by K. L. Savage
Reaper clears his throat, bringing the conversation back around. “Someone blew your place up. For what?”
One of their club whores walks from the bar, carrying a tray with a bottle of Jack and beer. As she comes closer, I notice a blue scarf around her neck, tied to the side. It’s loose, and I can see the same mark Scarlett has on her neck. This isn’t a club slut; this is a victim. Her eyes are a bit glazed over, her movements robotic and empty of all human motion. She’s topless, tits out with bite marks on them, and her shorts should be considered panties with how much of her ass shows.
“They took some merchandise of mine, but you know what I think? I think it was one of my own. Hey!” He snaps his fingers like he has an idea, and he falls forward, the front two legs of the chair hitting the floor so hard, I swear one of the boards cracks. Hell, I’m not going to die in a fight; I’m going to fucking croak because the floor is going to fall out from under me, burying me in wood and nails. “You know what, you can help me find my property.”
The woman places our drinks on the table, not looking at any of us, but I see the bruises over her body. The way Reaper stares at her and how he pops his neck tells me he isn’t happy about what he sees too.
Another woman fumbles onto the stage, crying when she catches herself on her hands and knees. I’m sure the wood digging into her skin doesn’t feel too good. I get up to help her, but Reaper tugs me back down by my cut, giving me a slight shake of his head.
“Stupid clumsy bitch.” Venom throws a full beer bottle on stage, and it crashes right above the woman’s head. She covers herself, screaming, and it’s clear she’s shaking. “Dance, whore!” he shouts, and Reaper laughs right along with him. Tool whistles by placing his fingers in his mouth, and Tongue isn’t paying attention. He’s carving a knife in the table with his knife.
The man is obsessed.
“What kind of merchandise are we talking here, Venom?” Reaper takes a swig of his beer and makes a sound of delight when he swallows. “Fuck, that tastes good.”
Venom crooks his finger as he leans his forearms on the table, telling us to come closer. “You know how the MC is. It’s a business.”
Reaper nods. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Well, my business brings in good money. Women, Reaper. I sell women. Now, I know it’s a little different, but the money it too good. Virgins sell for the highest, but we never get them because once I have ’em, I need that cherry for myself; you know what I mean?” Venom nudges Reaper in the side and takes a joint from his cut pocket. He places it in between his lips and inhales, sending a cloud of thick smoke in the air.
Tool chugs his beer, and Tongue is really shaving away at the table. The guys are getting pissed. Acting is exhausting when we agree with nothing Venom is talking about. How much longer is this going to go on for?
“One of my men, Wolf, took off the other day with four of my girls. There was one…” he says with a hungry grin and a lick of his lips. “She had long black hair and these small tits that were to die for.”
I dig my fingers into my thighs and try to breathe, trying not to give me and the guys away by breaking character, but rage is blinding me. He’s talking about Scarlett. My Scarlett. Mine. I can’t be in here much longer. I’m going to kill him.
Kill them. Kill them. Kill them.
This time, I don’t completely disagree with my intrusive thoughts.
I welcome them.
19
Scarlett
The grains of sand rub against my toes as I sit on the beach, burrowing them as far as I can. I love the way the sand feels, gritty and rough, yet beautiful and soft all at the same time. I’m sitting on a soft blanket I got at the mall, a small cooler next to me, and a beer in my hand as I watch the waves.
It really is beautiful here.
With all the bad that happened to me, you’d think the first thing I’d want to do is leave this city, but it feels right, or maybe it’s Boomer who feels right. I always heard people make a home; a place is just an empty idea without love and happiness. There’s no meaning or importance to it if the heart isn’t involved.
Well, mine is involved, and Boomer has become my home. I know wherever we go, every place will feel like that because he’s with me.
I smile, thinking about last night, and bring the cold bottle to my neck to cool me down.
“And just what do you think you’re doing out here all by yourself, sugar?”
