by K. L. Savage
Rain bullets into the ground, soaking my clothes until they stick to my skin. The water cleanses my heinous acts, but it does nothing for the wicked nature that set root in my soul all those years ago.
I mount my bike, push the throttle, and send mud flying backward from my tires spinning to coat the bodies. It’s my way to defile them one last time. The bottom of my jeans get filthy, but anything can be washed.
For some reason, I think about Melissa and what she would think if she ever found out who I really am, if she’d still look at me with blazing heat or new disgust.
I can’t care. I have other issues to think about, like the Sniper Serpents MC and how they are officially added to the top of my list.
Why does every time lightning strikes, the only thing I can focus on is the sparks in her golden eyes.
She’s lightning.
She can destroy me with one strike.
And as long as I stay far enough away, she can’t burn me.
7
MELISSA
“Melissa?” Someone pokes my side, and I groan when they wake me up from a beautiful dream that involves a man with long dirty blond hair and a really big— “Melissa!” the voice shouts, ruining the best part of my fantasy.
“What? Go away,” I grumble into the pillow. My head is throbbing from last night’s slumber party. Tongue knows how to make a mean drink. Two drinks in and I was close to getting on the table and taking off my clothes. I need to ask what kind of alcohol he puts in those beverages because whatever it is, it makes me want to get naked.
And since I don’t get naked in front of people, I sure as hell don’t want to get drunk off my ass where I can barely unpeel my tongue from the roof my mouth.
“Get up, get up!” Sarah nudges me again, and I flip over to my back, then toss my arm over my eyes to block out any light.
“Please, don’t make me. My head is spinning, literally; the room won’t stop turning in circles.”
“You’re fine. Reaper is calling a meeting for everyone, and we have to go.”
“Why? I’m not even a member. I’m a… I don’t know what I am.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re here, and you’re around it all. If he wants everyone to know, then it must be a big deal. He wants everyone to remain alert.”
I open one of my eyes and look at her between the crease of my arm. She’s showered, has makeup on, and doesn’t even look like she drank last night. The witch. “Fine. I need to borrow clothes. Don’t make me go to the clubhouse looking like this.”
She looks away from her phone to get a look at me and giggles. “You need to shower. I can smell the booze coming off you.”
“Blame Tongue. I bet he’s just as bad as I am.”
“Nope. He’s making breakfast. You’re the only one who handles alcohol like a toddler.”
“Bitch,” I gasp and reach for a pillow to throw at her. It slams against her head, and her phone flies out of her palm, landing hard on the floor.
I crawl to my knees, ignoring the lurching in my stomach, and bend over the bed to reach for her phone and see that the screen is cracked. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean it. I’ll pay you back. I—”
“It’s fine.” She lays her hand on top of mine and brings me into a hug. “It’s okay. I don’t care about the phone. I’m just glad you’re having fun. You need it. I know you said you wanted no one to know what you said last night, but I think it would do you good to talk to Reaper. He can help. His reach is far, Melissa. You wouldn’t have to live in fear.”
“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Tongue drawls, and now that I know more about Tongue, I see him in a new light. He’s still scary, but he is kind too; his soul is gentle, but his mind … it’s fractured in ways that it can never be put back together. Pieces are missing, and Tongue will forever be the savage that he is. “We need to go. Reaper pushed up the meeting. Coffee to-go. It’s on the counter.” His eyes fall to me, and he winces. “You look like shit.”
“Jeez, don’t beat around the bush,” I say, rolling out of bed until my feet land on the ice cold floor. That wakes me up.
“Why would I beat a bush? There’s no need for that. You girls make no sense sometimes.” He turns on his boot and walks down the hall, the thunderous pounds echoing.
I open and close my mouth, but I have no idea what to say to that.
“He hasn’t heard of the same phrases we have.” Sarah pushes off the mattress and goes to her Victorian-style dresser. The handles are vintage with a gold hue, the body curves in, and the legs remind me of what would be at the bottom of a claw-foot tub. She throws a tank top and short shorts at me.
Really short, shorts.
