by K. L. Savage
I collapse to my side and wince when the wounds on my back hit the sheets. Fucking hell, all the aches and pain are hitting me now that the endorphins are crashing.
“Oh my God.” She giggles and throws her arm over her eyes. “Never in my life. That was so good.” The sweet sound of her drunk laughter makes me smile.
Hell, it makes me puff out my chest with the pride of a peacock. I’ve made her delirious. If that isn’t good sex, I don’t know what the hell constitutes the definition of good.
“I’m lucky to have you.” She snuggles up next to me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder. My thumb lazily strokes her inner bicep. She's soft, silky, heated velvet that I find comfort in. “I bet if Aidan met you, he’d love you. It’s impossible not to.”
Is that her telling me she loves me?
“We’re going to bring him home to us. I’ll die trying, Dawn. Yer my family which means he is my family.”
She sniffles and shakes her head. “I can’t talk about him right now. I feel too helpless. Tell me about you. Tell me about your family.”
I stare up at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn in a circle. I haven’t talked about my past in a long time, and I’m not too sure if I want to start now. She’s given herself over to me, and it’s only fair that I do the same. She’s trusting me to keep her safe, to protect her, to bring her son home; the least I can do is tell her about me.
She presses a kiss on the side of my stomach that fixates to the depths of me, settling in my ruthless bones. A lifelong, ever-present, deep-rooted emotion replaces everything I thought I wanted, with everything I need.
Love.
Bikers like me, men like me, we aren’t supposed to love. Our hearts are too wicked, too dark, too far gone for anyone to take a chance on us. No one ever really took a chance on me before, so Dawn jumping in with both feet excites me and terrifies me.
“I wasn’t always in an MC,” I start by saying, wondering where I should begin my story, and I might as well tell it from when everything changed.
“When did you come here? Why did you join Ruthless?”
I let out a sad breath, one that is full of good and bad memories. “I used to live in Scotland. When I was younger, my parents moved to the United States. We lived in Georgia or something. I fucking hated it, especially since my brother decided to stay in Scotland. He was a fighter, the greatest in the country, so he stayed behind, and I visited him in summers and any school breaks I had. My parents were afraid I’d become just like him, and that’s why they moved me clear across the world.” I clear my throat and hold Dawn a bit tighter. “He died fighting Cohen. Cohen never fights fair, and right after the ref blew the whistle to stop fighting, Cohen cold-cocked him, in the temple.” I lay my finger against her head to show her where. “Killed him on the spot.”
“I’m so sorry, Skirt.”
“His funeral was the hardest. It rained that day, heavy fucking sheets of it, and it was cold. The weather matched the mood. I was so mad at him for dying, mad that I lost time with him because my parents dragged me everywhere with them. I should have had more of a backbone and stood up to them, but I was gentle, a bit softer than my brother.”
She props herself up on her elbows and holds her head in her hand. “You? Soft?”
“I know, but that day changed me. The weather sunk into me I guess … I don’t know. My insides felt like they were raining, if that makes sense; just so much pain, and the thundering of it never stopped.”
“I understand.”
I know she does, especially with Aidan missing, but at least I have the comfort of my brother dying; she has no idea if Aidan is alive or not. That’s worse.
“Anyway, I sat on his grave for a bit, and Ma came and told me it was time to go. Told her I didn’t want to, and she snapped. She hit me across the face. My ma had never hit me a day in her life. She said she wished it was me in the grave, that I was dead instead of Conor. She said she never wanted to see me again, so she hasn’t. The night of his funeral, I climbed into Conor’s bedroom window, packed up a few things, including all of his damn kilts, and found a letter addressed to me. He told me to come to Vegas, something we were supposed to do together. So I came here and met Poodle; he told me about this club he was prospecting, and I figured, why not? I don’t have anything else, might as well, and I haven’t looked back. This is my home now.”
“Don’t you ever want to go back home? Don’t you ever wonder how your parents are doing?”
