by K. L. Savage
“Then get your shit together, and maybe I won’t have to,” he snarls, bringing his head down to mine. “Reaper might have open arms when it comes to you, Jenkins, but I fucking don’t. You’re twenty. You’re a man. It’s time you start thinking like one.” Since Tool is the VP, everyone listens to him too. He whistles and stomps out the door, kicking the other half of the porch down as he makes his wrathful path.
One by one the others follow him out, and the only person left with me is Reaper. Since the door is open, well broken, the cold breeze makes its way in. “I came here wanting to say a lot of things, kid.” Reaper stands, and the chains around his pockets jiggle together as he glances around. “I was mad—fuck, I was mad—and when I had to hold my wife when she miscarried, balling her eyes out, I wanted to kill you, Boomer. I’d never wanted to kill you before, but I wanted to kill you for only adding to her pain. It isn’t your fault she miscarried. It was an ectopic pregnancy. There was no chance for the baby, but I blamed you. I ignored everything Badge told me about your situation, and I zeroed in on the fact that I knew where you were. You left, like a coward, not even able to face me. It was a spit in the face after everything you and I have been through.” He stops in front of the worn, secondhand dresser and stares at the photo I have of us fishing. “And then I remembered I’m allowed to be mad and disappointed in my kid, and I know I’d never kill you but, Boomer—”
“Reaper—”
“No, don’t. You’re still young; you’re still a kid. You have a lot to learn about life still. So tell me about Scarlett,” Reaper says, keeping his back to me as he stares so hard at the picture. I wonder if he’s reliving the memory in his head.
“She was in bad shape. I got to her in time, but she’s strong, beautiful, and a bit shy considering the circumstances. I want her as mine.”
“It’s a big label. If you were in the club, would you make her your ol’ lady?”
“I would. I knew from the moment I saw her.”
Reaper reaches into the pocket of his cut and pulls out the one thing that meant the world to me, and I left it behind. “That’s yours, kid. It was your father’s. Sarah doesn’t want it.” He tosses it to me, and I unfold it, placing it in my lap. The prospect patch has been replaced with a newer patch that says ‘member.’ I glance up at him in confusion, rubbing my hand along the patch. I don’t understand. I’ve done nothing to deserve this.
“You prospected enough, kid,” he says. “Your entire life was the club. You lost your father to the club; you nearly gave your life for the club, and your sister. You were done prospecting a long time ago, and I should have just patched you in. It’s yours if you want it.”
“Reaper,” I start to say, but my throat tightens.
“You don’t have to answer now,” he says. “Hide it from your ol’ lady. I think you’re meant to be a part of something bigger than just you. You aren’t alone, okay? I’ll send Doc in. I need to go call Sarah.” Before I can say anything else, Reaper practically runs out the door, leaving me staring at a cut I never thought I’d see again.
My chest hurts, but it isn’t from being brought back to life; it’s the sudden love I feel from everyone, especially when all I deserve is hate.
15
Scarlett
“Someone has hearts in their eyes,” Joanna teases as we speed down the highway next to the ocean. It’s so pretty here. I’d hate to leave. I might have been in a basement and never explored the place, but what I’ve seen—the big casinos, the ocean, the motel—I like it. It’s better than the small town I’m from where everyone knows everyone, and if I went back there, everyone would point, stare, and whisper, and I don’t want to live like that.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I mumble, turning to look out the window to stare at nothing. I’m hiding my smile from Joanna, Melissa, and Abigale. They’re all staring at me in the back of this beat-up Bronco, and Homer’s eyes keep flicking in the rearview. Wolf has his hand reaching on the other side of the seat by the door, and Abigale has her hand in his.
Like we can’t tell.
Right.
“It wouldn’t have to do with that little dipshit staying with me, is it?” Homer asks, pushing his big square seventies style glasses up his nose. “I’ll give him a talking to.”
“Oh, I know you would.” I lean forward and pinch his cheeks. Homer is the cutest old man I have ever freaking seen. And sweet, so damn sweet. I’m not sure what we would do without him.
