by K. L. Savage
“You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you?” The rain comes down harder now, and I can hardly see his body or hear his voice.
“It’s why I asked!” What am I doing? I need to turn around, go to my car, and leave. This man is dangerous. He probably picks his teeth with human bones or something and bathes in his victims’ blood. That’s what my dad tells me, but what if he’s wrong? Maybe my dad was being dramatic to keep me away.
“Let’s go,” sex on a stick yells over the roar of the rain. His hand falls on my lower back as we run across the street. Safe under the awning, I run my hand over my face to get the water out of my eyes.
“Oh my gosh.” I shake my head and then gather my hair in one hand, squeezing the water out of it, then I twist it up until it’s a bun on top of my head.
“I hate to cover up that gorgeous body, but I bet you’re cold.” He tugs his sweatshirt over my head, and I nearly groan from how good the material smells. It’s a black hoodie, of course, and it has ‘Kings’ Garage’ labeled on the front of it, but it doesn’t smell like a mechanic’s garage. It smells like laundry detergent and pine. “You look good in my clothes,” he says, sparking an arousal throughout my body. My breasts are heavy for his touch, and my clit throbs for his mouth.
“Don’t get used to it, biker dude,” I call him since I don’t know his name.
“Biker dude? Biker dude!” His voice raises on a laugh. “I deserve that. I’m Tool.”
“Tool?” I snort at the ridiculous, kind of hot nickname. It suits him, and it explains the reason for the screwdriver above his ear. “What’s your real name?”
“Not a lot of people know it; why would I give it to you?” he asks, placing his hands on my hips to tug me to him when the doors to the animal shelter open, pulling me out of the way.
I smile at the people as they walk by and give Tool my attention. “Friends give each other the facts. I don’t want to call you Tool.”
He debates for a minute, rubbing his hand over the hair on his chin while he tries to figure me out. There’s nothing to figure out. I want to get to know him more, even though I know I shouldn’t.
“Logan.” His voice deepens, wrapping around my body and bringing the hairs on my skin to stand up tall. I react to him in every way that can only get him into trouble with my father.
“Logan,” I repeat, blinking up at him as I tilt my head back. “It’s nice to meet you. Even if you are a pain in my ass.”
He bends down, placing his lips next to my ear and his left hand on the side of my face. “The only pain you’ll ever feel in your ass will be from my cock.”
I gasp and rear back. No one has ever spoken to me like that. I have no idea what to say.
Logan laughs, places his hand on my lower back, and steers me inside. “Good. I know what shuts you up now.”
“I’m going to shut you up if you don’t watch it, biker dude!” I hiss at him, and since we’re around people, he isn’t able to do or say anything except growl.
And the growl does nothing but make my libido skyrocket more than it already was. I’m hanging on a dangerously thin thread. I’m tempted to push him in a closet and give in to the trouble he seems to bring to the surface.
Logan whispers into my ear, “I love it when you’re feisty. It gets me all worked up.”
My cheeks blush as we get to the counter, and the man behind the cash register is staring at me and smiling until he sees how soaked we are, and then the large happy grin falters. “Oh my goodness. You’re wet to the core!” he says.
Yes, yes, I am. More than he will ever know.
“I’m fine.” That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. I need to get out of here and away from Logan. He isn’t good for my rational mind.
“We are looking to adopt a dog,” Logan says, making it sound like we’re adopting one dog together.
I smile and shake my head. “What my friend here,”—he growls again—“is trying to say is we both are looking to adopt dogs. One for him, and one for me.”
“Of course, oh how wonderful!” He claps his hands together and then hands us two clipboards with a sheet of paper on it. “Just fill out these questions, and we will get to you soon.” The man behind the counter has a slender face with a smile too large for his lips. He has dark eyes, beady, and his skin has a natural pale glamour to it. A shiver wracks my body from the cold stare he gives me.
We take the clipboards and walk over to the chair lining the windows as we fill out our paper. I try to glance at his to see his responses, but he turns it away from me, as if I’m copying him and cheating like this is a test.
