Boomer

by K. L. Savage

  Boomer stares at me, the man that makes him gone replaced by something else; something sinister. His pupils go from wide to small dots as he focuses on me, just like a savage animal would. I don’t break eye contact, and he gets confused. Just like that, the dangerous energy, the lurking demons behind his eyes disappear, and his good wins the fight.

  I have an inkling that Boomer never loses a fight.

  He shuts the lighter and tosses it on the table. Right as I’m about to ask him again if he’s okay, his phone rings. He screens the call, checking the name on the screen, then he presses ignore and shoves it in his pocket. A trickle of curiosity makes me wonder who he’s ignoring. I think maybe it’s another woman, and jealousy roars its nasty head, and I’m shocked. I’ve never had that kind of reaction to someone before.

  Boomer takes a deep breath and then grabs the pile of clothes he had gotten out for me previously and hands them to me. “Here, sugar. Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll order us some Food? Maybe egg drop soup for you? I’ll be right outside.”

  “No!” I’ve said that word too many times. “I want you here.” My voice is small, and I take the clothes from his hand, and the material is soft; better than anything I’ve ever felt. Boomer squats in front of me, and a tease of his tattoos peek from the collar of his shirt, and his hands land on my bare knees.

  My pussy tingles, heat blooming across my sheath like the sun beaming across the ocean. I rub my thighs together, and Boomer’s nostrils flare as if he can smell my wetness. That wicked darkness inside of him comes forward, his eyes glowing again, and all I want to do is poke the bear and see how well he ravages.

  I want to, but that doesn’t mean I can. I don’t have the bravery, not yet, but I will because I want Boomer as mine. His shirt is still wet, and I can see the large, colorful tattoo across his chest through the thin material.

  And the nipples … don’t get me started on the nipples.

  “The way you’re looking at me…” he starts, taking a few deep breaths as he shuts his eyes. “You can’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you actually want me,” he says, but it’s the way he says it that crushes me. He sounds as if he can’t believe that I would want him. A woman who was supposed to be used up by men, and yet, he thinks I’m too good for him? I can never be good enough; that’s what I truly feel and believe.

  I know I’m not perfect right now, not by any means. I’ve lost weight, I have bruises, and my skin is pink, scratched to hell, and not pretty. I swallow the nervousness in my throat, lodged there like a damn log to suffocate me, and with a shaky hand, I reach for the towel tucked on the side near my breast. I want to undo it. I want to show him that I want him and that he can have me.

  But he stops me, and my feelings are crushed. I hold the towel to my frame, embarrassed, mortified, and ashamed. I can’t believe it. Am I so desperate to feel loved? To feel wanted. Why? It was the last thing I wanted with those biker men. The very last thing, but I want Boomer to want me, regardless of how he found me. I want to feel worthy.

  I want to be worthy for him.

  “Hey, sugar, none of that.” His wide thumb brushes under my eye, wiping a tear away.

  “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what I was thinking.” I try to get up and run to the bathroom to lock myself away, but he grabs my shoulders, a soft yet firm hold on me. “Please, let me go.” I beg just like I begged in the basement where the bikers lived. I hardly recognize my voice. My heart is breaking, and it’s in this moment I realize how sensitive I actually am. I never knew, but the rejection from Boomer is like pouring salt on an open wound. It stings, and it’s unbearable torture. How the hell am I supposed to stay here knowing I want him, and he doesn’t want me?

  “Look at me.” His voice turns to a bite with slight authority.

  I can’t help but to listen.

  “I am never going to let you go, you hear me?” His eyes are a raging blaze threatening to explode. “You’re going to be mine, Scarlett. Not today, but one day.”

  “But you said—”

  “No, you don’t get to put words in my mouth.” He lets out a shaky, distorted moan as his eyes land on where the towel is tucked in. “Sugar, you have no idea how much I want you. You’re beautiful, too beautiful for the likes of me, but I’m a selfish man, and I want you for myself, but I can’t have you right now. You aren’t ready; you’re scared. When I have you”—he runs his fingers over the ridge of my collarbone, and I shiver—“When I have you, the last thing I want to see in your eyes is fear. If I didn’t care about you, I’d let you take off that towel and give yourself to me, but because I do care, I can’t let you do that. Not right now, sugar.”

