by K. L. Savage
She nods rapidly, and I slide my screwdriver down her stomach, over the ribs, then back up over the mountains of her lush tits.
“You may not know it, but you’re just as fucked up as me. The difference is it’s all in your head, little sparrow. I live what’s in my head.” My cock is raging again, and I don’t know how. When I see that she isn’t afraid of me when the tool in my hand is what shaped me as a man, lust flares again.
I go to toss the screwdriver on the floor, but she stops me in time, bringing the screwdriver underneath her chin again. “Fuck me like you hate me, Logan.”
I throw the damn thing on the ground and take her mouth with mine. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I can never hate you. I can’t even pretend to hate you, Juliette.”
“Why not, Logan? You know you want to.”
I do want to, but I want to love her more. While that might not be a big deal to some, it is for me. It means for the first time in my life something outweighs the bad inside me.
“Because you’re too good to hate, little sparrow. Even the souls that are damned like mine know that.” I lay my forehead against her, and for the first time in my fucking life, I ease my cock in and out, kissing her to show her how much I love her. It hits me like a sledgehammer that I’m making love to her.
She’s my safe haven.
I’m her damnation.
And I hope I don’t end up dragging her to the depths of my hell.
16
JULIETTE
I wake up the next morning, sore and aching in every single place on my body. Tool and I had sex all night. I’ve only had two hours of sleep according to the clock. I stretch, and my arm hits a rock-solid back. I turn to my left and grin to myself when I see a large skull staring at me. I trace the tattoo with my finger, stroking the cracks in the skull and the darkness around the eye sockets.
“That feels good,” Tool mutters sleepily, and if I wasn’t so sore, I would want to fuck him again. That sleepy voice is sexy.
I press a kiss to his shoulder, and my lips rub over something puffy and circular. I lean back and touch it with my finger and now that I’m aware, I see these small circles all over his back. “What are these?”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“You can talk to me, Logan. I won’t judge you.”
“Yes, you will. If I tell you what I did, you’ll run out that door, and I won’t ever see you again.”
“Give me the benefit of the doubt, Logan. I want to know about you. I want to know you. All of you. Every good and bad part.”
“That’s the thing, little sparrow.” He flips over and grabs my wrist mid-air. “I don’t have a good part in me.”
“I don’t believe that for one second, Logan. Not one. Please, did someone do this to you?” I run my hands down his chest, and that’s when I see hundreds of the circles. How did I miss them before? My eyes sting with tears as a horrible thought occurs. “Did someone do this to you, Logan?”
“Let it go, Juliette!” he raises his voice at me, but I don’t back down.
“Logan.”
“Fucking hell, woman!” He grips my wrist hard until the pressure hurts and causes me to whimper, but a dark, delicious swirl nudges me.
I like it.
“You want to know? You really want to know that my old man would put his smokes out on me? Sometimes, he wouldn’t even smoke them. He’d light them, put them out, light them again, only to do it over and over until nothing but the filter was left. And then he’d start all over.”
“Logan…” I reach for him while a tear escapes my eye, but he keeps me pinned.
“You want to hear how my mother and I would get beat to within an inch of our lives, and sometimes my old man would rape her right in front of me. Is that what you want to hear? Or, no, how about this?” He smiles, but it isn’t one of happiness, but complete fury. “How about the day I killed him?”
He killed his own father?
“Oh, yeah, little sparrow. I took this same screwdriver—” Tool grabs it from the nightstand and twirls it in his hand. “Well, wait, let me start from the beginning. I came home to him beating my mom, and he was about to rape her again, so I attacked. He reached for this.” He waves the screwdriver in the air, making sure he’s really making a show of it. “I got to it first. So you know what I did? I drove it between his eyes, right through his skull, and I killed the worthless fuck. I’m good at killing fathers, Juliette. Don’t be surprised when I kill yours.” He rolls off me and hurries into the bathroom, slamming the door and leaving me alone.
