by K. L. Savage
Kissing him, breathing him in, feeling the amount of turmoil he’s giving me, I take it from him. I soak it up in my veins to free him of the bars locked inside him, caging him like a beast. Our tongues collide, the water causing slick friction and added warmth inside my mouth. Every other stroke I get closer to the edge. His back flexes with determination as he fucks me, stretches me, and ruins me for anyone else.
There’s only room for one explosion in my heart, and that boom belongs to Jenkins.
“I love you,” he says, burying to the hilt. There is no more room. Every scandalous inch of him is inside me. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” he chants three times. It’s always three times.
I clutch on to him tighter, and the water washes away a tear, one of joy and relief. “I love you, Jenkins.” We hold each other up, bodies clinging to every inch of one another as his eyes search for that amazing high we can only give one another. With how his hips are moving quicker, I can tell he is close.
“I deserve her. I deserve her. I deserve her,” falls from Boomer’s mouth as he speaks to himself.
Oh, what’s going on inside that beautiful mind? “You deserve more,” I say in return, answering the loud plea in his heart.
“Jenkins,” I say, my voice muddled by the water before crying out and digging my teeth into his shoulder as he expertly pulls a mind-blowing orgasm from my body.
He pumps into me, groaning, telling me he loves me so many times. I wonder if he thinks he’ll never get the opportunity to say it again. I want to hear it for as long as I live. He plants himself inside me, holding me with so much force I know I’ll have bruises on my hips tomorrow. The water turns cold, but his cum is hot and splashes against my sensitive, trembling walls.
We stand there, a shaking mess from the climaxes and cold water. He places kisses all over my chest before leaning back and turning the knobs off. The spray comes to a halt, and we stand there, dripping and shivering, and amazingly the only thing left scalding hot is his cock inside me.
“How are you still hard?”
“You look so fucking good wet and the image of you sucking my cock,” he groans and slowly pulls out of me. “Jesus, I’m taking that with me to my grave.”
I slap his chest, and he stumbles back as I climb out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body. “What was that for?”
“Talking about being in the grave. I don’t like it.” I point sternly then toss him a towel.
“Aw, sugar. That won’t happen for a long time.”
“Better not.”
“Or what?” he taunts with a sly smile, wrapping one arm around my waist and the other to cup the back of my neck.
“I’ll put you there myself, that’s what.”
“Oh, I love it when you talk all bad, sugar.”
“You’re impossible,” I say, running the towel down my body.
“Is that so?” His hands fall to my ribs and start tickling me.
“No! Boomer!” I laugh uncontrollably and try to get away from him. I can’t breathe. Tears are in my eyes, and I manage to get away and jump to the other side of the bed. I’m gasping for breath from the assault, and he stands there, hands flat on the bed, rocking from side to side on his foot like he’s about to take off like a rocket and get to me. “Don’t even think about it.” I look around for a weapon, anything to keep him from tickling me. He leans back and holds his hands out at the ready, nine fingers wiggling. I see his backpack on the table and grab it. “I’ll throw it.”
“Oh, I’m so scared. I’m shaking,” he mocks in a teasing tone, taking a step to his right to come around the bed. Instead of running like I expect him to, he jumps and lands at the perfect angle to tickle me. I’m not even laughing at this point because I can’t breathe. I hate being ticklish. I hit him with his bag over and over again to get him off me, and the bag breaks, emptying its contents onto him.
My laughter dies down when I see a black vest, shiny like leather, reminding me of the men who took me. “What is that?” I ask, reaching for it. He tries to snatch it away, but I’m quicker. It is leather. It smells like it, rich and musky. I hold it up, and what I see makes my heart stop, and my blood turns to mud. I can barely hold myself up.
On the back is the same logo as the other vests. The skull, the crown, the Ruthless Kings name across the top and bottom. Only it says Vegas Chapter on it instead of Atlantic City.
“Let me explain,” he pleads with me, holding his hands up. His brows frown, and his eyes are sincere, but I can’t stop seeing the men who took me wearing this same damn piece of leather.
