by K. L. Savage
1
POODLE
Present
“Which one of you did it?” I point at Tyrant and Yeti, the two mutts that belong to Tool and Juliette. One of them got my Lady pregnant. My beautiful, award-winning standard Poodle is now knocked up with puppies. They are probably going to be so ugly no one will want them. Tyrant is a black shepherd of some sort, and Yeti is a white Pitbull. Can you imagine what those puppies will look like?
Yikes.
“Which of you took advantage of my Lady, huh? You better speak.” I slide my finger from Yeti to Tyrant, and both of them bark on my command of ‘speak.’ Ugh, this is frustrating. These damn dogs are so annoying. Everyone gives me shit about my Lady, but she’s well trained; not just for show business, but for rescues too. No one expects that of a poodle.
“What are you doing?” Tool leans against the wall across from the pool table as he stares at me.
“I’m holding your damn dogs hostage until one of them fesses up. One of them took advantage of Lady—”
“It takes two to tango, Poodle. I’m sure Lady was willing.”
I gasp, placing my hand against my chest. “How dare you think Lady would lower her standards. She’s purebred, Tool.” I hold two treats up in my hand for either dog, then turn my head over my shoulder. “Lady!” I whistle. “Come here, girl.” Her nails clip against the wood as she comes from my room. I watch the two horny bastards in front of me and see which one of them will react. “I’m going to figure this shit out.”
“You are absolutely ridiculous,” Tool says. “It doesn’t matter. Who cares? Puppies are cute. And just think—if they are Yeti’s, they are going to be so adorable. They will be Pi-doodles! Get it? Pitbull and Poodle? New designer dog if you ask me.”
I narrow my eyes into slits as I glare at him. “Were you dropped on your head as a child? What makes you think those puppies will be cute? They would be short and stocky with fluffy hair on top.”
“I know, so damn cute. Just think, everyone here will love them.”
Lady stands next to me and shakes her head back and forth, her ears flopping all over the place, and when she sits, she sticks her chest out proudly. Tyrant and Yeti immediately start panting. “Oh, you two are freaking whipped. Both of you can’t have her. That’s not how it works.”
“Actually, I read that while a bitch is in heat—”
I growl in warning when Tim, also known as Braveheart, calls my Lady a bitch. She’s elegant and sweet.
“Sorry.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “When a dog is in heat, they can have multiple partners. So for all we know—”
“Don’t you dare say it. My Lady is no whore.”
“It isn’t about that, Poodle. It’s natural. It’s instinct. Don’t knock on it so much,” Tim says. “Lady looks cute pregnant.”
I point at Tool, bring my fingers to my eyes, and then point them back at him. “I’m watching you and your dogs. You owe me ten grand, by the way. We were a shoo-in for that damn show. We would have won too.”
Tool grunts and takes a step forward, reaches in his back pocket and pulls out his leather wallet. “Here,” he slaps a ten-dollar bill in my hand and grins. “I owe you $9,990. Have fun. Don’t spend it all in one place.”
“You’re such a dick.” I chuckle, but keep the ten-dollar bill and stuff it in my pocket. You know, for grievances. I toss the tan-colored dog biscuits at Yeti and Tyrant, and both of them catch it. I watch Tyrant gobble his down, but Yeti bites his in half and pushes it across the floor in front of Lady. “You little fucker.” I cross my arms over my chest and watch as Lady bends down, picks it up, and turns around with her head held high, prancing toward my room. Her bushy tail is high, and Yeti watches with big puppy dog eyes.
“Yeti must really like her to share his biscuit,” Tool snickers at his own joke.
“Looks like she’s giving him a run for his money,” I say just as Sarah comes into the room with Melissa.
My mouth goes dry, and my palms sweat when I see her. She’s so damn pretty. I haven’t even thought of dating or being with another woman since Holly, but Melissa makes me want to try. It scares the hell out of me.
