Teller (Tarnished Souls MC Book 4)

by Dusty Lassetter

  Visibly swallowing the lump of apprehension in my throat his stare causes, I try to force my brain to form a sentence. Torch and Hammer had this brilliant idea to get out of the clubhouse today. They invited everyone to join them at the lake for some much-needed rest and relaxation. All the women are going and I really don’t want to be left with the few bikers that will stay. Teller’s been guarding me like a knight would his queen ever since I caught him cleaning blood off his hands in the bathroom, so I doubt he will allow me to go without him. I haven’t told anyone what I saw, mainly because I have a hunch on who’s blood it was flowing down that drain. Dak, the bartender hasn’t been seen since that night, and it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

  “Mia, Sammy, and Rebecca are going to the lake with the men. Sammy is driving the truck so I can ride with her.”

  I don’t bother telling him that Sammy offered to drive me because we all suspect he will choose to stay here instead of going. Seeing as Teller has claimed me, no one else would dare offer to let me ride on the back of their bike. I think the rule is written somewhere in their secret coded biker manual they keep hidden like a girl would her diary.

  I stay locked onto his stare because I am tired of cowering like the runt of a wolf pack as his eyes squint in deep thought. Teller tilts his head a fraction to the left, obviously curious as to why I am still pretending to be braver than I truly am. Seconds tick by before he eventually shakes his head, silently telling me no, before dismissing me all together and going back to work.

  “I…I am going with or without you,” I respond. I really do try to get the sentence out without stuttering. You see, I may need Teller on my side, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t scare the crap out of me. His silence and perfected looks of disdain make him twice as frightening as any man in this club.

  The way he slowly lifts his face to look at me once again, reminds me of a possessed soul that no longer has control of his body. Teller’s eyes zero in on mine before a sneer pulls at his lips. The angle his head is tilted at causes the scar running across his throat to appear coarse, but I know from seeing it up close that the opposite is true. Whatever knife was used to do that to him had to have been smooth and sharp to leave that mark.

  “Please come with me,” I whisper, trying to appeal to his kinder side, if he has one.

  Standing up from the stool he was posted at, I can’t help but wonder how such a small object kept his large body from falling to the floor. The steel they used for the four legs must be made from the same metal they use on skyscrapers. Then, with two large steps in my direction, Teller has my mind focusing back on him. The black shirt he is wearing is somewhat baggy around his abdomen, but the shoulder area is stretched tight showing just how broad they are. Teller would’ve had a good chance playing professional football if he wanted. His dark blue jeans are ripped and frayed in a lot of places, but the longest tear is strangely right at the seam of his zipper. I find myself pondering how such a thing happened when he purposely grabs himself in front of me.

  “Sorry,” I rush out while feeling the heat from my embarrassment start to consume my entire body from having been caught staring at his crotch. I have no doubt my skin is starting to match the color of my hair, and unlike some women, when I blush it’s anything but sexy or cute. My entire body turns red like an overcooked lobster. Placing my face in my hands from shame, I decide I’ve humiliated myself enough for one day and take a step back to make my leave. Only, my flip-flop catches on something that was thoughtlessly thrown to the floor and my ankle opts to give out. I feel my weight suddenly shift to my left, and begin to prepare myself for the hard landing that will soon follow. With the mess surrounding us, I will probably end up with a screw shoved in my hip, a hubcap up my butt, and a screwdriver taking out my eye. At least I won’t be able to see Teller’s face after this horrifying situation.

  Then, the unthinkable happens, and I find myself being held up by a pair of strong hands covered in black grease. I can feel the warmth of his skin seeping through my shirt. The fact that Teller’s fingers are long enough to nearly touch tips as he easily holds me in place is not lost on me. A man with hands the size of his is terrifying and intriguing at the same time. He could easily squeeze the life out of me, or anyone he wanted for that matter, yet he’s making sure to hold me as if I am a fragile piece of glass.

