Teller (Tarnished Souls MC Book 4)

by Dusty Lassetter

  “I would tell you what I have in store for this evening, but I think the look of surprise on your face would be much more gratifying. Make sure she doesn’t get away,” he finishes, looking at the man still holding me up by my hair. Another one of Carlos’ henchmen I hadn’t known was here slides in behind me. I feel the coarseness of his jeans rubbing against my sensitive skin right before he takes my arms in a hold that presses my breasts forward, and keeps my limbs immobile behind my back. Feeling confident his new friend won’t allow me to get loose, my hair is released. To keep my head up is painful, due to the compressing hold I’ve been forced in, but the scarier decision would be to place my eyes downward. For whatever reason, I’d rather see what is about to happen, even if I can’t stop it.

  “Spread her legs,” Carlos instructs. Immediately after being commanded, the man behind me places his foot between mine and forces my feet to spread as wide as they will go. All of my most vulnerable spots are now easily accessible. My stomach instantly falls and vomit threatens to come up.

  “Bring me the kits,” Carlos commands.

  Like an obedient dog, creepy guy number one walks forward with a handful of packages. I try to keep my face relaxed, not wanting to give them any joy from my fear, but the long set of pliers Carlos is pulling out from his pocket has me trembling from head to toe.

  “If you squirm I might mess up.”

  I stay silent as I watch his hand move closer to my left breast, the pliers gripped firmly in his grasp. When I hear the sound of one of the packages being opened, I briefly look away from Carlos to see his man holding a thick needle and tiny steel loops in his dirty hands. That’s when I decide to close my eyes. I nearly jump out of my skin when the cold metal is placed on my nipple before being squeezed enough to cause me to whimper in pain.

  “P…p…please, don’t d…d…do this.”

  The three men laugh at me as I stutter out a plea for them to stop. They may keep me locked away from the world outside, but I know exactly what is going on right now. Carlos intends on piercing my nipples, and probably anything else he feels like. Unfortunately, there is no warning before I feel a sharp pinch, followed by a tremendous throbbing pain coming from my nipple that causes water to start leaking from my eyes. Once again laughter fills the room then I feel him placing the jewelry through the hole he just caused.

  Hanging my head in both shame and pain, Carlos only growls once when he has to move some loose strands of hair from his working area. The next piercing to my right nipple is far worse than the first. He then moves lower, and continues to violate my body one hole at a time. When all is said and done, I’ve got several new pieces of metal in my skin. One in each nipple, four belly button piercings, six metal rings lining my intimate folds, and one directly on my core.

  “Turn her around,” Carlos orders. The man struggles to get me in the new position. Now my chest and stomach is being smashed against his front, causing more pain to throb in my new injuries. The whimpers of pain freely falling from my mouth makes it impossible to hear what is going on around me. Sadly, I am instantly aware of what is planned next when I feel pieces of my skin being pinched together on my left shoulder blade. I scream out as Carlos slowly forces a needle through my thick skin before placing yet another ring in my body. One after the other, I holler out as he makes two rows, each one having four piercings, down the sides of my back.

  “Now you should be able to hang without falling down,” his cruel voice laughs out over my cries of pain. “Get her decorated with the body jewelry. No one wants to beat on an ugly piñata.”

  Teller

  What the fuck did I just hear? Is Scarlett even aware she’s just told me that horrific and very personal story. It’s like she checked out while still describing everything that was done to her as if she was writing in a journal. The lack of emotion being shown is both alarming and amazing to witness. It’s like her brain has gone into robot mode. Is this the response those monsters got from her? If so, good for Scarlett. A lot of women in that situation would have given those men exactly what they wanted. A fight. Sick perverts like those love nothing more than to feel powerful. What’s more intense than a subduing opponent? Taking away just a sliver of their delight should be considered a win as far as I am concerned.

  Walking around to the other side of the bed, I expect her to follow me with those curious green eyes, but there is no sign that she’s aware of the movement. Her drone like voice is still recounting the way they tied her from the ceiling using the fresh piercings they forced into her back after tying her arms and legs together with rope. With each new piece of information I hear, I’m finding it harder and harder to keep from getting angry. Even though I lived through my own version of Hell, I can’t compare it to the torture she has endured.

  “…Carlos and his men rip off their belts, and one by one they take turns marking my skin. The searing hot pain is instant and continuous. It’s all I can do to hope for these three men to grow tired before my throat has time to turn raw from the screams echoing off the walls. Suspended in the air, swaying from left to right, I picture the look on Slasher’s face when he stabbed my father. I always think of him when it’s my turn to be tortured. I want his memory to be etched in every one of my beatings. After all, it is his fault I am Carlos’ prisoner. Imagining his hazel eyes staring into mine, they start swinging widely, hitting me in the face, and laughing like the monsters they are, until I can’t take the pain anymore. Either that, or my brain is lacking the oxygen it needs to stay awake. Regardless of the cause, I let the blackness take hold.”

  I snap my fingers directly in front of her zoned-out eyes, amazed when the action has the effect I was hoping it would. Suddenly, there is life breathing back into her eyes. She blinks a handful of times, then looks at me forcing a reassuring smile on her face.

