Tool

by K. L. Savage

  “What can you tell us?” Reaper asks next. “Believe me, Tool is the tamest of the bunch. You don’t want us to work down the line. If Tongue gets ahold of you, you won’t ever speak again, kid. So tell us everything.”

  He nods quickly and licks his lips; his entire body nearly convulses with shivers. The barb wire pricks his skin, and little blood droplets start to flow down his skin. “Okay, please, I swear.” He groans when he tilts his head back to deal with the pain flowing through his body. “Sheriff is an ass.”

  I snort and grip the handle of the screwdriver, threatening to yank it out and force it in another place. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

  “He visits that house three times a week,” he says, his stomach quickly bouncing with every fast breath he inhales through his nose. “All the cops know about the place.”

  I lift my brow to Reaper. “All cops?” I ask again, wondering if Badge knows about it too, and why he hasn’t said anything.

  “Yeah, all. It’s not a good neighborhood. Drugs, money laundering, fights, sex; anything you want, you can get it there.”

  “At that house?” Tongue drawls, his blade shimmering against the light.

  The deputy’s eyes round, and another well of tears threaten to spill. What a fucking bitch. Can’t handle a little pain; what kind of life did this pussy have? “The house is well known for it,” he says just as the smell of urine fills the air.

  “Have you been inside?”

  He shakes his head. “No, Sheriff always tells me to wait on the porch. I’ve only been there three times, and every time is the same. Sheriff gives a wad of cash over, and then I don’t see him for a few hours. He comes out smelling like sex, sweat, and smoke. That’s all I know. I swear to god, that’s all I know. I’m new at this. I’ve only been a cop two weeks. Please.”

  “You know about us?” Knives asks.

  “Everyone knows who the Ruthless Kings are,” the young buck says and then closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and the tears stop. He gets himself together. “If you’re going to kill me, do it now; give me that. I’ve told you everything I know.”

  Well now that the fear is gone, I don’t want to kill him. He took the fun out of it. “Why aren’t you shaking like you were before?”

  “I know my fate,” he says. “Just do it.”

  “How old you are, kid?” Reaper asks, lightening up a cigarette. “Want one?” I want to laugh as he offers a smoke to the man bound to the chair.

  The guy looks confused for a second and shakes his head. “Don’t smoke.” He stares at Reaper with confusion. “I’m nineteen.”

  “Holy fuck, kid. Have you even gotten your cock wet?” I laugh and then yank my screwdriver out of his arm, also pulling out a scream from him that bounces off the walls. It feeds Tongue because he steps out of the shadows and fights himself from going over to the guy and cutting his tongue out.

  “I… I’ve had sex. What the fuck? Kill me; get on with it!” The kid closes his eyes, and I sigh, knowing damn good and well we aren’t going to kill some nineteen-year-old boy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “What do you know about the sheriff’s daughter? What’s his plan with her?”

  “I can find out,” he says as the idea comes to surface. “I can do whatever you want me to. I’ll be your liaison.”

  “You realize if you fuck us, you’re dead, right? You and everyone you love,” I threaten.

  “I know.” He gulps, and his gaze lands on all of us. “I won’t let you down.”

  Huh, maybe if we didn’t fuck him too much, we may have just found ourselves a new prospect. “Alright, crybaby.” Reaper unwraps the barb wire from around him. “Doc will look at you and clean you up. You’re to report to us every day, and if we find out you turned your back on us, I’m not afraid to sick Tongue on you.”

  “Let me do it, Prez,” Tongue begs. “I’ll be quick. One slice, just one.”

  “Keep it in your pants, Tongue. He’s just a kid.”

  “A mouthy one,” Tongue pushes off the wall and walks toward the door, stopping in front of the deputy. He growls, showing his teeth to the kid, and the deputy whimpers a bit, pissing himself once again.

  I don’t blame him. Tongue is a scary sonofabitch, but Tongue won’t hesitate to dismember him bit by fucking bit if he doesn’t keep his word.

  Don’t keep your word?

  Then you don’t keep your tongue; those are the rules he lives by.