“Aye, I do, but I’m not welcome there.” I want to change the subject. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I feel more open than the heart Reaper engraved on me. “I didn’t always like kilts, ye know. I always used to wear pants, but my brother always fought in them, so I gave it whirl, and I never looked back.”
“You look good in jeans. I love seeing the material hug your ass. Makes me want to bite it.” Dawn play bites the air and lets out an adorable little growl that makes me laugh.
“Are ye a chihuahua? One of them ankle biters?”
“I’ll bite you, alright. You better watch yourself.”
I pause. I let her think I’m done talking to her, and then I attack my fingers on her sides, tickling her until she’s screaming and crying with giggles. She’s kicking me, trying to get away, and I’m grinning so hard my damn cheeks hurt. I stop the maddening wiggle fingers against her sides and slid up her body. Both of us are huffing from fighting one another.
“I think I love ye, Dawn. You’ve become an escape I never knew I needed.”
She reaches down and grabs my cock in hand; it’s hard and leaking since she was fighting me a second ago, and I guide it to her still drenched hole. “I think I love you too, Rohan.”
I’m a lucky man to earn that. I have everything I’ll ever need.
Almost.
I have the gal. I have her love.
Now, I’m even more determined to get Aidan back. When I do, I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts him again—hurts them again.
They are mine.
My family.
Chapter Seventeen
DAWN
I wrap a fuzzy maroon blanket around me and take a peek over my shoulder to see Skirt asleep. He’s so big and takes up all the space in the king-size bed that my only option is to cuddle him. I don’t mind. Being close to him is not a hardship; it’s a gift.
But I can’t sleep because he keeps kicking the blanket off because he’s sweating. I get cold, and I don’t want to cuddle against his wet skin. His hand scratches his stomach, and he flips over to snuggle me, but he grabs my pillow instead.
The man is a marshmallow; I don’t care what anyone says. I caress the top of his head, and he nestles his cheek against me—the pillow—and I stifle a laugh.
I don’t think I love him. I know I do. It’s more love than I’ve ever felt for a man and a man who’s good for me? It’s like I keep hitting the jackpot over and over again until I’m the richest woman alive.
I stand and look out the window to see a clear, starry night, and decide a nice walk and fresh air will do me some good. I drop the blanket and throw on a pair of panties and one of Skirt’s shirts that says Ruthless Kings. It falls to my knees, but I don’t care. I like that his shirts are big on me. It reminds me of how much larger he is than I am. All muscle, red hair, and tattoos.
I need to get out of here before I jump him again. The man, for never having sex, is a fucking god at doing it, and I’m addicted. I pick up the blanket and tuck it around me like a toga, then give Skirt a kiss on the cheek.
“Dawn,” he mumbles on a sleepy smile and whimsical sigh. “Love you.”
“I love you,” I tell him, watching him fall back to sleep with that silly little grin on his face. I bet no one would have thought the big bad biker would talk in his sleep. It suits him. I hurry out the bedroom door and tiptoe through the living room, easing the lock as I turn it and slip outside.
I’m restless, but I don’t know why. I want nothing more than
to sleep. Tomorrow, Skirt fights again, and I don’t know if I have it in me to watch him turn into that man. I hate to see him lose himself like that. He wouldn’t be that man if it weren’t for me. I swear, some days I think he is better off without me.
A burst of laughter comes from the front of the clubhouse, and a faint glow appears from a fire. A few of the guys are rough housing at three in the morning. With a faint smile, I turn in the other direction, away from the noise of the club brothers. I need time to myself. My feet are bare.
Damn. I forgot shoes.
It’s fine. It’s only desert out here anyway. My feet sink into the red clay and since the moon is full and glowing it’s light down on me, I’m able to see where I’m going. I bypass a few cactuses and giggle when I remember that less than two weeks ago, Skirt had needles plucked from his butt because of me.
Jeez, has it really only been two weeks? So much has changed, so much pain, newfound love, and yet I feel like I’m at a standstill, watching the world pass me by since I don’t have my son.
“Please, send him back to me,” I whisper to the sky, to anyone listening, God, the devil, the stars, fucking aliens for all I care. Just someone hear me.
