Teller (Tarnished Souls MC Book 4)

by Dusty Lassetter

  Halfway finished with the last letter I received from Teller, reading over every line with precision, trying to come up with something new I may have missed, I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a tapping noise on my front door. Who in the world would be coming to my house this late at night? I know it’s not Mia, who lives half a mile away, because she never knocks. It’s not Torch. He always calls or texts before coming over because he respects my privacy unlike his wife.

  I have to stand on tiptoes to fully peek through the tiny hole in my door. At first, I think I must be seeing things, and decide I should try to shake my head loose of any sleep before looking again. It isn’t until the third time I strain my eyes to see that I realize no matter how many times I shake, slap, or bobble my head the outcome is not going to be any different.

  “You can’t be here,” I holler through the door because that is what one does when someone they desperately want to see, but know they shouldn’t, is standing outside waiting for an invitation to come in.

  Once again, Teller brings his knuckles toward the wooden surface standing between us, and begins to knock. This time the sound is louder, more aggressive, and I immediately jump back afraid he will be able to reach me through the barrier.

  Holy crap, Teller is out of prison. The Blacktop Sinner’s President, that I’ve told myself countless times to avoid at all cost, is a free man. A free man standing outside my house. This must be the reason I haven’t received a letter in weeks. I wonder how long he’s been out?

  “Torch is not going to like this.”

  His deep, almost evil, laughter fills my ears and my chest begins to expand with an emotion I haven’t felt in two years. Excitement is thickening my blood. I sometimes feared the possibility of happiness had been taken away from me the night Teller gave me to Slasher. At first, I felt betrayed. The feeling was so deep it burned my throat worse than any stomach acid could. Then, I felt angry. I was mad at him for not trusting me with his plan. I would have done anything to make sure Slasher never bothered me again. I had thought he knew that. After his trial, when I learned he had been sentenced to two years, an overwhelming sense of sadness overcame me. Teller had become a friend. Somehow, I had thought everything would work itself out, only for the universe to prove me wrong. Teller was not going to reconcile with the Tarnished Souls, he was not going to apologize for what he had done to me, and he would not be around to do so even if he wanted.

  The sound of him entering a key into my lock, then the brass knob turning, has me taking large steps backwards while reaching for anything I can use as a weapon. The moment my fingers wrap around the handle of an umbrella, Teller comes sauntering through the now open doorway like he has every right to do so.

  He looks just as edible as I remember with long legs encased in faded black jeans, silver chains hanging from his front left pocket, and a leather jacket hiding his new cut that displays his club’s colors. Teller’s hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it. The bottom half is buzzed short, while the top hair is slicked back into a short ponytail that makes him look fierce and dangerous.

  “Don’t make me use this,” I boldly state while placing the umbrella in front of me, keeping him at a safe distance. Until this point, he hasn’t bothered to look past my weapon, but the moment he does I am rendered powerless. His blue eyes seem even more mesmerizing than before, and the words he has yet to speak are shining bright in them. That’s right big boy, I’ve grown up. No more is the shy and timid Scarlett that wears nothing but boy clothes. I’ve become comfortable with my curves and no longer feel the need to hide them.

  “Scarlett.”

  That voice. The one that is fearsome enough to haunt the evilest of demons hasn’t changed. The cruelness of his tone reminds me of all the letters I’ve read. Of all the men that had the misfortune of hearing that sound before they were killed by the man that possessed it.

  “Marcus.”

  I use his first name not knowing exactly what he goes by these days. The new club and new title may have forced him to decide on a new name. The look he sends my direction doesn’t exactly tell me whether I was smart for doing so.

  “Why did you not open the door?”

  His question causes me to let my guard down from the audacity of it. Does he honestly believe I should have let him into my house? There is absolutely no reason for him to be here, and the consequences that could follow are dangerous.

  “How did you get a key?”

  “Answer me,” he commands while placing one booted foot in front of the other in an attempt to close the space between us. Without hesitation, I open the umbrella. Forget the seven years of bad luck. Right now, there is no thinking that far ahead into the future.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I state instead. I feel it necessary to point this out a second time. “Buck wouldn’t like it. Torch would be livid if he knew you were standing in my living room.”

  “Fuck them both,” he declares so easily. Has he forgotten those two men used to be his friends? That once upon a time he would have killed, or been killed, for them. “Put down your weapon,” he states with sarcasm.

  “Leave and I will.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  The laughter lines around his eyes grow in size as soon as the question leaves my mouth. Apparently, I am amusing the new Blacktop Sinners’ President without even trying. With my open umbrella, showing off the pink polka dots that are making it hard for me to look menacing, I take a tentative step forward. In my head, I can only imagine what this must look like. Here I am, all five feet two inches of me, trying to herd a big brute like Teller out of my door with something that barely keeps the rain from soaking me.

  “No…,” He smoothly states while easily pushing aside the object keeping him from getting to me. “No…,” He continues to say, taking another step in my direction before flinging the open umbrella across my small living room. “No…,” he growls when he is close enough to grab me by the throat.

