Poodle

by K. L. Savage

  “It’s made out of Holly’s record player she loved so much, and the tip is made out of the record that was playing when I found her…”

  “You’re dark. I like that,” Tongue says as he slides the dagger across the table.

  Reaper curls his hand around it, tests the weight, then points it at me. “Do not keep anything from me again, or I will use this on you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I told him to talk to you,” Melissa says as-a-matter-of-factly. Skirt chuckles and pats her back.

  “Smart girl.” He waves the dagger a little too close to my face, and I flinch away. “Listen to her.”

  “Yes, Prez,” I agree quickly.

  “Why couldn’t this wait until the afternoon?” Slingshot yawns and stands, stretching his arms over his head.

  “I don’t like getting woke up at five in the morning. But if I’m awake, all you fucks are awake.”

  “Will this require other clubs? Will we need help?” Bullseye asks, and Reaper rolls his eyes. He slides the stack of paper toward him, a death book of all the men I’ve killed over the last few years. By myself, sometimes two or three at the same time.

  “No. If Poodle can do all this on his own, we should be fine. There are only about ten Serpents around these days. We just need to find them,” Reaper says.

  “Can I cut out their tongues?” Tongue bounces in his chair, reminding me of a child about to open a present on Christmas.

  “You can cut off their dicks for all I care. They raped Melissa. When I find them, I plan on taking them apart limb by limb.” I pinch my mouth shut, realizing I told her secret that wasn’t mine to tell. Every single man looks at her, and she shrinks back, red face, eyes lowered. I know that look.

  It’s shame.

  “Oh fuck no,” Tongue growls. “I’m going to throw darts into every single one of their skulls,” Bullseye sneers.

  “They’re going to suffer,” Tool agrees and yanks his screwdriver from his ear, stabbing the table with the diamond tip.

  “Nobody fucks with one of ours and gets away with it,” Knives says.

  Melissa was right.

  I should have trusted the MC, my family

  Maybe I could’ve had my daughter in my arms years ago if I wasn’t so blinded for the need to kill.

  19

  MELISSA

  Talk about a constant uphill battle. I’ve never been so tired in my entire life. The last week has been nothing but the club trying to pinpoint locations of each Serpent. Poodle has been getting anxious, and I know he usually blows off steam by killing. He needs to figure out a way to live a normal life. Reaper wants to break Poodle of the dependent cycle he has on killing people.

  Even if they did deserve it.

  Everyone is going to Kings’ Club tonight to get away from it all.

  “I don’t want to go. Why would I go out and have fun when my daughter is out there somewhere,” Poodle says, pouring coffee.

  “Because we can’t find your daughter tonight,” Reaper says. “And if you don’t go, I’ll carve a heart in your chest. My wife is looking forward to hanging out with yours, and if you make Sarah unhappy, you’ll wish you were dead.” Reaper stomps down the hallway and slams his office door, causing the entire house to shake.

  I’m going to ignore the fact that Reaper called me Poodle’s wife. I’m not sure how he feels about it, so the best course of action is to ignore it.

  “It will be fun.” Tool joins Poodle by the coffee pot and reaches for a mug out of the cabinet. “I’ll give you fifty percent off drinks tonight since Juliette is singing.”

  “We should get free drinks since we’re your brothers,” Poodle gripes.

  “Fuck no. Money pays rent, not free drinks. Bring your wallet, or you’ll be drinking out of the toilet, dog.”

  My eyes slide between the two men as they fight. Poodle is a little taller than Tool, but Tool is thicker with muscle while Poodle is lean. Tool is covered in tattoos, and Poodle doesn’t have a single one on him. By appearance, it looks like Tool would win the fight, but Poodle is deadly and has proven he isn’t afraid to kill to get what he wants.

  My money is on Poodle.

  If I had any money.

  Something I really need to change.

  The basement door opens, and Doc strolls by me, tired and annoyed that they’re blocking the coffee. All too soon he joins in on their argument. Now three hot guys are fighting, bickering back and forth like an old married triad couple.

