LUNATIC (RUTHLESS ASYLUM (A RUTHLESS UNDERWORLD NOVEL Book 2)

by K. L. Savage

  “Yeah,” he nods. “That’s a manic episode. Rapid thinking, risky behaviors, random ideas, anger, thoughts of suicide, grandiosity, hostility. It’s associated with bipolar disorder.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “It gets really agitated when I’m feeling emotional. I try to keep it under control, but it’s like, well… it’s like the devil comes out,” he says, looking down at his tattoo. I understand why he has it now. “When I was a kid, I didn’t know how to control it. I would explode and beat some other kid to a pulp, then come to my senses only after the damage had been done. They locked me away for it.”

  I nod, understanding him more, the way he thinks and speaks. “And your so-called obsession? Is that part of it?”

  “No,” he says, rolling on top of me again. “That has to with thirty-five years of living in a twelve by ten room. If anything, it made certain aspects of my mania worse.” He yawns. “I’m sorry. I usually get really tired after an episode.”

  “No, it’s okay. I understand.”

  “If I wake up and find you gone, I’m going to lock you away. I’m not kidding,” He wraps an arm around me and tugs me against his body. “From now on, wherever I go, you go. And tomorrow, we’re getting married.” He shuts his eyes, and in a matter of seconds he falls asleep.

  I blink quickly at him, speechless and taken aback. Marriage? I don’t even know his middle name!

  Now my mind starts to race, and I think about all of his symptoms.

  What if that’s what I am? A symptom?

  I can’t marry someone because their illness tells them they have to. I don’t want to be a byproduct of his mania. Marriage is hectic enough without adding the crazy aspect to it.

  I have to get out of here.

  For his sake.

  But not for mine.

  Because even knowing I need to be afraid, I know his mania wanting me is more love than I’ll ever get from someone for as long as I live.

  People like me, we aren’t meant for happy endings.

  We sabotage them.

  I wake up with a start, cursing myself for falling asleep. Zain’s heavy arm is over me, nearly crushing my chest with its weight. Carefully, I lift the massive limb off me and roll away. My feet land on the floor, and I take one last look at Zain. He is on his stomach, one arm under the pillow and other by his side. The towel found its way off sometime in the night. It hangs off the bed, right under his hips. His right butt-cheek is showing, the sheet barely covering his naked body.

  I’m going to miss him more than I should. I barely know the man, but it’s like the worst part of me yearns for the worst part of him, and the good part of me knows better.

  We could never work.

  People like us? We’re stuck dreaming. And dreams don’t make a good reality.

  “Bye, Zain,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss his shiny, bald head. I inhale his scent, the pine soap lingering on his skin.

  Why does my heart ache more than it should? I’ve known him two days. That isn’t long enough to love someone.

  My crazy is drawn to his, that’s all this is.

  I’m a symptom for his mania to quench. Nothing more, nothing less. I can’t have this going further. I’ll end up getting hurt because I know I’ll fall in love with him. I fall in love easy, just ask my therapist.

  Before I leave, I grab his shirt on the floor and bring it my nose, tears prickling my eyes. I’ll take it with me. Something to remember him by. I have to. I clutch the simple grey shirt to my chest and tiptoe toward the door. I turn the knob and step through the doorway and peer over the curve of my shoulder to have one last look at the man that’s changed… something inside me. Even the part of me that I don’t get along with. The darkness that always takes me is quieter.

  I close the door and gasp when I nearly run into a chest.

  “Hi. Hi. Hi.” A man I haven’t met before says three times. I can’t believe I’ve been in this house for two days and the only people I’ve met are damn bikers. “I’m Oli. Who are you? Zain didn’t say he had company.”

  “I’m Chloe,” I reply and try to sidestep him, but he follows.

  “I made breakfast. Do you want any?” his voice is deep, and his ink-colored hair hangs in his eyes.

  “No, thank you. I’m just leaving now. It’s nice to meet you, Oli.”

  “You are leaving? Does Zain know you’re going? He doesn’t like it when people leave.”

  “It’s alright, Oli,” Reaper, the man from yesterday says, as he props his hip against the granite countertop in the kitchen. “She’s her own woman. If she wants to go, she can go. I’ll have Tool take you wherever you want to go.” He lifts an olive green mug and takes a sip out of it. By the smell, I’d say it’s coffee. His hand makes the damn cup look tiny. One good squeeze and it will break.

  “I can go?” I frown, surprised that it would be so easy.

  “I think Zain has enough on his plate, to be honest,” Reaper says.

  “This is uncomfortable. I’m going to leave.” Oli starts to walk one way, then turns on his heel to go in another direction. “It’s this way. Bye. Bye. Bye,” he says, scurrying down the hall.

  We fall into a thick cloud of awkward silence. “I care about him.”

  Reaper’s lips are nearly touching the rim of his cup and he laughs, but the way it sounds rubs me the wrong way. “Listen Chloe, I’m sure you’re a nice girl, but in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t Disney World. You obviously have a choice to fit in here, but Zain and his crew still need to settle in, and the last thing Zain needs is to get attached to someone who isn’t serious about him. The people here are fragile—”

  I take a step forward and have to hold back my anger at the too familiar word. “They are stronger than you think. They are not fragile,” I spit and march my way over to the front door. “We are stronger than you,” I say, my hand gripping the doorknob. “Because while you battle what you need to wear every day, we battle more, and somehow manage to live a life in the same world you’re in. Don’t ever call us fragile. I do care about him, it’s why I’m leaving. I don’t want to be a symptom of his mania. I don’t want to be a regret when the fog clears, or he wakes up one day and realizes what he has done.”

