by K. L. Savage
“The Sniper Serpents were one of the MCs that ran drugs, women, and murdered for no reason. They did horrible things. The FBI found out, and most of the members were arrested, but a few got away. If the Sniper Serpents are here, we have problems. Big fucking problems. Just stay on yours toes. And, Poodle?”
Poodle looks up at Reaper, but he doesn’t say a word. He arches his brows and takes the bloody rag away from his face. Tongue really did a number on him. I turn my head at Tongue who’s picking his nails with the tip of his knife, his neck hardly red and bruised from Poodle’s hands.
The man is not human. It’s the only answer that makes sense.
“Poodle,” Reaper repeats.
“What?” he snaps, glaring at Reaper.
“Chapel. Tool, Bullseye, come with.”
I watch in horror as Bullseye picks Poodle up by the sleeve of his shirt and pushes him toward the door where Tool was punished. I reach out and grab Poodle’s arm. The feeling of his skin against mine sends my emotions in overdrive, and my eyes well with tears. I have no idea what to say. I don’t want him to go inside that room because whatever happens, it won’t be good.
His hand covers mine, and I close my eyes to embrace his warmth, his strength, and when I open my eyes, he’s kissing my forehead. My breath is stolen from the softness of his lips. It’s a gesture I don’t expect, and I’m already addicted to how he feels, how we feel together when our skin meets.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m not the man you think I am.” Poodle’s lip brush against my ear, and a sob catches in my throat because I know the kind of man he is. I feel it. I see it when he looks at me.
He’s damaged.
I’m damaged.
And who cares if the pieces don’t fit when we’re together?
Our fractured souls are puzzles, a confusing, incomprehensible mess, but as long as we understand one another, as long as we make the pieces work, isn’t that what matters?
I’ll rearrange the shards as much as I need to, I’ll cut my fingers on the sharpest points and the most jagged edges until we fit—because we do. A few pieces may need to get broken, but that’s normal.
We have to break in order to heal because the only way to be fixed is to shatter yourself completely.
9
POODLE
I shouldn’t have done that. Kissing her forehead was a bad idea, but when she touched me, I felt it. The intensity we share when we stare at each other, it’s times a million when we touch. My heart went into overdrive, and the haze that clouded my mind lifted for just a brief second. I want to move from the past and have a future.
I was already pissed and strung out about her being on Tongue’s lap. I wanted to kill him. I wasn’t thinking smart, though. Wrapping my hands around his throat doesn’t put a man like Tongue down. His hands were on her, where my hands were supposed to be. Her plump ass was on his thighs instead of mine, and everything I fought so hard to stay away from, he had in a blink of an eye.
She’s mine.
I’m not ready to have her, but no one else can.
I know it isn’t fair. She deserves better, and that’s why I told her I’m not the man she thinks I am. She’ll never forgive me if she finds out I’m the man who has been killing all these criminals for selfishness only.
When my hand landed on hers and my lips felt the warm, smooth skin of her forehead, for one brief second all the weight I carry fell off my shoulders, and my heart fully functioned instead of beating a broken staccato for the first time in thirteen years. It was liberating.
And a mistake.
I can’t lose focus.
Bullseye shoves me inside the chapel, and Reaper slams the door so hard that the vibrations travel through the floor and up my boots, ringing the thoughts inside of my head to make me focus on the present.
“You better explain yourself, Poodle,” Reaper says through clenched teeth and a tight neck. His tendons are flexed and fists are bunched. “I’ve known you for a long time, Poodle. You’ve been part of this club since you were eighteen. You’ve never disrespected me like that before—not once, but twice. Tell me, what the fuck were you thinking?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him the truth. I want to. I want to finally break down and share this burden I carry, but no one can help me at this point.
A whine sounds from outside the door; it’s Lady. She scratches and barks, then Juliette’s voice calls Lady to get her away. Whatever Reaper decides is about to happen, Lady won’t like it, and she’ll break down the door, or try to get to me.
