he says, removing his body from mine. I instantly miss his warmth, and the feeling that his heavy weight brought to my body.

  “Where are you going,” I ask when he rolls off the bed. The light from the bathroom once again illuminating his unbelievable body, but my eyes zero in on one thing.

  “To take a shower,” he answers, grabbing his hardened dick that my eyes can’t stop staring at. It’s huge. The perfectly pink tip is peeking out of his boxer briefs just begging for someone to give it attention, and a part of me wants to, the very-small part that isn’t damaged.

  “You wanna join me?” Taz asks, giving me a look that says I might regret it if I do.

  Shaking my head from left to right I quickly turn down his offer. My mind says no, yet the body that has been dying to have sex with this man since I was sixteen is chanting, “do it, do it,” but I stand by my decision to stay in bed. Not only because I’m confused by these recent events that quickly escalated, but also because I have a lot to do tomorrow. Judging by the size of his hard-on, I wouldn’t get anything done because I wouldn’t be able to walk, unless I wanted to look like John Wayne after he just got off a six-hour horse ride.

  Taz

  Leaving Serenity yesterday morning was harder than it should’ve been. I didn’t want to release her from my arms, stop smelling the sweet scent of her lotion, or quit listening to the sound of her soft breathing. It’s not like I get to hold her all the time. She only burrows into my side when she’s having a nightmare. I don’t even think she realizes she does it, yet I find we both sleep better when she’s beside me. Is it possible that Faith didn’t completely blacken my soul, that maybe I still have something to offer the woman that willingly saved my life knowing it could ruin hers?

  “You just gonna sit back and daydream all day, or are you going to help us out?” Saint asks, standing outside the door we are supposed to kick down. He looks smug as ever with that stupid grin spread across his face. The tattoo of the devil’s pitchfork peeking out from the collar of his black t-shirt.

  We are standing outside a nightclub in Austin, Texas, looking for an unlucky bastard that goes by the name Mad Dog. He is one of Slasher’s best customers, meaning he is a perverted mother fucker that’s about to die, but not before we get the information we need out of him. This is why I brought the two brothers along with me. They could get any intel out of anyone. They’re very talented when it comes to violence.

  “Fuck off,” I spit out, not the least bit guilty about my thoughts drifting off. We’ve been waiting outside in this shitty windy weather for hours. It’s been two hours since we saw Mad Dog enter the club using the front door, plenty of time for him to get comfortable.

  “Let’s do this,” I order, forcing the two brothers to step back so I can get enough leverage to knock this door down. It shouldn’t be too difficult considering the old wood has seen better days, but the problem isn’t breaking in. It’s going to be what’s awaiting us on the other side of the barrier. If this weren’t a weekday I would call some of our brothers from the Austin chapter to help, but since it’s Tuesday, the three of us should be enough man power.

  Two solid kicks above the brass-knob is all it takes to send the wood splintering open. Drawing my weapon from my waistband, I lead the way for Saint and Teller.

  “Oh, this is going to be too easy,” Saint mumbles, inhaling the same scent I am. Weed. These dumbasses are going to be baked out of their minds. The side door we just entered through brings us into a hallway before leading out into a large open space. I can see some chairs and couches in the distance, but my eyes are having trouble adjusting. Flattening our bodies against the wall, I start to reply to Saints comment.

  “Don’t get to…”

  I can’t even finish my sentence before a bullet goes whistling by my ear. Trying to duck and see where the shot
s are coming from is harder than you might think in a foggy room with dim lighting.

  “Eight o’clock!” Saint hollers.

  Raising the barrel of my gun, and peering from behind the wall, I aim and fire towards one of the couches across the room. It takes two shots before I hear someone grunt out in pain, and for the bullets to stop ripping into the wall behind us.

  I hear a man’s voice start yelling out things in his native tongue, which happens to be Spanish. When Saint starts yelling back, his words all running together, I just shake my head. This is another reason why I brought the brothers. They both understand Spanish, and Saint speaks it.

