Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC Book 5)

by K. L. Savage

  I clutch my hand to my chest and shut my eyes when we hit a pothole and the jostle causes the knife wound to throb.

  “Sorry about stabbing you, bitch.”

  I hate that he calls me bitch. He always has, as if it’s a pet name or something.

  “You were really pissing me off.”

  I keep my lips sealed, not wanting to entertain his sick mind. We drive twenty minutes in the opposite direction of Vegas. The city lights flicker in the distance and turn into a faint glow the further we get. When we come to an abandoned warehouse on the left and motorcycles parked all around, I swallow.

  Death lives here.

  And I’m about to knock on its door.

  The building is old, the half the roof is sagging, and it looks like it’s about to collapse any second. A bunch of bikers are outside, smoking, and by the smell of it, it isn’t cigarettes. The Ruthless Kings don’t smoke pot; they drink, a lot, but I’ve never seen drugs. Now I see the stark differences between what a ‘good’ MC is compared to a bad one.

  “Get out.” Cohen pushed my left shoulder, and I hit the passenger side window with the other half of my body.

  “I’m going,” I say weakly, and step out of the van in nothing but a t-shirt and torn panties. I’ve experienced pain. I’ve known fear. I’ve lived and breathed it every day of my life. I’ve been through abuse, tears, and broken bones, but staring at the men in front of me, I truly believe everything I’ve ever gone through won’t be as bad as what I’m about to experience here.

  One man is older, burly, and as he walks toward me, I notice his hairy shoulders and thick mustache. He sucks on a roach, the ember lighting up in a faint orange hue before blowing out the murky cloud in his mouth.

  “Told you I’d deliver. Isn’t she fucking hot?” Cohen says, throwing an arms around my shoulder and grabbing my ass. “I’ve been in this cunt, Prez. There ain’t nothing like it.”

  “You’ve done good, Conrad.”

  “It’s Cohen.”

  “What the fuck ever,” the Prez says, inhaling his weed again as he circles me like a shark. Hands roam down my back, and he hums in appreciation. “Damn, boy. You really out done yourself. She’s a fine piece of ass. Bitch will do well here.”

  “We have a new toy, Prez?” another man asks from the dilapidated porch, leaning against the rail. He has long legs encased in blue denim jeans, and he isn’t wearing a shirt; just his cut. He hops down from the porch to get a closer look, and a different man turns around and walks inside. That’s when I see the logo on the back.

  It’s a growling two-headed dog, and in red words above it says, “Hellhounds MC.”

  “Looks like it,” the Prez finally answers his brother when he’s done inspecting me. “I can’t wait to get in here. All the other bitches inside are going to be so fucking pissed.”

  “Whores,” Cohen says as if it’s an excuse, and all the men roar in laughter.

  “What do you say, bitch? How about you go inside and get comfortable with your new surroundings, and I’ll be down in a few to welcome you home.” The Prez rubs his cock against me, and instinct takes over, like the idiot I am.

  I kick his shin and rip out of Cohen’s arms and run. The hounds howl to the moon and give chase. I don’t get very far either. Someone wraps their arms around me and bites my earlobe, dragging me back to the hounds to feast.

  “Better calm down, bitch, or I’ll have them fuck all your holes right here and now,” the Prez growls into my ear. I kick and scream, doing my best to get out of his arms, but all he does is laugh. “Looks like we got a fighter, boys!” The Prez whispers, “I love breaking the fighters.”

  I’ll make sure I die before he even gets the chance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  SKIRT

  I roll over and my arm hits nothing but an empty side of the bed where Dawn is supposed to be. I flop to my back and yawn, while my arm searches the spot for any heat. It’s cold. I rub my left eye, then stretch, and every bone in my damn body cracks into place. I groan in relief then twist my neck like I always do. “Lips!” I call out to her and scratch around the skin that’s burnt. It’s itchy. While my chest is sore and my back aches, it’s nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday. “Dawn? Where are you?” I yell for her again, but all that answers is the sound of my own voice.

  She must be over at the clubhouse with the other ol’ ladies. They love to get together in the morning over gossip and giggle and shit. It tickles me that Dawn fits in so well with them. I love it. It’s important our women get along when we can’t.

