Taz (Tarnished Souls MC Book 2)

by Dusty Lassetter

  “What are you going to name him?” Mia asks sitting beside Sammy on the bed while holding her arms out. Sammy receives the message loud and clear, and places her son in his aunt’s arms. She looks around the room before her eyes land on Torch’s.

  I think everyone knows Sammy, Rebecca, and Scarlett look up to him like a younger sister would her older brother. He has taken on the roll as their protector, he’s their family now.

  “I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time, and I think I know what I want. I would like to name him Kaeper Jaxon Soul.”

  “It’s perfect,” Torch says, giving Sammy a grin that has his dimple making an appearance.

  “Give me my nephew,” Rebecca commands, walking to the edge of the bed Mia is sitting on. Watching the two of them argue over who will hold him makes me giggle. Up until this point, no one had noticed me in the doorway, and all at once they turn their attention to me.

  “You scared us half to death,” Mia announces before placing Kaeper in Rebecca’s arms. Sauntering in my direction, it doesn’t take her long to force me into a hug.

  “Irish told me what happened earlier,” she whispers. “If you need to talk I’m here.”

  I was wondering why he had hightailed it out of the hospital right after the birth, but I never thought it was because he gossiped like a woman. I told him I was fine countless times, and he knows how I feel about everyone knowing how weak I’ve become. He just better hope I don’t rip his lips off his face next time I see him.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, “I’ll remember that.”

  “No, you won’t,” she replies. “You’ve shut us all out. We hardly see you anymore. You never come to the clubhouse, and trying to get you to answer your phone is like trying to break into the pentagon.”

  Her words ring true to my ears because I know they are. I have closed myself off from the Tarnished Souls members, all except Irish and my dad. How do I tell Mia it’s too hard to talk to her because Scarlett is always around? How do I explain that I can’t go to the clubhouse because that’s where I was taken? I can’t.

  “School...”

  “Bullshit,” Mia cuts me off while releasing me. Torch, having heard the hurt in her voice, takes a step closer to us. “Buck may let you get by with those excuses but I won’t. I understand you’re scared, believe me I do, but it’s time to face your fears before they swallow you hole. This weekend we are having a family gathering at the compound to celebrate Kaeper. You’re going.”

  I usually find Mia’s forwardness entertaining, but not when it’s directed at me. Looking into her dark eyes, I can tell she is not going to backdown from this argument. Peeking at Sammy over Mia’s shoulder I force a small smile on my face.

  “I just remembered I have an assignment due tomorrow so I should get going, but for what it’s worth I love the name,” I rush out before avoiding Mia’s gaze as I exit the room.

  When I don’t hear the door shut behind me, I start waking faster. I can feel someone closing in on me and I just don’t have it in me to finish this discussion. I want to go home, take a hot bath, and focus on anything other than my life. Maybe my dad will be home and we can watch a movie together.

  “Serenity stop,” Torch commands, surprising me before wrapping his fingers around my arm. I thought it was Mia coming after me, not him. Having no intention on following his orders, I try wrenching free from his grasps.

  “Please,” he says while trying to turn me around to look at him.

  It’s not every day you hear a biker like Torch say that word, so reluctantly I allow him to spin me around. Instead of his normal stern look, the one that suggests he ate nails for breakfast, he’s sporting a kind smile.

  “Mia’s worried about you,” he states. “We all are. What happened to you was horrible, but that’s no reason to shut out the people that love you. Come to the clubhouse, Serenity. If not for us, do it for yourself. Don’t let Slasher win.”

  “Why do you care, Torch? It’s not like we’ve ever been close.”

  “If Mia isn’t happy I’m not happy, plus I owe you,” he answers.

  “For what?” I question because I don’t recall doing anything for him. Like I said before, Torch and I have never been close, so there were never any favors done.

  “I watched the footage. I know what you did for Taz,” he answers.

  I repeat his words in my head over and over again.

  I know what you did for Taz.

  What you did for.

  FOR.

  He didn’t say what you did with Taz, or what you did to Taz. I know Slasher sent my father tapes of the things he thought would cause a rift in the club, but that’s not what Torch is talking about. On every tape, Slasher sent, I was doing something with Taz, or to him, not for him.

  “What footage?” I ask taking a step back. My hand voluntarily goes to my stomach trying to hold down the vomit that is threatening to come up. The fear of acid burning my throat again helps keep It at bay.

  “What FOOTAGE!” I shout when Torch doesn’t answer me, trying to keep the tears from running down my face. I know I must look crazy, blinking like a wild woman, but I’m trying to stay strong.

  “You don’t know,” Torch whispers more to himself than to me. He can no longer look at me. Apparently, something on the floor is more important than our discussion.

  “Know what?”

  When I see his shoulders stiffen, and his back go ramrod straight, I know he’s preparing to break the news. With a slight shake of his head, Torch finally lifts his gaze back up to mine. His blue eyes shine with sympathy, piercing into mine, forcing me to swallow another wave a nausea.

  “Slasher recorded you and Taz while you were held captive. We found the shed he used as his headquarters, and the computer monitors he kept the footage going to. Most of the film was destroyed that night, but some wasn’t. I watched the recordings looking for clues.”