  “You should clean your work area.” I intend for my comment to come off as a simple suggestion, but all the excitement from the past few minutes is making my voice sound pitchy. My statement comes off as whiny, and surprisingly enough this makes the big brute still holding me up smile.

  “You find this funny?”

  The smile on his face grows larger before he gives me a slight nod of his head. Let’s say I wanted to be mad or upset that my humiliation and possible pain makes him smile, I can’t seem to get those feelings to surface. It’s the opposite actually. I find that a smile is also pulling at my lips, and for the first time in a long time it’s real.

  “You can let go of me now,” I whisper.

  The reminder that his hands were still wrapped around me, even after I had already regained my footing, brings a darkness to his eyes I’ve never seen before. He jerks away from me as if I have burned him before placing some space between us. I hadn’t thought about it while I was being held up by his strength, but Teller was a good distance away from me. He must have lightning fast reflexes to have caught me before I hit the ground.

  “I’ll tell the girls I’ve decided to stay,” I mumble, preparing to walk away. I don’t know why his sudden look of rejection hurts, but I can’t stop my chest from aching. Am I that repulsive? There was a time when he was compassionate towards me. I guess that compassion vanished the moment his brother was shot.

  The same hand that just pulled away from me finds its way to my arm, stopping me before I can completely turn around. I take a page from his book and cock my head to the side allowing Teller to see the confusion on my face. Why has he stopped me?

  I wait, and wait some more, for him to tell me something, but he never does. I can tell by the look on his face that he has changed his mind about going. There is guilt lining his eyes which means he feels pressured to take me. I didn’t have to tell him that his actions just a moment ago hurt me. Teller is a master at reading body language.

  “Say it,” I challenge him, trying to see just how far I can push his remorseful button. “Hearing you say it will make me happy.”

  His broad shoulders tense at the same time his hand tightens around my arm almost to the point of becoming painful. I don’t allow the change in his demeanor to distract me. Staring into his sapphire blue eyes, that shine even brighter when he is annoyed, I wait to see if my happiness means anything to him. Teller doesn’t know, but any hope I have at gaining his affection long enough to help me, relies on this moment. If he doesn’t want to make me happy now, he’ll never care enough to protect me from Slasher.

  “I’ll go,” he growls, sounding like a wild beast.

  I make sure to relay to him just how much his gravelly words mean to me by stretching my smile to the point of pain. I ignore the ache in my cheeks until Teller finally looks away to grab a rag. I know it’s not my imagination when I see his tense body relax. He will never admit it, but I know there is a small part of him that took pleasure out of making me happy.

  The ride to the lake is shorter than I would like it to be. The wind pushing against my body makes me feel like I am flying, and the sensation always makes me think of my late father. Gavin Rhodes was a tough man to love, but he was my father and I always enjoyed the times he would take me out on his bike. It’s the only good memories I really have of him. He drove a lot faster and crazier than Teller that’s for sure. Yet, I find that I like Teller’s smooth pace better. He isn’t in any hurry to get where he is going, and gives me time to enjoy all the sensations being on the back of a motorcycle brings. The way the vibrations take hold of your muscles, slowly pumping energy throu
gh your blood that your body had no idea it was missing. Being on the back of this bike feels right. It gives me a sense of freedom I never thought I would have again.

  All too soon, we are pulling into the grassy plot the men have obviously used as a parking space many times. The grass around us is knee high except the area their bike tires have flattened. The incline we parked on makes it easy to see the water in the distance. The midday sun is casting a light on the water making it seem shiny and pretty, but I’m not fooled. Lake water is probably the nastiest water you could swim in. There is no telling what could be creeping around you in that murky mess. I’ll find myself a big tree and enjoy watching everyone else have fun in the shade.

  Sammy walks up to me holding my squirming nephew in her arms. She has on a pair of cut off shorts, a loose-fitting tank top, and flip-flops. She is matching every other woman here, including Ashley now that her injuries have healed. They all wore loose clothing over their bathing suits because, unlike me, they don’t mind sharing their space with unknown creatures.

