Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,62
full…” I trail off, not wanting to sound like a complete idiot.
“You can then use the bag as target practice.”
I give Tongue an incredulous look of how he put our expressions together. If the garbage is full, you take out the trash, but Tongue doesn’t think like other people.
“I suppose so,” I say.
“Is she running?” He lays his elbows on the bar and leans across it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a moving target.”
I spew my beer out of my mouth, and it soaks Tongue. His hair is dripping with it, and his skin is wet. His eyes remain open, and he licks the beer from his lips. “I see what all the fuss is about you.”
Before I can ask what he means, the door to Church finally opens. Reaper storms out, and Sarah runs to follow him to his office. Reaper banned me from entering the room when we got back tonight, and it took all I had in me to obey him.
I’ve been obeying a man for more than the best part of my life, and I’m tired of it, but for Skirt, I have to think about my actions because whatever I do, he can get punished for it. Tool comes out next and heads toward Juliette. Skirt staggers to the doorway, sweat beading along his freckled forehead, and he closes his eyes a second, composing himself. I run to him, my feet pounding along the floor in tune with the drums banging in the song. I stop before I bulldoze him and stifle a sob when I pull his cut away to see the angry, seared heart on his chest.
Jesus.
Reaper is an animal.
“Oh my God, Skirt.”
“I’m okay. I deserved it.”
A door across the clubhouse slams, and Skirt sighs, knowing it’s Reaper still ticked off.
“You don’t deserve this. You were only doing what he wanted.”
“Until I didn’t listen,” he finishes, then snatches the beer from my hand and drinks it down in three swallows. “I’m lucky I didn’t get more than this. What I said could have been taken as a challenge.” Skirt gives me a quick peck, and I can smell the beer on his tongue. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? I just want to move on with the night.”
“Don’t you need to get bandaged? I can get Doc.”
“No, it’s fine. The wound itself is cauterized. It looks worse than it is, promise.”
Somehow, I don’t believe that for one goddamn minute.
Skirt’s face is pale, he has dark circles under his eyes, and he seems like he’s about to fall over. “Do you want another drink, or do you want to go to bed?”
“I need a drink,” he says. “It’s been a hell of a day.” The front door opens, and Jasmine walks in with tears on her face, mascara lines down her cheeks, and all I want to do is throw the bitch in the fire again. Skirt looks toward the door, and his red eyebrows pinch so close together it looks like a unibrow. “What the hell?” He glances down at my shirt, then back at Jasmine, and having his attention on her instead of me, makes me want to slap him.
And I would if he didn’t have a gaping wound on his chest.
“You have two seconds to get your eyes off that whore and back on me.” I slide onto the barstool, and Tongue places two beers in front of us. I’ve never been happier for a day to almost be over. I’ve been dealt my fair share of abuse, but the way they do it here makes me wonder if I’m cut out for this life. Do I want to be around more men who think they can control me?
My question is answered when Skirt pulls the stool I’m sitting on closer to him, dragging it along the floor until I’m right in front of his face. “I’m betting you have something to do with Jasmine walking in here with her tail tucked between her legs,” he says, impressed and if I’m not mistaken, turned on.
“Oh, you should have seen it, Skirt.” Tongue doesn’t bat an eyelash at the nasty, burnt skin on Skirt’s chest. It’s not hard to miss. Reaper had to have gone in with a hot blade. “Jasmine and Candy mouthed off. Jasmine tossed her drink in Dawn’s face.”
Skirt’s eyes grow wide, and then he laughs; even if it is laced with pain and exhaustion. “No shit, seriously?”