Poodle Read online

  POODLE

  RUTHLESS KINGS MC BOOK 4

  KL SAVAGE

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Want more…

  Ruthless Readers

  Meet K.L. Savage

  COPYRIGHT© 2020 POODLE BY KL SAVAGE

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. POODLE is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  ISBN: 978-1-952500-09-1

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL: 2020909996

  PHOTOGRAPHY BY WANDER AGUIAR PHOTOGRAPHY

  COVER MODEL: RODDY HANSON

  COVER DESIGN: KARI MARCH DESIGNS

  Editing and Formatting: MASQUE OF THE RED PEN

  FIRST EDITION PRINT 2020

  To the poodles, the lovers who are fighters, the ones who never forget, the ones who love hard until they bleed. Revenge is the bitter taste on your tongue that makes the journey to love even sweeter.

  Prologue

  POODLE

  Seventeen Years Old

  They say money doesn’t buy happiness, but those people must not know what it’s like to save money for three months just to buy a vinyl. I hold in my hands the holy grail of what Holly has been wanting. My girl is obsessed with her record player. Hell, the damn thing never stops spinning. She has a vinyl collection so big, it would make a music store look amateur.

  Maybe for some people, buying something for yourself wouldn’t be a big deal, but it is for me and Holly. See, buying a record is a tiny thing, but when you’re seventeen and working at the local paper plant to support your girl and kid, it’s a big deal. I dropped out of high school when I was sixteen to work at the plant, where all the other men in town work here in Oklahoma. I make good money, and I’m taking classes to get my GED. It’s hard, but it’s worth it because my girls are my life.

  I’ll work forever if it means seeing the smile I know Holly will have on her face when she sees this “Rumors” by Fleetwood Mac vinyl. She deserves it. She is an amazing mom and one day, I’m going to get her a ring and marry her. We’ve been together since we were thirteen, and when I looked at her the first time in science class, I knew she was meant to be mine.

  When we were sixteen, we were each other’s first, and since we had been together so long, we didn’t wear a condom.

  We had sex a lot once we figured out how to do it and how damn good it is.

  But then she got pregnant.

  And it changed everything.

  My parents kicked me out of the house, and her dad kicked her out too. Luckily they threw us a little cash to make it on. We stayed in a hotel for a while, but going to school doesn’t put a roof over our heads and food on the table.

  So I dropped out.

  My old science teacher knew someone at the plant, and he helped me get a job. I have full benefits and make decent money. We have a small two-bedroom house, and it’s a piece of shit, but it’s ours. Honestly, my life is good.

  When our little girl was born, Ellie May Winston, she changed my life forever. I’m young, a kid myself, but that day I became a man, a father. Ellie and Holly are my world. I wouldn’t know what to do without them. They’ve become my reason for breathing, for being. Being dependent on someone is bad, it can’t be healthy, but it is what it is. I’m happy. My life may not be picture perfect or what I thought it would be.

  But it’s mine.

  “See you in a few months, James. It’s always good seeing you,” Tom, the Jukebox Records owner, says as I push open the door causing the bell to jingle above my head.

  “Thanks for letting me pay on this, Tom. I know forty bucks isn’t a lot—”

  “Son, you’re doing good. Take care of your beautiful little girl. Give Ellie a kiss for me. Come back anytime, and I’ll do the same thing for you, okay? You’re growing up to be a good man. I’m proud you.”

  I’ve been on my own for a year, without a word from my dad, so Tom’s praise hits home hard. I’ve never had anyone tell me they are proud of me, and it feels really good to hear. “Thanks, Tom. And I will. Have a good night.” I wave goodbye to a man that I wish was my grandpa and climb into this piece of shit blue Ford Pinto that was made in the seventies and has more rust on it than an anchor that’s been left at sea, and try to start it.

  Try because it never fucking cranks on the first try. It whines, and the exhaust sputters for a few seconds, then I give it a rest, and try again, and usually it starts right up. It’s embarrassing to drive because it has this high-pitched whistle sound, and I can’t figure out where it’s coming from, so it turns some heads when I’m driving down the road.

  I bought it for two hundred bucks, so it was either this or nothing.

  I place the vinyl in the torn-up black leather seat and pull out of the parking lot. It’s around ten at night, the streets are dark, and the stars are out by the millions. Maybe when I get home, Holly and I can sit out of the porch in our plastic chairs and drink some sweet tea before we head to bed. We don’t make a lot of time for each other anymore ever since Ellie was born, and I’m starting to miss my woman.

  Passing a billboard that says, ‘Safe sex is the only sex to have,’ I snort, considering the billboard is right before I turn into my driveway, and I’m only seventeen and have a four-month old daughter.

