Taz (Tarnished Souls MC Book 2)

by Dusty Lassetter

  I start to turn around, opting to give the men privacy, when I see Taz raise his hand in a motion to stop Torch from talking. His lips start moving at the same time he brings his gaze back to mine. Without waiting on a response from either of the men Taz starts prowling toward me with a look in his eyes I’ve never seen. His perfectly beautiful green globes are keeping me captivated as his long legs stride toward me like he’s on a mission. The t-shirt he is wearing is baggier than usual, but he pulls it off anyway. Everything about this man screams badass biker, the size of his shirt isn’t going to change that.

  All too soon, he is in my personal space, towering over me with his large frame. My feet leave the ground when he lifts me up, slamming his mouth onto mine like he has all the right in the world to do so. All the shattered pieces of my heart start mending themselves with the gesture. I forget about all the people that could be watching. I forget about all the things we’ve been through, and simply enjoy the feeling of his lips on mine. His touch is softer than it was last time, almost like he’s savoring the moment. With each swipe of his tongue, and every growl from his throat, he brings peace to my soul.

  “You smell like flowers,” he says, tearing his lips form mine like it bothers him to do so.

  “It must be my lotion,” I explain, remembering the brand-new bottle of body lotion I bought a few months back. At the time I was concentrating on getting anything that didn’t have a sweet smell. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to use my vanilla bean body butter again.

  “I need a shower,” Taz states, setting me back on my feet. It’s only then I notice the thick layer of soot on his normally-tanned skin, and the injuries all over his hand.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, pulling at his arm to get a closer look at his cuts.

  “Hey,” Taz says, forcing me to look into his eyes, “I’m fine. Trust me, okay.”

  His words are too heavy to only be talking about his wellbeing. In this moment, I can tell Taz is asking me to trust him on more than just his health. Mesmerized by his green irises, I simply nod my head in agreeance. It won’t be easy, but I can find a way to trust the man that owns me heart, body, and soul.

  “Good,” he whispers before giving me a kiss on the tip of my nose. This is the most affectionate thing I’ve ever seen Taz do, and I find it hard not to laugh. This rugged man’s-man is showing me, and his brothers watching, that he does indeed have a soft side.

  I say nothing as he pulls me through the clubhouse, leading me right to his room. Within seconds after the door shuts, he is ripping the oversized shirt from his body, and preparing to do the same to his dirty jeans. I quickly turn my back to him, deciding privacy is much needed, and my ears are instantly filled with his throaty laughter.

  “I’m guessing you did that for yourself because we both know I’m not shy,” he says.

  How did we get here? That’s what I’m asking myself right now. We went from being friends, to something more from our time spent in that basement, to not talking at all, back to friends, and now we are in new territory, all in the space of a year. Is this normal, or is this how every complicated relationship moves forward, like a rollercoaster threatening to derail off the tracks?

  “Umm,” I start making noises because I have no idea what to say right now, “I think we need to discuss what this is.”

  “I’m going to take a shower, then we can talk,” he says.

  Hearing the door close to the bathroom then the shower turning on, makes my stomach twist with knots. I’m nervous for many reasons, but the biggest one is finally having to tell Taz the truth about what happened to me when he was getting the help he needed from the doctor when we were being kept as human pets. I’ve only told one other person about that night, and that’s because I had no choice, but I knew the doctor would keep my secret, he legally had to. It’s the memory that haunts my dreams and reminds me of the pure evil walking around among us. It’s the memory I would do anything to forget.

  Taz and I never did have a talk after he got out of the shower. We laid together on the bed, until he finally fell asleep holding me. I was grateful for the extra time to get my thoughts together, and when nightfall came around I was determined to tell him everything. Then we got the call, the call that would make everything going on in our lives seem juvenile in comparison. Saint was out of surgery, but he wasn’t waking up.

  The clouds that are slowly masking the hospital in darkness fit the mood of every person in this room. The wind from the storms rolling in is bending the trees, threatening to break them, but the solid trunks hold strong, refusing to give up. That’s what Teller is doing. He is the only one standing in this room with faith his brother will wake up.

  The doctors said they did everything they could, but Saint’s brain scans show no sign of activity. He lost a lot of blood while they were performing his surgery and there was a complication. He flatlined on the table, but they were able to revive him, and finish sewing up all the damage that tiny piece of lead caused. It wasn’t until he didn’t wake up in recovery that the doctors knew the complications weren’t over. He’s in a coma. There are tubes and wires surrounding him. All his piercings have been removed, and he looks like he’s peacefully sleeping, but the breathing machine next to his bed contradicts that. The tiny beeps of his heart monitor ricochet off the walls reminding us all of the heartbreaking decision Teller must make. Do you hold onto hope that your brother will wake up, or allow the doctors to take him off the machines, going along with the inevitable?

  Taz walks over to the window I’m staring out of, placing his arm around my waist. We haven’t talked much since we arrived at the hospital early this morning. Whatever this is between us can wait to be figured out. Right now, we need to focus on supporting our family. Teller needs to realize he isn’t losing everyone, that we are still here for him.

