Taz (Tarnished Souls MC Book 2)

by Dusty Lassetter

  When Saint doesn’t answer, I peel my eyes from the surrounding area that’s still being peppered with lead bullets to focus only on what’s going on beside me. Teller is leaning over his brother with his hands pressed down on his stomach.

  “Teller!” I holler out, trying to get his attention but he never looks up.

  Crawling the three feet needed to be beside them, I begin to sense the severity of Saint’s current state. He’s been shot in the abdomen, and Teller’s hands are the only thing keeping him from bleeding out. This entire situation is fucked. The men outside are still spraying rounds into the building, the wall opposite us has flames slowly crawling up it, and Saint needs medical attention.

  “Leave me,” Saint mumbles, trying to slap Teller’s hands away.

  “Not going to happen!” I shout taking off my cut.

  I can bundle the leather vest up, place it over his wounds then use my cotton t-shirt to tie it securely. Hopefully, it will apply enough pressure to get him out of here alive.

  “Put this underneath your hands!” I yell at Teller, tossing my cut in his direction. My shirt is the next thing to come off, and I instantly start ripping the seam on the side to make the material as long as I need it.

  “Roll him to his side,” I advise Teller so I can place the shirt under his body. When he does I notice that the bullet has left an exit wound on his back as well. The hole going right through the nose of the black and white skull tattoo that covers his back.

  “I need your cut, Teller,” I say to him. He removes one of his hands from Saint’s stomach, shrugging the vest off the opposite arm before doing the same to the other. Placing it in my hands, he gives me a look that sends chills down my spine. It’s then I realize if Teller loses Saint, we lose Teller.

  It seems like it takes forever to get Saint mobile, but I know it’s due to the adrenaline surging through my veins. Time has stopped, the seconds ticking by cease to exist, but they will soon catch up to us if I don’t get everyone out of here. The fire has doubled in size, the floor and walls around the furniture now ablaze, and the thickness of the smoke is starting to make my lungs burn.

  “Grab him around his right upper arm, I’ll grab the left. We need to crawl to the bathroom and climb out the window,” I say to Teller. “If we army crawl we can pull him beside us while he lays on his back.”

  With my upper-body bare, I have nothing to place over my mouth to help me breath. The smoke has infiltrated the room in all areas, making coordination a problem as well. I look over at Teller and notice he is not concerned with anything but Saint, who is falling asleep. Inhaling nothing but smoke, my lungs start to cough in protest.

  “Don’t you close your eyes mother fucker!” I holler out after my coughing fit has subsided.

  I don’t hear his reply, but I give him a quick glance and see that his eyes are now only half closed. The heat from the inferno burning around us has sweat pouring off my body, meanwhile the bullets above our heads have stopped. The men outside have either given up, or they are reloading.

  “You pull him in, I’ll shut the door,” I instruct out once we make it to the bathroom entryway.

  Teller lets go of Saint long enough to crawl into the tiny room, just as he enters the gun fire starts up again. We aren’t far enough away from the gunshots to be safe, but we’re not going to fit if we don’t stand up. As soon as Teller stands, hauling Saint into his arms, I crawl close enough to the doorway to stand-up. Shutting the door as quick as I can I’m grateful to have one more obstacle for the bullets and flames to travel through before they get to us.

  I don’t give Teller any warning before I shatter the window beside us with my fist. Not all of the glass breaks so I have to hit it a few more times before we can, safely crawl through. At this point, the lack of oxygen and heat in the room is starting to make me weak. There is a heaviness settling into my limbs that make it difficult to move fast.

  “You go through first, then we’ll get Saint through,” I order. Before I even get the last part out, Teller has propped Saints body onto mine, the extra weight threatening to bring me to my knees.

  “We’re almost out,” I declare close to Saint’s ear.

  “You should have left me,” he mumbles, trying to hold up his head, but his muscles won’t let him. With his arm around my neck, I keep a strong hold on his waist to keep him standing.

