by K. L. Savage
I think about what he says, knowing he’s right. I’ve crossed a line today, but no one else seems as worried for Poodle as I do. “Something bigger is happening with Poodle.”
“I know, and we’re going to find that out, but you have to trust me and my methods. If you don’t, you won’t make it here,” he says.
I drop my arms at my sides and step out of his way. He exhales and walks through the archway, those heavy boots clunk against the floor with determined steps as he makes his way to the basement.
“Ye got a pair of balls on ye, Melly. Christ, I’d hate to piss ye off if yer willing to stand toe to toe with Reaper.” Skirt pats my shoulder as he walks by me to dispose of the darts.
“I knew you were crazy,” Tongue raises his voice from the couch. “It makes sense, since we get along.” His words are drawn out and the vowels are long, like he suddenly got tired, but that’s just Tongue’s way of talking.
“Only other woman to stand up to him like that is me,” Sarah says. “He isn’t used to it, but he respects you more when you stand up for what you believe in.”
“Could have fooled me,” I tell her and then push off the wall to go to Poodle’s room. “I’m going to go lay down. Lady!” I call after her, and she follows eagerly, pink polished nails clicking against the wood.
“In Poodle’s room? Are you sure that’s a good idea? With everything going on between you two? Things haven’t exactly been peachy. I don’t want you to get hurt,” Sarah adds.
I place my palm on the doorknob and look over the curve of my shoulder. Her brown eyes are full of worry, and for the first time I truly know I have a friend. She crosses each side of her flowy heather gray cardigan over her body, and the more I watch her body language and facial expressions, I can tell she is afraid for me. I’ve never had someone afraid for me before. I circle my arms around her neck and pull her into a gentle hug.
“I’m used to getting hurt, Sarah. I know how to take it. Don’t worry so much. Poodle won’t touch me.”
“How can you be sure? He’s different. He isn’t acting like himself, and like Reaper said, I don’t want you in the crosshairs.”
Lady whines to be let in Poodle’s room, and I crack open the door for her. She’s jumps on the bed and lays down, placing her chin on top of her paws, waiting for me to join her.
“Trust me; I know what I’m doing.” I want to believe that statement. Maybe I’m blissfully naïve thinking I can help Poodle and share whatever burden he’s carrying. All I know is I want to be there for him.
If everyone else is going to turn their backs against his pain, then I’ll meet the damn thing head on. I know all too well what it’s like to go through something alone, and I won’t let that happen to Poodle.
I enter Poodle’s room and shut the door in Sarah’s face, and for good measure, I lock it so no one barges in and forces me out. I lean against the door, the back of my head slightly thudding against it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, and instantly I smell pine and lavender. I grin when the scent of him fills my lungs. I feel closer to him in here than I have since Jersey.
I’m running out of steam, though. Poodle and I are dancing around each other, and not only is my hope at an all-time low, but my heart is in a rare position that it has never been in before.
Heartbreak.
If he truly doesn’t want me, I’ll leave the Ruthless Kings behind me. I can’t be here and be surrounded by him; it’s too painful.
He either wants me or he doesn’t.
But I have a feeling he does.
The way he looks at me, the way he touches me—I know he can feel it.
I need to understand why he’s fighting this so much. I need to understand him better. I study his room and trek along the small space. It’s plain and masculine. An everyday man’s room. He has a beat-up dresser on the side that looks like it has seen better days. A green comforter lays over the queen-size mattress that’s on the floor, and at the base of the bed is a chest. A very nice, expensive, sizable chest. It’s made out of wood and steel, and in the front there’s a black surface with a keyhole that reminds me of the locks in the medieval time period.
I sit in front of it, my knees rubbing against the soft rug that covers the planks of the floor. I rub my hand over the chest, hypnotized and fascinated by it. It looks old and rustic, as if it’s carrying a thousand stories and once the lid opens, its secrets will be revealed.