“Boomer!” I squeal in excitement and get to my feet as fast as possible. I run over to him with a big smile on my face and jump toward him. He catches me in his arms and swings me off the ground as if he’s just as excited to see me as I am him.
I toss my head back and laugh as he spins us around, and he brings us to the blue blanket I’ve laid out on the ground. I straddle his lap, staring into the dark eyes I’ve come to love.
“I fucking missed you, sugar.”
I look down, nowhere particular, just the space between us, and grin. “I missed you too. How…” I hate to think about what it was like at the clubhouse. “How was it over there?”
He blows out a breath and lays back. His shirt rises, showing the skin above the waistband of his jeans. The dark happy trail makes my mouth water. I know exactly what that path leads to, and I want to follow it until my mouth is full, and my man is happy and sated.
“Kiss me first. I need to feel you.”
I lower myself, my elbow bending to allow me to get closer. I keep my hair back with my other hand and place a soft kiss on the lips that changed my life.
“Nothing feels better than your lips. I needed that,” Boomer says, rubbing his hands up and down my back. “Nothing feels better than you.”
I fall to the side and prop myself up. “Are you okay?” My finger draws hearts on his chest, not that he will notice, but I know, and it gives me a small inkling of feeling like a little girl with a crush.
“I’m so lucky that Abigale came here. I know that’s fucked up of me to say because she’s still healing and when she got here, I thought she was going to die. If she didn’t come here, I wouldn’t have you. Those fucking animals would have you and—” he sits up and rubs his hands over his face. “I want to kill them, kill them, kill them,” he says, slowly chanting in a sardonic tone. He sounds hypnotized. Maybe he has said this before? Or thought it? He sounds comfortable saying it, which I shouldn’t be okay with, but I am. I hate those men and I want them dead. I wish I could kill them myself, but I don’t have it in me.
I’m not a killer.
But Boomer is.
And I’m thankful he’s relentless when it comes to me because the man in my corner will protect me until in the end.
“We have to go back. There are a few girls there walking around with the same marks that you and your friends have. They have a shed in the back, chained and locked. I need to know more. They want us to find the people who came in and took you ladies. They want us to be part of it, as a paid gig.”
I scoot away and try to remain calm. He reaches for my hand. “I always need to be touching you. You quiet the chaos inside me.”
“You do the same for me, Boomer. I need you to stay safe.” I tickle the small stump where a finger use to be and hold his hand up to get a better look. “What happened?”
“I was beaten, strung up, and some fucker cut my damn finger off.”
I blink at him, stunned, bothered, scared, curious, and so many other feelings and thoughts drift through me from his blunt statement. “Wha— Boomer, I need you to be safe. Is it those guys? Do they get you in trouble?”
“No, sugar. It isn’t anything like that. I promise; I’ll be alright.” Boomer takes runs his fingers through the ends of my hair before pushing each side over my shoulders.
“Promise?” I ask quietly, wringing his shirt together between my fingers. “I’m nervous about this, Boomer. They aren’t good men.”
He shakes his head and cups my cheek, his thumb laying against the apples of my cheek, rubbing
the pad of his finger side to side. “They aren’t good men, but we are, and we have to put a stop to it, so it doesn’t happen to other women, like you. God, how that Prez talked about you—”
“He talked about me!” I yelp and try to scatter off Boomer’s lap, but his grip is strong and unwavering.
“Sugar, listen to me. I don’t want to ever lie to you, but you are his first order of business.”
Fear wraps around my throat, reminding me of that damn collar, and squeezes tight. Fear’s fingers drip with blood and the broken dreams of others, but its hold isn’t slippery. It’s sure. It holdfast. It loves to take prisoners.
And I’m next.
“Sugar.” Boomer tries his best to get my attention, but the beautiful beach morphs from the soft sand to the dark basement of the house, the water fades to chains, and the stars twinkling above are now the shadows of loud footsteps above me. I’m suddenly on my back, and Boomer is wiping away my tears. “Hey, look at me,” he says sweetly.