  “But you want me?” I ask him, needing to hear his words of reassurance again.

  “The only thing maybe you need to be afraid about is how much I want you. Once you’re mine, once I have you, no one else can, sugar. There will be no one else for you, for me. It doesn’t scare me. Maybe you need to be sure you want a man like me.”

  “What kind of man are you?”

  “The kind your mother warns you about, the kind your father doesn’t want you near, but the one your body can’t deny.” He stands and brushes the hair off my shoulder, humming in appreciation. “Now get dressed. I’m going to feed you, and then you’re going to sleep. I’m not comfortable walking the beach. It’s too soon for you to be out in the open.”

  His blunt, overly possessive words should make me feel unease, but it doesn’t. I only have one thing on my mind now. I gulp, staring at the sleep shirt in my hand that is my size. “Can I wear your shirt to bed again?”

  “You don’t like what I got you? I’m sorry—”

  “No, no, it isn’t that.” My throat turns dry, and my tongue struggles to form the words I want to say. It’s a bit embarrassing. “I like your clothes. They smell like you, and I feel safe in them.”

  Before I can blink, I have his shirt in my hand. He has a big goofy smile on his face, one I’ve never seen. “Sugar, you look better in my clothes than I do. You can wear whatever you want of mine.”

  I give him a shy smile and look over my shoulder to see him watching me. He is so intense. I get to the bathroom and shut the door, needing a breath because Boomer steals it.

  Dropping the towel, I shove a green shirt over my head and grab the front of it, bringing it to my nose to inhale. He smells so good. Wild and smoky, but not of cigarettes; of a bonfire. I relax and slip on simple cotton panties. Feels so much better than the dirty ones. I don’t worry with a bra. Bras suck.

  The door creaks as I open it again, and Boomer is just getting off the phone. I crawl into bed and sit up, covering my legs with the blanket.

  “Boomer?”

  “Sugar?”

  “Will … will you hold me tonight while I sleep? I had nightmares—”

  “You never have to explain why you want me to hold you. I’ll do it because there isn’t anything more in the world I want.”

  I’ve never felt something so intense before, not so fast. Maybe it’s a hero complex, maybe I see him as my savior … I don’t know. What I do know is my heart has never wanted to be accepted by someone so much before.

  I want to love him.

  And I want his love.

  It should scare me, but it doesn’t; it only makes me anticipate the day I can call him mine.

  11

  Boomer

  I was right when we were in the bathroom, and her body was against mine. She fits against me perfectly. Her palm-sized tits are against me, and her leg is wrapped around my hip. The space between her legs is teasing my hard cock. It seems my body has no problem reacting to her. I feel like I’m about to explode. I haven’t felt true pleasure in so long, and I want Scarlett to be the one to give it to me.

  I know the wait will be worth it. I’m not going to lie; I’m fucking relieved I can get it up for a woman because for a minute, I was afraid it was just going to be me and my hand
for the rest of my damn life.

  I bury my nose in her hair, and she lets out a soft, sleepy moan that has my heart tripping all over itself. She nestles her face into my neck, pressing her lips against my pulse, and I wonder if she can feel my heart rate spiking in her dreams. She has to because with the way it is thudding fast and hard, I just might have a heart attack.

  I inhale the lingering scent of shampoo and lazily play with her hair. She’s wrapped around me like a sloth on a tree, and anytime I move, she presses herself harder against me. I’ve never felt so wanted in my fucking life. This woman makes me feel like a king. But I need to get up. It’s around eleven at night, and I know Wolf is awake still, and I need to go talk to him to see if he has found a doctor.