  “Too late now,” I say before Teller reaches into the window to help me maneuver his brother out. With a little bit of ingenuity, and a lot of luck, Saint falls safely to the other side of the window. It doesn’t take me long to follow, and I surprisingly only cut my stomach up in a few places. Teller and Saint’s clothing protected them from the tiny shards of glass, but my bare skin wasn’t so lucky.

  “We need to steal a car and get the fuck out of here,” I state.

  Teller leans down and flips his brother onto his back. Like a solider, Teller carries his only family away from the hell we just escaped. I can’t hear anymore gunfire, which means whoever was shooting at us thinks we’re dead. Walking away from the inferno, I can’t help but think how lucky we are to be alive, and the joy I’ll have once I find the bastards that are responsible.

  We got Saint to the nearest hospital, but never received an update from the doctor after they took him into surgery because we were brought down to the police station for questioning. One of Austin’s finest is currently drilling me for information he isn’t going to get. I’m not talking, not even to tell this ugly bastard how bad his breath stinks, and I know Teller isn’t saying anything. I tried to tell the officer at the hospital Teller was a mute hoping they would let him stay with Saint. They either didn’t believe me or just didn’t care because they threw his ass in the back of the squad car right beside me. One very short ride later and I’m stuck in a room the size of a closet.

  “Once you tell me what happened to your hand and stomach, we can get you some medical attention,” the newest douchebag says.

  This is the third guy to come in here trying to pry information out of me. I sit further back on my seat, crossing my cuffed arms over my chest, that is still bare, and over-exaggerate the yawn I can no longer hold back. I got my one phone call after the first guy left. Big Country, B.C. for short, the president for our Tarnished Souls Austin chapter, should be here soon.

  “Cuts like that could easily get infected,” he continues to try and persuade me to sing like a canary. If we were back in Brady this would not be an issue because we own the cops in our town. Austin is different, this officer doesn’t know me, but I have a feeling once Big Country gets here they will start seeing things my way.

  “You’re a thug. I know you set that fire, and I don’t take too kindly to strangers coming to my town to destroy it,” he says trying to intimidate me, but the only thing it does is make me laugh. My laughter causes the vein on the side of his fat neck to bulge, like his belly does over the waistband of his pants, before he begins to reach across the table to slap me.

  This must be a fucking dream because no way am I about to get bitch slapped by an overweight cop that looks like Homer Simpson. This is the shit you see on Jerry Springer. Men don’t slap, we send our fist flying into the side of another man’s mouth to shut him up. The moment this asshole makes contact I’m going to break every one of his fingers then shove them up his large ass.

  “Charlie,” another man in blue hollers while walking through the open door, “he’s being released I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He’s part of Big Country’s crew.”

  The stupid wannabe brave officer gets a look of annoyance on his face before he drops his hand. I can tell he still wants to hit me, but he knows his place.

  “Take these cuffs off,” I command giving him a look that leaves no room for confusion. Homer has pissed me off, and judging by the way he’s trying to visibly swallow-down the lump of fear stuck in his throat he now knows it.

  Charlie can’t seem to move, so the officer standing in the doorway walks over and releases my
wrists from the uncomfortable cuffs. The guy that put them on made sure to get them as tight as they would go, and now I have indentions from the metal on my skin. Getting to my feet, allowing Charlie to witness my intimidation at its fullest height, I give him a sneer before walking out of the room.

  Big Country is waiting by the entrance with Teller and a shirt for me to wear. When most people hear his nickname, they picture someone tall and round with a long beard to match. The only thing they would be right about is his height. Big Country got his nickname because he is taller, standing at an impressive six-four, two-hundred and seventy-five pounds of solid muscle, and all he listens to is country music. He owns an old seventies-model ford truck that has several different shades of faded blue on the body, and he always has a cowboy hat sitting on the seat. He’s as country as this club has ever seen.

  “It might be a little big on ya,” Big Country says, handing me the Harley Davidson t-shirt. I yank it from his grasp letting him know I don’t enjoy his joke. It’s not every day I come across a man that is bigger than me, and that’s a good thing because I find I don’t like it.