  Like Poodle and me.

  Even though it’s more on me than him now. Life’s too short to be petty like this. I’m going to talk to him this morning, right after I talk to Bullseye and find my Lips. I need a good morning kiss.

  Rolling out of bed, my cock is hard, aching for Dawn. Beads of pre-cum dribble out of the tunnel, and I fist every inch, stroking my morning wood until it starts to soften. I don’t know what it is about the mornings, half the time I’m hard and not even wanting to fuck. The moment I give it a good squeeze, it deflates, which makes the rest of the morning go by a lot easier as I get dressed and am not thinking about sex.

  Okay, I’m kind of thinking about sex now that I’ve been having it all the time, but it isn’t giving me a painful erection 24/7.

  I go to the bathroom, piss, wash my hands, and brush my teeth. When I look in the mirror, I turn my body around to get a good look at my back. “Fuck me,” I whisper in awe. It looks like I’ve been to war and back. I have the slashes on my skin, but the red lines jettisoning down my back and chest from Dawn’s talons look more painful than the actual injuries I have. “Shite, Lips. You tore me up.” Seeing her mark on me, I’m getting hard now. I want to fuck her against the nearest surface while she tries to get away from me.

  Fucking love it when she does that.

  I comb my fingers through my beard and leave my hair the mess it is. I don’t give a fuck. I slip on a kilt and shirt, then head to the front door.

  It’s open.

  A slither of something I can’t quite put my finger on alerts me. I study the room, trying to see if anything is out of place. The door is open because she went to the clubhouse.

  “Idiot,” I chastise myself as I make my way outside. I inhale, and my mood is fucking glorious. I prance down the steps with a happy little trot and open the side door that leads to Reaper’s office, and if I follow the hall to the kitchen, I’ll find some pie.

  It’s been too long since I’ve had pie.

  “Morning, Badge,” I wave at the man sitting at the computer desk, staring at five screens, typing furiously, then zooming in on different monitors.

  “Morning,” he grunts, not wanting to be bothered.

  I wonder if he’s had any luck on finding the kid. Ambling down the hall, I enter the kitchen and go straight for the fridge. With a smile on my face, I take a look inside and then in the next instance, I’m frowning. “There’s no pie.” I don’t think I’ve ever been so devastated. “There’s always pie. How is there no pie?” The fridge is empty besides a few bottles of beer and a mountain dew. There’s a tub of butter, but I don't feel like eating that again.

  Damn dares. That butter fucked up my stomach for weeks.

  “What are you bellowing about?” Bullseye lumbers in the kitchen and heads straight to the pot of coffee.

  Ah, just the person I need to see. “There’s no pie.”

  He nods while sipping his coffee enthusiastically, a strangled moan leaving his throat as he drinks. “I swear, coffee is better than sex in the mornings.”

  “Yer fucking the wrong women if ye think that, Bullseye.”

  “Well, all of us aren’t lucky enough to find an ol’ lady. My day will come. Until then, coffee in the morning and whores at night. That’s all I’ll ever need.”

  “Spoken like a true romantic in search for his everlasting love,” I tease, shutting the fridge door with a bit more gusto than I planned.

&nb
sp; “Fuck off.” Bullseye flips me off and pulls out a chair to the dining room table, taking a seat. This is my chance. I grab a mug from the cabinet and pour my coffee, then sit in front of him, sipping and staring, then I tap my fingers along the ceramic. I don’t know how to have this conversation with him. He lurks over the coffee cup, his tired eyes narrowing in irritation. “What the hell are you looking at, Skirt? Out with it. I don’t have all fucking day. I have to go meet Maximo in about an hour.”

  “For what?”

  “Don’t know. I’ll find out when I get there. Spill.” He sighs and rubs his temples. “I swear if this is going to be about eating the last piece of pie—”

  I slam my mug down and stab a finger in his direction. “Ye! How… The audacity!” I place my hand to my chest, hurt from his betrayal. “I thought we were friends.”

  “Skirt, you know we are.”

  “Ye a backstabbing little dart, ain’t ye?” I pick up my coffee mug again and take my time drinking it. I cross my ankle over my knee and get my thoughts together. I’m a jumbled up mess now. I can’t remember what I wanted to talk about.