  The feeling of his large hand tightening around my neck is both scary and exhilarating. In just a split second, the blood flowing through my body has started to hum with adrenaline, nervousness, and need. The last of the sensations confuses me, but there is no mistaking it. The moment he wrapped those long fingers around my throat, my stomach sent zings of enjoyment straight to my core that had me instantly growing wet with desire.

  “You like this,” he declares, not questions. The way he is rubbing his thumb across my high-speed pulse tells me there is no point in trying to lie. That is just one of the ways Teller can tell I am enjoying his rough touch. My body, on its own accord, has leaned into his. My breasts have grown heavy and my nipples are peeking out of the tight t-shirt I had planned on wearing to bed. Part of me hopes he leans down and rips it off with his teeth. The image alone nearly causes a moan to rip from my throat, but I manage to clamp my jaw shut before it can release.

  “Lie to me,” he says leaning in to breathe the words on my sealed lips. I can smell the freshness of his breath from having most likely chewed gum on his way over here. Part of me hopes he doesn’t smell the half a bottle of wine I was trying to polish off before he showed up. I don’t want him to think I have become a lush since he’s been gone.

  “Tell me you don’t want me. Scream at me to get my filthy hands off you. Fight me.”

  Considering his glowing sapphire eyes, I can see the need he has for me to do as he’s commanded. There, hidden deep in the depths of his being, is the monster anyone who crosses him encounters. I don’t know what is more disturbing. The fact he is demanding I attack him over something we both know I am enjoying, or the fresh need flooding my system when I think about doing it.

  When my response doesn’t come quick enough for him, Teller slams his mouth onto mine attacking me with an urgency I have never experienced before. Yes, I’ve dated one or two men in the two years Teller has been gone, but neither one sent sparks flying in the air when they touched me. My body is plung
ing into overdrive from the way he is handling me. I’m not this delicate flower everyone has been treating me like, and Teller is the first person to realize that.

  I don’t know what causes me to do it, maybe it’s the tall glass of red wine I had, but without much thought behind the action, I bring both my hands to the center of his chest. Pushing with all my might, I manage to shove him far enough away for me to bring my right hand down on the left side of his face.

  “Don’t touch me,” I spit out in a tone we both can tell is nothing more than an act. I want his large callused hands on every part of my body. I want him to toss me onto the chair, spread my legs wide, then take this need rushing through my bloodstream, and make it into something more delicious. I want, no need him to take this ache between my legs away that only he has been able to bring forth.

  He raises his thumb to the side of his mouth, and comes back with a small spot of blood that must have come from his lip. I hadn’t intended on hitting him that hard, but the look of pure excitement in his eyes makes it impossible to regret my action. There is something carnal whispering in my ears, telling me to take his mouth with mine and taste the pain I have caused him. Rushing forward, jumping on him like a crazed maniac, I crash my lips onto his. There is no holding back once he bites my bottom lip and soothes away the sting with the tip of his tongue. Time ceases to exist as we taste one another. His tongue starts clashing with mine, our hands begin tangling into whatever they can grab a hold of, and together we prove that the two of us can last minutes without breathing as long as we have the other to survive off of.

  I’m so caught up in the kiss that I’m unaware he has been walking to the couch that sits in the center of the room. It isn’t until I am tossed onto the furniture that I become mindful of my whereabouts.

  “You’re not ready,” Teller declares while adjusting the huge hard-on he has outlining the front of his pants. My eyes instantly zero in on his movement, but the low growl coming from his chest has me once again focusing on his blue irises.

  “Don’t tell me what I am, and am not, ready for,” I grind out.

  “It’s the truth. I could fuck you right here, right now, but that’s not the only thing I want from you. The claim I made two years ago stands. You’re mine, and belong at my side.”

  “What do you mean, at your side?” I question while rising to a sitting position on my knees. I swear I see his cock grow double the size in his jeans as he gazes down at me in this stance. Well, that’s too bad big boy. You have officially tampered down my hormones with your mini speech.

  “As soon as I get the clubhouse ready you’ll be coming home with me.”

  “That’s no possible. I won’t go back there, and it would cause a war between your club and the Tarnished Souls.”

  Taking a step toward the couch, leaning down into my personal space, Teller makes sure to nudge my chin in his direction. Staring into the eyes that are more than capable of searing into my soul, he lets me know what he thinks about my reasons for not wanting to go back to the Blacktop Sinners’ club.

  “If it’s a war they want, it’s a war they will get. You will be my old lady, even if I have to drag you back there kicking and screaming. I think we would both enjoy the foreplay.”

  With that said, he walks out of my house. I watch as he does, thinking he will turn around and smile like the joke he just made was funny. The laughter never comes because Teller wasn’t joking. He is dead serious when he says I will become his old lady. The idea sends a bolt of lightning through me. I am both scared and intrigued at knowing a man as crazy and as dangerous as Teller wants me. The things he is capable of are unimaginable unless you have seen or read about them in detail. I have made friends with all the members of the Tarnished Souls MC. Torch is like my big brother, Buck is the father figure I always wanted, and the rest are the people who helped me heal over the past two years. To turn my back on them would be like turning my back on family. As much my body wants Teller’s hands controlling it, my mind and heart will never allow it. To be with him will cost me too much. Betraying the club I now call home is out of the question.