I run my finger over the patch that says his name. “Boomer,” in white block letters against a black patch. “You’re one of them? You’re one of those … monsters! You’re one of them!” I scream, tossing the vest at him because it’s a fucking vest, no matter how much they want to pretty it up and make it sound more badass by calling it a cut. “Do you even care? Are you going over there to have your fill of those girls? I trusted you! I trusted you!” I sob as the betrayal takes over me.
“Let me explain,” he repeats and crawls across the bed to get closer to me.
“Stay away from me!” I yell, seeing the hurt across his face as if I slapped him. “You…You touched me. You told me …you said you loved me. You said…” I bury my face in my hands. “You’re a liar!” My voice breaks as a mournful wail is released.
“No, sugar, no. I do love you. It’s why I didn’t tell you. I wanted to protect—”
“Don’t you dare!” I shove him, and he falls onto the bed. “Don’t you dare say you were protecting me! Lying is no protection. It’s pain you inflict on another person. You hurt me. You are hurting me.” Maybe this is what they do; they like to hurt people any way they can, some physically, some psychologically.
The whites of his eyes turn red, and they fill with water. “I never wanted to hurt you. I love—”
“Don’t you dare finish that statement.” Because I want to believe it, I do, but all I see and feel are chains and rough concrete. “You and your friends … they’re your club, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” he says.
I run over to the dresser and get dressed, needing to get out of here before I end up in another hole with dangerous men.
“Where are you going?” Boomer stands, naked, his cock swaying as he walks to me. Why does he have to be so beautiful? He stops and clutches his head, shaking it as if there’s something inside for him to get out. “Don’t go, stop!” He slams his hand against the door, keeping me prisoner. I went from one jail cell to the other. “I love you, Scarlett. We aren’t like them.”
I want to believe him. The broken, traumatized part of me doesn’t; it’s telling me to run, to protect myself, while my heart is saying stay.
“Let me go,” I say through clenched teeth. I need to get the others and get out of here.
“I can’t do that, sugar. You can hate me; I’ll live with it if it means you’re safe.”
The name causes my chest to hitch. “I’m not safe here.”
“You’re safe! You’re safer with me than with anyone. I’m your safety! Please.” He tries to cup my face and kiss me, but I push him away, shoving him with all my might. He stumbles and falls back, and I take the opportunity to run for it, my heart shattering into pieces. The parts that were stitched together by him will never heal again. I open the door, slam it, and break the doorknob so he’s locked inside.
“Scarlett!” He bangs on the door and jiggles the handle. “Scarlett, don’t do this!”
I don’t have much time before he breaks down that door.
Just like he broke the wall of trust I built for him.
Ruthless Kings can never be trusted. The only thing they know how to do is ruin.
22
Boomer
It’s morning when I finally wake up on the porch, head bleeding and my body sore from breaking through the door in the blinding rage I felt last night. I was supposed to run after her, but I ended up onl
y hurting myself.
Now, she’s gone.
She’s gone.
I get up and stumble inside the room to put shorts on since I’m still naked and grab the lamp off the nightstand and throw it. “Fuck!” My sobs break free, my clarity, my healing, my calm all shattering.
The intrusive thoughts slam into me and send me to my knees. I clutch my head and try to shake them free, but they stick to me like a parasite, draining me of life.
Worthless. You’re worthless. That’s why she left you.
“No,” I whisper and get to my feet, taking a vase off the dresser and throwing it. “No! I’m fucking worthy. I’m worthy.” I bang my chest, still sore from the resuscitation Tongue gave me.
You’re a liar. You’re insane. She deserves better. You should have died in that ocean. Death would be better.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself.
“No! I’ll never do that. I’ll never do that. I didn’t mean to do it the last time. I didn’t mean it!” I pull at the hairs on my head as I unravel, the delicate strings connecting to my heart breaking. “Oh god!” I clutch my chest when pain unlike I’ve ever felt before puts an indescribable amount of pressure on my heart.