“Oh my god.” My voice is shaky and unstable as my brain starts to finally get with the program. Tears sting my cheeks as they freely fall, and I look around for my clothes. My entire body is cold and shaking. I don’t know what to think.
I thought he was just a damn weirdo carrying that screwdriver around, but there’s an entire story behind it, and now I know why people call him Tool. He uses it to kill.
When I kill your father.
Not if, but when.
At the end of the day, my dad is still my dad, the only one I’ll ever have. He can’t kill him! I know my dad hasn’t been the best man lately, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. Everyone makes mistakes, and while I don’t want to talk to my dad, I don’t want to see him dead either.
The shower turns on, and I take that as Logan’s not coming out here to talk to me again. It’s good I know the truth, but I shouldn’t have pushed. He was right; I wasn’t ready. And If I think about it, I’m not mad that he killed his own father. He was an abusive asshole. But my dad? My dad has never hit me besides that one time.
That’s all it takes. He’ll do it again.
I ignore that pesky little voice in the back of my head while I get dressed. That’s when I see my reflection in the mirror. I’m sliding on my panties when I see fingerprint size bruises all over my body. A few red marks from that screwdriver that he dragged down my body. I loved it—the edge of pain. My nipples are swollen and red from how much he sucked on them. There are hickies everywhere—my neck, thighs, and even my ass.
He did hurt me, in really great pleasurable ways, but the hurt he inflicted this morning is something that will take much longer to heal. Once I’m dressed, I push my feet into the red heels and at the last minute, I grab his shirt.
“Come, Tyrant,” I call for the dog who’s still sleeping in the corner, but once he hears his name he’s up and ready to go, unlike Yeti. I fling the door open and run down the hall, only to meet a room full of bikers and women half-dressed. I gulp when everyone stares at me, and Tyrant runs up to a beautiful poodle and starts humping her.
“Like mother like son, am I right?” one of the women says as she openly chews her gum, smacking it. “You’re just another bitch, just like this poodle.”
“Tyrant, get off. Bad dog, get off,” but Tyrant ignores me, humping away like a maniac. Shit, this is so embarrassing.
“He might have fucked you last night, but he won’t be fucking you tonight, bitch,” a blonde bimbo with fake tits says.
I roll my eyes and yank Tyrant off the poodle. “If I were you, I’d watch what you say, or I’ll put you on your back, you know, the place you belong.” I sneer at her, and she tries to reach for my neck but another woman grabs her by the hair and shoves her aside.
“Shut up, Candy. You know, Juliette is right. And Tool has never fucked any of you, so stop being jealous bitches.” The woman turns to me and grins, but she doesn’t introduce herself. She has long hair, olive skin, and bright blue eyes.
“Thanks,” I tell her, doing my best to keep my dog by the collar as he tries to hump the poodle again.
“No problem,” she says, nodding at a guy with ninja stars in his hand, and they disappear into the back. She doesn’t seem like a club whore, but maybe I’m wrong. At least she isn’t a bitch.
“Aw, man you should have let him keep going. Poodle would have flipped,” he slurs as he narrows his d
runken gaze at me. He looks familiar, and as he pulls the bottle of rum up and takes a heavy swig, I realize he’s Pirate, the guy from the gate who scared me and ran me off. Yeah. He still scares me. A lot.
I lick my lips at the odd statement and decide I want to get out of here right now. I take a step toward the front door. My palms sweat, and my heart races. I don’t like how Pirate is looking at me. I don’t like how anyone is looking at me. Panic knots in my chest, tangling like a net and strangling my ability to breathe.
“You have a really pretty tongue,” a guy drawls from the couch, sharping a long knife as he stares at my mouth. “Really pretty.”
The knot tightens.
“Okay, Tongue. Calm down. Let’s go meditate,” a woman wearing a ‘Property of Reaper’ vest helps the guy up. “Look at me, not her, Tongue.”
“But—”
“No buts, Tongue. We talked about this,” the girl drags him to the back, and I can’t help but wonder if meditation means.