“Give me a break,” I grumble, and the ball point of the pen makes the shape of my handwriting along the pages. Why do I want a dog? Do I have a yard? I understand that it takes six months for a dog to adjust to a new environment. Questions like that. Logan and I stand at the same time when we finish, and his tattooed arm brushes against mine. My lungs betray me, causing me to inhale a sharp breath from the quick, meaningless touch.
Is it meaningless? The touches we share. He makes my body come alive in ways that shouldn’t be possible for any man to do to a woman. The want for him almost sends me to my knees.
Good thing I have strong legs. The only time I’ll get on my knees is when—
“Excellent. Please follow me to where we keep the dogs.”
Logan keeps his hand on my lower back, the heat from his palm sinking into the tight muscles around my spine. Is it possible to relax and be wound up at the same time? That’s how I feel at the moment.
The guy opens the doors to the kennels, and loud barks make it hard to think. I smile. I love the sound of barking.
“The red dots mean they just got out of surgery and are on a twenty-four hour hold until they will be available for adoption. You can come back and meet with the dog. Green means the dog is good to go. Orange means special medical needs. Just grab one of us when you decide. We hope your fur-ever friend is here,” he laughs at his own joke. “I love that one. It’s great.” He shakes his head at himself as he walks away, sighing from how hard he cracks himself up.
“No sissy dogs,” Logan warns. “Ankle biters are evil fuckers. They can’t protect you.” Logan pushes me forward to the middle aisle, and there are kennels on either side of us. I want to take every single dog home.
Tears burn my eyes when I see some of the dogs laying on the floor curled in on themselves like they have given up. Some are barking and jumping, wanting out, needing human interaction. I bring my hand to my mouth to cover a sob, and Logan stops us when he notices that I’m not having a good time.
Nothing about this is good.
“Hey…” He brushes the tear off my cheek. “I know, little sparrow. I know.” He pulls me against his rock-solid body, holding his hand on the back of my head to press it against his chest. I inhale the scent of leather and the familiar smell of pine, reminding me of the time I hiked through the forest.
“I want them all,” I sniffle, and I doubt he can hear me since my lips are against his shirt, muffling my words.
“I’ll figure out a way for you to have anything you want.”
I’m not sure what that means since we don’t know each other. I want to know him, more than I’ve ever wanted to know anyone in my life. He doesn’t seem dangerous. He doesn’t seem all that bad and scary like my father describes the Ruthless Kings.
“We can save two of them today. Let’s do that.” Logan pushes me away and presses a kind, comforting kiss on my forehead.
We walk up and down the plain cement floors, staring into each cage that holds a cute, precious life. I stop at one that is just sitting there, staring at us with a tilt of his head. The dog is pure black, a German Shepard mix with bright blue eyes. He is gorgeous. What is with the color black coming into my life lately?
“Hi, there—” I peek at the nametag on the silver gate. “Tyrant. Oh, is that what you are?” I talk to him, hoping he understands me. He puts one paw in front of the other to sniff m
y hand that is stretched for him. He peers up at me with those see-through eyes, trying to get a feel for who I am. His cold black nose hits my palm, and I giggle when he licks me next.
“He’s beautiful,” Logan says, squatting at the next cage over. “And so are you, beautiful.” The dog barks, not liking the compliment. “Oh, my mistake. You are a handsome man, Yeti.” The name makes sense since the dog is pure white.
“I think we found our dogs,” I say, scratching behind Tyrant’s ear.
“Let me go wave the guy down. Can I say that I’m glad you didn’t get a small dog?”
“Well, I want to be protected. I do live alone,” I say.
“No husband or boyfriend?” he fishes, eyeing me from the side while he pets Yeti.
“Um, no. Not even a contender.”
“I think you have one.”