  12

  JULIETTE

  I thought I’d see Logan again since the incident with my father, but I haven’t. I’m starting to think he’s staying away from me, and that doesn’t sit well considering my relationship with my father is ruined. It’s pointless to stay away now. I’m done waiting around for him. I want answers.

  I check myself in the mirror and fluff my hair. I’m wearing a lingerie set under my shirt and shorts. A peek of the black lace can be seen since the V-neck of the shirt exposes it. My hair is in long, thick curls, and I’ve put on a bit more makeup than usual.

  This will be what determines if he wants me or not. After tonight, I’m going to be too tired to care. I’m no one’s second choice. I’m no one’s uncertainty. Either he’s in, or he’s out; there can be nothing in between. I know what I want, and I know what I deserve. Being low on someone’s priority list isn’t something I want for myself.

  I won’t be a beggar.

  I’ve never been that kind of woman.

  Either have me or don’t. It’s as simple as that. I slip on my red heels and snatch the keys off the coffee table. “Come on, Tyrant.” I call for my pooch, and he’s hot on my heels. As soon as I open the door, Tyrant bolts out and runs down the steps while jumping next to the car. He loves a car ride. “I’m coming. I’m coming. Cool your jets.” I laugh and lock the door.

  My instincts scream at me to get out of there, and I look around, taking in my surroundings as I clutch my purse tighter to my body feeling the outline of my gun. An old beat-up Mustang that has seen better days slowly rolls by, and even though I can’t see through the window, I can feel their gaze on me. I run to my car, open the door for Tyrant to get in, and once I’m seated, I lock it.

  I unzip my purse and dip my hand inside to grab the gun. I twist around to make sure the car is gone, but I keep my finger on the trigger and another to flip the safety off. Tyrant stops growling, and I take that as a cue to leave since the threat is gone.

  As I’m driving, I think about Logan and why my dad has such a problem with him. I want to ask Logan, but I honestly don’t think he knows. After my dad hit me for the first time, the last thing I want to do is talk to him.

  The last rays of the sun fall behind the desert, and all that’s left is the pitch black of night and a thousand stars. The desert might be hot, but it’s beautiful. The long stretch of road seems to disappear in the dark, and if wasn’t for my headlights, the road would be impossible to see.

  I take the left down the driveway, and my tires dip, and my car jiggles along with the metal creaking. I get to the gate and breathe a sigh of relief when I see it isn’t Pirate at the entrance, but a small scrawny guy with glasses. The patch on his cut says ‘prospect’ and instead of a road name, it has a simple name, ‘Tim.’

  “What’s your business?” He deepens his voice as he speaks to me, and it takes all I have not to laugh. He puffs out his chest to look bigger, but no matter what this guy does, he will always look like a shrimp. A cute shrimp, but a shrimp, nonetheless.

  “I need to see Logan.” I notice the moment I mess up because he tilts his head and stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Yeah, Tim. I have. I’m at a biker club. I’m obviously not all there. “I mean Tool.”

  “Oh okay.” He shrugs as he steps inside a small hut, probably to click a button because a second later the iron gate slides open.

  “Thanks, Tim.”

  “You’re so pretty,” he says with bright red cheeks, and then he slams the door to the hut after he catche
s his slip.

  I giggle from his shyness, which isn’t expected from a biker, but it’s cute. I pull the car forward, and what I see has my eyes going wide. I never noticed when I was at the garage, but the clubhouse is huge. The building itself is old. The architecture looks more like an old saloon which gives it a unique flare.

  The car comes to a stop, and I put it in park, taking a deep breath. “We can do this, Tyrant. It would be easier if I had his number, but hopefully that changes tonight.”

  Tyrant barks in agreeance, and I nod. “Alright, let’s do this.”

  I step foot out of the car, and my heels land in the dirt, and I instantly regret wearing them as they punch through the sand making small holes. Tyrant follows, jumping out of the car and staying by my side as we make our way up the steps. I see the large metal door with dents in it, and I wonder if I need to backtrack and go find my mind that I left somewhere, because no woman in her right mind would willingly be here. Right?