They aren’t even shorts. They are underwear.
“I’m not wearing these.” There goes my damn face again, heating when I hold up the black skimpy scrap material. I don’t even think they would fit me. Then I lift up the white tank top and see it isn’t even a full shirt; it’s cut in the middle to show the stomach. “I would look like a whore in this,” I say, voicing my worst fear. “I trusted you. You’re mocking me after everything I told you last night. I didn’t want to be—”
“Hey, woah.” She sits next to me and holds my hands tight so I can’t get free. “I would never think of you like that. All those men who did that to you, your father who put you in that position; you’re not the person they made you out to be. I picked these things because I think you’d look great, and we could make Poodle jealous.”
“I don’t think that will work. He wants nothing to do with me,” I whisper, tucking a strand of my hair behind my pierced ear.
“Yeah, right. That man is always looking at you, and with how he treated you the other day, he deserves this.”
I bite my bottom lip, nearly peeling the flesh as I think. “I don’t want attention.”
“Yes, you do. You just want one man’s attention, but I’m telling you, once you have one man’s, you have a few others. You’re gorgeous and, girl, your body is to die for.”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently, not believing a word she says. “That’s not true. I’m not … pretty.”
“I didn’t say you were pretty,” Sarah states with her hands on her hips, bringing out her attitude and sass. “I said you were gorgeous. Now, it’s time for you to take back your body. For you to own it and not your nightmares. You are your own woman. Get up. Get up. Get dressed.”
Her tone leaves no room for argument. I stand and trip over the comforter, the damn thing is wrapped around my leg like a burrito. I kick it off only to fall to the side and squeal when I land on the bed.
“Jesus, you’re a mess, aren’t you?” Sarah sighs as if she has her work cut out for her.
She does.
I manage to get the comforter unwrapped from my ankle and roll off the bed, landing on my feet without issue this time. I don’t care that Sarah is in the room, but she turns around to give me privacy. I quickly take off my clothes from yesterday and slip on the tank top, which is sheer and my black bra shows through. That isn’t even the worst part. It stops right above my belly button. I replay the phrase of me owning my body again and wiggle in the tight black shorts that barely fit over my ass.
Yep. I’m practically naked.
“No way, I’m not wearing this.”
Sarah turns around, and an evil smirk takes over her face, reminding me of Maleficent. “Oh, you’re wearing that. Put your hair up in a bun. I have an extra toothbrush and deodorant in the cabinet. Go, go.” she smacks my ass. “We need to leave in two minutes.”
I hop into the bathroom when she keeps smacking my butt, and I laugh, something I’ve done more of in the last twenty-four hours than I have in all my life. She winks at me before shutting the white door, and I hurry like she says. The last thing I ever want to do is keep Reaper waiting. I saw the scar on Tool’s chest, and I’m not sure if Reaper does the same thing to women, but I’m not going to risk it. Hell, no. The carved heart looks painful, and I’m done with pain.
<
br /> I toss my hair up in a messy bun and splash water on my face, then use the plain bar of soap sitting next to the ivory bowl. I don’t have time to look for face wash. I lather it between my palms and scrub my face in record speed and then wash the soap off. Drying off with a towel, I reach for the drawer and grab the toothbrush.
I do everything she told me to do in less than three minutes, and when I open the door, Tongue is there holding a travel mug of coffee. He looks me up and down and reaches for my face, but I flinch away. He pauses, but doesn’t stop, a gesture that says it’s going to be okay. He plucks a few strands from the bun, and I feel the ends tickle the side of my neck.
“There. Now you don’t look like you tried so hard. Effortless and shit.” He holds out the coffee, and I slowly wrap my hand around it. The warmth brings so much comfort.
“Thanks,” I say, but it comes out more as a question.
“You look good. Everyone is pretty; let’s go,” he barks, and Sarah loops her arm through his as they walk out of the bedroom. I scurry after them because the last thing I want is to be left alone in this place.
“You’re pretty too, Tongue,” Sarah compliments him, and he trips over his large, goliath feet.
