Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,75
and her fluffy white hair bounces with the bows she always has in her hair. I watch toward the front of the clubhouse, and Lady runs at the speed of light to get to her owner. She has pink bows in her hair today. At least she will look good doing it.
“Skirt, do you have anything of Dawn’s?”
“What? Yeah, yes! I’ll be back. Lady, I’ll be back,” I say to the elegant dog. She sits at Poodle’s feet and cocks her head at me. I run toward the cabin and kick open my door, breaking the hinges off from the force. I trip, right myself, and hurry to the bedroom to pick up the shirt she wore yesterday. I bring it to my nose and inhale her scent, wild like a fucking rainstorm in fall.
Hurrying outside, I jump off the porch and toss the shirt at Poodle. He catches it mid-air by and then lowers it for Lady to sniff. She buries he black nose in the material, inhaling Dawn’s scent. Lady is my only damn hope. Thank God Poodle has her.
Nothing else matters. The problems, whatever happened between us, I just need Dawn back. I’m happy Poodle isn’t the kind of guy to keep Lady locked away when she’s the only chance I have at finding her.
“Search, Lady,” Poodle gives Lady a command and her head is down, nose to the ground as she sniffs. Poodle claps a hand on my back. “We’ll find her.”
Lady barks about twenty yards away, and a stampede of bikers run to where she sits.
I bend down and pick up the blanket that Dawn has claimed for herself. “There’s blood. Fucking goddamn it, Poodle. There’s blood.” I pinch my eyes shut and try to rub the burn away. I have to keep it together.
Lady barks near the fence and I take off, Poodle and Reaper right behind me. There’s more blood. It’s dotted along the sand and a few small bushes, then there’s blood along the iron rods of the gate.
Please, don’t let it be her blood, but I know better.
It’s hers, or Lady wouldn’t be telling us to search here.
“Look at that,” Reaper says with unhinged anger as he pushes the fence, and a makeshift door swings open.
I crawl through the gate and see a rundown tent and supplies, covered with leaves and shit. “What the fuck is this?” I shout. “Reaper? What the fuck is this? Who’s doing perimeter sweeps? Who missed this?” I throw myself on the tent and tear it down, kicking the tarp and bottles of water until I’m breathless.
Lady barks from the road, and I know one thing—there’s no way to track a scent if the person being searched for is in a car.
It’s a dead-end, and I don’t care if I have to fight every man in the city. I’ll get Dawn back. I’ll feel those lips again, and whoever stands in my way, I’ll kill them with my bare hands.
I’ll paint the city red with blood for her.
Chapter Nineteen
DAWN
There’s a leak coming from the roof that is driving me crazy.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Since my hands are tied behind my back, I can’t scoot the rag over, probably a cum rag, to stop the water from splashing onto the concrete floor. I bang my head against the wall and look around the room. This place is a shithole. The men are disgusting, and the women … the poor women.
Don’t get me wrong, I hate the club whores at Ruthless. I hate seeing Jasmine’s face every day knowing her lips touched Skirt’s cock, but the guys treat their sluts so much better than the men here. Half of the women are on cots, half-naked, dried cum on their thighs, and a needle in their arm. In the furthest corner, there’s a girl with blue lips.
I think she’s dead. She has to be dead.
She’s naked, and her body is pale without any signs of the slight pink color the skin has with blood actively pumping through it.
What the fuck has Cohen gotten me into?
The door opens, and two bikers stare at me, running their beady eyes up and down my body before going to the girl in the corner and checking her pulse.
“Damn, another stiff. Let’s dump her,” the guy smoking a cigar tells the other younger biker who has a prospect patch. I’ve seen those patches. They aren’t full blown members yet. He looks like he isn’t made for this rough life. He’s my chance at getting out of here.