“Lady is smart. She should make him work for it,” Sarah says, leaning her hip against the bar. Her blonde hair is shorter these days. I’ll never forget the day she cut it, scissors in hand as she yelled at Reaper about something silly. I can’t remember what it was. I just remember Reaper pleading with her not to cut her hair, but with a wicked gleam to her eyes, she gathered her blonde trusses and snipped. Reaper nearly died when her long locks fell to the ground. He muttered some bullshit about super glue, and all of us guy laughed our asses off.
Which meant he gave us the shittiest jobs to do.
It was worth it to see him holding the hair in his hands like part of his soul had been ripped out or something.
“Is that so?” Reaper says, wrapping those huge arms around her waist, laying his hands flat on her stomach. He does that all the time now since they can’t get pregnant, and it’s an unspoken rule to never talk about it in the clubhouse. Reaper gave the order at church a few months back, and all of us have kept our mouths shut.
“Yes, why do you think I’m so difficult all the time?” She giggles when he whispers something in her ear, and when her cheeks turn red, my eyes find Melissa’s, and I can’t look away. She’s the only woman since Holly who has captured my attention. That’s a problem. I don’t want a woman in my life.
There’s only one woman I need in my life, my daughter, but I haven’t been able to find her. It’s been thirteen years. Wherever she is, she won’t even know who I am. I’ve missed the best years of her life because I wasn’t there to protect her and her mom.
I can’t be held responsible for someone until I can find out what happened to my daughter. And Melissa has a shit ton of trauma to deal with. Melissa is one of the women we rescued in Jersey, from that asshole Ruthless Kings chapter. A few girls stayed back with Boomer, but a few decided to come to Vegas.
There’s Joanna, Mary, Rayleen, and Melissa. Rayleen isn’t with us anymore. She found out her parents had been worried sick and reported her missing. Reaper returned her home. They offered us the reward money, but Reaper wanted nothing to do with it.
Joanna, Mary, and Melissa are a different story. Joanna doesn’t want to go home to her abusive father, who she believes sold her to the bikers in the first place. Mary is embracing biker life a little too well. She lost the pearls and cardigans and replaced them with torn jeans and black tank tops. I don’t think the girl ever had a wild streak in her life, so she’s letting lose.
And then there’s Melissa.
Sweet as fucking cherry pie, Melissa.
She has these big red lips, natural and soft, made for kissing all day and night. I want nothing more than to feel them against me and devour the velvet clouds. Her long, thick brown hair falls over her breasts, and her large golden eyes remind me of the sun. I can’t stare at the bright irises for too long, or I melt from the intense heat that builds between us. On top of all that, Melissa has the biggest tits I’ve ever seen. I’ve had so many dirty dreams of sliding my cock between them and coming into her mouth until my seed leaks from her lips. Her body is built for fucking, wide hips and a thick ass, and I want nothing more than to show her what I can do with her.
Here’s the thing.
I haven’t fucked anyone else since Holly. It’s a choice, I guess, and thinking about it too long messes with my head. It isn’t normal. I can have any of these cut-sluts and fuck their brains out, but every time I think about it, Holly’s face haunts me. Her lifeless eyes stare at me, and I can never go through with it. It’s a problem.
And no one but me knows about it.
The only person in existence who knows about Holly or Ellie, is Badge, the cop who brought me to Vegas. It’s my secret. It’s my problem to deal with and figure out. The club has had too much shit happen to them, and I can’t put this on them. I reac
h up and finger the key around my neck. It unlocks a wooden steel-rimmed chest that sits on the floor at the end of my bed, locked, and the only way to get inside it is with this key. Everything in there is all I have left of them, of her … fuck, of me. I only open it when I’m alone, but that’s the bitch of it, isn’t it? In situations like this, where I hit dead end after dead end. I am alone.
No one knows what I’m going through.
My pain is different.
It’s agony.
At night, when everyone is asleep, and I need to release that agony, I find the men who do horrible things to women, and I kill them the way they killed my Holly.
Twenty stab wounds, but I always add one.
For Ellie.
I’ve turned into a serial killer, and no one knows it but me.