  “What the fuck did he say?” I ask.

  “He wanted to know who we were, and who we work for,” Saint says with a smile on his face. “I told him we were here to do the devil’s work and unless he wanted to die he needed to give up Mad Dog,” he finishes with a larger grin pulling at his lips.

  “And,” I reply, trying to get him to finish.

  “He said he is Mad Dog and we can go fuck ourselves.”

  Teller who has stayed back up until this point, steps in front of his brother. We rely on his hands to do his communicating because he doesn’t talk. His step dad slit his throat when he was young, permanently damaging his vocal cords, but we’ve been around him enough to know what message he is trying to relay.

  When he starts slapping his chest with the hand holding his dagger-knife I know he wants us to cover him. He’s going to find Mad Dog and kill anything that gets in his way. That’s why I love this mother fucker, he’s even crazier than me.

  “Mi hermano,” Saint says placing his hand on the shoulder of his younger brother. Teller is almost twice the size of his big brother, but the way he looks at him has to make Saint feel larger than life. Those two have seen things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and through it all they had each other’s back. Saint killed his own father for Teller, you’ll never find another bond as solid as theirs.

  When Teller places his free hand on Saint’s shoulder, he gives him a slight nod. I think it’s his way of saying those words back to Saint. I once asked them what they were saying, and Saint’s answer was simple- “my brother.”

  Turning around and squaring his shoulders, Teller wastes no time walking into the open area. Bullets start flying through the air, but as far as I can tell none of them have hit the crazy bastard. Saint leans on the opposite wall from mine and we both peek around taking aim at the shooters. I don’t have the pleasure of watching Teller go to work, but I know he’s used his knife when I hear a scream followed by gurgling sounds.

  “No, no, no, please don’t do this,” I hear someone start begging.

  The fact that he is still alive leads me to believe he must be Mad Dog. Teller would have already killed him otherwise. Walking into the cleared battle zone, I start waving the marijuana smoke out of my face with my hand. I want to be able to see Mad Dog clearly when I ask him the questions I need answered.

  “Sit him there,” I order for Teller to place him in an empty chair that has two bullet holes going through the wooden back. I can tell the moment Mad Dog figures out who I am. Anyone who is anyone doing business in the Texas underground knows who the Tarnished Souls are. His eyes zero in on our emblems that proudly stand out on the front of our cuts.

  “You recently brought two girls across the border. Two very young, American citizens, into Mexico. Do you deny this?” I ask, standing in front of his chair. Saint is standing to my left, while Teller is to my right. My feet are spread wide, just in case he tries to rush me, you get better leverage with a wider stance, and my arms are crossed over my chest.

  When he shakes his head no, answering honestly, I start to think he’s going to take all the fun out of my job.

  “We also know you bought those women from Slasher. What I don’t know is where he’s hiding, but you do. You can tell me what I want to know, or my brother here,” I state, tilting my head in Saint’s direction, “can think of some creative ways to get it out of you.”

  He starts mumbling intangible words in Spanish. Spit is flying out of his fat mouth, tears are pooling into his scared eyes, and the smell of piss is coming from his soaked pants. I fucking hate when they piss themselves. There is nothing worse than beating on a man that has human waste all over him.

  “What did he say?” I ask Saint, knowing Mad Dog can understand me and speak some English, but his anxiety won’t allow him to right now. He just wants to get out of the mess he’s put himself in, and everyone always seems to think they can talk themselves back to safe territory.

  “He says he can’t tell us anything. He only talked to Slasher on the phone.”

  “Do you believe him?” I ask both my brothers.

  Teller shakes his head no as Saint gives me a verbal reply.

  “He’s not lying, but he’s not telling the whole truth.”

  “Make him,” I command before walking off to find another chair. This could take a while, and my legs are already tired from standing outside all night. I eventually find the couch I briefly spotted earlier, and plop down onto the suede cushions. I can still see the silhouette of all three men through the thinned-out smoke and dim lights.