Reaper glances away from the door and stares at me with his demonic eyes. There aren’t a lot of people I’m afraid of, but Reaper? He makes me tremble in my boots a little. I’m not ashamed to admit that.
“I was angry at Tongue. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”
“You know, I don’t believe you because you’ve never given Melissa the time of day … not really. I think there’s more.”
Perceptive fucker. It’s why he’s such a great President.
“I don’t have all day. I need to be at the club in an hour,” Tool says. “So if you have something to say, stop wasting people’s time, and tell us what the hell has you so unbearable lately?”
I hang my head and swallow. The voice in my head is screaming, the pain inside my body is thrashing against my chest wanting to be let out, but I keep a tight hold on the cord so it doesn’t get free.
The air is thick with violence; I should know, I feel it all the time when I immerse myself in it and let it take me over. Reaper drags his blade along the table where all the members meet.
Oh, fuck. Speak, Poodle. Fucking say it. Just say it!
My mouth doesn’t move.
Reaper spins the knife in place, tip against the wood, and he creates a small hole on the table. He clicks his tongue, his patience wearing thin. Bullseye moves to the other end of the table, and Tool stands behind me.
I’m not stupid. These men are powerful, more powerful than I’ll ever be, and it’s nearly suffocating. They have no idea what I can do, what I can turn into, but I can’t do that here. I’m not that person in this clubhouse.
“Are you going to talk, Poodle?”
“No, Prez. I’m not. I’m sorry for disrespecting you. It won’t happen again.”
“Why do I feel like you’re lying?” He tilts his head and leans closer to my face. “I don’t like liars, Poodle. If I can’t trust you, how the fuck can I allow you to wear that cut?” He flicks his fingers against the leather I’ve worn on my back for thirteen years. It’s my second skin. “You came to me as a broken kid, and I took care of you. You didn’t let me in then, and you aren’t letting me in now. I know nothing about your past, and I let it go because you were young, but maybe I need Badge to do a little digging. Is that the only way I’m going to get answers?”
I’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell him, but I know I won’t because I don’t talk about this. This is my problem to solve.
“Okay,” he says, clearly aggravated and disappointed in me. “Bullseye.” He motions the Sergeant at Arms, and then Reaper plops down in a leather seat to get more comfortable. “Tool, move him where he needs to be.”
“Oh, come on, guys,” I nearly plea when Tool makes me stand on an X.
X marks the spot for members who disobey.
“Be happy I’m not carving into your chest.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I might just change my mind, Poodle, if you aren’t careful with your next words.” Reaper grips the edge of the table, and the wood groans from the amount of force he’s using.
Bullseye gets in place and takes the darts from his pocket, placing them on the table. They roll until the feathers at the end of the metal catch themselves and settle. The darts are different. The tips look sharp and thicker.
Reaper yanks my shirt over my head, letting Bullseye have his target. “Bullseye has made some improvements. Bullseye, go ahead.” Reaper laces his fingers behind
his head, and I wish Reaper would have carved the damn heart because I know what to expect with that. With Bullseye, it’s like waiting to see if you’re about to get shot; the anticipation is almost worse than the pain itself.
Bullseye twists the dart in his hand; the entire length is metal. It almost looks like a bullet, but I know better. Bullseye hates guns, especially after getting shot. He lifts his arm.
He aims.
And then he fires.
Time doesn’t slow. I don’t even have time to blink before the dart is embedded in my shoulder and then the tip expands like claws clamping around my muscle. My knees buckle, and an agonizing groan leaves my mouth, but somehow I stand up right. I glance down to see blood dripping down my side. I’m panting. Sweating breaks out over my body and the claws pull tighter.
“Fuck!” I scream when another dart hits next to the first. “What the fuck is this?” I roar when the claws unsheathe themselves inside my arm and clutch whatever they can latch onto you.