  Damn, billboard.

  The tires squeak as I turn into the driveway. The cement is cracked, and there’s a hole on the right side that I try to keep the car parked over so Holly doesn’t hurt herself or fall with the baby. I don’t want to take any chances.

  I exhale a deep breath and lean my head against the seat and stare at the house. Fuck it, it’s a trailer, and it needs work. The siding is coming off, the steps need to be fixed because two are broken, the porch sways when you walk on it, and the outside lights need to be changed. The girls deserve more, and in another year or two we can upgrade to a nice apartment where the roof doesn’t leak every rainstorm.

  I stare at the front door and grin. There’s a big cursive W on it because the Winstons live here. Holly does what she can to make the place look warm and welcoming, so the least I can do is set some time aside to fix up the place.

  I wince when I get a whiff of myself as I reach for the vinyl in the passenger seat. The downside to working at a pa
per plant is carrying the smell home with you at the end of shift. It’s disgusting, like hot garbage. I can’t wait to shower, and if I’m lucky, I can convince Holly to shower with me.

  With a smug smile, I pump the chipped silver plastic handle on the driver’s side door three times before it finally opens on a loud creak. I place my foot on the ground and push myself out of the car and into the night.

  The cool air wraps around me, and the sweat on my skin dries. The promise of rain hangs in the air; the scent is light and wet all at once. The wild honeysuckles growing under the porch gets carried in the breeze, and as I inhale the sweet scent, I relax.

  I see one of Ellie’s toys in the front yard, a little stuffed animal that she always like to have with her as Holly holds her. I bend over and pick it up so it doesn’t get ruined by the rain that will come later. I tuck the vinyl under my arm and stretch my leg out to miss the two steps that are broken, then climb up the rest of the way.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand when I see the door is cracked open. My heart goes into overdrive, and my blood rushes so fast my ears ring. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe Holly left the door cracked to let the breeze in.

  The more I look at the knob, realization sets in. She didn’t leave it open. It’s not like her to not shut the door. The knob is broken, and there is a dent under the silver handle, like someone kicked it to get in. “Please, no,” I whisper between breaths. I lay my palm flat on the door and push. The diamond-shaped window in the middle of the door reflects off the light shining in the living room before revealing an empty, quiet space.

  Too quiet.

  A house is never quiet with a baby.

  The floor creaks with my heavy boots. “Holly?” I call out to her, but I don’t hear a response. It’s only my voice carrying through the space. I glance at the record player. The top is up, a record is spinning, but only static comes out of the speakers.

  “Holly, baby, this isn’t funny. Don’t do this! You’re scaring me,” I yell as I run down the hall, my hands gliding along the dark wood paneling. A few family pictures fall to the ground as I use the walls to hold myself up. I feel sick.

  Something is wrong. Usually my girls are dancing and listening to music, or Ellie is screaming at the top of her lungs because she’s hungry, or Holly is warming up dinner for me when I walk through the door.

  The bedroom door is shut, and my hand shakes when I reach the handle. It’s cold, and my body shivers when I push it open. The light is off, but the smell … I smell something. I don’t know what it is. It reminds me of iron or metal. I flip on the light and what I see, I’ll never forget. My heart rips from my chest, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

  “Holly!” I cry out and stumble forward, doing my best to get to her. My boots slide against the blood on the floor, and I fall right on my ass. My hands land in the red liquid, drenching my jeans and forearms. I gag, tears blind my eyes, and crawl to my knees until I get to the bed. “Holly? Baby? Please be okay. Say something.” I crawl onto the mattress; the sheets are soaked with her blood, and a squish of her blood bubbles around my legs from the pressure. “Holly?” my voice squeaks as I lean over to see her face. Her head is tilted off the edge of the bed, and her eyes are open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. “Holly, please,” I choke and pick her limp body up in my arms and settle her on my lap. My teeth chatter from the shock. I can’t be seeing what I’m seeing.

  I can’t.

  This isn’t real.

  I’m going to wake up, and everything is going to be fine. My beautiful Holly, her blonde hair won’t be matted with blood, and her eyes won’t be dilated with death. Her body is cold, telling me she’s been dead awhile.

  “No, no, no,” I chant into the side of her neck and rock her. She has so many stab wounds in her stomach and chest. I press my hands against the wounds to stop the bleeding, even though I know it’s too late. She isn’t bleeding anymore. It’s too late to save her, but my sadness is too overwhelming to think rationally. “You’re going to be okay, baby. You’re going to be okay.” I kiss her frozen forehead, and a sob escapes me. “Please, this can’t be real. Please…” I hold her tighter, and out of the corner of my eye I see the baby monitor on the floor. “Ellie!” I panic and lay Holly down gently. “I’ll be back. You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine. I love you. I love you so much.” I run toward the baby’s room, sliding along the floors from the blood on the bottom of my boots.