  Saint is bending down to grab the knife from his boot, while Teller makes sure Mad Dog doesn’t move by zip tying his hands behind his back, and his feet to the legs of the chair. Checking the intensity of the blade on his own finger, Saint eventually takes his place in front of our prisoner.

  As the younger brother holds his victims head still, Saint slowly, and meticulously, cuts a cross into the middle of Mad Dog’s forehead. The plumped man starts to cry and beg for his life. The entire scene looks like something out of the movies. The area around them is foggy, the dim lights add to the creepy factor, and Saint is standing over Mad Dog like he’s the grim reaper.

  “Most sacred heart, he accepts from your hands whatever kind of death it may please you to send him tonight. With all its pains, penalties, and sorrows in reparation for his sins, for all those souls who have died tonight, and for your greater glory.”

  Saint’s nickname was given to him by his brother the night he murdered their father. He was only fourteen when he butchered the man that had terrorized their home. He once told me that their dad was just as religious as he was angry. He believed God would forgive him for everything he had done, so before Saint sent him to hell, he prayed over his father’s body while carving a cross into his chest.

  Mad Dog screamed more than he talked, but Saint was able to get some information out of him. We now know Slasher has bunkered down somewhere in Texas trying to plan his next attack. Mad Dog said he was supposed to purchase a pretty young blonde from him but Slasher never showed, no one did.

  “We aren’t any closer to finding him than we were this morning,” Saint mumbles while washing the blood off his hands.

  The small-bathroom we found nestled in the corner of the room smells of piss and sweat. The diamond-pattern wallpaper is faded and peeling off around the edges, and the only light comes from a small window that’s allowing the moon’s rays to shine through. The old cast iron sink is rusted in spots, the only temperature that works is freezing cold, but the water does what it’s supposed to do.

  “At least there is one less depraved pervert out there. If the world knew what we did here tonight they would be grateful,” I reply.

  “What are we going to do with the bodies?” Saint questions as we start making our way back to the room with all the dead.

  Mad Dog was not the only man to lose his life tonight. Teller gutted two men with his dagger, the man I shot bled out, so we’ve got too many bodies to dispose of. There are more of them than there are us. It’s nearly four in the morning, the sun will be up soon, time is not on our side.

  “We torch the place. That’s our only option,” I answer as we approach Teller. He reaches into the pocket of his pants revealing a Zippo lighter with a blue skull on it.

  “He agrees,” I state, wat
ching as a cruel smile spreads across his face. Teller is a weird guy, loyal to no end, but I’d be lying if I said his warped mind doesn’t creep me out. The things I’ve seen him do, the stories I’ve heard Saint tell, are on a whole new level of insane.

  “Grab all the liquor you can find, brothers. We got a fire to start,” Saint commands, walking away.

  It doesn’t take us long to gather enough alcohol to burn the building to the ground. Together we start dousing the furniture with the flammable liquid. Then, one by one, we light the surface and watch as the flames catch on. Without anyone here to put this out, the building will soon be engulfed, and all evidence will be destroyed.

  “Let’s go,” I say, throwing the last bottle on one of the small fires.

  The three of us turn to walk off, but we don’t get far. The windows around us start shattering from stray bullets flying through them, forcing my mind to instantly go into survival mode.

  “Get down!” I holler, dropping to the floor, landing hard on my stomach.

  We are surrounded by piles of burning furniture, there are men outside trying to blow our heads off, and there is no way of knowing which one is going to kill us first. The ceiling above us has a thick layer of smoke starting to cover it, and the fresh oxygen coming from outside is feeding the flames making them double in size.

  “We need to find another way out of here. We can’t go out this door and the other exit is blocked,” I announce regretting that we didn’t move the furniture in one area before we set it on fire. There is too much area covered by fire with it spread out like this because we didn’t plan for a sneak attack as we were leaving. That falls on my head. I should have been two steps ahead of the enemy, not assuming they were all idiots.