Reaper yanks me back by the hair and sneers, “You feel that? The tightening of the metal in your skin, in your muscle? The only way to get them out is to pull them out. A chunk of your flesh comes with it.” He tilts my head back more, my scalp stinging from the rough grip. I can smell the coffee and cigarettes on his breath, and combined with the pain, it almost makes me want to puke.
I breathe through my nose and out through my mouth when the agony blurs my vision. I deserve this. I can take it. I deserve it for what happened to Holly, for Ellie, for what I did to Tongue; for how I treated Melissa, Reaper. I deserve all the pain they can inflict on me.
“Two for your clear disrespect and one more for good measure. Maybe then you’ll be smart and talk to me; be honest, because if you aren’t honest, I can’t help you.”
“No one can help me, Reaper,” I say through tight teeth, and I grunt when Bullseye lands another dart in my skin on the other shoulder. The teeth of the tip clamp, and I double over when I feel my muscle tear and blood pooling.
“It’s a shame you don’t have more trust in your brothers. It disappoints me.” Reaper grips the dart, my chest heaving at this point, trying to prepare myself for what’s to come. Nothing, and I mean nothing can prepare me for this. Reaper twists, then tugs, and my throat becomes raw and bleeding from groaning in agony with every dart he pulls free.
Circular chunks of my tissue on the table, the claws hold on tight to the meat they took from me. Blood drips from the darts, my shoulders, and I’m nearly delirious with pain. Yeah, the knife to the chest would have been better and quicker.
Reaper knows that.
“Holly,” her name slips from my lips on a slur, almost as if I’m drunk.
Reaper grips my chin and stares his black eyes into mine, trying to read my soul. Luckily, he can’t. He can only steal them by ripping hearts from people’s chest. Maybe he knows I don’t have a soul. Mine got reaped a long time ago, before he even knew me. “What? What did you just say?”
Another wave of pain rips through me, and my daughter’s face causes my knees to buckle. “Ellie,” I say so quietly, only I know I say it.
I deserve all of this.
“Poodle, what did you say?” Reaper jerks me to a standing position by the cord around my neck, and his eyes fall to the key over my heart. “What is this? What’s this for?”
“It’s personal,” I manage to say, sweat and spit flying out of my mouth.
“I’ll find out, Poodle. I always do. I hope you decide to trust me before then. Tool, take him to Doc. He’ll need stitches.”
Tool drags me from the room and my feet barely have time to catch up. My knees give, and I stumble. Tool keeps a tight hold on me as he opens the door, drags me out of the room, and slams the chapel door shut.
“Shit.”
“Holy fuck.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Poodle!”
Everyone’s voice flies around the room, but there’s only one that matters.
“What did you do to him!” Melissa is in front of Tool, stopping him from going down the hallway to get to the basement. She shoves him. “You animal! What did you do? Let me see him. Get out of my way, you big brute!” she screams, and I watch in horror as she punches the VP’s chest.
Only to cringe and hold her hand to her chest.
“Melissa, stop,” I murmur. “Stop. I deserve this.”
“Poodle,” she cups my face and kisses my forehead like I did her; sweat saturates her lips, it has to. The feel of them, they take all the pain away. Another second where I can breathe, even though I have three holes in my body that are bleeding. My lungs hitch, and the haze melts away and there’s me and her, her hands and lips on me, and I’m a free man.
At last.
I’m fucking free.
She pulls away, and the weight falls down on me, crushing me, imprisoning me.
Come back.
“Poodle, no one deserves this.” She cuts her eyes at Tool, then her eyes fall to my chest. “This is barbaric.”
Tool starts moving again, pushing by Melissa. She tries to stop him, but Skirt reaches out, wraps a meaty arm around her, and pulls her to the side before she gets hurt. Tool would never hurt a woman on purpose, but he’s a big guy, so one flick of his pinky finger and Melissa could have a broken arm.
Tool opens the worn basement door. It’s chipped, cracked, and losing its color. Salt stings my eyes as I look at the woman who made me question my future again.
