by K. L. Savage
“I’m not the one dying today.”
The door kicks open, and Tongue throws a body on the dock, a Hound. Reaper comes through next and drags two out, then Whistler, even with a gunshot wound, drags a body out. Every member, Ruthless and Demon alike, throws bodies on the ground.
The only one left is Cohen.
And he is mine.
Tongue lifts his knife, but I grab onto the blade before he can throw it, letting the edge cut into my palm. “He’s mine, Tongue.”
“Ya need to hurry; Feds will be here in thirty,” Seer says, tossing one of the dead Hounds in the water. A gator's jaws wrap around the head and death rolls to make sure his food is dead before taking it to the bottom of the swap.
I want to finish this how it started—fighting.
“No guns, no weapons.” I take off my brass knuckles and pop my finger. “Just ye and me.”
“I’m a better fighter than you,” he taunts. “I’m a champion.”
Cohen isn’t wrong. I know he’s the better fighter, but where he has training, I have skill and natural ability. We circle each other while the guys throw the bodies in the water to get rid of evidence. I’m never the one to make the first move. I like to see what my opponent is going to do and read his body language.
He dips left and swings his right fist, a hard jab, which if it hit me, would have taken me down, but I’m quick. I duck and hook my left fist and punch his stomach, then lift my knee right between his legs. He groans, but he doesn’t let the pain of getting kneed in the balls stop him. He tackles me to the ground, my head hitting with an unforgivable thud.
I’m on my back.
It’s never good to be on my back. It gives my opponent an advantage. I can’t afford Cohen to have the advantage; too much is at stake. I manage to push my knee between us and roll us. Grabbing his head, I slam it against the dock. I reach for my brass knuckles, slip them on, and wail him in the face.
“You said no weapons!”
“And ye killed my brother after the round ended. I’m fighting too fair with ye.” I punch him again, splintering his front tooth. “I’m fighting to kill ye.” The sound of his skull crunching under my fists is liberating. I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
Left. Right. Left. Right. My arms burn. My knuckles sting. I hate him so much.
“Skirt!” Reaper grabs my hand before I can punch the man under me again. Cohen’s face is nothing but blood and broken skin. He coughs, and a fountain of blood leaves his mouth. “Let the gators take care of it. You have someone who needs you.”
My brows pinch for a second. I forgot where I was for a minute. I turn to look over my shoulder, and Tool is helping Dawn and the two kids off the boat.
“Dawn,” her name rushes out of me as I stand.
“You came for me,” she sobs, taking a small step forward, like she’s unsure if I want her or not.
“Lips, I’ll always come for ye, till my dying breath.” I gather her and the boys in my arms and give them a tight hug. I’m not sure which kid is hers, but it doesn’t matter. The children are safe.
Dawn is in my arms.
We won.
“Told you we always get them back,” Reaper reminds me.
Sirens sound in the distance as Tongue throws the last body in the swamp for gator meat.
“Damn, can we do that again?” Tongue asks, then rinses his knife off in the swamp. “Good swamp kitty.” He pats the gator’s head; it seems to enjoy Tongue’s touch.
This fucking day needs to end if Tongue is now a gator whisperer.
“This is Aidan. Aidan, this is Rohan; people call him Skirt.”
I glance down at the little boy who is holding on to his mom’s leg, hiding behind it. He has chestnut brown hair and bright baby blue eyes. “Nice to meet ye, Aidan. I’ve heard a lot about ye.”
Aidan’s hold on his mom loosens as he takes a step near me, but then his eyes roll back, his legs give out and I catch him just in before his body seizes.
The battle might be won, but the war is not over.
Chapter Twenty-Three
DAWN
I never thought home would feel so good. When I think about it, I’ve never had a home before. Not like this one here with Skirt. Nothing can ever compare to being here. Especially now that I have Aidan back, everything feels complete.
My soul is saved by a ruthless biker, who at times, can be anything but ruthless.
“How are you feeling, baby?” I pet Aidan’s hair as he lays in the bed in Doc’s treatment room. Doc has him on medication, and luckily, there has been no brain damage from how many seizures he’s had the last few weeks.