  Now there’s an image…

  I turn my head to the right and think about all of them naked.

  “What are you thinking about?” Mary, the new wild at heart biker chick, asks me. I know it’s a way for her to deal with what happened to us back in Jersey. She’ll come down from this, but I just hope it isn’t too late. Those cut-sluts are not nice women.

  “Just enjoying the show,” I say, bringing the warm coffee to my lips. Poodle must feel my gaze on him because he turns his head mid-sentence, while Tool is still yelling in his face. His brows raise when he sees the heat in my eyes. We still haven’t had sex, and I’m tired of waiting.

  “Poodle is hot,” Mary says. “The girls are jealous. They haven’t been able to have sex with him.”

  Her words fall on deaf ears because my eyes are roaming up Poodle’s strong bicep. He turns his back to Tool and stomps over to me, plucking the mug out of my hand, and he drags me out of the chair and toward his room.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done talking to you, Princess!” Tool shouts after us, but Poodle doesn’t stop.

  He runs into Skirt without saying sorry, and usually Skirt mumbles something funny in his amazing accent, but he keeps his head down and walks by. If Poodle notices, he doesn’t act like it because he turns right down the hallway where his room is. Lady is at a doggy spa. Poodle got her the ‘Mama dog special’ where she gets a pregnancy massage.

  The dog is spoiled beyond belief.

  Poodle opens his bedroom door, and it smacks against the wall. He penguin walks when he twists me in front of him, and we inch our way into his room, locking the door behind us. He pushes me against the bed.

  Then a knock at the door sounds.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” he growls, low and deep in his throat as he opens the door with a pissed off look on his face. “What?” he barks at Reaper who crosses his arms over his chest, daring Poodle to say something else.

  I giggle.

  “Shit, uh, sorry Reaper. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “I have a gift for you,” he says.

  “Can it wait? I’m kind of busy,” Poodle slides his gaze from me and back to Reaper. “It’s been so many years, Reaper,” he admits.

  Reaper holds up his hand to stop him from talking. “Shut up. I don’t want to know about your sex life. All I know is your better come downstairs right now. Melissa, you can come too since this has to do with you.”

  I get to my feet, a huge pit in my stomach suddenly. Poodle reaches for my hand, and I take it. Reaper leaves no room for discussion and turns on his boots, giving us the wide, threatening view of his back. I swallow as I wonder why he’s taking us down there. To kill us?

  Eat us…

  I’ve been watching too many scary movies. I watched one about a man eating his own people, and now I can’t keep the image out of my head.

  Reaper flips on the light, and the stairs seem more intimidating than usual. They’re stainless steel, an odd thing for a staircase to be, but I guess it’s easier to clean up blood and body fluids.

  My mind wanders back to someone feasting on my flesh and then mopping up my blood. I make myself shiver. I need to start watching comedies.

  Doc waves from the other end of the room where Moretti is. He moves the man’s arms and legs, stretching them so Moretti has use of them when he wakes up. Doc does that a few times a day, and Juliette helps him sometimes, but between working at the lingerie shop, school, and singing at the club, I hardly ever get to see Juliette. She wants to
be a nurse, and Doc has taken her under his wing.

  Apparently, they need all the help around here they can get.

  “Oh, shit,” Poodle says under his breath when we stop at a metal door.

  Reaper doesn’t stop and explain. He opens it and allows us inside like it’s a secret party. The first thing I notice is how cold it is, I can see my breath puff and the room is dark. It’s eerie. The clank of Reaper closing the door echoes throughout the room. There’s a singular light, and it shines on someone tied to a chair.

  The beady brown eyes land on mine, and I inhale sharp, cold air which makes me cough from stinging my chest. I take a step back.

  Roscoe.

  His hair is longer, but he’s balding in front where his hairline starts. His forehead looks massive. He clicks his tongue and looks me up and down. “Well, aren’t you a sight for these sore fucking eyes, baby. I’ve been wondering where your daddy sent you. Not surprised you ended up as another hole for a biker to fill. That was all you were ever good for.” His lips curl at the end when he laughs, and Poodle rushes over in three steps, swinging his fist to collide with Roscoe’s cheek.