“It’s Boomer, right?” Melissa says in a low whisper. She’s been very quiet this entire time. Everyone handles trauma differently, but I can tell she’s trying to be better. Every word she speaks, everywhere she looks, she’s waiting for them to jump out and take her again. She shakes constantly, and her anxiety makes her scratch the skin on her forearms. “You trust him?” she asks.
Thinking of Boomer, my mind reels with what might happen when I return to the motel. We aren’t far away. Less than five miles, and I’ve been building the courage up to kiss him. After what happened last night, I want to push my fears away and hold onto the present, enjoy the good, and relish in pleasure. I want to give myself over to Boomer and not live in fear.
Not like Melissa or Joanna. I can’t. I’m not like them. I have to push it back and keep going, or I’ll be miserable for the rest of my life, and I don’t want to be miserable. I want to kiss his temples where his pain seems to radiate and sooth his beautiful, chaotic mind.
“Look at that blush. Girl, you aren’t hiding anything,” Abigale jokes, but it’s soon followed with a deadly cough. The hospital wanted to keep her overnight, but she wanted to get back to the motel. I think right now, that’s where all of us feel safe.
As we pass a few trees that are burnt from lightning, Homer takes a right, and two minutes following the road along the beach, we pull into the hotel to see a bunch of bikes parked.
Melissa grips my hand, and Joanna grabs hers along with Abigale’s. We’re locked like a chain. Wolf turns to look back at us, his green eyes taking on a murderous hue. “Get down. Get as low to the floorboard as you can. Lay flat.”
“What is this hootenanny shit? I told him not to throw parties,” Homer mutters, and I know he’s just trying to make us feel better. The claws of panic dig into my chest, and I gasp for breath. They’re here. Fuck, they’re here. I don’t want to go back. Please, god, don’t make me go back.
“I’m going to check things out. I’ll be back,” Wolf says as he climbs out of vehicle.
“Wolf!” Abigale scrambles for his hand. “Wolf, no!” But it’s too late, and he’s on his way inside. She breaks down and cries, burying her face in her hands, and Joanna wraps her arm around Abigale, tucking her against her chest.
“Shhh, you have got to be quiet,” Joanna hisses, but it’s a pleading tone laced with desperation. “Please, Abigale. They’ll hear you.”
Abigale quietens down because I give her my hand to squeeze. She squeezes so hard my damn finger pops, and I have to swallow down a moan.
“Ladies, it’s okay. Wolf just gave me the nod of approval. You’re safe. Let’s get everyone inside. I’ll get your bags,” Homer says, but none of us move.
I’m too afraid to get up.
What was it I just said? I can’t live in misery. I have to do this. The moment I see Boomer, I’m going to kiss him and tell him I want him. I’m going to seize the moment because I had way too many taken away from me, and I’m not about to let it start again. “Come on. We have to go.” I rip my hand from Abigale’s and crawl out from behind Homer’s seat. I barely have my feet on the ground when strong arms wrap around my waist, and I can’t help the scream that leaves my mouth.
“Shh, it’s me! It’s me. Fuck, I’m sorry, sugar.”
Boomer.
I turn in his arms and lay my hand on his chest, the same chest that was just crushed a few days ago, and while I know he’s alive, the thump of his heart brings me so much happiness.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as his b
ig brown eyes search my face for answers. “Scarlett?” All I can think about are his lips; lips I should’ve tasted the first day I saw him. “Sugar, you’re scaring me; what is it? Is it the bikes? I can explain that. You’re safe here.”
I can’t take it anymore. I jump on him, wrap my legs around his waist, and circle my arms around his neck, diving in before my moment of courage flies away. My lips meet his as the wind brushes through my air. He doesn’t hesitate; he kisses me back the moment we touch.
His lips are soft, just like I knew they would be, plump and big; they nearly take over my mouth. With one hand, he grips my jaw, controlling me and the way I move. It’s gentle, but it’s a touch that has me whimpering into his mouth. Boomer takes the small opportunity of space and slides his tongue between my lips. The lingering taste of beer on his taste buds entices my tongue to dance with his, gathering all the flavor I can.