  If only Doc were here, but I can’t call because they will just bring me back home. I don’t belong there anymore. I belong here. I’m not sure what my purpose is, but the fucked-up part of me has to be good for something here, and it has to deal with the Ruthless Kings in this city. I couldn’t do anything about my mental turmoil at home because I knew the guys would see me as weak. I already fight that within myself, but this, this situation with the girls and this club, it’s a chance to put my insanity to good use.

  Not that I think I’m insane; I really don’t know. I need to see a doctor again because it’s scaring the shit out of me. The constant, fucked-up thoughts and statements are wearing me down. And it sounds crazy, believe me, I’ve always spent an entire day with the one thought, “You’re crazy, you’re crazy, you’re crazy,” on repeat in my head. And I’ve heard that if you tell yourself something enough times, you start to believe it.

  Well, I’m starting to question it; that’s for sure.

  I tighten my hold around Scarlett's small waist, feeling her ribs beneath the shirt as they rub against my forearms. She’ll never worry again. She’ll never lack anything again. “I swear I’ll take care of you,” I say, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

  People will probably think I’m too young for this. I’m almost twenty-one, but I know the stereotype of people my age. Drink, party, fuck, but I grew up with that. I’ve seen things, I’ve done things; I’ve experienced shit no one else has, and I think that makes me a little bit older than twenty.

  I know when I have something good. Scarlett is good, too good, but I want to grow old with her. I want to spend my life with someone who gets me because I don’t get me, and I need someone there to love me when I really fucking hate myself.

  I bury my hand in the back of her hair, cupping her skull, and bring her closer, somehow. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake, never wanting to let her go. I feel so much better inside and out when I get to touch her.

  She’s light at the end of my long, windy, dark, fucked six-ways to Sunday tunnel.

  Placing one last kiss on her forehead, I try to pull away, but she tightens her grip around me. Soon I find myself on my back with her laying on top of me, her head laying on my chest. She mumbles something again, and it’s fucking adorable. She says my name, and I hold my breath so the rise and fall of my chest doesn’t wake her.

  Is she dreaming of me?

  “Boomer,” she says my name through a sleepy giggle. “So beautiful,” Scarlett sighs.

  I release my breath slowly when I hear her words. I don’t understand them. No one has ever thought of me as beautiful. I know I’m not, so however she sees me isn’t real. I’m no good for anyone.

  “Boomer,” she says again. “My Boom,” Scarlett mumbles, trying to bury her face in my chest again. My heart trips and falls over itself, and a small piece of my darkness turns to light. The constant intrusive thoughts slow and come to a stop.

  Clarity. I’m not sure how long it will last, but however long I have, I want to spend it holding the woman I’m falling quickly in love with.

  Her Boom.

  I like that. I want to be her everything.

  “What are you doing to me, Scarlett?” I whisper over the top of her head, running my fingers through the raven black hair. She’s so perfect, everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It’s like someone reached into my head and plucked her from my imagination, then sculpted and carved her out of the finest silk just for me.

  Scarlett is a gift, a fucking present, but for what? I don’t deserve to unwrap her, to smile when she bears herself to me when the time is right.

  I don’t care.

  I’ll have her anyway.

  I wrap my arm around her and roll her off me until she is on her side. I need to get up. I need to go talk to Wolf. Thirty minutes have gone by, and I need information on the club. I’m also debating calling home and seeing if a few guys, including Doc, will come out, but if I do that, the risk of going back home is greater.

  It’s so fucking hard leaving her. Is this what it's like with people who are in love? I need to get up, but I can’t. I just keep running my fingers through her inky hair and stare at her face. Her lips part while she dreams, and another giggle escapes her. She’s an active sleeper, and I find it so endearing. I want to watch her forever, take note of all of her idiosyncrasies, and relive them for the rest of my life.

  “Boomer,” she says my name like I’m trying to get frisky with her, and I lift a brow, waiting to hear what comes next, but of course, I don’t get to hear any of the good stuff. The tease. I’m left hanging. Just what is this woman dreaming about?