“Am not. Men aren’t pretty,” he mumbles so low it’s almost impossible to hear.
“You’re ruggedly handsome, then,” I say, and when he stops in front of me, I don’t expect it. I slam against his back, and luckily the coffee is in a sealed container.
Still, my nose hit his spine, and I swear it’s made out of titanium.
And then he starts walking again.
“Ouch,” I whisper and rub my nose with the palm of my hand to bring it back to life. It’s throbbing. Skirt, the Scotsman who wears his native kilt, builds all the houses on the property, and he did such a beautiful job on Sarah’s house. There is so much craftsmanship and detail that I can see his passion for what he builds.
The walk to the main clubhouse is short since their home is so close. The sun is bright and hot, and I’m almost glad I’m wearing a piece of cloth and underwear. The coffee is almost dreadful now. The sand isn’t even wet anymore from the storm last night; that’s how warm it is.
“Ready?” Sarah asks.
As a mouse being hunted by a damn hawk. “As I’ll ever be,” I say.
“That’s the spirit.” She shoves me inside the front door first, and I catch myself right before I hit the pool table.
I’m living the dream where you’re naked in front of everyone you know, only I’m not naked.
I’m almost naked and for some reason, that feels worse to me.
8
MELISSA
All eyes are on me, and it isn’t my mind playing tricks on me. Pirate drops his bottle of rum, and he doesn’t even try to pick it up. It spills all over the floor. Slingshot nearly hits me with a Skittle, but it lands on the pool table instead. Bullseye misses the target for the first time that I’ve known him as he stares at me, and Badge quirks a brow as his eyes look me up and down.
I feel like I’m being undressed.
“Me God, ye look fuckin’ hot there, Melly. I just want to—” Skirt begins to say, and Knives smacks him on the back of the head to shut him up, then shoots me a flirtatious wink.
Sarah presses her hand in the middle of my shoulders, and it makes me straighten my back. Right. Owning myself. I’m taking my body back. I hold the power. Tongue wraps his arm around my shoulder, and if I thought everyone’s faces were in awe before, it’s nothing compared to right now.
Jaws drop as we snake our way through the room to sit on the couch. “I’m not sitting there. I see what happens on those couches,” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth as Tongue’s hand lands on my hips to turn me around.
“You’re sitting on my lap,” he says.
“What!” I hiss, but it’s too late. I’m already seated on the man’s thick thighs. I look toward Sarah for help, but she’s all cuddled up next to Reaper. She gives me two thumbs-up, but for what? I have clue.
“He’s coming,” Tongue whispers in my ear, and I almost ask who he’s talking about when Poodle walks down the hallway. He’s looking down at his phone, and something about him is different today. He isn’t his joking self. His hair is up in a bun, kind of like mine, but it looks better on him.
When he cuts through the members to stand by Skirt, the guys all cough and clear their throats. He glances up from his phone, and his brows drip in confusion as he looks around, and his eyes land on me.
And there it is.
The stare.
The heat turns up a hundred notches and surpasses the boiling point.
My body is scalding. My skin is sweating. My sex is yearning. I press my legs together to ease the ache, but my blood is too hot.
Poodle is a constant burning ember, a scalding piece of hell that had to have been sent to torture me. He might not be burning me physically, but he’s searing himself all over me; it just can’t be seen.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, and it sounds so different than before, full of hatred. I thought he spoke to me, but his eyes are on Tongue.
“Just keeping my girl near me, Poodle. You know how it is.” Tongue wants someone to challenge him, but no one ever does. “Right?” he asks, Poodle.
I sit there, swinging my feet since I’m so short I can’t touch the floor since Tongue is so gigantic. I think Poodle is going to let this go, and it’s going to be uneventful. I’m tired, and the hangover haze is thick, so I lay my head back on Tongue’s shoulder, and his fingers caress my arm.
Poodle launches himself at me and throws me off Tongue. I hit the floor and cry out when my elbow slams against the brown dusty panel floors.
