by K. L. Savage
Tongue rips his arm away from my hold and sneers. “I’m not doing it to get my dick hard. The mouth, the tongue, it’s what tells truths or lies.”
“Yeah, that’s why his mouth is stitched shut,” I say with a hard edge to my voice. I’m not in the mood for Tongue’s weird shit.
“No, Tongue is on to something. A lot of the times, in crime scenes that I’ve seen, the killer will leave a note in the person’s mouth. Do it, Tongue,” Badge says.
I glance up at Reaper, stunned that he’s going to let this happen. “Reaper? Come on, man. Ghost has been through enough.”
“Let them do what they need to do,” Reaper ignores my plea, and Tongue cuts each string in quick jerks until the lips are free.
“Rigor is setting in. I’ll need help opening his jaw.” Badge looks up at me and then Tongue, wondering which one of us will help him.
Tongue grasps the lower jaw, and Badge starts to part Ghost’s lips. “Shit,” Badge says when we see that all of Ghost’s teeth have been taken out.
I look away, hating that he went through so much torture only to end up dead. Usually that’s how torture works, though. You never keep a loose end alive, but I never expected Ghost to get clipped.
“Look at that. Tongue’s right.” Badge reaches into Ghost’s mouth and pulls out a bloody piece of paper.
“The tongue is still intact, so they easily could have taken that to keep him silent too.”
Both Badge and I give Tongue a look that tells him to shut up and be quiet. At this point, how Ghost is silent doesn’t really matter.
“What? It’s an observation,” he mumbles.
“You’re a fucking weirdo,” Badge tells Tongue as he unfolds the small piece of paper that was lodged in our club brother’s mouth.
I try to figure out what Badge is thinking as he reads the note. His eyes move, but his face gives nothing away. He purses his lips together and holds up the note for Prez to take. Reaper exhales as he reaches out and takes the paper.
Reaper never hides how pissed off he is, and right now, if it was possible, steam would be pouring from his nose like an angry bull ready to charge and spear someone through the heart with his horn. “Looks like we have a new threat, boy,” he says, passing me the note.
I read the note out loud, thinking everyone deserves to know and be on their toes anytime they go out.
“And one by one the Kings fall along with their empire.”
“What’s that mean?” Poodle asks.
“Means whoever is doing this isn’t going to stop until every single one of us are dead,” Badge says and stands, turning his neck side to side to crack it.
The entire clubhouse goes up in a roar, nothing can be understood. Everyone is yelling and panic is setting in. Reaper places his fingers in his mouth and blows, a high-pitched whistle pierced through the air, and everyone immediately shuts up. Even Yeti falls to his stomach and lands his eyes on Reaper, the man in charge.
“Bitching and yelling about it isn’t going to get anything done!” he bellows, and Sarah takes a hold of his hand, laying her head on his shoulder. Reaper closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and calms. “Being at each other’s throats will only make matters worse. From here on out, everyone will be in pairs. No one, I repeat, no one is to walk alone. If I find out that someone walked alone, there will be punishment. I don’t want to see this happen to another one of my members.”
“How did he get here?” I ask, wondering how they got inside the gate without anyone knowing.
“Whoever did this dumped him at the start of the driveway. I saw him when I pulled in,” Badge says right before his cell phone rings. “I got to take this. It’s the department.” He steps over Ghost, and a few members part for him to get by, and he disappears in the kitchen.
“Let’s bury him in the plot.” Reaper rubs his eyes, and he looks like he’s about to pass the gavel down from being tired of dealing with the shit that falls at our doorstep.
The plot is the MC cemetery that’s located at the back of the property. It’s where all the members who have died are buried.
“I think this has something to do with the sheriff.” I stand in front of Reaper, and Sarah stands up and gives him a kiss on the cheek before heading to the room they keep at the clubhouse. “It makes sense. He is in law enforcement. Badge works for him, and that makes Badge a target since he works in close proximity.”
“Sheriff hates us, sure, but what good does he get out of doing this?”