“Better.” His small voice mumbles. “Tired.”
“We are going to take care of that,” Doc says with a kind grin. “This stuff? It will help you sleep, okay?”
Aidan looks to me for reassurance, and I bring his hand up and kiss it. “It’s okay. Doc is a good guy.” Aidan hasn’t been sleeping since we got back four days ago, and Doc is worried it will make his seizures worse, so he is going to give Aidan a strong dose of sleep medicine. He might be out until tomorrow morning.
Aidan’s eyes start to close, and he struggles to keep them open because he’s scared. Finally his eyes shut, and the steady rise and fall of his chest brings me comfort. I let out a heavy breath. “Thank you, Doc,” I say as he moves to the next child.
Badge ran all the kids through missing person reports. More than half the kids got to go home, but five of them had no one. Reaper has no idea what to do, but for now, the kids are staying here and are getting medical care.
Sarah has practically lived in the basement, reading kids bedtime stories. She met Maizey and immediately felt a strong connection to the little girl. Reaper has voiced more than once not to get too close to the kids, but Sarah has clung onto Maizey.
He’s worried Maizey’s parents will come out of nowhere and take her home, leaving Sarah devastated and more depressed than she was before.
“It’s not a problem. I live for this. I’m thankful none of them have been abused. It’s rare for their situation. All of them are well nourished, a bit dehydrated and bone fucking tired—I mean, really tired.” Doc coughs to cover his slip up. “They are lucky. This never happens. They will have mental trauma, but damn it, it could have been so much worse. So much worse,” he repeats, laying his stethoscope over a little boy’s heart.
It’s the child that I thought I would never see again when I was telling Maizey that fairy tale. When Cohen found out the Ruthless Kings were there, he dragged me and Aidan out of the cage and onto the boat where the scared little boy was.
“I can’t believe how healthy they sound. It’s a fucking … it’s a miracle.”
I giggle from another curse he tries to hide.
“This is going to take some getting used to,” he says. “Why don’t you go get some rest? He isn’t going to wake up anytime soon. Go eat, shower, relax. He’s safe here. Reaper is having a new electrical gate installed so what happened doesn’t happen again. Security is tighter. Breathe easier. I’ll be down here with them.”
“Me too!” Juliette says in the blue scrubs she insists on wearing. “I passed my test! I’m officially an RN!”
“Thank fu—thank fudge, I mean. I need all the help I can get.”
“You have a bad habit to break, Doc.”
“I know, I know. And I’m not even the worst one. Everyone is going to have to learn how to bite their tongues around these little ones.” Doc moves to the next child and checks their heart rate, listening closely for any inconsistencies.
“Yeah, but something tells me they won’t mind. They might be big, bad bikers, but they are softies at heart,” Juliette states, tucking a blanket under another kid.
“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Doc chides. “It will be a pissing match.”
We all share a laugh because we know it’s true, and then we quiet down when the sounds bounce off the walls. I lower my voice to a whisper, “Are you sure it’
s okay to leave? Maybe he will need me. I’m nervous to leave him alone.”
Doc stands in front of me, and his broad chest takes up my view. I tilt my head back to be able to look at him, and his massive paw of a hand takes mine. “I promise. I have him. I’m not going to let anything happen to these kids. They are probably the safest they’ve ever been.”
I know he’s right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared; not after everything that’s happened. “Okay, but call me if anything happens. If he wakes up, screams, cries—”
“Go. It’s fine.”
“Doctor’s orders. Get on out, missy.” Juliette pushes me toward the staircase.
“Fine. I’m going. I’m going.” I amble up the stairs, as slow as possible. I look back at Aidan, sleeping soundly, then I continue into the kitchen. A few guys are sitting around the table, tired from the trip to NOLA. Tongue is even falling asleep while sharpening his knife.
Tool slaps the back of Tongue’s head and he startles awake, pressing the blade against Tool’s crotch.