  I flip the light on and run to Ellie’s crib, expecting to see her there, sleeping and at peace.

  But she’s missing.

  “No!” I scream at the top of my lungs and my legs buckle under my weight, collapsing to my knees. My hands wrap around the crib rail and squeeze. The overwhelming need to find her hits me. “She has to be here. Ellie! Ellie, I know you’re here.” She has to be. I look under her crib, then crawl across the floor to her closet. I look in the hallway linen closest, nothing.

  I backtrack toward our bedroom again and look in the bathroom, the closet, under the bed, the drawers. I tear everything apart. Ellie wouldn’t be in the goddamn drawers, but where is she?

  I check the living room, the kitchen, the oven—God forbid some fucker put my kid in the oven—I’ll kill them—but it’s clear.

  She’s nowhere to be found.

  I can’t breathe. My heart hurts so damn bad. I clutch my hand over it and blindly stumble my way toward the bedroom again. I climb into bed and bring Holly to my lap. The sheets are cold from her blood, from her body, and I feel like her blood drenches me.

  “I got you,” I whisper against her forehead. “I got you, baby. I love you.” I rock her, aimlessly clutching to the love of my life. I cry into her shoulder for a second, sobbing, letting the pain set root. The agony will never leave. “She’s gone. Holly, please tell me what happened.” I look at her beautiful, delicate face and cup the back of her head. “What happened? How did I lose the both of you?” I ask, trying not to break.

  I’ll forever be broken.

  With a shaky hand, I reach for my phone in my pocket and dial 911, while petting Holly’s soft hair. I can still smell the kiwi shampoo she uses. Tears aimlessly fall down my face as the phone rings.

  “911, what’s your emergency?” the woman asks.

  I swallow and look down at Holly, the mother of my child, my life, and I’m speechless.

  “Hello? Is someone there? 911, what’s your emergency?” she repeats.

  “Um,” I whisper. “I’m at home, and someone broke into my house. My girlfriend is…” I sob. “My girlfriend has been murdered, and someone kidnapped my daughter. She’s four-months-old. Please.” I’m not sure what I’m begging for. No one can help me at this point. I’ve lost everything.

  For a split second I think of killing myself, ending the misery my heart is consumed with, but it’s gone just as quick because my daughter is out there. And I don’t care what I have to do, I’ll find her.

  “Remain calm, sir, help is on the way. Okay? I’ll stay on the phone with you until they arrive.”

  “It’s fine,” I whisper and hang up the phone. I don’t want to talk to her anymore.

  I want to hold Holly with both hands. Sirens ring in the distance, a haunting, chilling sound no one wants to hear. My arms tighten around Holly the closer they draw near. “I fucking love you, baby. I’ll find out who did this, okay? I’ll find our baby girl.” It’s a vow. I won’t rest. Someone has my daughter, and I’ll find them.

  I’ll hunt them.

  And I’ll fucking murder them just like they murdered Holly.

  “Son? You have to let go of her,” a deep voice says from beside me. When did he get here?

  I look up to see a big man in uniform, tattoos up and down his arms, and his hand is on my shoulder. Blood is all over me. He doesn’t care. “I can’t,” I say. “I can’t. Don’t make me.”

  “How old are you?” he asks, his tone soft as the medics and cops fill the room. Everything seems to be happening so quickly. People move insid
e the room, hovering close to the bed—close to Holly. A flash of light pulls my attention to the officer, his hand still bracing my shoulder. I look around the room and the startling reality settles in my gut once again. It’s all too much. It’s too real. They’re going to take her from me.

  “Seventeen.”

  “This your wife?”

  I nod. She wasn’t. She was going to be. “My baby is gone.”

  He rubs a hand over his face, and on his forearm I see a tattoo that says, ‘Ruthless Kings’. I’ve heard of them. They’re the bikers around these parts. “You’re coming with me when all this is dealt with, okay?”

  “I didn’t do this! I didn’t kill her. I was at work. Have witnesses—” I hold Holly closer, not wanting to let the medic take her from me.

  “I believe you, kid. Let us take care of this now. It’s time to let go,” the cop tells me, and I squeeze her body one more time before they pull her from my arms. They zip the body bag closed, the somber conclusion of her existence.

  Let go, he says.

  There’s no such thing as letting go.

  You either deal with the pain or let it consume you or die.

  I still hear the static of the record player in the background. The soundtrack matches the moment. Dark, confusing, sad, and it never stops spinning.