What’s so important in here? What is he hiding? I want to believe Poodle, but to have a chest this size and locked, I wonder if Reaper is right.
So I do what anyone would do in my situation. I stand and face the dresser, rubbing my hand along the top and push around some dust. I peek over at the door to make sure no one is trying to get in and then start opening the drawers. I carefully rummage through his belongings to search for the key to the chest.
I lift all his clothes, doing my best to keep them folded and neat. While I’m prying into his life, I don’t notice anything personal. I close the drawer and look around the room again. No pictures, no knickknacks to give away what he’s into or likes. I figured maybe some goofy comic books on the nightstand or something silly like Funko Pop figures, but there is nothing.
It’s empty.
A person’s room reflects who they are. A person’s room holds what mirrors them on the inside, but if this is it, Poodle must be very hollow. There are no pictures on the walls, no receipts laying around, no notes to himself to remember to do something, and with how voluminous his personality can be, this seems very off to me.
No one lives this simple, not after being in the same place for so many years. Red flags are waving, and everything in me points to that chest. I’ll bet everything I need to know about Poodle is hidden in there—all of his secrets, good and bad.
It makes me wonder since he doesn’t have any pictures up, if he has a family. And if he does, or did, I wonder what they were like. My family was horrible. The only person I miss is my sister. She’s so young, and I’m so afraid that my dad will harm her just like he did to me. She’ll be his new toy, and I have no idea how to prevent it.
I lay down on the bed and pull his pillow close to my chest. I know he sleeps with it because his signature scent encases me when I burrow my face into its softness. I can feel the indentation in the center where he cradles his head at night, and I flip to my side, getting cozy. Clouds of dust shine in the sunlight coming in through the window, and I watch as they sway and fall.
It makes me remember when Elizabeth would blow bubbles when she was little and watch them float away. I miss her so much, but I have no idea where she and my father are. Dad always made sure to pick up and move when we stayed in one place too long, and I didn’t have a phone. I’m so afraid for her. I’m afraid that the plan my dad had for me will be placed on Elizabeth’s shoulders now.
Dad sold me to the Ruthless Kings in Jersey after I had been ‘too used up’ for him to gain anything else from me. He would have let the entire world have their way with me if it meant getting him an extra dollar.
I hated him so much.
Maybe Reaper can help me. If I confide in him, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to save Elizabeth from that kind of life.
“What are you doing in here?”
I sit up in the bed, not even hearing Poodle unlock the door, and Lady jumps off the bed to greet him.
He looks terrible. His hair is a wet, sweaty, knotted mess, and he has bags under his eyes. Sweat drips down his body, but it’s the red bandages decorating each shoulder I’m focused on. “Poodle, are you okay?”
He grunts, but doesn’t say anything else. He shuts the door and locks it. My eyes land on the black cord around his neck and the key hanging from it. So that is where he keeps it. Makes sense for him to keep it close if it’s important, but it also means he doesn’t want people to see what’s inside the chest.
“Melissa, what are you doing in here?” He doesn’t hide his annoyance. I can see it staring at me as walks
by me and into the bathroom. “I told you—”
“I know what you told me, but I’m worried about you. Just let me be here for you, Poodle.”
He grips the edge of the white porcelain sink, and his shoulders rise and fall with every haggard breath he takes.
I take a hesitant step forward, as if I’m about to attempt to touch a feral beast, and reach my hand toward him. All I can hope for now is that the beast doesn’t bite.
11
POODLE
I don’t have the strength to push her away right now. I’m sore, my body aches, and I’m so goddamn tired of resisting her. I’m so tired of resisting me, who I really am, and she makes me want to be that man. I haven’t been that man since I was seventeen. I fight the need to be close to her every day because if I get too close, if I give in, then that means I step away from Holly.
That I give up on Ellie.
And with how the past is affecting my future now, the club’s trust in me, hell, my trust in the club. If I didn’t hold on so tight to what used to be, I would know that my brothers here in the MC could be relied on.