“I’m going to fucking kill you for putting your hands on her!” Poodle wraps his hands around Tongue’s throat, a madness in his eyes gleam, and the pain that he hides so well? It’s starting to break free—it’s starting to take him over.
“Enough!” Reaper orders, but Poodle doesn’t back down.
“Ye okay, Melly?” Skirt bends down and helps me up.
“Let him go!” I yell at Poodle, but he keeps squeezing Tongue’s neck. “Someone do something,” I scream and look around the room, but no one is moving.
Tongue holds up his hand to stop me from saying anything else, and he puts his palms on Poodle’s arms, braces himself, and stands up, straining his neck as he rears back then smacks his forehead against Poodle’s. Poodle falls to the ground, but gets back up quickly. His nose is bleeding, and Tongue’s nostrils flare as if he’s getting off on the smell of red iron.
“I said enough!” Reaper grips Poodle’s shirt and slings him away from Tongue. “Poodle, do you have a death wish? Tongue would kill you.”
“Not if I killed him first,” Poodle sneers. Knives grips his arm, and Poodle yanks it free. “Get the hell off me. I’m fine.” Poodle points to me, then Tongue. “He will ruin you, Melissa. It’s what he does.”
“Keep talking, and they will be the last words you ever speak, Poodle. I can promise you that,” Tongue warns, taking out his knife.
“I didn’t call a meeting to see a goddamn pissing contest. Get your shit together. Poodle, you’ll be dealt with later. Sit down. Tongue, put your knife away. I swear to God, you fuckers age me ten years every day. I don’t care who sits down first, but one of you better.”
I glance at Poodle, pleading with him as I stare into his green eyes that are the color of jealousy. He wipes his nose, and the longer we look at each other, the more he relaxes. He holds up his hands and sits. Sarah brings him an ice pack for his nose, and Tongue sits on the couch, spreading his legs wide to make himself comfortable.
I look in his direction and narrow my eyes so much I can hardly see out of them. He lifts a shoulder, uncaring, as if he didn’t just get choked or make Poodle bleed. Tongue winks; he has the audacity to wink at me after all that.
“Okay, I would really hate to make everyone hold hands and go around and say one thing the
y like about the other, but you assholes,” Reaper shouts as loud as he can, and I jump, “are making it really hard to respect you when you act like this. If we can’t get along, how are we going to deal with the issue landing on our front door?” Reaper looks every single one of his men in the eye as he walks around the room. Sarah tugs me down on the loveseat to sit by her, and I can finally breathe without feeling guilty about it.
I lift my eyes to Poodle, and he’s staring at me, not even paying attention to Reaper. What has gotten into him? It isn’t like him to do this. He’s Poodle. He’s the man everyone can count on for a laugh. He has questions written all over his face, but I don’t have answers. Sure, he launched himself at Tongue, but that doesn’t prove anything.
He’s angry, but it isn’t because of me. It’s something else.
“Now, Badge brought something to my attention. Badge, since you know more information, can you please make the announcement before I kill somebody?” Reaper huffs, and all I see right now is a bull ready to charge.
“Yes, Prez.” Badge steps forward. His hair has gotten longer. It’s different than the usual buzz cut, and it gives him a softer appearance. “Two men were found in the middle of the desert by a few amateurs riding four wheelers.”
“Oh my God,” Sarah gasps.
“Why is that our problem?” Poodle asks on a sneer.
Members all around mumble and whisper to one another, but it’s clear as day what they’re talking about. Poodle just disrespected and questioned Reaper. Nothing good can ever come from that.
“It’s our problem because these aren’t the first murders like this. They all have the same wounds, but these two only had one instead of the usual twenty-one. Something has changed. They’re all horrible men that this person has killed, but I can’t figure out the pattern. It’s been brought to our attention because Darius Salle was a member of the Sniper Serpents MC. They’re underground now since they were disbanded a few years back, but if this guy is killing MC members, then we need to be at the ready,” Badge finishes, cutting his eyes to Poodle, but it’s more wary and suspicious. Badge steps into line with the rest of the members, and Reaper rubs the stress from his eyes. He looks exhausted.