2
MELISSA
Poodle always gets lost in his thoughts. He never looks at me longer than a few seconds. His jaw flexes and his throat bobs, his strong, muscular throat. He has a light beard, one that he keeps short and trimmed. His pink lips peek out, and has the perfectly shaped small V on his top lip that I want to kiss. He isn’t like all the other bikers here. He doesn’t have tattoos or piercings. He isn’t too gruff, but he has this silence about him that I can’t put my finger on. He brings peace where he goes. It’s like once he walks into a room, people can breathe again. He’s the strong silent type. He doesn’t use his brawn to intimidate, but his brain.
I’m no fool. I see what Poodle does; he hides behind his smiles and laughs, his jokes, and when he thinks no one is looking at him, I am. I see the mask he wears, the invisible shield of armor that protects him, and one day I’m going to take it off, even if it is piece by piece.
I see it, the thing he hides from the world, the pain behind his eyes because I see it every time I look in the mirror.
He thinks when he’s quiet he gives nothing away, but to me, that’s when he’s loudest. He’s screaming for peace, but no one can hear him. Poodle thinks no one can hear him, but I’m there, screaming in return. Quietly, like him, with my eyes. It’s probably why we can’t look at each other for more than fifteen seconds. Our screams are too loud and when they clash together, they cause a sonic boom that’s hot, deafening, and body alternating. It’s almost too much, the intensity of him, but I’m sucked in every time he lands those green eyes on me.
The best attribute of him, though?
His hair.
The guys give him shit for it, but he has the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen on a man. It’s long, longer than mine, and it has this wavy, curly poof that embodies it just like his dog. It’s why they call him Poodle. It’s fitting. He has natural blond highlights with brown undertones, and the color against his tan skin and light eyes makes my heart do somersaults.
It isn’t fair for a man to have hair better than me. All I want to do is run my fingers through the long strands while he sleeps. I just want to know what it’s like. I’ve only ever been close to him once or twice, but not without effort. I’ve tried to get close to him, but he always walks away from me.
One time, I convinced myself that I smelled, so I had Sarah sniff me. It was embarrassing and a strike to my pride. I’m a silent person. I don’t speak up, I hate conflict, but when I asked Sarah for help and asked her to smell me, she was too eager to comply. She’s the only one who knows of my deep-rooted crush for Poodle.
And, well, maybe Poodle.
It’s probably why he stays away from me.
When the Ruthless Kings Vegas Chapter came to Jersey to save us, Poodle seemed like the underdog. People don’t take him seriously, and that is their mistake. I stuck up for him against Tongue, out of all members, and it was a weak attempt to get Tongue to leave Poodle alone, but it worked.
Tongue and I avoid each other to this day at all costs. Apparently, I freak him out. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow that crazy, blade-wielding maniac is scared of me. We have an unspoken agreement to stay away from one another because if I creep him out, he creeps me out a million times more than that.
Thinking about the journey between Jersey and Vegas, Jersey is the one and only time Poodle held me. He even let me sleep in his bed while I battled nightmares, and he slept in his recliner. Now that Reaper expanded the clubhouse and had other rooms built, I’ve officially moved out of Poodle’s room, but I don’t feel as safe. I know I’m in a clubhouse full of badass bikers who would probably kill anyone who threatened me, but Poodle brings me the comfort of safety.
I miss laying down in sheets that smell like him. Pine and lavender. I’ll never forget a scent that relaxes me so much. Pine from his bodywash, and he washes his hair with lavender-scented shampoo and conditioner. Yes, Poodle conditions his hair. It shows too. He doesn’t have one split-end. He let me use it when I first arrived at the Vegas clubhouse and swore me to secrecy.
I don’t know how it’s a secret, though. The bathroom always reeks of his shampoo after he showers, and it wafts down the hallway. I think he’s just blissfully unaware, and one day it’s going to bite him in the ass.
“What are you thinking about?” Sarah nudges my arm as she takes a seat at the bar. “You’re all”—she waves a hand over my face—“flushed.”
