Poodle

by K. L. Savage

“Give me my gun,” Reaper orders, and Skirt slaps a revolver in his hands. It’s loaded and ready to use, and Reaper stuffs it in the back of his pants. “Okay, she left two minutes ago. We need to move.”

  “It’s okay, the tracker is on. I’m following,” Badge points to the screen on his laptop that shows a red dot. “They are heading out of town.”

  “Well, I don’t want them to get too far ahead. Someone better fucking drive.” Reaper is extra snippy tonight. Braveheart gets in the driver’s seat and throws the van in drive, looking in the side mirror before pulling onto the road. The streets are busy since it’s Vegas at night. Once we get far enough away from the questionable end of the strip, the crowd on either side of the streets turns from women in short skirts to tourist looking to hit the jackpot at the casinos.

  “They’re only a few cars ahead,” Badge says. “It’s quiet. Nothing is being said.”

  I crack my neck and fingers, and then twist my back. I wish this wasn’t happening. I wish none of this happened and I could be living a normal life, but if that were the case, I would have never met Melissa.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Reaper says, slapping me in the middle of the back. The car behind us honks, and Skirt jumps, getting startled by the simple noise. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but he hasn’t talked to me since he found out about Ellie and Holly. I have a feeling he feels betrayed. I don’t blame him, but I need my best friend now more than I ever did.

  “Yeah, I hope you’re right. I need out of this van, Reaper. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.”

  “Save it for our destination. We need all that crazy you’ve been hiding from us.”

  “I’m not crazy.” I huff just as the sharp end of the dagger scratches my lower back, reminding me that I am, in fact, a little touched in the head.

  “I think you’re way more interesting now.”

  “Thanks? I think,” I say to Tongue who’s sitting in the corner sharpening his knife. He’s been doing that all day. I bet it could slice someone’s head right off in one try with how sharp it is.

  I place my head between my knees and breathe.

  “Shit.”

  “What!’ I jerk my head up to see Badge turns his laptop around to show me the red dot has stopped moving. I narrow my eyes and when I see where they are, I feel relieved and start to laugh.

  I’m laughing too hard.

  “What about this is funny?” Reaper asks just as the van dips into a pothole.

  “Sorry! Couldn’t miss it,” Braveheart says, stopping at a red light right as we get to the end of the strip.

  “That place is ‘The Shack,’” Badge says, as if he doesn’t know I already know that. “Shady people go there.”

  “I know. It’s where I went to find Darius and his friend. Played some pool with them before dragging their asses to the middle of the desert.” I wipe a tear leaking from my eye and sigh. “Sorry, it’s funny how I’m back where it all started.”

  “And everyone thought I was the basket case,” Tongue mumbles from his corner.

  “Everyone shut up.” Reaper is reaching a boiling point. The night is stressful enough without us losing our heads, and now that we know they’re heading to The Shack, it has made the situation a little more complicated.

  The cops have been heavy in that area ever since the bodies were discovered. The Shack isn’t the most upscale place where legal activities happen. The last thing we need is the cops to bust us. Braveheart takes a left at the light, and we take the same road I drove on a few weeks ago for a few miles. I watch the lights of the strip glow and flash in the sky. It baffles me how the world keeps on spinning when bad shit happens every second of every day. People are playing the slot machines, Blackjack, drinking, or getting married at a chapel, and they have no idea just down the road we’re about to go into battle.

  We pass The Shack, and all of us look out the window to see Melissa getting out of the SUV. She takes a quick glance at us, but then composes herself as Jared comes around the car and puts his arm around her.

  “He is mine,” I seethe, zeroing in on his hand that is on her waist—my waist.

  “Poodle, they’re all yours if you want. We’ll be there for support,” Reaper says and grabs onto the door handle when Braveheart comes to a stop about a half-mile away. He parks behind a large boulder that is off the road and a few yards into the desert so the van is hidden.

  One by one we all get out the van. Since the trip to Oklahoma didn’t happen, a few guys didn’t come on this run. There is Skirt, Tongue, Reaper, Badge and Braveheart. “Is everyone ready?” Reaper asks and slowly slides the door shut.