I hurry toward the front door, and a man with a black eye stops me. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. His vest says Badge, whatever the hell that name means. “You’re going to leave without telling him why?”
I grab the door handle and tears threaten again, but I won’t cry in front of everyone. I won’t show weakness. “He knows why.” I rip the door open and run down the steps, Tyrant hot on my heels. I’m already sweating when the sun hits me because it’s so hot.
The sky is bright and cloudless, and heat waves roll over the top of my car from the sun bouncing off the metal. It hurts so bad to leave Logan like this, but I can’t be with a man who wants to kill my father. I have to warn him!
Don’t I?
Opening the driver’s side door, Tyrant gets in and then I follow, not bothering to put on my seatbelt because I need to get the hell out of here. As I reverse and twist the wheel, making the car do a quick 180, I send gravel and dirt everywhere and then speed down the driveway, uncaring of the potholes. I just want to get home and lock my doors, climb under my blanket, and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist.
I need to tell my father, but then why is my gut telling me not to? I know if I don’t, there’s a good chance my father will end up dead. I never asked Tool what my dad had gotten himself into that’s so shady because I was still upset about Dad hitting me.
I still am, but is that enough to say he deserves to die? No.
Just what shady shit is he involved in?
“Tyrant, what do I do?” I’m obligated by blood, by the fact that he raised me and gave me everything I needed to tell him, but still, that voice in the back of my head is telling me whatever shit my father is involved in is bad.
“God! Why is this so hard!” It shouldn’t be hard. My loyalty needs to be with my dad, not a guy who is half-way to the edge of crazy.
Then why is my heart telling me to not say anything?
The lonely road becomes less lonely real quick when I pass the strip and start heading into the city. Tears are still burning my cheeks, and I can’t seem to shut them off. How does the best night of my life turn into the hardest day of my life? I love Logan. I’ve fallen stupidly in love with him, and I can’t stand it.
I hate it.
I love him.
I hate that I love him.
He isn’t good for me.
He’s the best for me.
I let out a scream of frustration and put my Honda in park with so much anger, I think I broke the gear shifter. I open my driver’s side door and jump out, then the door closes from a gust of wind, hitting me in the arm, and I shove it back. I shove it too hard because it hits me again, and a bitter laugh bubbles in my throat. “Tyrant! Let’s go.”
He jumps out of the car and darts around the front, and in one leap he jumps on the porch and waits by the door. While I’m making my way down the sidewalk, I talk to myself and run through the conversation Logan and I had. “How dare he? He can’t threaten me like that,” I scoff and slide the key into the lock, twisting it open. “The nerve. Freaking bikers,” I grumble and kick my heels off when I step inside and lock the door behind me.
“Don’t fucking move,” a gravel-filled voice says from behind me, placing a gun against my temple.
Tyrant launches himself at the intruder, and then a gunshot rings out followed by a yelp. I turn around and see my dog laying on the floor, blood coating his fur. “No!” I scream. “Tyrant,” I cry when I see him lying there still. I don’t know if I’m stupid and have a death wish, or what, but I launch myself at the attacker next. I step on his foot, and he grunts.
“You fucking bitch,” he snarls and wraps an arm around my chest.
I bring my elbow back as hard as I can and hit him in the ribs. I pull out of his hold to turn around and lift my knee to hit his balls. He doubles over, and right as I spin on my foot to run to my bedroom to get my gun, because for some stupid reason, I didn’t put it in my purse this morning, another guy comes out of the shadows and slams something against my head.
And the last thing I scream for inside my mind before darkness takes over?
Logan!
As if he can hear me through the unconsciousness.
17
TOOL
I help Reaper set up the party tent to give us some shade for this heat. The cookout will start a few hours before sundown, and we want to make sure we don’t die of a heatstroke. I’m sweating my ass off, thinking that I may just die of a heatstroke, but I’ll push through because it’s helping me keep my mind off Juliette and the life-changing night we spent together. She left, just like I gave her the option to. I hoped she wouldn’t have, but it wasn’t like she could read my mind.