“Boomer!” Reaper yells, running into the room. He sees me for the pathetic, worthless, insane person I am. “Doc! Doc, you have to get in here!” Reaper falls to his knees in front of me, and I just want it to end the crazy in my head. I can’t take much more. I’m so tired, and now Scarlett isn’t here, my anchor. I’m a weak man, and I fucking know that.
A hard backhand across my face calms me down.
“Look at me, kid,” Reaper says, tugging me up to my feet. “Look me in the fucking eyes like I taught you.”
I bring my eyes up to him, the only father figure I truly remember. “She’s gone, Reap. She found my cut. She’s fucking gone, and I can’t fucking think. It … it’s too much.” I point to my temples. “I need her to breathe.”
“We’ll get her back, but you need to be strong for her now. Time to conquer, kid. It’s time to tell yourself the opposite of whatever is in that head of yours.”
Doc runs through the door, shirt off, hair a mess, and sleep in his eyes. “I’m here. I’m here; what is it.”
“Good can come from this. Use it,” Reaper says.
“Everything okay?” Doc asks. “You’re bleeding.”
Reaper and I stare at each other, and the need to set something on fire or to blow something or someone up hits me full force. With every horrid thought, I do what Reaper says and tell myself the opposite.
“There he is,” Reaper says, slapping my arm. “That’s who we need tonight.”
“I have to go find Scarlett, Reap. I don’t know where she is.”
A few of the other guys trickle in, and I’m surprised when I see Melissa standing next to Poodle. Joanna and Abigale stand next to each other with Wolf on the right side of them. The girls are here, which means they didn’t want to go with Scarlett.
“What is it?” Melissa asks. “Where’s Scarlett?”
“She left,” I say on a pissed off snarl.
Everyone is up in a roar, talking over each other and yelling. “Stop! Just stop,” I shout and grab the shirt of mine Scarlett wore last night. It smells just like her. Flowery and light. “Bitching about it won’t get us anywhere,” I tell them, throwing on my cut then armoring myself with my weapons of choice. “I’m done waiting around for the right time. We go there. We fuck them up. We obliterate them.” I push through Reaper, Tool, Bullseye and the rest of the crew and make my way toward my bike. That’s when I notice one of the men from the other chapter talking to Homer. “Tell the girls to stay back, Wolf too.” I haul down the hall when the guy slams Homer against the wall, and the old man crumbles to the ground. How the hell can someone do that? The man grins down at Homer. The heavy thud of my boots against the ground must bring his attention to me charging forward because his eye meet mine in challenge.
I lift my fist and smashing him in the face. “You son of a bitch!”
He laughs as I hit him, blood coating his teeth. “Go ahead. Hit me.” He leans up and gives me a knowing grin. “Getting rid of me won’t bring Scarlett back. Little bitch is stupid wondering on the road on her own. I saw that tight ass and brought her where she belonged.”
I smash his head against the pavement, hearing the skull crack. It isn’t enough to shut him up. I knew they would get her if she left me. I knew it.
“You think Venom believed your shit? You think you’re so high up. Fuck you.”
“Fuck me?” I smash his head in again and hold out my hand. Tongue gives me a knife, his knife, and I’m so glad I didn’t have to ask for a weapon. My guys just know. I cut the corner of his mouth into a frown, and he shrieks in agony. He resembles a ventriloquist doll. It suits him, doing whatever Venom tells him to. I spit in his face. “Fuck you, you dirty son of a bitch. You come here to send a message? They only send you?”
He lulls his head from left to right, the twitch of his eyes telling me he probably has brain damage. “It’s because they don’t give a flying fuck about you. They know we would kill you, and you know what? I’m going to send a message in return.” I pull out a grenade, and a flashback of my first kill filters through my mind. “What do you think happens when someone gets blown up?” I inch my face toward his, licking my lips when I remember the spray of all the blood it creates. “I bet there’s a moment of horrible anticipation, like any second you’re going to die, but which second? I love waiting to find out.” Giving in to my urges, those thoughts turn silent. I know my problem now.