  “Just shut up and get us to the hospital,” I state, walking out of the police station into the cool morning air. The sun is still in the early stages of rising which means they had us in this shit hole for a few hours.

  “What about your bikes?” B.C. asks.

  “The cops found them engulfed in flames,” I reply, walking toward his truck that’s parked illegally beside a fire hydrant, Teller scowling at my side. I can’t tell if he’s pissed about our Harley’s or his brother’s condition, but my guess would be the entire situation.

  “Any guess on who did it?”

  It doesn’t surprise me that B.C. never asks if we parked close enough to the building for them to become collateral damage, he knows we’re smarter than that. We parked our bikes three blocks away from the nightclub because we didn’t want to be spotted before our attack. Seems like someone went searching for our transportation while we were taking care of business. I know the men that shot Saint are the very same ones responsible for my ride being torched.

  “Nope,” I answer honestly.

  It could be anyone. Maybe Slasher has members of Blacktop Sinners watching our every move and they followed us to the city. There could have been men that escaped the club during the first gunfire and came back later to help their fallen comrades.

  “Did you call Buck like I asked?”

  “No,” B.C. answers, “when the call went through, some chick answered and told me Buck was busy.”

  Holding out my hand, he places his phone in my awaiting palm. I left my phone in the side saddle of my bike, so I guess it’s safe to say I’ll have to replace that as well. Teller climbs into the back of the truck, knowing as well as I do we weren’t all going to fit in the cab, and Big Country walks around to get into the driver seat.

  Two short rings later, and an unsuspected familiar voice starts rambling through the speaker.

  “Taz,” Serenity breathes my name as if it’s the only thing keeping her sane. I can hear all the emotions she’s feeling in her voice; panic, relief, and hope.

  “Are you alright? I overheard some of the members talking about what happened. They said there was a fire and gunshots. Just tell me you weren’t shot, okay Taz? Just tell me you’re safe,” she finally takes a breath, allowing me to speak.

  “Where’s Buck?” I ask, immediately regretting that I have dismissed her worries. Why can’t I just talk to this woman the way I want? Why am I always making her feel unimportant?

  When she doesn’t answer my question, I start to feel like the biggest asshole alive. I promised her I would fix my fuck up, and so far, I’ve been doing a pretty shitty job at it.

  “Serenity, I’m safe, you don’t need to worry. It’s going to take more than fire and bullets to kill me,” I reassure her the only way I can, with cockiness.

  “Are you on your way back to the clubhouse?” Serenity asks the question just as we are pulling into the hospital’s parking-lot. Teller’s already out of the truck and headed toward the front doors when I gesture for B.C. to follow him. I wait until I’m alone in the truck to finish my conversation.

  “There are things I need to take care of first,” I answer.

  “Taz,” she says with her voice sounding more fragile than it did when she first answered, “I need you.”

  The vulnerability behind her words is not lost on me. This is her placing her hope and faith into my hands once again. Serenity hasn’t completely given up on me like I thought. The fear of losing me for good has reminded her heart what it wants, and she’s just offered me something I never knew I wanted until I thought it was gone, her unconditional love.

  “I need you too, Serenity. Tell Buck I’m on my way back to Brady,” I say before hanging up the phone. I’m going to have to convince Big Country to let me drive his truck back to the clubhouse. I know it’s not going to be easy, but I won’t take no as an answer.

  Serenity

  “I need you too.”

  Those four syllables send butterflies soaring through my stomach and hope blooming in my chest. I’ve never heard Taz utter those words to anyone. To be completely honest, I thought Taz believed he would never need a woman for anything other than sex.

  Have I been wrong this entire time?

  Did Taz not mean those nasty things he said to me?

  When I heard there might be a chance he was hurt, or worse, killed, I was paralyzed with grief. Taz is a jerk who has said and done many things that should make me hate him, but I still consider him my jerk.