The sunshine in her eyes cloud with tears.
The sun doesn’t cry.
Not for me.
“I’m not the man you think I am,” I repeat one last time, hoping she understands that whatever is between us cannot happen, no matter how much I realize I want it to.
“I don’t care,” she whispers. “You hear me? I don’t care.”
“That’s okay. I’ll care enough for the both of us.” I don’t have time to see her face because Tool shuts the basement door and locks it from the inside.
She’s near the door, though. I feel her warmth trying to seep through to me.
With one boot in front of the other, I descend on the steps. I’m just a giant raincloud that will ruin her life. The farther away I get from her, the better off she’ll be, and the brighter she can shine.
There are rainbows after every storm, but not this time; the only color in my life is red.
And that’s only because I bleed it.
10
MELISSA
Reaper walks out of the room holding bloody darts in his hand. His palms are covered in blood, Poodle’s blood, and Lady whines, laying down at my feet. He doesn’t give me a parting glance as he tries to walk around me, but I cut him off and block his path. I hold my palms against the walls, and if he really wants to, he can push me out of the way.
I’m hoping he won’t.
“How can you do that to him?” I dart my eyes back and forth between his black ones, not sure which one to fixate on. He’s such a scary man, The depths of his eyes goes on forever, and I can hardly see where his pupil begins and ends. I feel like I’m standing in front of someone satanic, and I don’t know how Sarah has the strength to be with someone so terrifying. “He has been nothing but good to this club, good to you, good to everyone here.”
“Don’t,” Skirt warns, keeping a tight hold on my wrist. “He’s allowed. He’s the President.”
“I don’t care.” I cut my eyes to Skirt and back to Reaper. “I don’t care if you were a god. You have no right to do that to someone who has been nothing but a loyal member.”
“Has he?” Reaper cocks his head and holds out the darts for Skirt to take.
The Scotsman gulps as Reaper drops the darts in his palm, getting blood all over the orange freckles on the back of his hands. They all run together now. Skirt looks like he’s about to be sick, but seeing chunks of flesh isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I barely bat an eye at it, but the sick pain Reaper inflicted on Poodle doesn’t sit right with me.
>
“He has. He’s been the sounding board for everyone, to lift their spirits. He’s always making others smile and laugh. He’s the brightness in the dim world of this club, and this is how you thank him? He has a bad day, and he gets punished for it? How does that bring righteousness and loyalty?”
“You’re new to this life, so I know you don’t understand. I’ve known Poodle that you have had the hots for him. He’s hiding something, and it’s starting to effect the club, his attitude, and his respect to the chain of command. Life isn’t butterflies around here, sweetheart. You fuck up, you pay up. That’s it. And until he tells me what’s going on, he’ll continue to be punished. Trust goes both ways, and until he trusts us, I can’t trust him.”
He tries to push by me, but I stop him. Anger radiates from his body, and the submissive nature in me wants to back down, because I do not do this. Poodle needs someone in his corner, and I’m going to be there. If that means throwing the first punch, so to speak, then that’s what it means.
“Well, you listen to me,” I pause, debating if I want to use the same condescending tone and seeing as I seem to have lost my marbles, I continue, “sweetheart.”
He wants to smile. I can see the shock on his face. He takes a step back and crosses his arms over his massive chest. Sarah is behind him, shaking her head and waving her arms to tell me to stop.
I don’t listen well, apparently.
“Next time you want to get to him, you have to get through me. I won’t let you take chunks out of him when he seems so defeated already.”
“This life isn’t for the weak, Melissa.” Reaper’s eyes soften around the edges. “You think I like doing that? You think I like bringing my brothers pain? No, but it’s law—it’s rule. Poodle is tough. He took the punishment well, while others would have fallen. He doesn’t need you fighting his battles. If you get caught in the crosshairs, he won’t forgive himself, so take a step back.”