“It takes us out as a threat.”
“How would he know of Ghost? Of how you…” Reaper looks left and right to make sure no one is around. “Of how you kill. None of it makes sense.”
“I’m assuming he has files on all of us. Most of us have been arrested, Reaper. We’re in the system. As of how he knows about me, I don’t know. No one knows about that…” I think about what happened all those years ago.
“What?” Reaper grips me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Spit it out, Tool.”
“You know the story of when I was fifteen…” I close my eyes and wonder if somehow, in some way, what I did all those years ago is coming to haunt me. It’s haunted me enough in my dreams, but now it has to fuck me up in real life.
“What about it?”
“Well, it was my mom.” I move out of the way when Bullseye and Doc pick up Ghost’s body.
“I’m going to embalm him and clean him up. He deserves that,” Doc says, lifting Ghost’s heavy legs as Bullseye lifts the torso. Bullseye winces and already starts to sweat from the pain in his chest.
Reaper gives him a tilt of a chin as Doc and Bullseye carry Ghost out of the room
“Reaper, it was me and my mom there, but there’s the Boston Ruthless chapter too. They knew I killed my father.”
“Brass wouldn’t rat you out, and neither would Knox. Doesn’t explain how the sheriff would know.” Reaper stares up at the ceiling, and his pulse jumps in his neck. “I don’t feel like dealing with this right now. Follow the sheriff, find out what information you can. I don’t care what you have to do. I want answers. I’ll talk to Badge too. We need information. We need to figure out what the hell is going on and why the world seems to want us burnt to the damn ground.” He turns on his boot and lumbers to the room Sarah is in. No doubt about to have an angry fuck; that’s what I would do if I had a woman.
Which reminds me of Juliette and Reaper’s warning. The one way to get close to the sheriff is to get close to his daughter. I’ll be doing the club a favor by getting to know her. Going against the Prez’s orders for the good of the club, sometimes that’s what needs to be done.
I have a feeling Juliette Johnson is about to give me the fight of my life, and I’m not going to resist at all. I want to know what it’s like to feel something other than hate again, and Juliette is the answer to that.
I just hope she can get past her father’s hate for me.
Because when hate clashes against hate, there’s only one outcome.
Destruction.
8
JULIETTE
“What am I doing? What am I doing? Nothing. I’m doing nothing. I’m getting my oil changed. Cars need their oil changed. It’s normal,” I talk to myself as I drive down the road to Kings’ Garage, that’s on Ruthless King’s property. My car doesn’t need an oil change, but I want to see Logan. I want to be able to determine for myself what he’s like.
My dad has controlled me and the decisions I’ve made long enough. I want to think for myself and see if Logan is the man my dad makes him out to be.
A lawbreaking criminal.
“What do you think, Tyrant? Am I crazy?” I glance over to the passenger seat and see him curled up in a ball, his bushy tail covering his nose as he naps. “You’re not much help.” I drive away from the main strip and out toward the desert. There isn’t a lot of traffic on the lonely road. It’s just sand on either side of me for miles.
Until a large fortress comes to view. Everyone knows who lives here. Th
e land is different than what it looked like a few months ago. Now, there’s a large iron gate that seals their property. It gives me the impression that anyone who gets uninvited won’t get out. I turn on my blinker and take a left and follow the dirt road for a minute or so before I come to the gate where someone is on watch.
The man is big, or maybe he just looks big because he’s dressed in all black and has tattoos everywhere. He knocks on my window, and I do the smart thing and press the button to roll it down. And since I’m so smart, I don’t roll it all the way down, just halfway.
“State your business.” His breath reeks of rum. I can’t believe he’s upright. My eyes glance to the name on his cut, and it says Pirate. “Girl, did you hear me? State your damn business,” he snaps at me, and it makes me jump in my seat.
Tyrant wakes up and sits on his haunches, growling at the man who’s giving me demands.
“I’m here to get my oil changed—”
“We aren’t doing oil changes today. Business is closed.”