  “There was nothing left in the fridge—”

  “Blasphemy. Traitor. You … you broke the most sacred—no—you know what?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and inhale a calming breath of air. “Forget it. It isn’t important. I need to talk to ye about … uh … things.” I clear my throat, cough, and take a scalding gulp of coffee.

  Bullseye crosses his arms and chuckles, leaning back on two legs of the chair. “Oh, you’re blushing. This is going to be good.”

  Damn it! I hate my pale skin. Gives away all my emotions.

  My stomach clenches, but then I think of how turned on she gets listening to other people. I lean forward and crook my index finger for him to meet me half way.

  The chair falls forward, and the wooden legs hit the ground with a loud thud. “I’m not kissing you, Skirt.” Bullseye scoots the chair forward, and I deadpan him an incredulous glare. “What? You’re being weird.”

  “I’m not going to kiss ye. Ye not my type.”

  “I’m everyone’s fucking type,” he boasts about himself.

  “Will ye listen? I’m nervous as fuck asking ye about this, but I trust ye. I can’t ask anyone with an ol’ lady. I have to ask someone who is single.”

  He lifts a brow at me, and his curiosity only makes me more nervous.

  I spin the mug in my hand, the ivory scratching against the table. “Dawn likes to hear people fuck.”

  Bullseye spits his coffee out mid-sip, and it lands all over my face.

  I should have planned better. Mid-sip is never a good idea to take someone by surprise.

  “No shit? Kinky. You lucky bastard.” He slaps my shoulder. “So what does this have to do with me?”

  “Well, I was hoping ye’d kind of be the guy we listen to? In the next room.”

  “Not going to lie, knowing she wants to listen to me is giving an hard-on. Fuck yeah, I’d be honored to be her honorary audible fuck.” He wiggles his brows and leans in further. “Can we go do that now? I’ll grab Candy—”

  “Can’t be Candy.” I know how much Dawn hates her.

  “Eh, I wanted to switch it up anyway. Candy is getting clingy. Clingy Candy.” He slaps the table when an idea strikes him, and I jump. “That’s her new name.”

  “There’s more.”

  “More?” he says, the whites of his eyes wide on display.

  “So, she wants to know if she likes someone watching us. Ye can’t touch her because I’ll kill ye, like fucking murder ye with yer own darts. If ye sat in a dark corner, touched yerself, whatever; she just wants to know if she likes it.” Why is this so hard to talk about?

  Bullseye’s mouth is open, and I reach up, lifting his chin so he doesn’t catch any flies.

  “You’re serious?” he asks, staring at me skeptically. He runs a hand over his lips, exhales, then locks eyes with me again. “You realize any single guy here would want to get in on this right?”

  “I don’t want all the guys, Bullseye. I need someone I trust. She’s my ol’ lady. My fucking one, okay? Just watching. I want to make her happy even if I’m not 100% comfortable with it. Maybe I’ll like it.”

  “So I’m like, your booty call, kind of, right?”

  I groan and thud my head against the table. “Kind of?”

  “Fuck, yes! I’m in. I’m so fucking in. Can we go do it now? Shit, this is going to be so hot. I need another coffee.”

  “No touching her, Bullseye. I mean it. You can watch, get close, but ye can’t touch her.”

  “Deal. No problem. I don’t mind being someone's fantasy test drive. Zoom zoom, bitches. I’m coming to rev some engines.” He laughs and holds out a hand for me to high-five.

  Christ.

  I slowly lift my hand, and he smacks it with vigor. “That a boy! You just made my fucking day.” He claps his hands and rubs them together evilly. “So, let’s go wake up your girl and get this show on the road.”

  “Wake her up? She isn’t in bed. She’s here.”

  Bullseye’s fun facade is gone, and the Sargent at Arms mask is in place. “Skirt, she isn’t here. Not even the whores are here right now. Sarah is awake with Ellie, and they’re playing with the puppies. Skirt, she has to be in the cabin.”

  My cup trembles in my hand and the coffee splashes over the rim, burning my skin, but I don’t fucking care.

  “There has to be a reason. Don’t panic yet.”