  “You don’t speak to her. You hear me?” Poodle yanks Roscoe back by the thin, greasy strands of his hair. “You never speak to her.”

  I’m shaking. I can’t seem to find a way to move my feet. Roscoe is strapped naked to a metal chair, and he doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. He has Sniper Serpents tattooed across his chest, the S’s in the shape of snakes. Makes sense, since he is one.

  “It took some digging, but Badge found good old boy here using his credit card at a gas station near Salt Lake City. You gotta be smarter than that,” Reaper tsks, mocking the man’s stupidity for making a rookie mistake and moves around me.

  Tongue is licking his knife, while staring at the man strapped in the chair, and he’s ready to pounce, waiting for the green light to cut Roscoe’s tongue out. Bullseye has begun his fun. There are darts embedded in Roscoe’s back. I expect to see Tool, but the next person I see is Skirt.

  He’s in his kilt, his shirt is off, intricate tattoo woven on his skin. I haven’t known Skirt to be violent, but then I see the brass knuckles on his fingers, and I realize I need to start seeing every biker as a fighter, a protector, a guardian.

  All of the men here are fucked up, but they care about their own.

  “We need to talk,” Reaper says. “I think you have information, and my brother Poodle here needs to know it.”

  Roscoe laughs. It’s more of a hiss or a wheeze than an actual chuckle. He grins, showing the black rot between his teeth. “I ain’t saying shit.” Roscoe’s eyes drift to me, and he licks his lips as if he wants a taste of me again. “Tell you what, that pretty little thing sits on my lap, and I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

  “Fuck you! That’s never happening.” Poodle raises his fists, but Skirt beats him to it. The sick crunch of Roscoe’s jawbone snaps into pieces under the brass. Skirt’s chest heaves, and he paces back and forth, acting as though this is a boxing ring, holding his fists to his sides.

  “Ye ain’t goin’ to talk to her, or about her, like that ever again. Ye hear me?” Skirt spits in his face, literally spits.

  “Who is Pops?” Poodle asks just as Reaper takes out the wooden dagger under his shirt and gives it to him.

  Tongue cackles and steps out of the shadow, black hair hanging in his face. My eyes float to the ground, needing a quick break from seeing at so much violence. I notice his cock is hard as he rubs the knife against the sharp edge.

  I’m surrounded by maniacs.

  And I love it.

  “Pops, Pops…” Roscoe mulls it over in his head. The bastard barely has a brain. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.” His nasty eyes land on me again. “But she does. Have you had her pussy yet? It’s so tight, pretty boy. Fucking gripped my cock like a vice grip when I plunged into that virgin cunt.”

  I hate this man with every ounce of my soul. I was sixteen when Roscoe had his way with me.

  And seventeen.

  And Eighteen.

  Twenty.

  Every year until six months ago.

  Boomer freed me of the situation, but Poodle broke the chains of despair drowning me.

  Poodle cries out, a sound of pure anguish as he beats Roscoe’s face over and over. Blood sprays into the air as the skin rips open from the constant abuse. “You won’t fucking touch her again; do you hear me? Do you? Tongue, give me your knife.”

  Roscoe laughs until blood bubbles in his throat, and he spits it onto the floor.

  “But—” Tongue starts to argue, but Poodle isn’t having it.

  “Give me the fucking knife!” he sneers, sweat drenching his shirt. He turns around and meets my eyes, the same intensity crackles between us. But the man staring at me isn’t Poodle.

  It’s the killer.

  Poodle squats down and spreads Roscoe’s legs apart, pressing the tip of the knife against the man’s sack. “Tell me where Pop’s is. Tell me everything about the Serpents from thirteen years ago. I want to know it all, or you’ll never know what a pussy feels like again.”

  Roscoe’s laughter dies on Poodle’s threat. But then another smile takes over his face. “You haven’t had her pussy yet, have you? That’s why you’re so mad.”