I feel this burden, this heavy fucking weight on my chest telling me it’s my fault my girls are no longer with me, and it’s up to me to fix it.
A sob bubbles in my chest when I think about the last time I saw Ellie. I cough to clear my throat and swallow down that pesky emotion that’s ruled my life. Still, regardless of the lack of tears, her chubby baby face is all I see. My little girl. She fit in the palm of my hand when she was born. The thought of letting all that go fucking hurts. I’m drowning in their memories, but I’m suffocating in self-inflicted pain, and I just want to learn how to breathe again.
I turn my head and peek at her through the strands of my hair. She’s reaching out to me, debating if she wants to touch me. Her hand shakes, her sunflower eyes are in full bloom, wide and round and showcasing the gold glittering around the pupils. Just like the eye of a sunflower.
“Don’t,” I warn her in a small whisper that can’t be believed. It sounds too weak. I watch her edge closer, forgoing my warning, and before I can take a step back, the heat of her palm lays on my arm.
In unison, we blow out an uneven, serrated breath. Mine is with relief. I’m sure hers is because I didn’t snap at her. I have a bad habit of doing that to her only because I’m trying to protect her. She can do so much better than me.
I’m a ghost of myself.
She’s alive and beautiful.
But no matter how much I push her away, she sees right through me and stays.
Melissa is the reminder that I’m alive. She’s reaching inside me and tugging on my soul that was left behind thirteen years ago, struggling to bring me to the present. She has an entire decade to drag me through; I just hope she’s ready for the tight hold the past has on me. It will never let me leave, no matter how hard she fights.
I need to fight. I can make it easier on her. I can finally let go. Just let go, James. Everything will be better once you realize they’re never coming back. Let. Go.
“Poodle.” She wraps her hand around my arm, and her slender fingers can’t fit around the girth of muscle. “Are you okay?” She blinks those fields of daisies at me, fanned with thick brown lashes that are long and nearly touch her brows. Her lips, a seductive twist of the color rose red that I want to taste.
I can’t give in.
“I’m fine, Melissa.” My heart pounds against my breastbone in a punishing rhythm. She is so close. Her fingertips dig into my skin, slightly twisting my arm hair and pulling it, but I don’t care. It feels good to breathe in something that reminds me of what home is like. Melissa smells sweet, like vanilla and cinnamon, like arriving home from work and smelling cookies baking in the oven.
It’s all the same because not only does Melissa make my body warm, but she makes me hungry. I crave her sweetness, to ease that starving pit in my stomach that I’ve denied for far too long. Her hands travel from my arm to my stomach, and my hands keep a tight grip on the edges of the sink as I watch her fingers dip in the ridges of my abs. Blood pulses between my legs, pumping my cock inch by inch with every stroke of her touch.
“Melissa, you have no idea what you’re doing. You have no idea what you’re asking of me.”
“I want to know you,” she says, as if it’s that simple. She ducks her head under my arm and aligns her body with mine.
I still haven’t moved.
My fingers are numb from how much pressure I’m using to hold the sink instead of her hips.
“I want you to talk to me. We don’t have to be anything, Poodle. I think you feel something between us. I feel it. It’s driving me crazy,” she admits and continues to trace my abs, careful to stay away from my chest.
“You aren’t ready to know the monster I really am.”
“I’ve known a lot of monsters in my life. You aren’t one of them.” Her soft fingers glide up and down my jaw until she grips my chin and tilts my head down, forcing me to look at her.
“How do you know? We don’t know each other, remember?” I lean forward to close the distance between us, losing the battle within myself when it comes to Melissa Morgan. She’s dangerous for a man like me.
She brings hope.
And a man like me doesn’t believe in such a thing.
“Whose fault is that?” she asks, blinking up at me through those damn lashes. The girl has trouble written all over her, and she’s as innocent as she can be, considering everything she’s been through. I know a little of her past when she stayed in my room. She had nightmares, and a few times I had to wake her up because she’d cry, thrash, and fight whoever was in her dream.