  I was walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water because I had been tossing and turning all night. When I overheard Hammer and an older member talking about the fire, my heart instantly sunk. After everything Taz survived in that dungeon, the thought of Slasher still being the one responsible for his death made me sick to my stomach. Then the old man mentioned someone was shot and my knees gave out. I remember sliding down the door I was hiding behind, thinking I had lost the only man I would love. All the pain from Taz’s words no longer mattered because the anguish his absence would bring overruled all other emotions, and that is how Scarlett found me.

  She was carrying an arm full of empty baby bottles when she came to a sudden stop three feet from where I sat immobile. The look of indifference on her face quickly turned to concern before she looked around the room. I don’t know if she was looking for help, or maybe thinking about running, but after finding we were alone she closed the distance between us.

  “Serenity, is there anything I can do to help?”

  Scarlett doesn’t ask the normal, “is everything alright” question, because she knows it’s not. The one thing I can say about this girl is she never wastes her words. She’s always straight to the point and very calculated with what she says.

  Shaking my head “no”, I wait for her to walk off, but she surprises me by dropping down onto the floor beside me. Her arms are still wrapped around Kaeper’s empty bottles, but her full attention is solely on me.

  “What happened?” She asks looking directly into my eyes.

  “There’s been a fire, and someone’s been shot,” I answer, barely getting the words out before the vomit threatens to come up.

  “Was it Taz?” Scarlett questions.

  Of course she would ask that. Her and Taz had a fling, so obviously, she would care about his wellbeing it still baffles me that Taz would sleep with someone so young, but maybe he thinks of her as being an old soul considering all the things she’s been through.

  “I… I… I’m not sure,” I stutter while trying to keep the emotions out of my voice. I don’t want one of his ex-lovers to see how broken I’ve become from the thought of him being hurt. I refuse to look like the pathetic girl that was never given the time of day.

  “I’m going to get Mia,” Scarlett say, “she’ll know what to do.”

  Reaching out, I grab her arm, causing some of the plastic bottles
to fall, and stopping her before she can rise to her feet.

  “No, we shouldn’t involve her,” I reply. “Torch wouldn’t like her snooping into club business. I need your help getting my dad’s phone. Someone will call him, they have to.”

  I can see the look of apprehension cross her face before she finally nods her head in agreement. My desperation must have persuaded her to take a walk on the wild side. Call me crazy, but I’m sure Scarlett has never done anything sneaky in her life. Something tells me she allows everyone else to get their hands dirty.

  “I’m scared,” she whispers, making me think she’s starting to second-guess her decision, but the thought of not having that phone, not knowing if Taz is okay, makes my skin crawl with unease.

  “Don’t you wanna know if Taz is alright?” I ask.

  A quick look of confusion flashes in her green eyes before she eventually nods her head.

  “Good, let’s go,” I urge, pulling her along by the bend of her arm. The rest of the bottles fall to the floor, but I don’t allow the noise to distract me. I am on a mission, and nothing is going to stop me from getting to that phone.

  It’s nearly lunch time before Taz comes bouncing down the compound’s driveway in an unfamiliar blue truck that’s obviously seen better days. It looks like a rust bucket on wheels. When he finally parks by the sheds used to store everyone’s extra bikes, I force my feet to stay planted on the concrete by the side door of the clubhouse. This is the same door I was dragged out of six months ago, an event that changed my life forever.

  I want to run to him the second he climbs out of the truck, but my fear of rejection won’t let me. What if he didn’t mean what he said over the phone? What if the long drive back was enough to change his mind?

  Torch and Irish walk around the corner of one of the sheds just as Taz looks up and sees me standing immobile and staring at him. Our connection is broken when Torch brings his close friend in for a man-hug. A couple of slaps on the back, and then he releases him with a look of relief. Those two have been friends for many years, so it’s no surprise to me that Torch would be grateful Taz is alright. When Irish starts talking, Taz nods his head before clapping him on the shoulder. I guess those two are trying to build a bridge and forget about the silly arguments over the past few months. I think I prefer the sight of them getting along rather than the angry glances.