Tool stands on his tiptoes and backs away. “Woah, hey now. No need to go crazy. You were falling asleep while making your blade are nice and deadly. I was just trying to help.”
“I’m going to hit the hay,” Tongue snaps, sheathing his blade as if it’s a sword. “Don’t fuck with a man holding a knife, Tool. “
“Don’t fuck with a man holding a knife, Tool,” Tool acts childish, mocking Tongue like a little boy in a high-pitched tone.
“I’m too tired to even deal with you.” Tongue stomps off down the hall and opens the door where Sarah used to sleep, slamming it shut.
“Was it something I said?” Tool questions.
“No,” Poodle says in a way that is condescending toward Tool.
I grin at their antics and make my way to Skirt’s cabin. It’s a simple chalet style log cabin. Three bedrooms, two baths, and what’s even better is that he built it himself. Skirt is a man of many talents.
I open the door, and there are a few things missing, like the couch. The hardwood floors have been replaced with foam material that look like puzzle pieces. What the hell? As I make my way toward the master suite, I see a tool box sitting near the door along with a tool belt.
There’s childproof locks on everything. He might have gone a little overboard. There’s even foam covering the vent. It warms my heart that he cares so much, but Aidan knows not to go near the vents. I unlatch the foam from the puzzle piece and carry with me to the bedroom.
Skirt is sitting on the bed, rummaging through an old tattered cardboard box. On the side it says, ‘Conor.’
His brother.
I drop the red foam piece on the ground and crawl on the bed, then wrap my arms around Skirt. “You okay?”
“Today’s his birthday. I miss him,” Skirt breaks my heart with how soporific he sounds.
“I’m sorry. Is all of this stuff his? Do you have a picture? Why haven’t I seen him yet?”
“It’s been too painful to have his photos up without getting revenge. I guess, I can hang them on the walls instead of being shoved in a corner.” He buries his hand in the box and pulls an old picture frame out. The glass is cracked, but that’s alright; it can be replaced. “Here he is. He was older than me by ten years.”
With a gentle touch, I take the picture frame out of his hands and hold it as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. Simple black wood holds the picture in place and while I look through the glass, I see a pair of eyes that I see every day.
“Oh my God.” I rub my thumb through the dust on the glass to show Conor’s face more.
“What? What’s wrong? Did the glass get ye?” Skirt goes to take the picture out of my hand to check me for cuts, but I hold onto the frame tighter.
“This is Conor? This is your brother?” I ask.
“Aye, it is?”
My voice softens when I ask, “He's dead,” emotion clogging my throat.
“Aye, why?”
“That’s … that’s Aidan’s father.” A tear drips down my cheek and off my jaw, cleaning a spot on the glass. “One night. That’s all it was. Saw him at a bar in Scotland before I made my way to Ireland. We got drunk, and I woke up the next day and slid out of his bed because I didn’t want it to be awkward.”
“Aidan is my nephew? Are ye kidding me?” Skirt jumps off the bed and cheers. “Holy shite. I’m a bloody uncle. I’m an Uncle! My brother has a kid.” The laughter stops a moment later when he falls to his knees. “My brother has a kid, and he will never know. You’re sure? You are positive that he is Conor’s child?”
“I’m positive. His eyes are the one thing I will never be able to forget. A frozen blue, like if the Caribbean Sea was ice. He was beautiful.”
“He told me about you. I remember now. The girl from the bar. He had a picture of you two on his phone, but it was a bit blurry.”
“The whiskey,” Skirt and I say at the same time.
“I can’t believe it.” Skirt’s hands lay on my neck and he presses his forehead against mine, his tears falling onto the glass too. “I was meant to find ye, Dawn. Ye were meant to be mine. I have no doubt now that my brother sent ye to me. I have no fucking doubt because I don’t think I would have found ye or Aidan without him.”
“It doesn’t bother you? That Aidan is your brother’s?”
“Are ye kidding? Ye just made me the happiest man in the entire world. Aidan is my flesh, my blood, my brother’s son.” Skirt places his fist over his heart. “It’s a damn miracle.”