I don’t want to open my eyes because I’m afraid to see him. What if Boomer changes to? What if when I look at him, I see the men who chained me, hit me, tortured me?
“Look at me,” he repeats, and this time I can’t disobey him. I snap my eyes open, preparing to see someone else, but Boomer’s brown eyes flicker that golden hue that I love, and his plump lips come closer to mine. Those lips can never be replaced by anyone else, they can never change; they’re too unique, to precise in their skill. “There’s my sugar,” he says with a smile. “I’m never going to let anything happen to you. Ever.”
I hold onto him tight. I scramble against him, lifting his shirt to feel his skin. Boomer is warm, and the shivers of that dreaded fear finally dissipates now that I have my hands on him.
“I love it when you touch me; you quiet all the noise.” Boomer rolls his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. “You have no idea how loud it gets.”
“What gets loud, Boomer? You can talk to me.” I skim my hands up his shirt until my palms are on his chest. He gets more comfortable and settles between my legs. Boomer starts to kiss down my neck, and his hands grip my tank top, pulling up and over my head then laying it beside me on the blanket. “Boomer.” I try to get his attention, but he’s igniting the fire inside me, slowly making me forget what we were talking about.
He works his way down one side of my body, then he kisses his way up the other. He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and the sensual flick of his tongue lulls my hips to rock against his hard cock. “My head, sugar. You quiet all the fucked-up noise inside my head. You make me feel normal, feel human, and you have idea how wonderful it is to finally feel peace.” Boomer kisses my cheek. “You have no idea by just having that, I’m addicted to you.”
“What goes on inside your head?” I ask, trying to keep some sense about me. Trying to speak right now is impossible. The air is humid with our lust, and I can hardly think of anything else when his body is on top of mine.
“Right now? Feeling that tight pussy around my cock,” he says with a wicked grin, nudging my lips open with his mouth. “You want that? Right here? Right now?” He grinds himself in the space of my legs, hitting my clit with every stroke.
“You said…” I swallow, coating my parched throat. “You said you didn’t want anyone to see me—”
“They aren’t.” He slides his fingers under my shorts and dips inside under my panties. “I’d never let anyone see my woman naked and bared to me. Your body is for me and no one else, Scarlett.” Boomer pushes two fingers inside me, circling them around and around just like he does his cock. “So wet for me, sugar.” He pulls out of me, leaving me needy and on edge. He brings his fingers up to his lips and sucks them into his mouth. Boomer’s eyes roll back from my taste. “So fucking sweet, like nectar. Taste yourself.”
I open my mouth, expecting him to put his fingers between my lips, but he shoves them between my legs unexpectedly. Just as I’m about to cry out, he removes them and silences me with his fingers. “Suck,” he demands.
I wrap my tongue around his fingers and moan. I never thought I’d like how I taste. It’s erotic and dirty.
The sound of his zipper is barely heard over the waves. They crash against the shore like my heart is against my ribcage. He yanks his fingers free and reaches down to guide his cock between my legs. “Boomer—”
He slams his palm over my mouth and slides his long shaft to the hilt. His mouth drops open as he drops himself closer, our bodies still clothed, and the delicious rub his jeans against my sensitive folds make me groan, but it can’t be heard, not when he’s muting me with his large palm.
“I said to call me Jenkins. Anytime I’m inside this body, you’ll call me Jenkins.” He rears back and slams inside me. “This is going to be fast, sugar. I want you to fucking much.” Boomer dips his head to my shoulder and continues to pound into me and the drag of my shorts tickle my clit along with every punch of his cock.
Sand flies onto the blanket, and I dig my feet into the sand to stop us from moving, but every stroke he gives me is harder than the last, and it makes the blanket drag. I don’t even care if I bury in the damn sand if it means experiencing this amount of pleasure.
Even with the cool breeze, my skin is sticky from the salt and sweat. My body gets hotter, my orgasm climbing to the stars, and I clutch onto Boomer, wishing he could be closer. I need him more. He must feel my desperate cling because he takes his hand off my mouth, replacing it with his lips. I pour my cries of pleasure down his throat, and he grunts in return. Stealing my hands in a hard grip, he slams them above my head and into the sand. They get buried from the pressure he puts on them, and he’s able to get more leverage to curl his hips harder.