  I can’t bear to look at Teller anymore without crying, and that’s why I’m so concentrated on the weather outside. The heartache shining through his blue eyes is enough to bring the devil to his knees with sympathy. No one knows if he has eaten. None of us even know if he has moved from the spot he is taking up next to his brother’s bed. Standing tall and strong just staring into the lifeless face of Saint, the only weakness he shows can be seen burning behind black pupils. Maybe he is praying for the miracle the doctors said we needed, but every time I look at him I can only see a man slowly dying alongside the only blood family he has left.

  A soft knock on the door has everyone’s heads turning toward the left side of the room. Sammy and Mia scoot out of the way long enough for the doctor to enter. The look on his face when he sees all the leather-clad men almost brings a smile to my lips, but his surprised expression doesn’t last long when he looks toward the center of the room. Carrying a clipboard and pen, he makes his way over to Teller.

  “I’ve brought the papers we talked about. If you would rather do this in private we can go to my office,” he suggests, looking around at all the people listening in on their conversation.

  Dr. Holmes is an older gentleman with trusting eyes. You can tell he’s been doing this a while from the frown lines around his mouth. It seems in his career he has given more bad news than good. It must be hard to tell family their loved ones may never wake up again.

  “We’re all family here, doc. You can say whatever you need to say,” My dad interferes stepping into the doctor’s line of sight.

  The doctor looks to Teller for confirmation before explaining everything on the form that Teller is to sign. “We took your brother down to get another brain scan early this morning. There was some small activity, but not enough to suggest he is aware or will wake up.”

  “But there is a chance,” my dad interrupts the doctor with a new-found hope in his voice

  “No,” the doctor answers, looking directly into the eyes of my father, “the chances of Mr. Garcia waking up are slim. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it would take a direct miracle from God himself. The activity shown can’t be explaine
d, but it’s common in people in a comatose state. We talked before about him being an organ donor, I’ve brought the paperwork for you to go over, Mr. Williams.”

  Teller doesn’t reach out to take the clipboard. He breaks eye contact with the doctor to give his brother his full attention. The sorrow in the room can be felt like the wind outside. It’s threatening to break us, but much like the trees, everyone refuses to crumble. Mia is holding onto her sister Sammy, who is crying silent tears for the friend she’s losing, while Torch takes on the weight of both them. Hammer and Rebecca are in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around one another, while Rebecca tries to keep her tears from falling. Scarlett, the only woman in this room to ever interact with Teller, has taken shelter in the other corner of the room. Her eyes are full of curiosity and sorrow as she watches the scene unfold. Taz secures his arm around my waist, reminding me I have someone to catch me if I should fall, while my dad bows his head to hide the heartache in his eyes. The room is silent, no one has the strength to talk.

  Staring at Teller, because I can’t force my eyes away anymore, I watch as he places his hand on Saint’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Mi hermano.”

  I see his lips move, and hear his words being echoed around the quiet room, but I can’t believe what I am witnessing. Teller has never talked because he can’t, or so we thought. Yet, the raspy, to the point of sounding painful, gravelly words came from him. His raw, cold tone sends shivers down my spine. I can’t help imagine that’s what a real-life demon would sound like if they too had a voice.

  “Mi hermano,” Teller repeats, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. With his hand still on the shoulder of his brother, this seemingly indestructible man does the impossible. Falling to his knees, chin tucked into his chest, Teller breaks.

  “Saint Jude, special patron in my time of need, to you have recourse from the depth of my heart, and humbly beg you to help me now in my urgent need and grant my earnest petition to save my brother,” Teller’s voice grows weak as the prayer goes on. The pain from him having to talk is evident in his tone, but he refused to give up.

  “As long as there is a hope for a miracle he won’t sign that paper,” my dad says disrupting the miracle that just occurred in the room. Teller has a voice, he can talk, and the look of shock on everyone’s face proves I wasn’t the only one that believed he couldn’t.

  “I urge you…”

  “You heard him,” Taz interrupts Dr. Holmes, “Saint is a survivor. Who are we to take his chance of surviving away.”

  I can see the minute the doctor realizes he is fighting a losing battle. His shoulders sag, and his look of indifference is replaced with sympathy. He’s probably witnessed this countless times, the families of the comatose patient not wanting to give up.

  “I understand,” he whispers. “I’ll have the papers drawn up to move him. This is a hospital, he’ll need to be moved to a rehabilitation facility.”

  “How long will that take?” My dad asks.

  “The earliest he can be moved is Monday morning. You’ll have the weekend to figure out what facility to choose. I’ll keep Mr. Garcia in my prayers,” the doctor says before walking out of the room holding the signature-free papers on his clipboard.

  Taz

  I had to get out of that hospital. Not that sitting in the cab of Big Country’s truck is any better, but at least I don’t have to pretend to be okay. Not a single club member, and I’m strictly talking about the guys, looked like they wanted to be there. Saint is our brother, our friend, someone we vowed to protect and I can’t stand seeing him like that. I’m smart enough to know breaking down in front of Teller, in that hospital, would be a bad idea. I was smart enough to get the hell out of there.

  “Where are we going?” Serenity asks, her voice soothing away the worse of my sorrow. I’ve witnessed too much death in my life, I don’t think I’m capable of doing it again.