My face heats even more knowing that I got caught thinking about Poodle’s ass. It’s so bubbly. I want to grab it every time he walks by, I want to slap it, but I can’t. My hand literally twitches, and I have to lace my fingers together to stop myself from copping a feel. I’m a terrible person who can barely control her urges with Poodle.
Which makes no sense considering the situation I was just rescued from. I’m shy, I’m not forward, I’m insecure, but I’m no angel. Not because I don’t want to be, but because the choice was taken from me.
“Nothing. I’m not thinking about anything. Nothing. What? There’s nothing to think about,” I babble, stumbling over my words as I glance at the planks that make up the floor. They are the original flooring when this place used to be a saloon. It’s a fortress now, huge clubhouse and guest houses. Members have permanent homes on the property, and large iron gates keep us safe inside from the outside world.
I’m not safe.
People like me are never safe.
It’s why Poodle and I will never share anything more than a few looks. Who wants someone used up and broken like me? I’m no good for any man.
“I’m going to make sure you’re no good for any man.” My skin welts at the thought of him, the sound of his voice sending cold shivers down my spine. Every time he spoke to me, he beat me with a belt until I was too sore, bleeding, and hurt to move. Then he’d drop his pants, spread my legs, and—
“Hey, where did you go?” Sarah lays her hand on my arm to get my attention, and the cool touch of her fingers wakes me up, yanking me out of the dark place I tend to live in inside my mind.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, crossing my arms over my chest to try to hide myself.
“You can talk to me,” Sarah says, her voice sweet and tender.
I know I can, but I don’t want to talk about it. Sarah is a saint for putting up with me because she does most of the talking while I just stand around and listen, nod. Sometimes I laugh, and I’ll say a few words every now and then. I’m not fun to be around. I don’t know how to be more than what I am. I’ve never had freedom. I’ve never been able to discover myself. It’s all new to me, and it’s intimidating. So many choices, so many decisions, and it overwhelms me. It’s only been a six months since I came here. Healing is different for everyone, right?
“Don’t look now, but someone has their eye on you,” Sarah leans in and says against my ear. There’s a giddy high-pitched tone about her, like she’s doing all she can not to shout it at the top of her lungs.
I turn to look in Poodle’s direction and lock eyes with him.
“I told you not to look!” she scolds.
“You can’t tell me not to look and expect me not to look!” I harshly whisper back, but never take my eyes off Poo
dle. It’s happening. The intense stare. I’m screaming at him. I want him to hear me.
Hear me like I hear you.
Be with me like I want to be with you.
Take me, like I’ve never been taken before, and show me I’m worthy of something other than punishment.
No matter how loud I scream with my stare, he either can’t hear me, or he refuses to acknowledge me. I don’t prolong my pain. I break eye contact first and give him my back. I feel suffocated and tight, like my skin is about to rip open. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, and panic wells in my chest.
“You’re okay,” Doc says.
I don’t realize I’ve closed my eyes until I open them and stare at Eric, the club doctor. He’s the only one who knows my story. He had to know, to help me, and he’s still helping me. He’s kind of like my counselor.
I’m too afraid to leave the clubhouse. It’s safe here. No one bothers me here. No one can take me here. So since I won’t go see a therapist, Eric has become mine.
My eyes find Sarah, who is now standing next to Doc. I don’t remember her leaving to get him.
“Remember, no one here is out to get you. You’re safe here. No one is even looking at you. I promise. It’s just us three talking. You’re safe.” He keeps his voice level and calm, and it helps me breathe in and out. The tightness in my skin loosens, and I no longer feel itchy all over with anxiety.
I nod and inhale through my nose and out through my mouth.
“Do you need anything?” he asks, keeping his fingers against the pulse on my wrist. His pretty boy looks make it easy to calm down. Blond hair, blue eyes, polo shirt. He’s what I would think a water polo captain would look like, but he’s a badass biker too. It goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover.
“Do you want to go back to your room and sleep? I can give you some medicine,” he says, and it reminds me of the last time when I had such a bad panic attack. I passed out in the living room, right next to the pool table, and by the time I woke up, tomorrow had come, and I was in my bed.