  The night has a bitter bite to it. The air is cold, carrying sand and the stench of a cigarette smoke from The Shack. “Tongue, Poodle, and I will take the front; everyone else take the back. We have studied the pictures of the Serpents. Kill who you see, but if you see Hector, who goes by Frank now, he walks out of there alive in a Ruthless Kings hand. Got it? And for the love of God, don’t kill any women.”

  Obviously.

  “Let’s go,” I say, not wanting to waste another minute. We keep to the side of the road and do our best to use the shrubbery to help camouflage us. We’re dressed in black tactical gear, so we’re concealed easily enough in the dark of night.

  For big bikers, we’re stealthy and quiet through the desert. A few twigs snap and rocks get flung across the ground from Braveheart dragging his feet. He isn’t tired. It’s just how he walks. The Shack comes to view, and it looks just as shitty as I remember.

  “The bouncer is the same one. He looks asleep, just like last time,” I whisper, doing my best not to give away our positions. There is a small hill just to the left of the bar and all of us are laying on the ground, watching a few guys with the same Serpent tattoo on their hands smoking cigarettes outside.

  “Can I cut his tongue out?” Tongue asks, and he reminds me of a dog frothing at the mouth for a bone.

  “No. Only Serpents.”

  “Only Serpents,” he mocks like a child, then he pushes himself off the hill and walks toward the two men catching a smoke break.

  “Tongue! Tongue!” Reaper hisses as quietly as he can, but Tongue ignores him.

  “What’s he doing?” I ask. “If he blows our cover, I’m going to be pissed.”

  “We’re heading around back,” Badge says. “Good luck out here.” Badge and Braveheart stay crouched and tiptoe along the sand; they look very similar to bad ballet dancers. Skirt hangs back, and he doesn’t say a word, but he does meet my eyes for the first time in a few weeks. He gives me a slow nod and walks away, disappearing into the black abyss of the sandbox we’re in.

  “Fuck,” Reaper curses as he watches Tongue approach the guys.

  So far, he’s just shooting shit, laughing, and asks for a cigarette, but Tongue doesn’t smoke. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but he nods and then slams his head against the guy with a buzz cut, then he cuts the throat of the bald one.

  And I’m right, the knife is sharp enough to cut a head off because the bald guy’s head is currently bouncing down the ramp. Tongue reaches into the other guy’s mouth and cuts the appendage out. Smoke is still blowing from between the man’s lips as Tongue throws the cut muscle in the desert. The coyotes will eat that up in no time.

  “Son of a bitch, Tongue.” Reaper dusts off his pants as he stands. “We had a plan. A plan. We can’t just go slicing and dicing people.”

  Tongue tilts his head, clearly confused because his lips purse and his brows are so drawn together he looks like he has a unibrow. “Why not?” He wipes his cheek on his arm, only smearing the spatter of blood along his jawline.

  “Because that’s just messy. Especially out front.” Reaper kicks the man’s head, a lone soccer ball arching through the sky until it hits the ground with a hard thud. “But it’s too late to turn around. You made a mess.”

  “You kicked it,” Tongue argues and wipes his knife on his pants. “Oh, wait.” He stops us from
going inside and shoves the knife through the guy’s head that he just took the tongue out of, right through his ear. “Forgot he was still alive. It’s been too long. I’m a bit rusty.” Tongue yanks the knife out and kicks the guy to the ground and wipes his knife clean. “There.” He grins, and it’s such a terrifying smile.

  The bouncer is still asleep, and Tongue leans in and tilts his head, fighting the urge to do what comes naturally to him. “How can he sleep through what we just did?” he asks, studying the guy slumped on the stool.

  “Who cares. He isn’t my problem.” I kick the front door open so damn hard it flies off the hinges and hits a guy standing next to the pinball machine right in the head. I glance around and notice it’s pretty much empty. The drugged up barkeep isn’t there, and the pool tables have been pushed to the side. There are dancers on stage, sliding down the pole, but they look scared out of their minds with black streaks running down their faces.

  It’s hard to see with the smoke that clings to the air, only this time, since it smells like skunk, it’s weed that overloads the space. The hanging lights cast a yellow hue through the thick fog, and as I walk forward, I see two things.