It didn’t take long to figure out.
We may have found her in that dirty basement in Jersey, but she had lived that kind of life for a while.
“I’m doing you a favor by staying away from you.” I swallow a lump of nerves in my throat as her fingers climb up my stomach, sliding between my pecs, and then she tugs on the cord around my neck.
Her fingers flip the key from side to side as she inspects it. “What’s this?”
Before I know any better, my hand flies up and snatches her wrist to stop her from getting too curious. “That’s off limits. Don’t ever ask about it. Okay? If I want to talk about it, I will.”
Her eyes blink as she nods, staring at me with so much wonder that it takes all I have in me not to tell her the truth.
“I’m not a good man,” I admit out loud for the first time, to anyone, and it’s a step in the right direction. “You need to realize that. I’ve done bad things. Unforgivable things, and I’m not going to stop.”
I don’t care how long it takes to show you that you’re a good man, but I will.”
My hold loosens on the sink, and I bury my fingers in the thick strands of her chocolate silken hair. All I feel right now is this burning desire to give in, to take what I’ve wanted since the moment I laid eyes on her across the damn country. She feels good right here, her skin against mine, her breath teasing the goose bumps on my skin, and the way my cock reacts to her being so close.
I bury my nose in her hair and inhale.
Vanilla.
Not kiwi.
I wait for the guilt to hit me, to turn my stomach, and make me hate myself more than I already do, but nothing comes.
“You smell so good,” I mutter against her forehead and inhale again, gripping onto her scalp a little longer to smell the sweetness of her divine being. Fuck, it has been so long since I’ve been close to a woman, and she smells like the sweetest of them all.
I’m so hard for Melissa. Always have been. I probably always will be.
“Poodle,” she gasps, rubbing her lips across the skin of my collarbone, and the sound of my ridiculous road name has my cock shriveling to a size of a damn raisin.
“Call me James when we’re alone, okay? Poodle sounds … well, it ruins the moment.” I didn’t want to say ‘mood’ because I didn’t want to put a label on what is ha
ppening between us.
She giggles, burying her cheek against my chest. My arms involuntarily wrap around her small frame, and her big tits press against my stomach, all soft and plush. The dreams of me fucking her breasts hit me out of nowhere, and my cock is raging again.
It’s been far too long since I’ve felt the softness of a woman, and her body is so goddamn soft. She feels so good. I want her.
I want her fucking right now.
I let my fingers linger against her head before I pull away and barge into my room, angry that I can’t take what I want. I want Melissa, more than just a quick fuck. I’ve never been the kind of guy who settles for a slut night after night. I had the blessing to know what it was like to have a family, and that’s what I want.
Preferably with my daughter at my side, but realistically that isn’t going to happen, so why is something telling me to hold out?
For what?
It’s an exhausting back and forth inside me.
I grab the handle of the dresser and jerk the drawer out, my jaw ticking as I slam the damn thing closed. Lady yelps and curls up on her dog bed, and I sigh. “I’m sorry, Lady. It isn’t your fault. You’re a good girl.” I bend down and kiss her head. Just petting her makes me feel calmer. I found Lady abandoned in a front yard, chained when she was just a pup. It connects us. Her people left her. My people were taken from me.
Lady and I have been the perfect match ever since.
“James? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”
“You didn’t. You confuse me.” I sit on the edge of the bed and exhale, rubbing my palms on my thighs. “You confuse the hell out of me, and you’ve made me rethink a lot of things.”
“I don’t mean to,” she says sweetly in her whispery, gentle, innocence that makes me want her even more. “I want to be your friend.”
“That’s the problem, Melissa,” I say, flicking my thigh as I stand. I’m restless. I take two steps toward her and gather her hair in one hand and push it over her shoulder. “I don’t want to be your friend. I have plenty of those,” I admit, rubbing my thumb over her pulse.