“I—” Crap. What am I going to do? I need to see Logan. “Is Tool around? I really need to speak with him.”
“I knew a girl like you wouldn’t come poking around in a place like this. Tell me, what do you want with Tool that I can’t help you out with, sweet thing?” Pirate leans his arms against the car and licks his lips, looking my body up and down. “Bet you’re better than any club whore. Tool really has outdone himself with you.”
“This was a mistake; I need to go.” I place the car in reverse, but Pirate snakes one arm through the window.
“Where you going, baby? I can make you feel just as good as he can.” Pirate tries to take the wheel from me, but I act fast and slam on the gas. The tires spin against the red sand, sending a cloud of dust up in the air and encompassing us in a small cloud. Finally, the tires get traction, and the car speeds away.
Tears burn my eyes from fear, and I do my best to control the steering wheel as Pirate runs by the side of the car and keeps his hand on the wheel. The car swings left and right as we battle for control. I press the gas harder, and Pirate loses his grip when he can’t keep up with me. He falls flat on his face in the dirt. I don’t look back. I keep my eyes focused, watching where I’m going and jerk the wheel to the right. I slam on the brake when I get on the road.
The smell of burning rubber invades my air vents. My throat is dry from breathing so fast. I need to get the hell out of here. I put the car in drive, press the gas, and peel out of there like a bat out of hell.
What was I thinking? I can’t believe I thought getting in there to see Tool would be easy. It’s best to just forget about him. We don’t mesh. Our lives are too different, and nothing but trouble can come from them.
A low grumble vibrates the floor of my car. I look in the rearview mirror and see a bike is following me. “Oh crap,” I squeak and press on the gas more, watching the needle on the speedometer climb higher the faster I go. The bike is catching up quick, and the round headlight reflects off the sun and blinds me for a moment.
Holy crap, I’m trying to get away from a biker. This is a high-speed chase! I’m scared. It’s thrilling, and I kind of never want it to end, but I know whatever that biker has in store for me can’t be good. I bypass the strip to get to my house. I can get there, lock the door, and everything will be fine.
Tyrant barks, and I pet his neck, doing my best to be reassuring. “I know. We’re going to be okay. I’m going to get us home.” And then I don’t know what will happen, but at least I’ll be safe in the comfort of my own house. Maybe. If the biker wants to, he can get in by breaking a window or the door.
I really haven’t thought this through, but I have no choice at this point. Home is closer than the police department. Sweat is sliding down the back of my neck from my hairline, and when I take the turn to get to my house, I take an immediate left down another road, then a right, before getting back onto the main road. I don’t see or hear a bike now.
“I think we’re safe, Tyrant,” I whisper and pat his head, but he ducks his snout, growling. He doesn’t believe me, but I’m not going to put us in any more danger. Nope. I learned my lesson. No more visiting biker clubhouses. Dad is officially right. They are trouble.
My house finally comes to view, and I pull into the driveway and waste no time getting out of the car. “Come, Tyrant. Come on.” I clap my hand against my thigh, and Tyrant jumps from the passenger seat across the driver’s and onto the gravel. My spine tingles, the hair on the back of my neck stands up, and as I look around, taking in my surroundings, I don’t see anything off-putting.
“Let’s go inside, boy.” I open the gate to the front lawn and bounce up the steps.
Sliding the key into the lock, I turn it and open the front door, hanging my keys on a notch I nailed to the wall on the right. Tyrant growls and barks, his saliva dripping as he stares down the hallway. The hair on his back is standing up, telling me that something is very wrong. I open my purse and grab the gun my dad makes me carry. I always thought my dad was crazy for suggesting this weapon, but now that I’m in my house and my dog is going nuts, I’m going to have to send Dad a thank you card.
I click the safety off and somehow keep my gun up in the air while my arms shake. The only room down this hall is the guest bathroom and a closet, and no one can fit in that closet. It’s a shoebox. My right hand stays on the gun while I push the bathroom door open with my left. I flip on the light and notice nothing out of the norm.