  And one requires my dagger.

  28

  MELISSA

  When I first arrived at this shit hole bar, Hector—Frank—whatever the hell he calls himself, had my sister by his side, a dog collar around her neck and the leash in his hands as he sat in a throne-like chair. Jared pushed me forward, and Hector was glad to see me, too glad. He palmed his cock through his jeans and flashed me his brown teeth.

  “Saw her workin’ the strip, boss. Can you believe the luck?” Jared said.

  Hector had caught on immediately. He cut his eyes to Jared and lifted his gun, shooting him point blank between the eyes. His warm blood sprayed all over me, and I screamed until Hector filled my mouth with the hot barrel of the gun. I coughed and choked from the smoke forcefully drifting to my lungs. He might be an asshole, a god-awful human being, but he’s smart when someone is on to him.

  “Who’s on their way here? Jared was dumber than a box of fucking rocks. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy to get you, not when you were under Ruthless Kings protection here in Vegas,” he asked.

  All of that happened in less than three minutes.

  And now drool slides down the side of the metal as Hector cocks the gun, threatening to blow my brains out. All I can think about is Ellie, Elizabeth, and Poodle. I finally have someone I love, and I’m not going to see another day because I’m not going to tell Hector shit.

  I’d rather die than give him any information.

  With tears rolling down my face, I sink my mouth further on the gun, daring him to pull the trigger.

  He laughs. “Well, well, the bitch grew a backbone.” He yanks the gun out of my mouth, and my eyes fall to Elizabeth who is crying. Her hands are tied, and her mouth is gagged. She looks scared out of her mind. She looks so different. This isn’t the little girl I left behind; this is a broken, jaded young woman who has been in the hands of the devil for far too long.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her, and that earns me a slap across the face with the gun. I grunt, catching myself with my wrist before my face hits the floor. Fuck, that hurt. What is it with men slapping women across the face? My hand flies to my aching jaw, and blood gathers in my mouth. I spit it onto the floor, and Hector bends down and lifts me up by the thick of my hair, placing the gun under my chin.

  He buries his nose in my neck and inhales, his cock rocking against my ass as he licks a trail up my neck. “I missed you.”

  “You’re a sick bastard!” Bloody spit dribbles down my chin. As I assess my surroundings, I notice there are five Serpents standing around, watching with interest. “You’re a sick bastard who fucks his children.”

  His caustic laugh is in flux with the traumatic pounding of my heart. “I can’t help it. Not when my daughter looks as good as you.”

  Reaper might have been right. Maybe we already knew the truth. I had a feeling when Reaper talked to me that I was just another child who was taken from their parents, but I’m not. This is my father. I’ve never been so disgusted in my entire life. I have no idea who I am, but I want to find out more than ever.

  “The Jersey chapter was supposed to sell you for a high dollar and profit with me, but the Vegas chapter had to go and screw things up. You were a walking money pit with tits like you got. I wouldn’t let you go so easy. I spent years raising you, bitch. Years, and I want what I fucking deserve.”

  “You spent years raping me!” I spit blood in his face, right on his lips, and he licks it off, his tongue tracing the outer corners of his mouth.

  He swallows, then grins. “Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I felt you coming around my cock more than once. You’re a dirty little cum slut, just like your sister is going to be. I’m going to have the men here take you one by one when I get done with you. It will be like old times.”

  “No!” my sister screams and tries to break free of the leash that he has tied to the chair, but she gets tugged to the floor violently. Her head smacks the wood, her eyes falling shut.

  “Elizabeth!” I scream and fight the hold Hector has on me, but it’s no use. He has me.

  “And maybe when I’m done with you, I’ll have her. I bet that cunt is ripe.” He rocks his cock against me, moaning as he gains the friction that he needs.

  His sick reminder of my orgasms involuntarily twist my stomach and make me bend over and throw up. I never wanted that. I never wanted him. I might have orgasmed, but I never liked it. When Poodle makes me come, I crave more.

  There’s a huge different.