I rip my lips away and suck in a much-needed breath. “Jenkins!”
“Shhh, sugar. You’re going to let everyone know what we’re doing.”
“Is that so bad?” I moan. “Jenkins, I’m so close. I’m right there.”
“Yes, it’s bad, and the fact you want people to see us makes me wonder if I need to fuck you harder to remind you who you belong to.”
Belong.
“You’re mine,” he snarls, plummeting his thickness until my inner walls ache and clamp around him. “Now, fucking come before I have to kill someone for seeing you shatter beneath me.”
If I was more stubborn, I wouldn’t just to spite him, but the pleasure he gives me is out of this word, and my body let’s go, obeying its master. I fall apart under him just like he wants, and a strong rumble of the orgasmic earthquake rumbling my core breaks me, sinking me deeper into the abyss of sand. My body is weightless, and now the only stars I see are the ones of blinding pleasure.
“Scarlett.” My name is a light tremble in his throat as he comes, filling me up with his warm seed. He gives me a lazy kiss, timid and slow. We groan in unison when he pulls out of me, and his cum gushes out of me in a hurry; that’s when I realize I have nothing to clean up with.
Boomer sees his fleeting cream and gathers it in his fingers to push it back inside me, and then he slides my panties into place to hold it. “I want you to walk around with me between your legs and maybe you’ll remember the only man who needs to see you is me.”
Like I could ever forget.
20
Boomer
“Do you really need to go back to that place?” Scarlett sits cross-legged on the bed, wearing my t-shirt and little pink sleep shorts that make me wish I didn’t have to go back to that shithole.
“You know I do,” I say, slinging the bag over my shoulder that has my cut and weapons in it. I’ve been lying to her all this time. If I don’t come clean soon, she’s going to hate me, and it will be the biggest regret I’ve ever had in my life. I’m too afraid to tell her. I don’t want her to think I’m like them, and I know once she sees the cut, she’ll run for her life.
I should chase her, but why would I when I know she’d be better off without me?
“I know. I just … there’s this weight on
my chest when I know you’re there, and I can’t breathe, Boomer. I can’t breathe knowing you’re there and I’m here, because I just keep thinking— what if I never see you again?”
“Sugar, the only way you’d never see me again is if I’m six-feet under.” That’s not the right choice of words because the heated rage in those narrowing blue eyes of hers makes me regret what I said instantly.
“This isn’t a joke! They could kill you.”
I drop the bag off my shoulder and sling it to the side. I don’t give her time to get away. I cup her face and straddle her thighs, using my weight to keep her pinned down. She jerks her face away from me when I try to hold her chin, and a tear breaks free. “I’m sorry, sugar. Last thing I ever wanted to do was make you upset. You need to have faith in me. I love you, sugar. I need your faith, okay?”
“Oh, Boomer, you have my faith.” Her cold palms grip my wrist that holds her delicate face. “It’s them I’m worried about. They are … they are…”
The word she’s looking for is ruthless.
And she has no idea just how ruthless I can be too.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before you know it, and when I get back, I want that hot little mouth wrapped around my cock.”
Oh, that got her to stop being difficult.
“Hey, put your cock in your pants. We’re heading out!” Tool bangs his fist against the new door Homer replaced earlier today.
“I got to go, sugar.”
“No,” she whispers, leaning her cheek against my hand.
I bring her lips to mine and kiss her like it’s the last time. It won’t be, but kissing like it’s the last time? It’s the best fucking kiss there is, so why not do it every time I walk out the door? “Fuck, you taste good. Alright, I need to go.” Or I’ll let the guys handle it and stay wrapped up in these sheets with my woman all day. Once all this is over, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m going to lay her down on silk fucking sheets, so I can see that pale skin slide across something just as soft.