  Gathering her hair, I slide it over her shoulder and reveal the creamy flesh of her neck. The pulse of her heart beats beneath the skin, da dum, da dum, da dum. I lean down and press an open-mouth kiss to the precious beat.

  So warm, so soft, so sweet—so mine.

  I slip my arm from under her and take my time rolling off the bed to make sure I don’t wake her. She rolls back over to me, rolling on top of the arm I tried to get free of her, and she grabs onto it tight, like a monkey.

  My fingers run through my hair and then I scratch the side of my head, wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of this. She’s making this much harder than I thought it would be. I snag the pillow I sleep on and press it against her hand that’s latched to my arm like a leech.

  I love it.

  Her hand finally lets go of me, and she grabs the pillow, tucking it all the way to her body. She lays her cheek against the soft cushion, just like she does my chest, and sighs in content. I finally get off the bed, stand, and stretch. When I look at the time, another fifteen minutes have gone by, and I shake my head. This girl is always going to make me lose track of time.

  That’s alright. I’m no longer in a hurry to change my life. Time has brought me where I needed to be, and now if the clocks wanted, they could stop ticking just so I can be with Scarlett without the worry of never having enough time.

  Fuck, alright, if I don’t get out of here now, I’m going to crawl back into bed with her and forget my responsibilities. I open the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed and grab my gun. It’s a nine-millimeter; nothing too fancy. It’s simple and effective. It does the job right. I shove it into the waistband of my shorts, under my shirt so it’s well hidden, and make my way out the door.

  I lock it behind me and push the key in my pocket when I’m done. The wind is cool from the sea, and it makes me relax, but not enough to stop the thoughts. Now that I’m not near her, the incessant thoughts are roaring back.

  You’re worthless. Stupid. It will stop if you kill yourself. Just do it. No one would care. No one would miss you.

  I argue with myself, pressing my hands against my forehead, and tell myself it’s not true and that I’d never kill myself, ever.

  But the thoughts mock me, playing over and over again on a vicious loop.

  Think of Scarlett. Think of her.

  I bring an image up of her, her beautiful body, her kind smile, her long hair, the way she says my name in her sleep, and my mind eases. The cruel thoughts slow down until they’re nothing but a faint whisper in the back of my mind.

  Now that I have my shit together, barely, I make my way down th
e steps of the piece of shit porch, and my boots sink into the sand as I make my way to the other side of the motel to see Wolf. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadow.

  It could be my imagination. It’s dark, and my mind could be playing tricks on me, but with the threat of the Ruthless Kings and their vengeance to find out whoever blew up their clubhouse circulating around the city, I can’t take too many chances. I have to protect Scarlett at all costs.

  I get my gun out and press my back against the wall. Wolf comes out of the door, and when he sees me, I lift my finger to my mouth to tell him to be quiet. He reaches behind him and pulls out his own weapon. The silver of the handle shines off the moonlight, and I appreciate the piece in his hand. It’s much bigger than my nine-millimeter. One shot of that thing, and it will blow someone’s fucking brains out.

  “What is it?” Wolf whispers.

  “Thought I saw someone,” I say, cutting the corner into the poorly lit hallway. It’s another thing I need to add to the list of things to repair on this place. I creep forward, keeping my gun in front of me. All I can see is the other end. The moon is so bright, casting its light on the parking lot and making it easy to see. I keep going, my boots silent as a well-known killer. Wolf being as big as he is, is quiet as a mouse, surprisingly having my six.

  For a Ruthless King out of Atlantic City, he isn’t so bad.

  I come out of the other end of the hallway, surveying the area I look left and right, my gun out in front of me at the ready, and that’s when I see someone leaning against my bike.

  “You better get off my fucking bike before I blow your damn brains out,” I seethe through clenched teeth. I can only see a slight silhouette of the person and a glowing ember dot appears in the dark, telling me he’s smoking. I cock my gun, letting the click of a bullet sliding into place grab the man’s attention.