  “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, no, no.”

  “I destroyed them myself after we found you. I was the only one that watched them,” he says, trying to reassure me with his words. When he takes a step forward, I take two backward. The tears I’ve been fighting to hold back start streaming down my face. Not only did Slasher, his men, and Taz witness me being a whore, so did Torch. My nails instantly stab into my arms trying to scrape the invisible filth off.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, forcing my nails further into my skin. The burning sensation that follows gives me a sense of false hope. Maybe this time the skin-crawling grim will go away.

  “Serenity,” Torch growls stopping my hands from any further movement, “what are you doing?”

  “DON’T TOUCH ME!” I holler, trying to twist out of his grasps.

  “Torch,” I hear Mia’s voice say in the distance, “what’s going on?”

  “Call Buck, Spitfire. Tell him to come to the hospital,” Torch replies, pulling me into his arms. I fight, with all the strength I have, I try to fight him off, but it’s useless. After a few seconds, my twisting and flailing turns into nothing more than whimpers.

  “I’m dirty,” I cry. “I’m nothing but a whore.”

  The sound of my dad’s knuckles tapping on the door can be heard before he enters my room. My hair is still wet from the shower I just took. My skin has a red tint from all the scrubbing, but no matter how hard I scraped the dirt wouldn’t come off. I know it’s because my skin isn’t the problem, it’s my soul that’s tainted.

  “I brought you a cup of warm milk,” he says, placing the mug on the side table. My room is bigger than what any one person needs, yet my dad has the ability to make it feel small with his presence.

  “Why?” I ask hating how weak I sound. The thought of Torch, and countless others, watching videos of me in that environment crushes any hope I had of healing. How can I walk around with the knowledge other people see me for what I am? Taz was right, I whored myself out to a monster.

  “I was trying to protect you, baby girl,” he answers, taking a se
at on the edge of my bed, “but once again I failed.”

  Since I’ve been home, my dad has been the strength I’ve needed to get through the bad days, and the support I’ve needed to get through the horrible ones. Staring at the man that raised me by himself, his head bowed and shoulders slumped, I realize I’m not the only one hurting. The difference is he’s had no support system.

  “Daddy,” I whisper, scooting my way down the bed, “you haven’t failed.”

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I squeeze. I may not have much inner strength left but the little I do have I’m more than willing to share with him.

  “I can’t fix what he broke, Serenity, I’m not the one you need,” he states holding out the arms he just unwrapped from his neck. There are bandages over the deep cuts, and the shallow ones are shining with antibiotic ointment. The hurt I see laced in his eyes immediately has me trying to cover-up the damage I’ve done to myself. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hold his gaze.

  “I can’t sit back and watch you disappear anymore,” my dad whispers.

  “You’re leaving me?” I ask with panic in my voice. The moment the words come out, my dad reals back like I’ve slapped him. The thought that he has given up on me is like a dagger to my heart. I’ve already lost the man I love, I can’t lose my dad too.

  “I would never leave you, baby girl,” he says, reassuring me with conviction in his voice and eyes. “I made a mistake thinking I was the only person you needed. A mistake I’m going to correct.”

  Taz

  The Honey Hole is your typical strip club. Men of all ages anxiously sit around the many stages throughout the room, waiting for the woman of their sexual dreams to get their dicks so hard it hurts.

  There are three small stages used for the women that just finished with their main dance on the big stage. They rotate around the room, collecting money, until someone asks for a private dance. Unlike most clubs, the private dances are strictly dances. Our women know there is absolutely no sexual favors done for money. This is not a whorehouse, and they are not prostitutes.

  A sexy blonde is sauntering my way wearing an outfit that probably has every man in this club drooling. She’s dressed in a skimpy-black-nightie that is kept on her body by the laces tied atop her shoulders. If she was going for the ultimate-present-look she’s achieved it.

  “You’re new,” I say to her when she sits down on the chair beside mine.

  I choose the back of the club because it’s easier to watch everyone from back here. Sometimes the men get touchy, and it’s my job to remind them to keep their hands to themselves unless they want to lose them.

  “Taz?” she replies in a questioning voice.

  “Who wants to know?” I ask, not really caring if she gives me a name or not. It’s not like I’ll remember it after tonight.

  “I’m Karma,” she replies, leaning into my space. From the new vantage point I can tell her tits are real, making me smile. Karma, which has to be her stripper name, is probably the only chick here that is sporting what she was born with.

  “You wanna suck my dick, Karma?”

  The bluntness of my question doesn’t surprise her. She’s the one that came to me knowing who I was, and expecting me to keep-up the reputation I’m known for. I’ve fucked every woman that works here. Hell, it’s become an initiation process for them.

  “Meet me after my dance,” she whispers in my ear before standing up, and shaking her ass toward the mainstage. Walking up the steps like a professional in her stripper heels, I settle myself in to watch the show.