  Poodle doesn’t hesitate. He pierces the knife through the man’s sack, and I turn around because I’m about to throw up. Why did Reaper think it was okay for me to be down here? I don’t have the stomach for it.

  Roscoe screams, and the metal shakes and rings.

  “Tell me, or I’ll cut your puny fucking balls off right now.” Poodle huffs, and his shoulders rise and fall, and steam floats off his body as he works up a sweat.

  “Man, I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know!” he screams. “Pops moves around a lot. Thirteen years ago, man, I was in jail. I don’t know what happened then.”

  “You’re lying. I think you know where he is,” Poodle says. “And if you don’t tell me, I’m going to feed you balls to my dog.”

  Roscoe doesn’t say anything. His head sways, and his eyes roll back, fighting unconsciousness as the pain takes over.

  “Okay,” Poodle rips the knife out of the man’s sack and places the blade against the sensitive flesh where the orbs hang under the man’s cock.

  “No! No, I swear, I’ll tell you,” he cries. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Funny how quick his tune changes when it’s his genitals in jeopardy.

  “I swear.” Roscoe licks his lips. “I don’t know much, but Pops moves around. He’s nomad. He has clubs all over the country.”

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Blood drips from the wound in his sack and flows toward the drain in the middle of the room.

  “You’re going to tell us, aren’t you?” Poodle brings the tip of the knife to Roscoe’s chin and the dagger at his heart. “Because I want nothing more than to kill you.”

  I’m in love with two people.

  A murderer and a lover.

  Poodle has proven that love kills, and knowing he wants to do it for me, I’m turned on by his rage and want him to fuck me.

  I want him to take all of his craving, his murderous rage, and kill me with sex.

  Hypothetically speaking.

  I don’t want to actually die.

  But maybe if he can make me feel close…

  20

  POODLE

  I want nothing more than to gut this fucker right here and now. The tic in me, the one that needs to spill blood, it’s hard to hold back. It’s an animal on a torn leash, and he’s snarling to get free. I can’t believe this guy touched my sunflower, my bright, beautiful sun, and drained her of that vividness I love so much.

  Love.

  Yeah, I love her.

  I’ve loved her for months, and it’s been hard to wrap my mind around the thought.

  “Tick tock,” I tell him. “I don’t have all night.”

  “Pops, he … he was in Nebraska l
ast time he checked in. He wants—” His eyes slide over to Melissa, and I press the knife against his cheek, and blood seeps out of the perverted casket he calls a body.

  “Don’t look at her. Look at me.”

  “He wants her back. He’s losing money. Her sister—”

  “He still has my sister?” Melissa steps out of the dark, and her eyes swim with tears. “She’s okay?”

  He gives me a cheeky grin, one that tells me he knows, but he isn’t going to tell me. “Maybe.”

  “Wrong answer,” I say through tight teeth. I carve his chest with the dagger. Roscoe screams at the top of his lungs, and Skirt stuffs his mouth with is underwear. R-A-P-I-S-T. “There. Now, everyone will know what kind of sick fuck you are.”

  “Wha—” He looks down and panics as blood drips like tears, crying for all the sweet, innocent little girls he took advantage of. I rip the underwear out of his mouth and throw it to the side. “Oh my God. You crazy fuck!”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet if you don’t give me more information.”

  “Her sister is fine. He hasn’t … he hasn’t used her yet,” Roscoe spits out a wad of blood, nearly getting it on my boots.

  Melissa looks confused but relieved. “What?” I ask her. “What is it?”

  “It’s just weird. He started with me when I was that age. It doesn’t makes sense unless…” Her eyes widen when an idea strikes her. “It’s because she hasn’t started yet.”

  “Started?” I ask, confused.

  Roscoe laughs, then grunts as pain shoots through his body. “No man wants to fuck a little girl. He waits until they become a woman.”

  “You sick fuck.” I’m beyond disgusted. I know for a damn fact he isn’t leaving this room. Melissa finally loses it; this is too much for her to handle. She catches herself against the wall and pukes. Reaper is there, holding her hair back and rubbing soothing circles on her back, then he whispers something I can’t hear.