  “I need to bring Big Country his truck back. My spare bike is waiting at his place for us to take back to Brady.”

  “In the rain?” She questions, making it a point to bend forward and look at the black clouds steadily rolling over the city streets of Austin.

  “If it rains, yeah,” I answer, keeping my eyes on the road ahead of us. If I were to look at her right now, I would want to get lost in her innocent blue eyes, allowing the rest of the world to fall away, but I need to face my reality. I was the leader on the mission that did this to Saint, it was my decision to torch the place, and my lack of vigilance that got him shot. His blood stains my hands just as much today as it did the night I failed him as his vice president.

  Serenity goes silent beside me, opting to focus on the thoughts running through her head. I haven’t asked how she’s feeling, nor will I. Everyone has their own perception of death, and that’s the next step for Saint. I see it as something final, irreversible, that leaves the rest of us still living wishing for something more. That is what religion is to me. It’s a way for people to cope with the death of their loved ones, and the fear of dying themselves. The knot is easier to swallow if there is hope of an afterlife. Don’t get me wrong I grew up believing, and even prayed before I would go to bed at night. Then, my mother became sick with cancer. At just ten years of age, I listened as she cried herself to sleep at night, begging for a miracle that would keep her with our family. I had to witness the life being poisoned out of her body, making her frail and weak. I too prayed for a cure, for a miracle, but nothing ever happened. My mother was slowly dying, so I began to beg God for mercy on my mother’s behalf because I couldn’t stand to see her struggle for breath anymore. Nothing happened. My mother fought with everything she had for two years until her body had more poison than blood. She died when I was twelve, and my dad moved us from Australia to the states. He couldn’t bear to stay in the house that held her memories. He became a raging alcoholic shortly after, and I was left to fend for myself, parentless.

  Big Country is waiting for us outside when we pull up. He is standing beside my very first Harley, the one I keep stored away and only ride occasionally, and judging by the solemn look on his face Buck called and brought him up to date on Saint’s condition.

  “Sorry to hear about your enforcer,” Big.C. states. “If there is anything me or my men can do don’t hesitate to ask,” he says loud enough for me to hear him while I open the passenger-door for Serenity.

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply while walking up. Handing him the keys, I turn to give Serenity the helmet I had in the back of the truck. There’s no reason for the two of us to be unsafe.

  “Hi,” she says, looking past me to Big Country, “I’m Serenity,”

  “Buck’s daughter,” they both finish at the same time, causing me to look from him to her.

  “That’s me,” she says, giving him a kind smile.

  It never occurred to me to introduce her to him, and now I know why. I don’t want him looking at her like that, and I definitely don’t want her to smile at him. There’s a strange feeling blooming in my chest that I haven’t felt in years. Jealousy.

  “I can’t believe we’ve never met before now,” Big Country, the asshole, says, taking a step forward. Right now, in this moment, I want to rip off the hand he is offering to Serenity and shove it down his throat. Maybe I haven’t witnessed enough death like I thought because all I can picture is his.

  “Brice, but people call me Big Country,” he says, introducing himself.

  “I love your accent,” Serenity sweetly smiles, eating up that country boy drawl he uses to get easy pussy. I know he layers it on thick for women because I’ve been to parties with him. I’ve seen the rewards it brings.

  “Most women do,” I grunt out, watching as he wraps his big paw around Serenity’s tiny hand, completely engulfing it.

  Five seconds, yes I’m pathetic enough to count, is how long it takes for their hands to separate, and only because I start waving the helmet around.

  “You
in a hurry?” Deadman walking asks, looking at Serenity not me.

  Serenity looks at me, and I can see the knowledge in her eyes. She knows my green monster is rearing its ugly head, and decides to take pity on me when any other woman would make me suffer.

  “Yes, we are, but I’ll let my dad know you’re only a phone call away. Nice to meet you, Brice,” she sweetly says before pulling the helmet over her head. Locking the straps, going under her chin, for her I then climb on the back of my bike.

  The solid-black paint is chipped in places, but the Harley Davidson logos on the sides of the gas-tank still stand out. I’ve never been a fancy guy. Plain and simple is what I like when it comes to looks, but the sound of my bike is different. I want her to sound mean, like a storm you can’t get away from.

  I prime the engine before placing my booted-foot on the old-school knurled kick-start petal. Using my entire-weight as my leverage I bring the petal all the way down, making sure to follow through with the motion. Nothing happens, which isn’t a surprise. It’s always taken a bit of work to get her started.

  Three tries later and the first bike I ever owned comes to life under me. The roar of her engine causes the ground beneath us to vibrate, sending a smile to Big Country’s face. There’s just something about that rumble that makes a man feel more powerful.

  Gesturing for Serenity to climb on, I relish the feeling of having her arms wrapped around me. Her life is now in my hands, and that too makes me feel more powerful. Knowing she loves to be on the back of a bike I take off without warning, the thundering of my bike leaving Austin and its shitty memories behind. When she tightens her hold, I decide going faster will be worth the many speeding tickets in my future. As long as she’s pressing her tight body against mine, I’ll pay any fine thrown at me.