  The beat to her chosen song starts off with the sound of drums. I instantly recognize the song as one of Marilyn Manson’s most famous. When he starts singing his lyrics, Karma begins to swing on the pole. She looks sexy as hell up there arching her body, using the pole like it was made to be used. The athleticism it takes to maneuver her body so gracefully is something to behold.

  The trance she has me in with her sexual movement is enough to get my dick rock hard and my ass in trouble with every one of the club members. I don’t see the asshole walking up to her until it’s too late. Just as Karma is moving to untie the last piece of lace keeping her covered, she’s jerked off the stage. Rushing to her defense, I accidently knock down one of the waitresses.

  “Hey!” she hollers.

  “Get your hands off me!” Karma is shouting at the man currently carrying her like a sack of flour thrown over his shoulder. “Put me down you bastard.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t take you over me knee,” I hear, immediately recognizing the voice, and accent.

  “Put her down,” I shout at Irish’s back, getting both his and Karma’s attention. She raisers her head, no longer staring at Irish’s back, a scowl contorting her features.

  Irish stops mid-step before turning around to face me.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask, preparing myself for a fight due to the look on his face. I’ve seen Irish mad, but I’ve never seen him pissed, and I’m almost positive I am looking at the latter.

  “This is none of your business, Taz,” he answers, never flinching from the multiple punches Karma lands to his back.

  “She’s more my business than yours,” I reply throwing the words he once used back at him. The growl that comes from his chest forces my fists to clench. I can see the look in his eyes, the one that promises pain.

  Carefully placing Karma back to her feet and behind him, Irish takes a step forward. I realize I am the VP of our club, that he is my brother, but that doesn’t stop me from taking my own forward-step. I’m not going to kick his ass over this stripper I barely know. I’m going to beat the hell out of him because he has what I want- Serenity.

  I throw the first punch, and watch in amazement as he steps forward to take the full power behind it. His head snaps back like it’s about to come flying off his body before he starts laughing. Fresh adrenaline starts pumping through my veins at the knowledge of having a tough-as-nails opponent. Irish isn’t going to go down easy, if he goes down at all.

  Our bodies collide, our fists land on each other’s face, and the room around me disappears. For each fresh cut I make to his skin I become motivated to shed more blood. He’s no longer Irish, my brother from the club, he’s Slasher and his men, anyone that’s hurt Serenity, he’s me.

  When our arms can no longer swing, our breathing can no longer be controlled, and our bodies can’t take any more damage, we slow to a stop. Irish’s face is already starting to swell where my punches landed. His eyebrow is cut, and the blood he just spit onto the floor is consistent with the spilt on his lip.

  “Let’s go,” he commands, turning around to grab Karma’s arm.

  “She’s working,” I remind him, taking another step forward even though Karma looks more concerned for Irish than she does for her safety.

  “She’s me wife and I’m taking her home,” he announces, daring me to argue. Looking from his eyes to hers, I can tell he’s speaking the truth. Irish is married, and judging by the look on her face she knows she’s made a mistake. Realizing I almost fucked one of my brother’s Old Ladies makes my skin crawl. Is this the man I’ve become? The man Faith would want me to be?

  “I didn’t...”

  “Now you do,” he says, cutting me off.

  Leading his wife out of the club by the small of her back, I start to wonder if that’s why her name is Karma. Did she come here hoping to find her husband? What happened in their relationship for her to track him down if she did? I’d be lying if I said a small smile isn’t pulling at my bloodied lip. Irish has been parading around with Serenity, deliberately rubbing it in my face. I guess it’s true what they say, karma is a bitch.

  An emergency club meeting has been called, otherwise my sore, tired ass wouldn’t be sitting here. I didn’t get back to the clubhouse until late last night, and the only thing I want to be doing is sleeping off this hangover. My face feels like a went three-rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson, and probably looks it
too.

  All the members are sitting around the table waiting for Buck to arrive. He’s the asshole that called this meeting, so he should be here on time. Irish is sitting across from me with his face looking as bad as mine feels. A sense of guilt settles in my stomach when I think about how close I came to having sex with his wife. I don’t think anyone in the club knows Irish is married, which could only mean one thing. He’s not happily hitched.

  When Buck finally arrives, the look on his face has me worried. His black-grey hair is messy, worry lines etched across his face, and there are black bags under his eyes. Any moron can tell he didn’t get any sleep which means something is wrong.

  “He’s winning,” Buck mumbles while running his hand through his hair, “the mother fucker is beating us, and we’re just standing here while he continues to laugh in our faces. Irish, Taz, either one of you care to explain what the hell happened last night?”

  “We had a disagreement when me wife came looking for me,” Irish starts.

  “It had nothing to do with the club, Buck,” I finish Irish’s sentence. Despite my recent behavior, I’m not a child, and Buck had no right to call a meeting to scold me like one.

  The surprised expressions on everyone’s face confirms my earlier suspicion. No one in our club knew Irish was married, with good reason. It’s hard to see him as a cheating bastard, but Irish hasn’t been a saint since he was sworn into the Tarnished Souls.

  “Me and you will talk privately,” Buck says, locking eyes with me. “Now, for the real reason I called this meeting, Irish has something he needs to say.