My back hits the Bronco, and Boomer’s hands fall to my ass, holding me up by my globes. Hoots and hollers cheer somewhere in the distance, and I’m surprised that being watched is only turning me on. I dig my nails into his neck and moan down his throat. I ache to feel him inside me.
He grinds his hard cock against me and yanks away, cursing, “Fuck, sugar. You sure are a bomb of surprises.” His eyes fall to my mouth, my lips tingling from our passionate kiss, and my body throbs with need. I try to grind against him again, but he stops me, closing his eyes as his body shakes to pull himself together.
I did that.
I made him lose control like that.
Boomer is intricate, delicate, just like the bombs he loves so much. I’m the match to his fuse, and now all that’s left is the explosion building between us.
“You better stop looking at me like that, Scarlett, or I’ll fuck you right here in front of everyone,” he growls, those brown eyes swirling again with a tint of danger that only makes my body grow more curious for him.
I moan at the thought of someone watching us, and Boomer lays his head on my shoulder. “You’re killing me, sugar. You pretend to be all soft and sweet, but you’re a fucking savage, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been wanting to taste your lips for too long,” I say, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. Maybe he didn’t like how forward I was. Does he want soft and sweet all the time? I have a feeling that isn’t who I am. He makes me feel dainty but powerful all at once; like a piece of candy, but a craving someone shouldn’t give into.
“Come on. Let’s take you back to the room. I want to hear about how your day went.”
“Can that wait?” I ask, biting my bottom lip, and his eyes fall to my mouth again. His red tongue licks his lips, watching me intently. “I want to keep kissing you.”
He sets me down and takes my hand, dragging me behind him. We walk past a group of really big men, one with a knife who gives me a wave that a serial killer gives before they swoop in and take their victim. “I’ll introduce you to everyone later,” Boomer says, almost tripping over the ridge of the sidewalk.
“I hear he has a little dick!” a guy with a screwdriver above his ear shouts, smiling at me. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
“Fuck you, Tool!” Boomer shouts angrily at the guy.
I won’t care if Boomer is small. I like him for him. There are other ways to please a woman, and plus, I hear it only takes four inches to give a woman an orgasm. I really hope Boomer can give me one because I’ve never experienced it. I’ve had sex with one guy, and he didn't make me come.
I’m ready.
I want it.
I want to have a sex-a-thon where all we do is screw all day and night, and then do it again the next day. I want to be so tired, sore, and sweaty that I can’t utter my name. Can Boomer give that to me? Small cock or not?
The hallway is dark for a moment before we break through to the other side that faces the ocean. I hate how beautiful the view is because it’s a lie. The water isn’t afraid to take you under, and the only way to come back up is to fight or have someone else fight for you.
It’s a monster in a beautiful disguise.
When we get to the door, I notice one hinge is broken while the other one is holding the weight of the door as it leans. There’s a huge hole in the middle from someone kicking it in, and I have so many questions.
Why is the door like this, and who are those men out front?
But when we get inside and Boomer throws me on the bed, I suddenly don’t care.
He rips his shirt off, showing the defined muscles. A large tattoo takes over his entire chest, red and black swirling through it. I don’t stare at it long enough to get the full picture because my eyes trial down to his stomach.
Eight. There are eight abs. I want to lick every single one of them and scratch them as he’s buried inside me.
“The door,” I say, noticing it’s open. Any one of his friends can walk by and see us.
“What?” he stops mid-step and gives the evil eye to the broken door.
The expression makes me giggle. It looks like he’s about to light it on fire. He tries to put the door back where it belongs, but the hinges creak, and then the damn thing falls lower to the ground than it did before.
“Son of a bitch. Fucking Reaper. He had to kick the goddamn door down. Always having to make an entrance. We get it. You’re big. You’re fucking bad. Jesus Christ.”