I just need to give into the side of me that no one would love, and I’ll be who I need to be, who my guys need me to be; who she needs me to be.
If I have to sacrifice my sanity to keep Scarlett safe, then I’ll gladly lose my mind, numbing my heart to anything but fucking pain and blood.
“Homer is okay, just knocked out. Tough old bastard,” Doc says from behind me.
I have a better idea. “Tongue?” I tuck my grenade back in my pocket and wipe the blood from his knife on my shorts. “Want to do the honors? We’re going to send him back since Venom wanted to send a message. He’ll see just how unforgiving we really are, and then later…” I bend down and pick the man up by his cut and rip his patches off. “…I’m going to shove that grenade in your mouth. You can count the seconds until your ability to think is gone. Boom. Over. I look forward to our date.” I look at his patch and snort. “Skidmark.”
Tongue takes the blade from my hand, spinning it around in his fingers. He pretends to bite Skidmark like a dog, clamping his jaws together to crack his teeth. He cackles with glee and lightning bolts across the sky, matching Tongue’s fury. “Oh, it’s been so long,” his slow Southern voice appreciates in excitement. “You know why the call me Tongue?” The crazy bastard sits on the man’s chest to keep him still, and he reaches into his mouth to pull that red appendage out. “I fucking love making assholes like you go mute.”
“Fuck, I can’t watch this,” Poodle cringes and turns his back.
I’m not going to take my eyes off him. I’m going to relish in the one thing I’ve denied myself for far too long. Skidmark cries as Tongue jabs the knife right through the middle, then he yanks it forward, splitting the man’s tongue in half. Blood is everywhere, coating Tongue’s hands and jeans. His head is back, roaring like a god who just received his first sacrifice. Tongue brings the blade up to his nose, inhaling the unmistakable iron scent, and moans.
The man cries, trying to cover his mouth with his hands, but Tongue isn’t having that. He grabs the split, useless muscle in that man’s mouth and cuts it off, leaving him choking on his own blood as it fills his throat.
“That’s it, spit it all out. Go ahead,” Tongue cheers as the guy coughs up a fountain of blood. “Just like that.” The tongue gets tossed in the air and lands with a slap on the concrete, quickly staining it red.
&nb
sp; “Come on. Let’s go shut down this chapter once and for all,” I say, suddenly feeling like a leader, like I mean something more than just being in the club. I want to have a high position. I want to be the one people call on if they need something in hot ashes.
“Bullseye, take him back. Be unseen. Dump him,” Reaper orders, and Bullseye nods, picking up the useless body and throwing it over his shoulder as he gets into Homer’s Bronco.
“What are we going to do with the girls?” Wolf says. “They can’t be here alone.”
“They stay here with you.” I watch as Bullseye pulls out of the parking lot and drives away.
“What? No, I want to be there.”
“They trust you,” I say, leaning forward. “That’s a big deal. They need you here.”
“Are we sure we want to do this without the rest of the guys?” Tool asks. “We’re letting this twenty-year-old, no offense, barely stable boy run the fucking show? Doesn’t it seem a little off to you?”
“Who’s stable here, Tool? Tongue just cut out a man’s, well, tongue, and you carry around a screwdriver because it does everything. Bullseye kills people with darts. Knives is kind of like tool; only he likes to cut people up and not cut things out. Slingshot carries a slingshot—” Poodle sticks up for me again, and Reaper stops his rambling.
“We get it, Poodle. We get it.”
“Well, I’m just saying maybe Tool needs to come off his high horse. No one is perfect.”
Tool pushes off the wall and goes to charge at Poodle, but Reaper holds him back. “Don’t be mad at him because he’s right. Put that anger elsewhere. We need to plan. Going in there and fucking things up doesn’t ever work. Someone will always get killed.”
“I’m tired of waiting. You heard that guy! Venom has Scarlett. What would you do if—”
“Kid, I’ve lived this. Don’t you forget?” Reaper reminds me.