  I knock on the door, waiting for someone to answer, and when they don’t, I put my hand on the door and turn the knob to find it unlocked. Huh, that’s weird. When I open it, I see a crowd of guys shouting at each other. I find Tool in the mix of burly men, but I can’t understand him over the shouting. No one has noticed me yet, and as I walk forward I notice a man on the floor. He’s alive, but I have no idea how because he’s beaten, broken, and bloody.

  And his lips are stitched shut.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper, bringing a shaky hand to my mouth. What rabbit hole did I just fall down?

  “Who the fuck was guarding the gate? Who was guarding the damn door? She can’t see this!” Reaper yells until he’s red in the face, and Tool looks pissed as he stomps toward me. I take a step back from his unexpected charge, but my heel catches in a groove of wood. Right as I fall, Tool catches me, glaring at me with hard eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing here, little sparrow?” Logan speaks slow, careful words, as if he’s doing all he can not to yell in my face, and his tone doesn’t make me feel welcome.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” I whisper, never taking my eyes off the man on the floor. “What happened to him? Who is he?”

  “Take her to your room now, Tool.” Reaper’s eyes pour hate as he stares at me, and then he grips Tool’s cut, stopping him from taking another step toward the direction of his room. “And whenever you’re done, meet me in my fucking office because you obviously didn’t listen to me.”

  Tool isn’t the kind of man who’s scared, but his throat bobs as he swallows, and he gives the guy in charge a small nod as he tugs me toward a hallway, away from the man on the floor. Tool kicks a door open and slings me inside with so much force, my ankle turns to the side, and I can’t gather my footing. I stumble back and luckily his bed is behind me because the back of my knees hit the edge of the mattress. With a yelp, I fall back, my head nearly colliding with the wall. Yeti is in the corner, curled up in a ball, and Tyrant lays down next him.

  Traitor.

  “You can’t be here. This is club business, Juliette.” Tool peeks out the door before slamming it shut. When he looks at me, he steals my breath from how cold it makes me feel. He usually looks at me with so much warmth and desire, but right now, I feel like an intruder; someone he doesn’t trust.

  I twist my hands together as I think about my stupid idea to come here. I came here for answers, and the only way to smooth things over is if I ask the questions I need to settle this rift between us. “Logan, will you just explain it to me? I don’t want to be on the outside looking in when it comes to you. We’ve been sidestepping one another. After what we shared—”

  “No, don’t bring up that night, please.”

  “Why?” I use the mattress as leverage and push myself up to stand. “I know you felt what I felt.” I step forward, needing to be closer to him. “Why are you fighting this?”

  “How can I not? Look what you just walked in on? I’m not going to have you hate me in the long run, and that’s exactly what will happen if you stay with me. It’s how it works. And what about everything your dad has told you?” Somehow, in the middle of his speech, we end up toe to toe, nearly chest to chest. I tilt my chin up to look at him, and the lingering scent of pine and sandalwood creeps into my lungs. Just like that, the sense of feeling at home sets in, and something dangerous swirls in my belly telling me that no matter what Logan says, I’m not going anywhere.

  Logan has rooted himself in the marrow of my bones.

  I feel the familiar burn of tears in my eyes as I stare down at my hands. I pick the cuticle as my anxiety gets the best of me when I remember the hot sting of my dad’s palm against my cheek. “After the other day, I don’t believe anything he has ever told me.”

  The callouses on his fingers scratch my chin, and his touch already feels so familiar. I lean into his hand as he tilts my head up. Our eyes meet, and his dart back and forth between mine, the anger and panic gone, replaced with worry. His lips turn into a frown, and his wild hair falls in his face from the cowlick in the middle of his forehead. I reach to brush it away, but Logan takes a step away from me, leaving me cold.

  Logan starts to pace and stares up at the ceiling with his hands on his hips. He’s a beautiful man, a beacon of light hidden by a darkness he keeps cloaked over himself for protection. As a shield? I want to know more about Logan McGraw. I want to learn about the darkness to get to that light he keeps away from everyone else.