It’s enjoyable to see him talk to himself. It’s cute. Boomer’s hands land on his hips, and he stares at the ceiling in frustration. He turns around, and his eyes land on the dresser. The forlorn pinch in his eyes disappears, and a smile takes over his face. He grabs the dresser and slides it across the floor until it’s flush with the door. Boomer then flips the lock and surprisingly it does.
He still has his hand on the metal knob when he looks over his shoulder, and the vehement veil in his eyes cause a shiver to crawl up and down my spine. The calm and collected Boomer is gone, and the wild, unpredictable one has taken his place. He prowls toward me until he’s in front of the bed, staring down at me like I'm his prey.
I am. I want him to sink his teeth into my flesh and devour. I just hope I taste so good he comes back for seconds and thirds; hell, I hope he never gets his fill.
“I’m going to tell you right now that if I kiss you again and you grind your pussy against my cock, I might not be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” I say, my cheeks turning a bright crimson from how hot they are.
“You need to be sure.” One of his knees lands on the bed, then the other, and he knee walks to me, and the hungry blaze in his eyes has me inching backward. He seems to like my hesitation because he grips my ankle and pulls me toward him, my back sliding easily against the simple blue cotton comforter. “You need to be sure; do you know why?”
I shake my head, unable to form words. I stare at him with so much awe, I’m sure it looks pathetic. I want to know why. I want to know everything he has to say.
“Because I haven’t had sex in a really long time, sugar. I’ll be honest, I was afraid my cock would never get hard for a woman again, but then you came along.” He brings my leg to his mouth and places a kiss on my ankle. “And I’ve been fucking hard since the moment I met you. I was fucking done with the easy chicks.”
The thought of him being with someone else sends me into a fit of jealousy and rage. I sit up and grip the waistband of his jeans. “No one else. No one else but me, Boomer. If we do this, it’s only us and no one else.”
“I’m fucked up, sugar. You don’t know the half of it.” The sadness is evident in his voice, and all I want to do is be the solution to all his problems, even if it’s impossible.
“I want to know, Boomer. Show me,” I tell him, inching toward his red, swollen lips. “Tell me everything, and I swear, I’ll love you for it.” His eyes snap to mine, and the shadows that invoke fear shrink back, and the man who’s afraid comes forth. He’s only there for a minute before he’s bringing his mouth down on mine. This kiss is different.
It’s slower. His lips own my entire mouth, my entire being, and both of his hands cup my face. He takes a breath and then dives back in, moaning into my mouth as if he can’t get enough. The more we kiss, the more frantic he gets. I open my eyes for a split second to see what he looks like, and his brows are pinched, and his eyes are shut.
He’s desperate.
He needs me.
Me.
The girl found in a basement, chained, and almost broken.
“Boomer,” I say his name, and he shakes his head.
“Don’t call me that. Call me Jenkins in bed. It’s who I want to be with you here. Here is the most important place, and you should get the most important part of me.”
“And that isn’t Boomer?”
He shakes his head as his trails his fingers along my neck where the iron collar was. I’ll always have a slight scar. It’s still healing, and I know it’s ugly. I try to cover it up, but he snatches my hand and holds it against the bed. “I get to see every part of you, if you get to see all the ugly inside me,” he says.
I kiss him again, soft and tender, something I expect has never happened to him, and place my hand on his chest. “Jenkins, when will you learn there is nothing ugly about you? I think you’re beautiful.”
“I’m fucking crazy, Scarlett.”
“That’s okay. Just be crazy for me.”
He lays me down and hovers over me, sliding his finger along my jawline. Tiny, little sparks ignite under my skin. It takes all I have not to close my eyes and let me body feel what he’s doing to me. Every part of me is affected by him. He thinks he’s ruined, that he’s haunted, but I want him to come closer to me. He’s made himself at home in my bones, the foundation of my being, and just like a ghost, there’s no way out.
“Sugar, don’t you know yet? I’ve been crazy for you the moment I saw you.”
16
Boomer