  “Like I said, no needles are going near my skin.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  The question comes out harsh, well, because all my words come out coarse, but I meant for this inquiry to sound even more abrasive. She was in one-hundred percent zombie mode then perked up to say some bullshit about needles and her skin. I completely understand her fear of them, but her behavior is strange. Even to me, and that is saying something. Scarlett has never tried to talk to me about anything personal, let alone her past. Now she’s just described, in detail, a time when she was used as a human piñata for several perverts in a basement, and there is still no emotion on her face other than alertness.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and I didn’t tell you that story for sympathy. You can stop looking at me like I might crumble to the ground in pieces. If they didn’t break me when I was with them, I won’t allow the memories to. “

  Sympathy is not an emotion I am capable of feeling. I would tell her this, but the words would be pointless. She won’t believe them because anyone that heard what I just did would have to be a monster to not have empathy. I am however compressing other emotions. Like rage. I’m angry over the way she was treated. I tell myself it has nothing to do with her specifically, that I would be just as angry hearing this from anyone else, but that is a lie. Scarlett is starting to grow on me, and a big part of it is because I like having someone to just be with while my brother is recovering. I’m also feeling disbelief. The mere fact that a young girl, such as herself, could endure what she did and still be sane in mind is amazing to me. It proves Scarlett is a fighter. She may not have physically fought back, but, unlike her body, Scarlett’s mind was impenetrable.

  “I’ve told you one of my secrets, do you care to share one of yours with me?”

  I have a closet full of skeletons, ones that would keep her demons company in the dark. Should I confess to killing Dak, the idiotic bartender that was a secret mole for Slasher? I may have misled my Tarnished Souls brothers to believe he left for home due to a family emergency. I had no choice but to lie to them if I wanted to keep everyone from poking around my business. They don’t need to know what I ha
ve planned until it’s too late for them to change it.

  Maybe Scarlett wants to hear about how Saint and I had to survive on the streets as teenage boys. The criminal activity we had to adopt just to get food in our bellies at the end of the night. Being homeless runaways that committed the ultimate sin by killing our parents was not something that helped us sleep at night, but if I was being honest with myself, I would have to admit that eating out of a trash can beat staying in the same house with Roberto.

  Perhaps, she would like to hear in detail what it was like to carry the only person I’ve ever cared about out of a burning building. The devastation I felt that caused the fluid running through my veins to go cold when I witnessed all the blood my brother was losing while lying on a dirty floor. I guess if she would like to hear about the day something inside me died, I would have to describe to her what I felt when the doctor told me my brother was a lost cause.

  Instead of presenting her with one of my heartfelt stories, I turn to walk away. This is not a fucking trust circle. I have no desire to share anything, with anyone, ever. Does a part of me feel linked to Scarlett because I know we will most likely both die lonely? Yes, but the knowledge that we are both going to live out our fucked up lives alone is all we will share.

  “Teller,” she rushes out, grabbing onto my arm to stop any forward process I’m trying to make. “Thank you for listening and not asking questions.”

  The small smile that forms on her lips tells me she said the last part on purpose. Scarlett knew the possibility of me questioning her was slim to none. Maybe she was using me as a means to get some of the ugly that’s happened to her out in the open. She’s not going to therapy, mainly because she refuses, so I can’t help thinking this might become a reoccurring thing. Is she going to start unloading her horrors on me? If so, allowing her to release some of her demons would be considerate. Especially since I am about to drag her back to her own personal Hell.

  Cracking my neck from side to side, I walk into The Honey Hole ready to get the release I’ll need to make it through the end of the week. After the night I’ve had, spending time with Krystle seemed like a good idea. That was until I stepped into this loud club and instantly thought about the girl I left back at the clubhouse. Almost instantly, my veins start to fill with anger from being a fucking pervert. Scarlett is too young for me, at least for right now, so she is the last person I should be thinking about. Even if she is the one to blame for my sudden lack of focus. My unwillingness to get close to her is slowly dissolving, and that is a problem I cannot afford to have. What started out as a means to an end, is slowly becoming something more. I like her company. Hell, sometimes I crave it. Even the way she watches me has become somewhat comforting.

  Shaking my head free from the thoughts that will end up taking me down a road that doesn’t need to be traveled, I lay out the facts to myself for the thousandth time. Scarlett can be nothing more than the bait I intended her to be. There is never going to be anything between us, especially after my planned-out betrayal. Not only will she never forgive me, I’ll probably be kicked out of Tarnished Souls MC.

  Both of those thoughts bring a sickness to my stomach I haven’t felt since Saint was shot, yet the reality of my situation isn’t going to change. It’s taken me a while to admit the facts, but they eventually registered after staring me in the face every night for months. Saint is not going to wake up, and Slasher is to blame. He may not have pulled the trigger, but he set this entire play into motion when he took Serenity and Taz. Everyone in my club was dead set on revenging their VP and princess. I, however, was more concerned with ridding the world of an ugly monster like the Blacktop Sinners’ President. Now, his death means something more personal. I plan on turning the machines off that are keeping Saint alive, and after that I don’t care what happens to me. Just as long as I can send Slasher to Hell ahead of myself. I want to spend an eternity showing him what happens when you cross a crazy mother fucker like me. I want him to suffer a death worse than my brothers.