Please.
I take a seat in the middle of the field and look around. Crickets chirp and something buzzes in the distance. A faint howl of a coyote ripples through the air and makes the hair on my arms stand up. Glancing around, nothing seems out of place. The breeze sweeps through, kicking up a tumbleweed, and the roll of twigs stops at my feet.
Aidan is going to love it here. All this space to roam and run. He’ll be the only small kid here and that worries me, but I know in time more kids will come, especially with how Reaper and Sarah trying so hard.
I stare up at the sky, trying to find the Big Dipper when a pair of hands slide down my shoulders. I bite my lip, excited that he found me. “I’m glad you’re joining me. I was wondering when you were going to notice I was gone.”
The hands move around my neck and squeeze. “I fucking noticed, bitch. Because of you I have nearly ever MC and every mafia soldier looking for me, wanting to bring Reaper, whoever the fuck that is, my head.” He spins me around and every ounce of courage, strength, and fear drains out of me into the ground. I can’t remember how to fight. My body is frozen as Cohen’s blue eyes stare at me.
“Cohen, please—” He smacks me across the face, and I tumble to the ground, my hand falling on a small cactus. My cheek aches, and I try to crawl away from him, but his foot lands in the middle of my stomach. My knees and hands give out from under me, and I lay face-down in the dirt, Cohen straddling my back and gripping me by my hair.
He jerks my neck back, and all I see is the side of his face and the twinkling stars above. Even in the midst of violence, constellations still shine, and the light inside me slowly dissipates. “Go ahead, bitch. Beg. You know I love it when you do.” He licks my cheek and inhales the scent in my hair. “I should kill you, drain your blood right here and now.” He dips his tongue into my ear, and I whimper. The noise sets him off, and he stabs the blade into my left hand. As I open my mouth to scream, he covers it with his own, forcing his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like eggs and smoke, which makes me gag as I cry out because the knife is pinning my hand to the ground.
His dominant hand, the one that always leaves the final blow on his opponent, is still around my neck, squeezing me, while his other hand fondles my breast.
“I’ve missed this body, bitch. I’ve fucking missed it so much. Can’t wait to get you back in bed where you belong, ass up and pussy open for me.”
I rear back and my head connects with his nose which makes him fall off me. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I try to get my hand free, but even as I pull on the handle, I can’t get the blade out of the ground. I wiggle and panic, watching as he starts to come around. He shakes his head and blood drips down his lip. I open my mouth to call out, but he tackles me to the ground and yanks the knife from my hand, laying the bloody steel against my throat.
“Make another fucking sound. I dare you. You’re tempting me.” He clicks his tongue. “You’re tempting me to kill you. I don’t like your disobedience, Dawson. Have you learned anything?”
“Fuck. You,” I spit in his face as I struggle to breathe.
“Oh, you will. Maybe right here, right now.” His hand lowers down my belly and lifts up Skirt’s shirt, and cups my pussy through my panties. “Maybe I’ll slice your goddamn throat and while you bleed buckets, I’ll fuck you, using your blood as lube. Do you want that?” he sneers and then spits in my face, right on my lip.
I don’t say a word. I’m too scared to move. If I push him far enough, he’ll do whatever he wants to me. I want to open my mouth to scream, but I’m afraid he’ll kill me and then I won’t see Aidan or Skirt again.
“Be a good little bitch, and I’ll take you to your son.”
“You have him? Where is he, you sorry son-of-a-bitch.” I struggle against him, my left hand throbbing from the cut. I try to unwrap his hand from my throat, but he exhales, completely annoyed by me. His left fist flies through the air, smashing against my other cheek.
He stands and picks me up by my throat as he pushes me toward the back of the property. “Don’t fucking talk. Don’t fucking ask questions. Do what I say, okay?”
I struggle to look over my shoulder, but I get a glimpse of the small cabin Skirt built for himself. If there is any chance for me to come back to him, I have to obey. I miss him already. Will I see him again? Were the two weeks here the best and worst of my life? Best because I fell in love, the worst because Cohen has my son.
