Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,29
from my brother’s funeral.
Dawn washes away the agony, but I can’t be without pain. It’s what drives me. Washing myself in her rain won’t cleanse me, it won’t baptize me—it’ll ruin me.
I stop outside the door of Church and get my bearings together. A few guys are still in the main room, drinking beers, and Tank, the big fucking teddy bear, is talking it up with Becks, the club’s massage therapist. I don’t know if other clubs have one of those, but they should. There’s nothing like getting a rub down after a run. Muscles are tight, stressed to the max, and then Becks cracks her fingers and rubs hot oil all over your body; fuck, it feels good.
My eyes fall on Candy, sucking Pirate’s cock. I can hear the slurping from here. He just sits there, eyes pointed to the ceiling, bottle of rum in his hand, and a dead expression in his eyes. Pirate doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying the blow job. Candy is moaning like a real bitch putting on a good show, shoving her hands between her legs to get herself off, but Pirate just pours rum into his mouth. The liquid drips down his chin and chest, wetting his shirt. Jesus, what a sad fucking sight.
“I called for Church! Get your asses in here!” Reaper shouts as he enters the room, pushing me in there with him.
Poodle comes in a second later, knuckles red and bruised from kicking my ass. “What the hell happened to you two?” Reaper asks as he takes the seat at the head of the table, taking the gavel in hand. The one made of human bone.
“Poodle kicked my arse,” I say, not wanting to lie to my Prez.
Reaper’s eyebrows hit his hairline with shock as he runs his fingers through his beard. “That so?”
“Once in a lifetime sort of thing, Prez.”
“You two bury the hatchet?” he asks.
“No,” I say quick.
“That’s too bad because we have a problem, and I need you two to kiss and make up.” Reaper’s eyes scan across the room, glancing at every brother in the room, and my sweaty arms land on the table. I hate that look. It’s the look that says he’s about to burn Vegas to the ground. “Close the door,” he says to no one as he stares out the window, but Pirate comes in, zipping up his pants, and kicks the door shut.
“Can’t find the kid,” Reaper says.
My stomach drops to my fucking feet, and I stand so fast, the chair slams against the wall as beads of sweat from my earlier work out falls from my hair and onto the table. “What the fuck do ye mean, Prez?”
“I mean, we cased Cohen’s place, his gym, everywhere. The kid is missing and so is Cohen.”
Chapter Seven
DAWN
“Dawn.”
The sound of my name has me turning my head. Skirt is standing in the doorway of a room they call ‘Church’; whatever that means. I’m going to take a wild guess it has nothing to do with prayer and everything to do with what people pray against. He isn’t wearing a shirt. Skirt’s skin is wet, glistening with sweat, and his chest heaves from exertion, and he has dried blood trailing down his nose and lips.
“What happened to you?” I stand up from the couch and run over to him, laying my palms on his chest. His body is warm, sticky. He smells of blood, sweat, pain, and torment. My eyes roam his body. He has abs under all the tattoos and carved hips meant to be held onto as he fucks a woman. His pecs are defined, swollen with muscle, and he has a dusting of red hair along his chest that makes thousands of goose bumps rise on my body. I’ve shivered from fear, with pain, but I’ve never shivered from pleasure, never by a simple touch.
His nostrils flare, and one of his rugged hands that has a black and white tattoo of a devil screaming across the top lands on mine, holding my palm against him. The air between us charges with this unseen force, this energy that I’ve never felt before. My body is being called to him, and I move a step closer, unable to fight it any longer.
I’ve been fighting the urge to fall into his arms ever since I laid my eyes on him. I thought he was a dream. He’s the walking, talking, real-life version of my perfect man, plucked out of my fantasies to make