I turn my head to the left to see if he’s joking, but his faces is serious, and his inky black eyes stare at me with so much intensity that I have to glance away. I clear my throat and stand, waving my hand in the air to gain the attention of one of the volunteers so I can meet Tyrant. Logan is too much for me right now; too much man, too much of everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Having him say things like that when my father hates him and the club, it doesn’t make our future hold any promise.
It makes it long, bumpy, and ending with a bad collision. I’ll have my heart broken, a ruined relationship with my father, and Logan will probably be on to the next innocent, little virgin girl. Or not. Maybe guys like him like sluts. Nothing wrong with that life, women power, and all that; it just isn’t my thing.
It’s better to get away from Logan now because the disaster he will leave my heart in when he’s done running it over with his motorcycle will be impossible to clean up.
I don’t look back at Logan when the volunteer takes Tyrant from his cage and to a private room where he and I can meet. I try not to think about the kiss in the rain, another miracle that will be less likely to happen again—like the rain.
I toss the ball against the wall, and Tyrant runs to get it, brings it to me, drops it, and sits proud and regal. He’s trained. Who on earth would surrender this dog to a shelter?
“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” I baby talk to him, rubbing his sides until his tail thuds on the ground. “You want to come home with me?”
Tyrant barks and licks the sides of my face.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I wipe my cheek on my shoulder, the wet slobber thick.
“How is it going in here?”
I glance up at the associate and nod. “Sign me up. We are going home,” I tell him, and he leads me out front with a new red collar and matching leash. I pay the fee, and ten minutes later I’m walking out with a new friend.
Only to be stopped by one I never should have made.
“Leaving without telling me goodbye, little sparrow?” Logan leans against the wall, and a muscular white Pitbull sits between his feet looking just as lethal and powerful as his new owner.
I’m not going to ask where the nickname came from because I’m already attached. I need to pull away before I find myself stupid in love with a troublemaker. “You know this can’t happen, Logan,” I tell him softly, barely able to meet his eyes. They make it difficult to verbalize words when they hypnotize me into a dazed state. “We are attracted to each other, but that’s all it is. This will never work. The MC you’re with, my father wants to take you down. It’s his mission—”
“Do you even want to know why? Or are you just wanting to paint me and my club brothers with the same brush? Judging us before you get to know us? I’ll admit, I haven’t done great things in my past, but I’m opening a business. I don’t deal dope or whatever the fuck you think I do.”
“I—” I snap my jaw shut when I realize I don’t have anything to say. If I want to be honest with myself, that’s exactly what I thought they did. Drugs, weapons, murder, all the stuff that people fear.
“Wow.” He chuckles, but it has a disappointing beat that chastises me, bringing guilt on my shoulders. “I thought you were different from the rest of the women, but you’re just another bitch, aren’t you?”
I don’t even think. I rear my hand back, clench my fist, and punch Logan right in the face. He barely moves, and his skin only reddens from the small hit. I never said I was a pro. Tyrant growls, and Yeti does the same. They face up just like Logan and I are.
The four us are showing teeth and ready to attack. “You listen to me, Logan. I’m naïve about a lot of things, but one thing I do know is I’m not like the women in your life, so you don’t get to call me a bitch. I won’t stand for it. You proved to me just then why I should have nothing to do with you. Even if you aren’t breaking the law, why would I want to be with a man who looks at women as bitches? If anyone is the bitch here, princess,” I spit the first nickname he gave me, “it’s you.” I push a finger into his chest, trying not to think about how firm it is with muscle.
“Let’s go, Tyrant.” I march my way toward my car and begin to panic because I just punched the Vice President, which sounds pretty important, of a motorcycle club. What if he calls a hit out on my head? And then I’m taken to a dark room where they will tie me up and—crap—I pinch my eyes shut when my nightmare suddenly turns into a sexual fantasy with Logan tying me to a bedpost. “No, that’s not what would happen, and you know it, Juliette.” I press the button on my key ring to open my doors, let Tyrant in the back, and then sit in the driver’s seat.