Tyrant runs in the bedroom and starts barking again, and I follow after him, afraid that he will get hurt without me there. “Tyrant!” I scream and point my gun left to right to see Tyrant on the bed, sitting next to Logan. He looks calm and collected, petting Tyrant with a smirk on his lips.
“Hey, little sparrow, mind putting that gun down?” he says in a voice that is deep and sexy, causing a gush to flood my panties, and my slit aches for his touch.
I slide the safety on and set the gun on top of my armoire. “Logan,” I breathe, placing my palm to my chest as my heart thumps wildly. I don’t know why I think my hand will make my heart slow down because it never does. “What are you doing here?” I question and do my best not to think about how good he looks in my bed. He looks different today, tired with dark circles under his eyes and a sadness I can’t explain, but it’s there. I walk to the end of my bed and slide my eyes over his long legs.
They are like tree trunks, thick with muscle that I want to climb until I’m settled in the middle of his lap.
Oh, this is bad. A Ruthless King member is in my bed, and I want him to stay there and let me see how ruthless he can be.
“Pirate said you wanted to see me, Juliette.”
My eyes bug out and nearly fall to the floor. “That was you on the bike? I thought I lost you. How did you know I lived here?”
Logan’s large hand strokes Tyrant’s head, and he lays down, the traitor, and closes his eyes, enjoying the biker’s touch. I just bet he is!
I scoff internally; am I really mad at a dog about getting the attention I want?
Yes, I’m that petty apparently.
“You might want to take your last name off your mailbox if you don’t want anyone to know where you live. Now tell me, why did you come see me?”
Drat. “I came to get my oil changed, but Pirate scared me off. He came on really strong, and it scared me.”
Logan leans forward from relaxing against the headboard. “Did he touch you? Pirate is a drunk asshole and usually harmless, but did he touch you?” The way his black brows flex and furrow makes it look like a storm cloud has covered his face, darkening it with a menacing tendency.
“No, I mean, he implied that he wanted to. He said he can give me what you can, and I didn’t like that, so I sped out of there.” I look away, ashamed that I left in such a hurry, scared like a little girl. I can’t handle one drunk guy. No wonder my dad was afraid for me to be out on my own.
“I’ll kill him,” he growls, and the low vibrati
on rattling his chest has my nipples tenting my dress. “Fucker better drink his last bottle of rum because it will be farewell and good riddance.” He’s seething with rage, but I don’t know why he cares about a man wanting me. He doesn’t want me, right?
I lay my hand on his ankle and lift my eyes to his, looking at him through my lashes. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have gone there anyway. I was in over my head.”
“A girl like you needing an oil change can go anywhere; why come to me? I’m sure your dad knows how to change oil in a car.”
I hate my pale skin. My blood rushes to my cheeks and burns, and I know he can see how red my face is.
“You want to see me,” he says when he figures it out. “Even though you punched me, you still like me.”
I push a piece of hair behind my ear and hold my chin high. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know you enough to like you. And I shouldn’t. Since women are bitches.”
“You judged me, but I should have been better and not called you that. It wasn’t right of me, and I’m sorry.”
The last thing I expect is for him to apologize for anything. He doesn’t seem like the type who admits when he’s wrong too often. It’s only fair that I push pride away and apologize for punching him, even though I can see it barely left a mark. “I’m sorry too.”
“Good, so we can start over?” Logan swings his long legs around to the edge of the bed and stands to his intimidating height. In two long strides he’s in front of me, holding out his hand. “I’m Logan, and everyone calls me Tool because of this.” He points to the screwdriver above his ear.
“I’m Juliette, and I’m not everyone. I’m going to call you Logan.” I slide my hand into his and he squeezes it firmly, rubbing his thumb along mine.
He hums, amused by my answer, and in a move I’m not expecting, he tugs me closer to his body. A quick inhale and leather invades my senses as his beard brushes the top of my forehead, and I close my eyes, enjoying the small touch. I don’t know how to do this, to be with a man, and with how he handles me, I don’t know if he knows how to be with me either.