  “That man on the floor…” He points to the door where a beaten man lays behind it. “That man is a nineteen-year-old kid and deputy. One of your father’s deputies. We told him a few days ago to do some surveillance. Your dad is in some pretty shady shit. This will be the second person who’s come to our door with their mouth stitched shut. We never should’ve told him to do surveillance. Fuck!” he screams, kicking his dresser so hard his boot punches through, creating a massive hole. A retro-eighties lamp falls and shatters on the floor, and a few drawers open from the force. “Just a fucking kid, and I went too hard on him when I—”

  “When you what?” I ask, and in two wide strides he’s in front of me. He takes the screwdriver from his ear. My mouth is dry, turning to cotton when he spins the sharp metal between his fingers. It shines clean and almost hypnotizes me.

  “When I stabbed him with this screwdriver to get information on your dear old daddy. I drove it right into his shoulder to get the answers I wanted,” he says, watching the screwdriver before looking at me and pointing at my shoulder. He’s waiting to see how I’ll react, but I just remember the tip of that tool being underneath my chin while it’s been in someone’s flesh. “Are you afraid of me, little sparrow?” His voice turns dark, promising pain and misery, but I know he’s only trying to scare me.

  “You’d never hurt me.”

  “How can you be so sure? Hurting people is my job. How do you know I won’t ever drive this through your skull?”

  “Because you don’t hurt women,” I say, reminding him of the words he first told me.

  “I would if I had to,” he admits. “If that woman was a threat.” I know what he’s trying to do, but no matter what he says, his eyes and his body go against the strong vibrato of his voice. Logan’s attempt at his truth is a lie.

  “Am I a threat, Logan?” My voice is stronger than it should be, but I’m doing my best to remain in control of my fear. There are two things I know about Logan.

  He’ll never hurt me.

  But he’ll hurt anyone else if he has to.

  “You’re a threat to me.” Logan’s wide throat bobs as he swallows, breaking our eye contact. He looks toward the floor, the most uncertain I’ve ever seen him look.

  “Logan.” I lay my palm on his chest, and the white-knuckle grip he has on the weapon he’s so attached to loosens, and his arm falls between us. I bring my other hand up and slide it through his palm, taking the screwdriver away from him. He tightens his grip again, as if he’s afraid to be apart from it. “It’s okay. You don’t n
eed this with me, Logan. Let me have it.” I slip my fingers around the handle, and slowly his fingers relax, allowing me to take it from him.

  I have a feeling that is a big step. If he were a knight, the screwdriver would be his sword, and a knight never goes anywhere without his blade.

  “Juliette.” My name is a groan as he speaks. “We can’t. Your dad… You’ll hate me for what I have to do. I can’t have you—”

  “Shh—” I place my fingers against his lips, debating if I want to know more about my father, or if I want to silence Logan with a kiss and remind him how good it can be between us. I love my father, but I’ll never forgive him for hitting me, for being so vicious against Logan—an innocent man. Whatever Logan has on my dad, I’m not ready to know yet because I have a feeling it will ruin me. “I don’t want to know.”

  “You need to before you make any decisions about me,” he says as he cups my face, bringing his lips closer to mine. His thumb rubs against my bottom lip, tugging it down and rubbing from side to side as if he’s debating on what to do about my mouth.

  Kiss it.

  He bends down, his lips a breath away, and I smell a hint of beer lingering on his tongue. A little closer.

  “Tool!” Reaper’s voice interrupts us along with a loud pound of his fist. Both Logan and I sigh, and he lays his forehead against mine and runs his fingers down my arm until he’s at the hand that holds his sword.

  To some it may just be a screwdriver, but to Logan, it’s how he protects himself and the ones he loves.

  He pulls it free from my hand and brings his lips to my forehead. “Stay in here. We’ll talk when I come back.”

  “Where are you going? What’s going to happen?” His boot thuds on the wooden planks against the floor, and it sounds like he’s walking to his death. I grab his vest, and he turns his head over his shoulder until his chin is resting on the curve of his muscle, lifting a groomed black brow at me. “What’s he going to do to you?”