“I never thought I’d see him again. I had … I had no idea of his name or anything. I didn’t know he had died.” Emotions stuff my throat when I see Aidan’s father staring back at me. “I tried looking for him, but—”
“He was the best fighter in Scotland, how did you not know?”
“I didn’t know anything about that life then. I didn’t meet Cohen until after.”
“I’ve had five years to absorb his death; are ye okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just really sad that I didn’t get to know him more and that Aidan will never know his true father.”
“I’ll make sure he does,” Skirt promises, placing his hand on top of the picture. “I’ll make sure Aidan knows everything there is to know about Conor Blackwood.”
It’s hard to believe everything happens for a reason, especially when everything seems so bad, but then I have this moment with Skirt, learn about the father of my child, and have the comfort of having my son safe.
That is the reason.
And everything bad that’s happened, led me right where I belong.
Property of Skirt.
Chapter Twenty-Four
SKIRT
Today is the day.
Holy shite today is the day. I want to puke.
I have everything all set up. It’s perfect. Nothing can go wrong. “Okay, are ye ready?” I hold my hand over Dawn’s eyes as I guide her through the house.
I pass Knives who is at the kitchen table, taking a bandage off his arm that shows new ink, something he has never gotten before. I want to ask about it, but I have something much more important to do.
“What’s going on?” Dawn asks, taking apprehensive steps since she can’t see.
“Trust me.” I nip her ear.
Opening the door to the fuck rooms has never been so thrilling for me. The hallway is dark, a low glowing yellow light to set the mood to fuck instead of a bright fluorescent one. The smell of cheap booze and cigarettes permeates the air, which is not romantic at all, but this isn’t amount romance.
It’s about making fantasies come true.
Steering her through the doorway, I kick it shut and lay her on the bed, which has clean sheets on it. I’m not fucking my woman on a cum-stained bed without a barrier.
“Skirt?”
I tug my shirt off and wrap it around her head to blindfold her so she can’t see a thing.
“What’s going on?” she asks again.
“Ye’l
l see if ye hush that sexy mouth, Lips.” I unbutton her pants and throw them over my shoulder, growling when her soft, silky legs come to view. I roam my hands down her legs and hook my fingers over her panties then tug them down her thighs.
A wet spot forms in the middle of her crotch, soaking the material. With a hungry rumble in my belly, I bring the damp material to my nose and inhale. “Ye smell so fucking sweet, Lips. I can’t wait to taste this cunt.”
She moans and buries her hands in my hair, arching her back as I run my tongue up her inner thigh. I bypass her juicy sheath and grab the hem of her shirt with my mouth, pulling it up to expose her slender ribcage. I pepper kisses along her belly, and my hands dive under her shirt, gripping her big tits. I moan when her nipples harden under my touch. Straddling her, I rip the shirt off her head, then unhook her bra from the back with a quick snap.
She’s naked. Her creamy flesh is elegant and too pretty for the likes of this room, but what happens in this room isn’t going to be pretty. It’s going to be carnal.
The door opens again, and Bullseye slides inside. His eyes land on Dawn, and he adjusts his cock under his pants. I don’t have the urge to claw his eyes out because I know I can trust him. He knows the rules, and Dawn is beautiful to look at. She has an hourglass shape with her round tits and thick thighs.
It’s almost selfish of me not to share her, but I want to be selfish. Bullseye can watch, and that is all he’ll ever be able to do.
Bullseye settles in the corner, strips off his shirt and pants, and his cock is already hard. He sits on the loveseat and slowly jerks himself. He looks at home. Maybe he has done this before?
I take off my kilt and toss it on the ground, then straddle her belly, my cock slapping against it. Pre-cum dribbles from the tunnel, pooling a small drop on her stomach. I tug the makeshift blindfold free, and her lusty eyes set on mine.
My hand drops between her legs, and I rub my fingers through her sweet petals, causing her to moan. “Tell me if ye don’t want this, and we will stop,” I inform her and with my free hand, I turn her head in the direction Bullseye is sitting, lazily touching himself to the sight of her.