I take a few breaths, calming my racing heart. My knuckles are red, and they’re starting to throb from hitting his cheek. Is he made of steel? It’s unfair that his body is molded from stone. My fist never stood a chance.
“What did I do?” I look in the rearview to see him letting Yeti into the truck. He must feel eyes on him because he looks directly at me and then blows me a kiss.
Blows me a freaking kiss! After I punched him.
He is certifiable. What guy wants anything to do with a girl after that? I don’t regret it. No one calls me a bitch and gets away with it.
I also owe him an apology for judging him, but I think we need to let bygones be bygones and go our separate ways.
If I know that, then why do I think about his kiss for the rest of night?
7
TOOL
I’m lying in bed, Yeti on the other side of me taking up the majority of the mattress. He’s on his back, jowls flopped back to expose his teeth while loud snores come from him. I’m glad he can sleep because I’ve tossed and turned all night thinking about that tiny little fist connecting with my cheek. It didn’t hurt at all, but it was hot.
She is so feisty and strong, and I love how she stands up for herself. I shouldn’t have called her a bitch, but those feelings of hatred overcoming love came forward, and it seemed like she hated ‘my kind’ of people.
What I didn’t think about in that moment, like I’m thinking right now, is that she doesn’t understand people like me. She doesn’t know enough.
“Tool!” Reaper’s loud voice shakes my closed door. “Get out here! Now!”
Shit. I hate that tone. This can’t be good. “Coming!” I roll out of bed, slide on my pants, shirt, cut, and boots, and Yeti doesn’t even move. “Yeti, get your ass out of bed. Let’s go.”
He grumbles, clearly not happy with getting out of bed, and snorts.
“You and me both. Let’s go.” Yeti follows behind me, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor as I hoof it down the hallway to the main room. Church is always in the chapel, but every member is gathered in a circle, looking down at the ground. “What’s going on?” I ask, stepping through Skirt and Poodle to get a view of what has captured everyone’s attention. When I get to the forefront of the group, what I see makes my blood run cold. “What the fuck?” I say with disbelief as I stare at one of our dead members.
Ghost.
We haven’t seen him in a while. He decided to go nomad about a year ago. He travels a lot, and if he n
eeds a place to stay, he goes to another chapter.
He’s bound, gagged, and there’s a screwdriver between his eyes.
My signature.
“I have a feeling this is for you, Tool,” Reaper points out the obvious.
“Yeah, I’d fucking say so,” I squat and turn Ghost onto his back. His lips are stitched shut, I notice; something that isn’t part of my signature. “How did they get ahold of him? Reaper, whoever did this knows that I kill with a screwdriver. That means it’s member. We have a snitch.”
“Think that’s why his lips are stitched closed?” Badge steps forward, his eyes analyzing the body like he would at a crime scene. “Maybe it’s symbolic.”
“What do you mean?” I’m doing my best to think like Badge, the cop, but my abilities are pretty limited. Cars, bikes, blood. That’s about all I’m good for.
Badge mirrors my position, bending his knees to get a closer look at Ghost. The poor bastard. Looks like he went through a lot of pain before death finally knocked on his door. Badge reaches into his cut pocket and pulls out one of his riding gloves and slips it on his hand. He lifts the ropes on Ghost’s wrists, seeing red marks and deep cuts, then checks the wound site around Ghost’s lips. “Ghost was alive when his lips were sealed shut, I’m guessing. See the red areas and how tight the thread is? Ghost fought. The deep cuts around his wrists says he has been in those ropes for a few days, and when the person didn’t get what he wanted out of Ghost, he made sure Ghost could never speak again.”
“That’s sick,” I tell him.
“You should cut the stiches and open his mouth.” Tongue takes out his blade, and the steel rings when he flips it open. He kneels on the floor on the other side of Ghost, placing the sharp metal against Ghost’s lips.
I snatch his wrist, stopping him from defiling one of our brothers. “Let him rest in peace, Tongue. Right now isn’t the time for you to get your rocks off on someone’s mouth.”