Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,38

way. The rum bottle falls down the steps, shattering on the ground.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Skirt straddles Pirate’s chest and punches his face. “She isn’t a whore. Ye owe her an apology! Tell her,” Skirt shakes him, and Pirate turns over and pukes up the rum. “God, yer a sorry bastard, Pirate. Ye need help.”

“Don’t tell me what I need,” Pirate spits out the remainder of liquid in his mouth and stares down at the bottle of broken rum on the ground. “Look what you did! Look. No.” Pirate crawls out of Skirt’s hold and fumbles down the steps until he gets to the puddle of rum. He lifts up the broken glass and licks it, then tosses it back on the ground. “No! I need it. I need this.” He lays flat and starts to lick the rum from the dirt, eating red clay instead of rum.

“Jesus Christ, Pirate. What’s happened to ye?”

“I got it,” Doc comes out of the house next with a syringe in his hand and squats near Pirate. Doc puts his arm around Pirate’s shoulder as Pirate licks another piece of glass. His tongue is bleeding, he’s cut his fingertips, but all the drunk can see is alcohol. Doc plunges the needle into Pirate’s neck, and there’s shock in his eyes for a second before he slumps over. Doc catches him before he face plants into the broken glass.

Doc carries Pirate away, probably to the basement, and I know this is the lowest point in Pirate’s life by how the guys are staring at him.

“Are ye okay?” Skirt stands in front of me, and his hand cups my biceps.

My eyes flick to meet his, and my hand reaches up to touch the black eye. “What happened?”

“Nothing that’s more important than ye. I’m sorry Pirate went off like that. He hasn’t been himself lately.”

“It’s okay. I understand fighting your demons.”

“Yeah, ye do, don’t ye?” Skirt takes another step forward, and I lean back, forgetting that I’m still standing on the chair, and I fall, losing my footing completely.

Skirt is fast, catching me before I hit the ground. The rugged handsome features on his face pinch as he smiles, shaking his head as he lifts me up and sets me on my feet. “Always needing to be carried, aren’t ye?” He roams my body for the first time since coming onto the porch, and his eyes harden when he sees what I’m wearing.

Short shorts and Sarah’s black tank top that doesn’t really fit. My boobs are too big. It’s more like a crop top on me. He stares at my bare stomach, and his square jaw tightens as a strand of hair falls from his ponytail. His fists clench at his sides, and right as I think he’s about to take my mouth again, he turns around, slams his fist against the door and dents it as he vanishes.

“You have him all fucked up,” Reaper states from the other rocking chair across the porch. “Skirt’s always been a bit lighthearted, a fighter, a bit serious some days, but I’ve never had to worry about him before.”

I ignore Reaper’s words and storm in after Skirt. I’m not about to be blamed for someone else’s problems. I won’t be blamed for a man’s actions ever again. It isn’t my fault. I watch Skirt go into the rooms that the other guys go in when they take a slut, and my anger blows through the roof.

I’m done dancing around him. I kick open the door to see Bullseye getting his cock sucked, and I hurry and shut the door before he can see me. My face heats, and my pussy throbs from seeing the intimate act. I shake my head and kick open the next door and Skirt is there, by the window.

Alone.

His arms are up on the windowsill, stretching his muscles that have me tightening in all the right and wrong places. He’s a tortured soul, a man clawing his way from the trenches of whatever hole he’s made in his head.

“Skirt.”

His shoulders tense when he hears my voice, but he doesn’t turn around to look at me. He stares out the window. “Ye don’t need to be in here. This isn’t the place for a lass like ye,” he says.

“You don’t get to tell me where my place is. I decide that. Not you.”

“Ye maddening woman!” he shouts at me, and I jump. He spins around and charges at me, and I back up until