Or will I die never knowing what a future will be like with them?
My feet trample through the dead brush, the dry twigs, and sharp pins stick me. I’m whimpering with pain, tears pouring down my face, and the further we get away from the clubhouse, the chance of survival decreases.
When we get to the iron fence around the edge of the property, I see there’s a section that is broken, but it’s welded in such a way where it opens like a door. He pushes against it and throws me through. To my left is a small tent where he has been staying, covered in leaves and twigs. It blends right in.
“Aidan?” I hurry to my knees and desperately crawl over to the tent. I don’t care about the burning in my hand, the blood I’m leaving as a trail, and how badly my feet hurt. I want my son. I spread the lapels of the tarp and see a sleeping bag, water bottles, and a lamp. I rustle through the sleeping bag, knowing Aidan isn’t here, but wishing like hell he was. “Where is my son?” my voice rasps.
“Safe for now,” he says, grabbing me by my hair. “Get moving.”
I trample my way through the woods, snapping the twigs under each step and shivering from the cold. The blanket fell back at the compound. I hope someone notices it. The further we get away, the less likely it will be for Skirt to find me.
When we break through the trees, there’s a van at the edge of the road, a complete rust bucket that looks like it has seen better days. “Are you going to take me to my son? Please, I’ll do whatever you want, just take me to him. Where did you keep him? Why did you do this?”
“Because of your disobedience!” he roars, pinning me against the truck. He lifts my injured hand and licks the blood and dirt that is caked around the cut. “You need to fucking listen to me. Why do you think I dumped you in the desert? For you to spread your legs like a whore for some biker scum? No. You were supposed to come back to me, on your knees, ready to take my cock down your throat with how sorry you were for disrespecting me in front of a fellow fighter. And you didn’t come back to me. Do you not care for your son at all? Are you so selfish to just fuck your way through life and forget all about the poor little baby who seizes and needs you?” He pouts his lip. “Taking care of that damn burden is annoying. I didn’t want to be stuck with him. He’s broken. He’s disgusting. I wish he was never born; that’s what I get with fucking you bare, right?” Cohen gets himself worke
d up and runs his hands down body, cupping my breasts and rocking his erection against my stomach. “I’ll continue to fuck you like that too, all raw, until there is no doubt you’re pregnant again. Maybe you’ll learn your place, bitch. At home. No back talk. Raise my kids, fuck me, feed me, and repeat. Am I clear?”
I sneer, hating him more every second that he spews his venom. He puts the knife between my legs and the tip of the blade cuts through the cotton and sharp edge presses against my clit.
He is crazy. Crazier than normal. Keeping me alive is important to him, but why?
“Come on, baby. Don’t you remember how good it was between us? It was hot. Sexy. Don’t you miss it?” He opens the passenger side door and pushes me in, keeping the knife trained on me.
“I never miss anything about you.” The words are dead as I speak.
“I’ll be glad to remind you later.” He hops into the driver’s seat and cranks the engine. A belt screeches and causes my ears to ring as he pulls away, keeping his hand on my thigh and knife pointed to the space between my legs.
I lean my head against the window and have a small pity-party. Why is this happening to me? I don’t understand. How did I get mixed up in Cohen? How can I escape him? My fight is leaving me. Cohen’s cruelty outweighs me. He isn’t the kind of person to share strength with; he’s the kind of person to soak it up until there’s nothing left.
He seeks to destroy.
Skirt brings out the best in me. The strength, bravery, the will to fight for myself, and Cohen, he steals it. He doesn’t want a woman who is as strong as him, so his goal is to always put her down.
A tear rolls down my cheek as we drive off into the night, away from the place I’ve called home for two weeks, away from the man who taught me more about love in two weeks than I knew in my entire life, and I hope this time, love is strong enough to lead him to me.
If not, I’ll die. As long as Cohen has his way, he will be the one to murder me. I can’t allow that to happen. I need to fight for my son. I can’t give up now. I’m tired, so tired, so fucking bone exhausted that it causes me pain, but I have to push through it. I have to dig deeper for the will to live.