Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,37
scene again. Who cares if it’s a little on the illegal side?
“You okay?” Knives asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I hop off my bike, and a few guests give me and Knives the evil eye.
Knives never takes his eyes off them as he pulls out one of his ninja stars to clean in between his teeth. “Boo!” He fake jumps toward the old couple and they gasp, then run inside to save their lives.
“Aw, that’s just mean.”
“I don’t care.”
We gather a few looks like we always do, but I ignore them. There’s no need to get in a fight right now. In and out. This is a quick job. When the doors slide open, the thick veil of smoke mutes the lights on all the slot machines. Maximo is standing right in the middle of the floor, duffle bag is his hand.
He is tall, Italian, always wears black, and when it comes down to money, he doesn’t care what he has to take to get it. He places his drink on the serving tray as one of the cocktail waitresses passes by, turning his deviant smile my way.
It’s the kind of smile that tells me he just found another way to make cash.
“Skirt, long time no see,” he greets, holding out the bag for us to take. “I’m grateful for the Ruthless Kings offering me protection. Reaper is a good President.”
Knives lifts a brow at me, wondering how I know this guy.
“Aye,” I utter and reach for the bag, but Maximo holds on to it. Knives senses tension, and he pulls out his star, ready to slam it between the Italian’s eyes. We stare at each other, not saying a word, and I wait for the demon lurking inside his soul to come out and take mine. I know that’s what he wants.
He chuckles, then releases the bag, putting a cigarette between his lips. He lights it. An orange ember glows in the haze of fog as he inhales, then blows the smoke into my face. “I’ll be seeing you around, Rohan.”
“Rohan?” Knives jerks the bag from my hands and gives me a dirty look before giving me his back.
I’m so fucked.
Chapter Nine
DAWN
I’m sitting on the porch in a white rocking chair, staring at the desert sunset, watching the sky turn a bright shade of red. It’s the only place I can find peace here. Skirt’s cabin smells too much like him, and the clubhouse has too much noise going on and too many women pawing at the guys. I have no idea why they do that to themselves, but that won’t be me. I won’t allow Skirt to turn me into one of his whores, another notch on a bedpost. I want more for myself.
A guy named Tank and Braveheart are out in the front yard, building a bonfire for later. It reminds me how the world keeps spinning even if my world has come to a complete stop.
It’s been three days since Skirt told me they can’t find Aidan. It’s been three days since the kiss that changed my life. It’s been three days since I’ve even seen Skirt.
“You alright?” Pirate sits in the chair next to me, bottle of rum in his hand. “Want some?” He offers me the bottle.
“No, thank you.”
“Your kid is lost, huh?” he asks, rocking in the char. The man has a haunted look in his eyes, the kind that replay a bad memory over and over. His face is gaunt, and his hair is dirty. He’s stopped caring about himself.
“Something like that,” I say, shaking my leg from the slam of anxiety that hits me when I think about Aidan being with Cohen.
“Fucking sucks when you can’t find the people you love,” he says.
“Did that happen to you? Is that why you drink so much?”
“No one fucking asked you!” he yells at me and stands on his feet, swaying. “Don’t fucking talk to me like you’re trying to get to know me. You don’t know me.” He takes a swig of rum and points his finger in my face. “I ain’t none of your business. You’re just another whore. Another fucking slut for me to sink my dick in to. You’re nothing!”
His words, while harsh, don’t bother me. He’s lashing out. The whites of his eyes are red from lack of sleep, and his lips are chapped from dehydration. Pirate is slowly killing himself.
Out of nowhere, Pirate is tackled to the ground, and I hop up on the chair to get out of the