  “You look tense,” Krystle breaths out in her naturally hoarse tone. Men commonly mistake her for a smoker, but are quickly corrected when assuming that her voice is the way it is due to a filthy habit.

  I don’t flinch away from her touch when she trails her finger up the side of my arm because I have given Krystle permission to touch me now. Before, when I first started coming to see her, I never liked for there to be much physical contact; only what was necessary. However, after two years of coming to see the same woman when I need to fuck, I decided to ease up on some of my rules. It doesn’t hurt that Krystle has proven to be trustworthy, and, regardless of whether she will admit it I know she has feelings for me.

  “I haven’t seen you all week. Did you find someone to replace me?”

  Like so many other people that spend enough time with me, this woman has learned to read my body language. The tone of her voice suggests she was only asking to be playful, but the look I send her way gives an answer she wasn’t prepared for. The happiness that was shining like glitter in her brown eyes is now replaced with both sadness and disbelief.

  The red silky robe Krystle is wearing over her skimpy lingerie is hanging loosely off her bare shoulders. The moment she attempts to cover her exposed skin by pulling the robe tightly around her, I start to understand just how much she has come to feel for me. Any other night I wouldn’t let this bother me, but I’m in a special type of mood. This agreement we have is not one-sided. I came here for what she’s always been willing to give up. Instead of shrugging it off and leaving the club, I send another look her way. One that can’t be mistaken for anything else. If she doesn’t want to fuck me tonight, there is plenty of other pussy in this building.

  “No!” she exclaims. “I’ve kept our normal room clean. Follow me.”

  Turning around, Krystle leads us both to the back of the club. Watching her long legs elegantly eat up the space in those high heels has my blood pumping with more than just oxygen. All the pint up sexual hormones I’ve kept concealed for Scarlett are coming to the surface. The outcome is making me harder than I’ve ever been. My balls are itching for release. I just hope Krystle is prepared for the rough sex I have planned.

  Once we have entered, I slam the door shut with more force than needed. The loud noise causes Krystle to jump from surprise, but when she turns around to look at me there is a smile on her face. Having gotten rid of whatever emotion she was feeling, the look in her eyes tells me she is more than ready to play rough with me.

  Her hand comes down a lot faster and harder than usual. The sting on the side of my face is instant, and so is the excitement building within my nerves. Then, in a move she’s never used before, Krystle brings her hand down a second time. Only this time, she scrapes her nails across my check before pulling away. I can see the tiniest hint of fear enter her eyes before the smile on her face grows from satisfaction. Taking the tips of my fingers, I dab the side of my face and come back with a small amount of blood.

  “You deserve worse,” she spits out, trying to get past me. The door to her fake freedom is directly behind me, and she’ll need a miracle to get to it. This is what makes Krystle so special. She understands what I need, and doesn’t make me feel like a freak for it. I get off on fear and power. This need to have a woman hit me, scream and cry as if I am a danger to her is something I’ve tried to ignore. It makes me feel like a monster, but the urges are there whether I want them to be or not. Only, I’m afraid of what might happen if I disregard them for too long.

  “Let me go. Get OFF ME!”

  She begins kicking her feet out and punching me wherever her tiny fist can when I pick her up at the waist. A couple of her blows land on the side of my head, and one foot even comes close to my balls. Throwing her the three feet needed to be on the bed, watching as her small body roughly bounces from the force she’s landed with, I begin to take off the belt I’ll use to wrap around her throat.

  “P…p…please,” she starts to stammer ou
t, laying it on thick with fake tears. Seeing the water leaving her eyes, rolling down the sides of her cheeks, makes my dick start throbbing with need. Her hair is now disheveled, and that soft robe is laid open showing off more skin than it’s covering. When she notices my eyes roaming over her tits and stomach, Krystle tries to cover her fair skin by crossing her arms over her chest.

  Growling low in my throat, I wrap the thick leather around my hand before lunging toward the bed. She tries to claw her way backwards, mumbling incoherent pleas for me to stop. Latching onto the closest of Krystle’s ankles, I pull her and the bedding toward me with one solid tug. Then, forcing her onto her belly, which isn’t an easy task with all the flailing arms and well-placed hits, I place my knee on the center of her back.

  “You’re a sick mother fucker! Let me GO!”

  The mattress is muffling most of her words, but even if they weren’t I wouldn’t be worried. Everyone in this club knows to keep out of this room no matter what they hear, or they think they hear. Krystle only had to have one discussion with Buck to assure him I was not hurting her in any way, shape, or form that she didn’t enjoy. It would be a lie to say I don’t hurt her at all. There are always bumps and bruises left on her frail body when we are finished, but not once has she not enjoyed herself.

  “Please, please…I’m sorry…Don’t do this.”

  Unraveling the black leather from my hand, I stretch it out before bringing it down to her face. Grabbing a handful of brown hair, I force Krystle’s head off the mattress enough for me to fit the belt under her throat. Tugging the end through the buckle, I make sure to tighten it enough that she has to work harder for the oxygen she needs.