  “You stupid bitch.” He slams a fist against my stomach, and I slump to my knees. “I just got these boots.”

  “You have one minute to get away from her before I kill you.”

  Poodle.

  The distraction is just what I need. I crawl over to Elizabeth, and a sob breaks my chest when lift her head and place her on my lap. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her while petting her hair. “The Kings are here. They’re nothing like the Serpents. I swear. Oh God.” I hold her to my chest and cry when I see the blood escaping down her neck. The collar around her throat has left a scar. Her pulse is strong, but I hate that I can’t see her beautiful green eyes. For so many years I took the abuse Hector wanted to give her by offering myself up to him and the club. For years.

  The backdoor opens, and Braveheart, Skirt, and Badge walk through. Badge has a black eye, Braveheart has a cut along his ribs, and Skirt has busted up knuckles, something that doesn’t seem to change as the days pass.

  Tongue is prowling like a tiger, back and forth, snarling, wanting free to do his damage. Reaper lifts his gun and aims it at the men surrounding me.

  Bang.

  A Serpent falls.

  Bang.

  A poisonous snake dies.

  “Shall I keep going until you get the point?” Reaper asks.

  Hector aims the gun at Poodle and grins. “I don’t give a fuck about your point.”

  I gently lay my sister’s head on the floor and crawl across the floor, sneaking up behind Hector. I kick my leg out, buckling his kneecap. The gun falls to the floor, a round firing off and shattering the light bulb. Glass falls on me, and I can’t see a thing. Half of the place is in darkness, and the other half is a murky white from the smoke and poor lighting.

  I crawl to my sister and lean my back against the chair, breathing harsh, nasty air.

  The light flickers harshly, and I see a flash of a man slicing someone’s throat.

  “Melissa?” Poodle yells for me in the darkness, and I’ve never been so glad to hear his voice.

  “I’m fine!” I scream as gunfire rings out. The sound of flesh and lifeless gasps surround me, sacrificial lamb ready for the slaughter. “I’m fine. We’re going to be fine,” I say to myself as the madness grows louder.

  Time slows, and every moment I can’t see is another moment that
will haunt me. The light flickers again, and I see a glimpse of someone throwing a body on the pool table. The balls clink together, sounding like a crack of lightning streaking through the sky.

  Darkness falls again, and the silence is a deafening sound that I’m not sure I want to hear. Either it’s over or something else is about to happen.

  The light strobes again, and what I see is something of nightmares. I’m glad Elizabeth is unconscious.

  Carnage.

  Blood.

  Death.

  The grim reaper is here, but it isn’t a man dressed in a cloak, it’s a man wearing a leather cut, holding a heart in his hands. Tongue is drenched head to toe in blood and just a few feet ahead is someone’s … tongue. I gag.

  I see Poodle next, who also has blood on him, but it isn’t like he bathed in it like Tongue. Poodle holds the dagger against Hector’s chest while Skirt has Hector’s hands behind is back.

  “Are you okay?” Reaper bends down to ask me, his hands wet and bloody as he reaches for me. “Is she okay?”

  My teeth chatter from the shock, and I look around at the dead bodies and wonder if I am okay. Nothing about this is fucking okay.

  “There’s no need to get hasty,” Hector says, his scruff covered Adam’s apple bobbing when he realizes just how much trouble he’s in. He isn’t getting out of here alive. Not when Poodle has his killing mask on.

  The tips of his hair are red from blood. He reminds me of a fallen angel, a vigilante of justice, but he doesn’t give a damn about right and wrong. He will do what needs to be done, regardless if the fall from righteousness kills him.

  “I’ve been looking for you a long time, Hector,” Poodle says. “And you have answers. You’re the only one who has answers, and you’re going to give them to me if you want to get out of here alive.”

  “What do you want to know?” Hector says, his cheeks shaking as he nod. Pussy. He can give it, but he can’t take it.

  “You killed my girl thirteen years ago and took my daughter. I read your file. The FBI arrested your entire crew, all except you and a few stragglers. I assume for a huge child trafficking scheme. I want to know where the fuck my daughter is.” Poodle sinks the sharp tip of the blade in the man’s chest, and Hector cries out.