  NOT THE END… Just to be CONTUNUED

  Teller and Scarlett’s story will continue in the second book of my Blacktop Sinners MC series titled Scarlett!!!

  Read on for an unedited sneak peek into my Paranormal Series coming out SOON!!!

  *One*

  Ember

  Morning after morning, day after day, and night after night, I sit on this tiny twin-size bed looking out of the only window in my room. I like to pretend the bars, placed strategically across the glass to keep me from making a great escape, are nothing more than barriers to keep the nightmares of the past five-months away.

  Creek Meadow Institute is now the place I call home. Inside these boring grey, but mostly white, walls, I sit down to eat my meals, take my showers, and try to figure out the situation I mysteriously found myself in. My name is Ember Adams and according to the great state of Alabama I’ve had a nervous breakdown that has rendered me incapable of normal thought. My physiatrist claims the death of my parents was too traumatic for me to process, and their horrific accident is a direct link to my sleepwalking.

  I was the sole survivor from the car wreck on that cold December night, one week before Christmas. I remember the roads being slick from a flurry of snowflakes that had just been dumped from a passing storm, and how happy my mother and I were when the grass around us transformed into something out of a winter wonderland. Snow is a rare phenomenon in Alabama, so all the locals, like my family, get extremely excited when we see it. My mom and I were happily talking about building a snowman, and volunteering my dad to make the hot chocolate we would need to stay warm when the world around me morphed into nothing but darkness. I can’t remember anything past that moment. I guess you could call me lucky in the sense that the last memories I have of my parents are of the two of them smiling, happiness dancing in their eyes and laughter lining their voices.

  “If I am forced to eat another turkey burger I swear I’m going to wake up one morning with feathers sprouting out of my butt. I need beef people, REAL MEAT!”

  Zoey, my roommate for the last two months, plops down on the bed adjacent to mine with a furlong look on her face. Her light brown hair which is cut into a short bob, layers stacked along the sides and in the back, sways from her fall. When she finally settles into a position her tiny form is comfortable in, those one-of-a-kind blue eyes start considering mine.

  “Are you looking for evil garden gnomes again?” Zoey jokes.

  It’s a miracle the two of us are friends, considering we are polar opposites. Even before my parent’s accident I was never an outgoing person. I secluded myself from almost everyone because talking to new people has always made me feel awkward and anxious. Zoey is a social butterfly, being the center of attention doesn’t bother her. It’s amazing how someone with such a small stature can have such a huge personality. I guess the saying ring trues, dynamite comes in small packages. Zoey spent her first month here trying to talk to me while I spent it trying to avoid her. Needless to say, she eventually broke down my walls one conversation at a time and now she’s someone I’m glad to call friend.

  “No,” I reply. “I was just waiting for the fireworks to start.”

  It’s the fourth of July, and while I might not be able to participate in all the celebrations going on throughout the country, I can watch out of my makeshift prison window as the night sky is lit up with every color in the rainbow.

  “I have a much better idea,” Zoey proclaims, making quick work of getting back to her feet. “Let’s go watch them on the roof.”

  “Have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried to sneak me out?” I ask.

  “All we have to do is find a way to hide that hair of yours.”

  Zoey is inquisitively staring at my head, biting her bottom lip in deep thought, trying to figure out how to conceal the bright-white locks that everyone, including myself, wonders
what divine intervention caused me to be born with. Women around the world pay countless dollars to get this shade of pure white, only to come up short.

  “You really should think about cutting it, then it wouldn’t be as hard to cover,” she suggests while reaching out to gather the long strands in her hands.

  I give no response to her comment about chopping off my hair. I’m seventeen years old and have never so much as thought about bringing a pair of scissors to my head. I like being able to hide behind it if I’m feeling overwhelmed, and I like the way it gives me a sense of stability. I sometimes feel without its weight the world around me would swallow me whole. It’s weird, I know, but for whatever reason my hair helps keep me centered.

  “Just give me a few of my hair ties,” I finally state. “I’ll pile it all on top, then use the hood on my sweater to cover the giant ball.”

  The happiness my words bring Zoey is evident with the expression on her face. Her huge smile is bringing out the two dimples that make her look like a twelve-year-old. I should tease her about them, but a girl our age doesn’t want to hear about how young they look. Zoey is a year older than me, and it would be mean to tell a girl, who just became an adult in the eyes of the law, that she still looks like a young child.

  “You aren’t going to make me beg?” She jokes.

  “Not this time, Tinker,” I state not able to stop myself from teasing her with the nickname I made up. The first time I saw Zoey skipping into the wreck center, the room where everyone hangs out inbetween lunch and dinner, I immediately thought of a fairy from one of the Disney movies. The laughter was bubbling out of her chest as she pranced around the room introducing herself to everyone.