  “I’ll hold him while you get his playpen,” I offer. Sammy drove Hammer’s truck, this time with his permission, because she didn’t want to leave Kaeper with one of the older member’s wives. She doesn’t like to leave him if it can be avoided, and I can’t say I blame her. We all know life can change in a blink of an eye, a lesson us girls learned the hard way.

  As soon as he’s placed in my arms, he tangles his chubby little fingers in my hair. Usually, I can get him to let go by tickling his fat cheeks with multiple kisses, but his grip can’t be broken so easily this time. I’m busy trying to release his fingers when an all imposing shadow blocks the sun from shining on my back, encompassing us in the shade.

  Teller gently swats my hand away from the knot that is now my hair before going to work at releasing it from Kaeper’s grip. Once his work is finished, he walks around my immobile form, picking a sitting spot far away from all the activity, as if the kind gesture he just demonstrated isn’t a big deal. Had anyone else been the one to help me I would have thanked them and not thought anything of it, but these days Teller is not someone that goes around helping people. The simplest of actions from him has been something I’ve needed to prove to myself that I am not just grasping at straws. Teller is starting to tolerate me; therefore he will feel more inclined to protect me.

  “That was strange,” Sammy mentions as she strolls up to me with a diaper bag swung over one arm and a compacted playpen in the other.

  “He isn’t as scary as you think,” I mumble, pinching the cheeks of her little hair bandit.

  “Umm…sure.”

  “You can set up Kaeper’s stuff in the shade. I’ll watch him while you swim,” I offer, opting out of responding to her obvious doubt. Sammy has literally told me every day that Teller can’t be trusted. She thinks he is going to hurt me, and despite my many attempts to reassure her everything is fine, she continues to throw her opinion around daily. I love that Sammy cares, but she’ll never understand the reasons why I need someone like Teller. Rebecca, on the other hand, is a hopeless romantic and thinks I have found my Romeo. I tell her all the time that particular-story is probably the worst to strive for in the romance department. They did end up killing themselves after all, but she likes to ignore the horrific ending. I admire her ability to want love after everything she has been through. Too bad Hammer appears to be too scared to peruse the spark Rebecca thinks they have.

  The perfect spot is soon found by Sammy. Two giant oak trees are shading an area large enough for all of Kaeper’s stuff and myself. Being the overly-prepared person I know and love, Sammy starts unpacking things from the large diaper bag swung over her shoulder. She tosses a blanket to the ground, along with some sunscreen, snacks, and bottles of water.

  “Call me crazy, but isn’t a diaper bag supposed to be for the baby?” I ask, making a point to look at all the nonbaby stuff she has pulled out.

  “There is no need for me to carry a purse when I can fit all my stuff in here too.”

  “Why would you have snacks and a blanket in your purse?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  She gives me a look that says she honestly doesn’t understand how that would be considered weird. Now that we are out of that basement, Sammy has been able to freely be herself. She’s the person everyone goes to when they need to know some off the wall at home remedy, or when they need a favor because Sammy has a hard time telling people no; except for when it comes to sharing food. Thankfully, none of the members take advantage of her kind heart, but I think that’s because they know Torch would skin them alive.

  “Nerve mind,” I reply, watching as she sets up the playpen before placing the blanket on the ground, giving me somewhere to sit. I gently lay Kaeper down with a plush elephant toy that squeaks when you squeeze it, hoping it will keep him as entertained as my hair seems to.

  “If you decide you want to go swimming just holler,” she says bending down to give her son a kiss on the forehead.

  “Alright.”

  “He has a bottle of juice, and one with milk. The wipes are in the side pocket along with a couple of clean spit rags. I’ll be back to check on him, but if he starts getting fussy come get me. Sometimes he just wants to be walked around.”

  I smile sweetly at Sammy as she goes on her five-minute mom speech. She is what one would call a helicopter mom, but I think it’s sweet. Kaeper may not like it when he is sitting by his own mother in class because she can’t bear to leave him.