She did what I wanted her to do, and now she can be free of me and my fucking poison.
“You okay?” Reaper asks, stabbing the stand with the white pole, sending up a cloud of dust.
“Fine,” I grunt, pulling the material of the tent over the rods to make sure it’s secure.
“Liar. Talk to me.”
“You asking as a friend or my Prez?” I’m ashamed that I wear his warning mark, and I’m happy as hell he hasn’t asked about it. As a friend, I’m sure he wants to. As the Prez? He doesn’t fucking care.
Lines can get blurred if someone isn’t smart, but luckily, Reaper is the smartest around this place.
“Both. What happened with Juliette?”
I take the screwdriver out from behind my ear and tighten a bolt that connects two of the rods. Huh, that’s the first time I’ve used this damn thing for what it’s supposed to be used for. “I told her my truths, and she didn’t like it. End of story.”
“Truths sometimes take a minute to wrap your head around. She’ll be back.”
“Should have never told her. A lie of omission is better than the truth.”
“A lie is a lie no matter how you word it, Tool. You didn’t lie to her about what made you who you are, and you didn’t lie to her about what you do. It’s up to her now. Give her time. This life isn’t easy.”
“A lie is easier than the truth,” I say, shorter and curter than I mean to sound, but I’m grumpy as hell without Juliette at my side. I knew that someone as good as her wouldn’t want someone like me. My dad was right about one thing—no one needs to be stuck with me.
She’s free of me.
“Of course it’s easier,” he laughs. “Anything worth it is never easy, Tool.”
I want to talk about something else, anything else, but my lack of ability to properly fucking love someone. “How many chapters are coming today?” I finally get the last pole in the ground and want to collapse when the big fucker is finally standing. It took hours. I’m sweating so much; my shirt is glued to my skin.
“All of them.” Reaper sits on a mound of dirt and opens a red cooler that’s filthy with grime and age. It’s a nineties cooler, one that doesn’t keep the ice very long and you have to press buttons on either side of the handle to lift it. Throwback. He can afford a better one. I don’t kno
w why he keeps that piece of shit. “Want one?”
“Fuck yeah.” An ice-cold beer sounds perfect. “All of them, really? That’s impressive.”
“When the original chapter invites you to a cookout, you don’t say no; you get me?” We pop the top to our Bud Lights, which tastes like watered down piss, which he knows, but on a day like this, it tastes like the heaven between Juliette’s legs as it slides down my throat.
“I’m not familiar with a lot of them,” I admit, thinking back to the Boston chapter. “I only know of the Boston chapter when … yeah, when they got me and my mom out of there.”
“They will be here.”
“No, shit?” Maybe I’ll actually get to see my mom for the first time in a few years. Brass, the President of the Boston chapter declared his love for her, and I didn’t think she’d ever go back to that city, but she hopped on that bike with him and left, and she’s she been his ol’ lady ever since.
“Yeah, your mom should be coming, along with the New Orleans, Miami, Detroit, Seattle, Chicago, Memphis, and Nashville chapters. Boomer’s club might roll in too.”
“No shit? Boomer? Really?” I hope the guy comes. He and Sarah have shit they need to clear up, and I know Reaper wants to see him. “That’s a lot of fucking hogs. The desert is going to be full.” I’m pumped. It’s exactly what I need to get my mind off Juliette. Just a bunch of my MC brothers, shooting the shit, and who fucking knows what trouble we’ll get into tonight. We have one hundred acres of desert to fuck with, and a lot can happen when the Ruthless Kings get together and night strikes.
A roar of motorcycles sound in the distance, and Reaper grins. “Ah, looks like the fuckers are starting to arrive.” We look toward the road when Skirt’s ass greets us. “Fuck, Skirt, put that shit away.”
“I’m just getting me a drink, Prez.”