  Too late.

  I drop the cup, and it fractures on the floor into tiny pieces. I push away from the table and run through the clubhouse. “Dawn! Dawn! Lips?” I shout her name with hysteria. “Dawn?” I bellow. My legs are shaking, my heart is thumping, and my mind is drawing fucking blanks. I’m spinning in circles.

  “Dawn!” I scream for her again.

  “What the fuck are you yelling for?” Poodle scratches his head, his hair a poufy mess. Melissa puts her arms around his waist.

  I run my hands through my hair and then haul arse out the door. “Dawn!” I shout at the top of my lungs, letting my voice carry over the flat desert. “Dawn, love! Lips!” My voice breaks from how loud I’m crying out for her.

  “Skirt.” Poodle runs down the steps after me, but I’m searching the property for any sign of her.

  “Dawn! Dawn, baby? You okay? I’m here. Where are you?” It’s been five years since I’ve cried.

  Today, the streak has ended. My eyes turn to those fucking lagoons, and I let the tears fall. I don’t give a fuck that the guys see me losing it. They don’t get it. They don’t understand how she anchors me.

  I’m no longer a wayward soul, not with her directing me to the safest place I can be—her soul.

  She’s my fucking home.

  “Skirt, I need you to talk to me. What’s going on?”

  “Dawn!” I ignore him, even when he stands in front of me and grips my shoulders, shaking me in hopes it brings me back to reality. “Dawn!” I taste the blood in my throat from straining my vocal chords.

  Poodle slaps me across the face, and the burn is exactly what I need to stop panicking. “Stop. Fucking focus. What is going on?”

  “I can’t find Dawn. She isn’t in the cabin. I thought she was in the clubhouse while I was fucking chatting it up with Bullseye, but she isn’t even here! She isn’t fucking here!” I pound my chest while staring at my best friend. “She isn’t here,” I say softer, broken. “Poodle, I need her. Christ, I fucking need her.”

  Poodle nods. “I know. I know you do. We will find her. She has to be here somewhere. There’s an explanation. Okay?”

  Yeah, there’s one that’s going to make me sick to my stomach. This piece of land is huge; what if she’s dead? What if she’s laying there in a ditch, and she cried out for me, but I was fucking sleeping, hugging her pillow like a damn fool? I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.

  Why can’t I ever be there for the people I love?

  Poodle slaps me
again. “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself.” All the MC brothers run out of the house, and Reaper buttons his pants as he jogs over to us. “Lady!” Poodle calls for his prissy dog and places two fingers in his mouth, letting out a ear-ringing whistle.

  Right. She’s trained in search and rescue, which isn’t expected since she prances and her fluffy white hair bounces with the bows she always has in her hair. I watch toward the front of the clubhouse, and Lady runs at the speed of light to get to her owner. She has pink bows in her hair today. At least she will look good doing it.

  “Skirt, do you have anything of Dawn’s?”

  “What? Yeah, yes! I’ll be back. Lady, I’ll be back,” I say to the elegant dog. She sits at Poodle’s feet and cocks her head at me. I run toward the cabin and kick open my door, breaking the hinges off from the force. I trip, right myself, and hurry to the bedroom to pick up the shirt she wore yesterday. I bring it to my nose and inhale her scent, wild like a fucking rainstorm in fall.

  Hurrying outside, I jump off the porch and toss the shirt at Poodle. He catches it mid-air by and then lowers it for Lady to sniff. She buries he black nose in the material, inhaling Dawn’s scent. Lady is my only damn hope. Thank God Poodle has her.

  Nothing else matters. The problems, whatever happened between us, I just need Dawn back. I’m happy Poodle isn’t the kind of guy to keep Lady locked away when she’s the only chance I have at finding her.

  “Search, Lady,” Poodle gives Lady a command and her head is down, nose to the ground as she sniffs. Poodle claps a hand on my back. “We’ll find her.”

  Lady barks about twenty yards away, and a stampede of bikers run to where she sits.

  I bend down and pick up the blanket that Dawn has claimed for herself. “There’s blood. Fucking goddamn it, Poodle. There’s blood.” I pinch my eyes shut and try to rub the burn away. I have to keep it together.