  “She’s not incompetent, Sammy. Let’s go,” Rebecca states, giving me a look that says I owe her for walking up to save me from another long speech.

  “I don’t think you’re incapable, Scarlett. I just worry about him, that’s all,” Sammy sincerely states.

  “I know you don’t. Now go have fun. I will holler if I need you.”

  With that said, they walk toward the group of people already in the water. Sammy never takes off her shirt or shorts before getting in, but Rebecca isn’t shy. Her and Mia are out there in tiny bikinis, both of them confident in their own skin. Allison is talking amongst them, while her sister, Ashley, is sticking beside Irish on the banks of the water. I try not to let her situation form a cloud of sorrow around myself. Having been where she was, I know exactly what it’s like to try and piece yourself back together. Part of me is envious of her. I don’t think she understands how many times a day I sometimes wish I could forget the things that were done to me. Having to remember his smell, the way he smiled, his voice, and worst of all, the look of obsession that danced in his eyes whenever he looked at me. Ashley should stop trying to remember Slasher, and just be thankful she made it out alive.

  Teller

  I don’t know why I allowed myself to be talked into joining everyone at the lake. I hate gatherings, regardless of their size. I’ve always preferred my own space, even when Saint was still here with us. When the club would throw their parties, I would always find solace in my room by myself. The men used to give me a hard time about it, but now they expect it. So why did I agree to come today? Was it the hope glittering in Scarlett’s green eyes, or the guilt I felt at her nearly breaking her neck because I keep my work area messy? I would like to think it’s because I need her to trust me, and this is the start of that. Yet, I find the more I try talking myself into believing that the angrier I become. She has somehow started burrowing underneath my skin, and I don’t fucking like it.

  Thankfully, we didn’t have to stay at the lake all day. The members just wanted to get their ladies out of the house long enough to stop their nagging. I say nagging because I can hear them whining all hours of the day while I’m busy planning my revenge. I must admit Scarlett never does complain about being locked up in the clubhouse. Unlike the others, she enjoys the sense of safety our compound brings her.

  Pulling into the gas station behind everyone else, I park alongside Taz’s bike because we are the only two smart enough to have filled up before we left using the small fuel
storage tank we have on the property. Hammer, Irish, Buck, and Torch take up the last row of gas pumps on the far left, while we sit still and wait for them to finish. It’s not until I see the line of crotch rocket motorcycles pull into the parking lot that I turn off my Harley. I hate having to kickstart her up again, but I have a sense that things are about to take a turn for the worse.

  These clowns were beside us at a red light revving up their baby engines. When Buck sped off, the rest of us followed, showing them that our Harley’s have more torque than their Suzuki’s. All we needed to do was beat them off the line because they wouldn’t be able to pass us on the wavy-one-lane road. I guess you could say pussies willing to drive those bitch bikes don’t like being beat, and that’s why they have started surrounding my brothers at the pumps. They have ten men to our six, but in all seriousness Mia is the same size as one of them. I’ve seen that woman throw a punch. I’d place money on her taking him in a fight.

  Taz looks at me then we both climb off our bikes ready to defend the men and the colors we proudly wear. “Stay here, angel. I mean it,” he warns Serenity, before storming off.

  I give Scarlett a look that says I expect the same from her before quickly making my way toward the group of men that are now squaring off. It’s amusing to see a group of guys wearing skinny jeans bowing up to a group of bikers wearing leather cuts, but not all of them are tiny like their small friend. In fact, the one standing up to Irish is bigger than him, but I know my foreign brother can take him out. When Irish fights, he wins. Period.

  “You’re taking up the last of the pumps. Let’s agree that you and your friends can use two, and we get the other two.”

  This tall bastard must be their leader. His face is free of hair, his eyebrows look like they’ve been plucked, and his blonde hair actually has gel in it. If I were a betting man I would place money on the fact that these wannabes are trust fund babies. They have rich parents and thought it would be thrilling to form a group for pansies that ride fast bikes. Not a single one of them looks to be over the age of twenty-five.