  Reaper reaches into his back pocket just as Tool comes around the corner, his shirt covered in paint. “Damn it. Oli went and slammed the damned door, having no idea that I was using it as a support to paint. Knocked me off the ladder and paint went everywhere.”

  “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” Oli runs around the corner, skidding across the floor and dragging white smears down the hall trying to stop.

  Reaper’s focus switches gears, and I take the moment to slip out the door. The air is cool, and the clouds are heavy in the sky, tinting the desert gloomy grey. I throw on Zain’s shirt, swallowing the emotion when his scent drifts to my nostrils. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’ll figure it out, just like I always do.

  I run down the steps as the breeze kicks up sand, twirling it around in a small tornado before vanishing along the desert floor. There isn’t much around here, just some trees and bushes. It’s hard to see which way is the exit, since everything looks the same.

  Bush.

  Bush.

  Dead bush.

  Sand.

  Bush again.

  Oh, now there is something new.

  Tire tracks.

  “Where’d she go?” I hear Reaper shout from the house.

  Before he can catch me, I run, slithering through the bikes and trucks. My feet land in the strip of the tire imprint. The ridges of the tread push against my feet, causing a slight edge of pain. I can’t stop. The feeling of running away feels familiar, the rush of adrenaline in hopes I don’t get caught.

  But why?

  The grumble of bikes shakes the ground, and I pump my arms for an extra burst of speed.

  “I don’t care what it takes! Fucking find her. Now!” Reaper yells loudly over the rowdy engines.

  I
take a sharp right before I get to the road and jump over bushes and rocks. Damn it, I wish I had shoes. I wince when I land on something sharp, causing me to stumble. I barely catch myself, and my palms skid across the pebbles, scraping roughly against the ground. I hiss, biting back the pain, and stumble upright until I’m running again. I’m sweating, the muscles in my thighs trembling from exertion. The edge of the forest is near, but when the horsepower of the Harleys quicken, I dive behind a boulder, hoping it hides me for the most part.

  But the bikes get further away instead of closer.

  I peek over the rock and run to the edge of the road, look left, then right, watching them turn into small dots in the distance.

  Well, at least they are going the wrong way. It gives me time to figure out… something.

  The asphalt vibrates under my feet. The grill of a truck comes to view, and I hold out my thumb, walking backward along the side of the road. My teeth chatter from the cold, and all I can do is hope the person behind the wheel won’t let a girl walk this road alone in the middle of winter.

  He passes me without a second glance, and I drop my hand to my side. Damn it, what am I going to do? This road looks like it’s hundreds of miles long. I’ll die out here.

  The sound of brakes has me lifting my head. Red taillights stare at me and the truck starts to reverse. Another high-pitched squeal leaves the truck, and I want to throw my hands over my ears, but I don’t want to be rude.

  The beat-up truck comes to a stop. Half the Chevy emblem on the fender is missing. The tan paint has faded in certain places, and the exhaust bumbles, dripping gasoline and black smoke. The silver handle is rusted, and the man driving leans across the passenger seat and rolls down the window.

  That squeaks, too.

  Jesus, this truck needs to be dipped and bathed in WD-40.

  “What’s a pretty thang like you doin’ out here all ‘lone?” he asks, throwing an arm over the passenger street.

  “Just looking for a lift to the next town,” I say, explaining myself as much as I can without giving the entire story away. Keep it brief. Keep it simple. It’s no one’s business but my own.

  “I’m headin’ out toward Henderson, if you want a lift.” He opens the passenger side door and pushes it open with his hand.

  Go figure, the hinges squeak too.

  “Climb on in, pretty. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  I give him a bright smile and grab the handle to help myself in. “Thank you so much. It’s so kind of you to stop.” I bend to the right and pull the door shut, then roll up the window since it’s so cold outside.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t stop to help a beautiful woman like yourself,” he replies, grinning. He isn’t the best-looking man in the world. He has on worn jeans with black spots, probably oil. His nails are dirty too, filled with the same dark soot, and his salt and pepper hair is sparse, greasy, and slicked back. His tank top is stained yellow with brown spots, and his chest hair curls over the top of the neckline.

  His teeth are yellow with black in-between and his eyes drop to my chest, then my legs, and I pull the hem of Zain’s shirt down to cover my thighs. “Let’s get going, then.” He yanks the gear stick down and presses on the gas. The engine gurgles before the truck lurches forward.

  This wasn’t a good idea.

  I slide across the torn and cracked leather seat until my right side is pressed against the door. A heavy weight presses against my lower abdomen, as if I swallowed a ten-pound weight. I hold my breath when he reaches over the middle, then twists the knob of the volume button. “Let’s get some music going. Sorry, ain’t used to havin’ company,” he explains with too much excitement.

  “It’s alright,” I say, twisting my hands in my lap.

  Static booms in the speakers as he twists the knob that controls the needle to find a station. Music finally enters the cab, and he slaps his thigh when a banjo sounds.

  The national anthem of hillbilly fate.

  Damn it.

  It’s a bumpy ride in the truck that’s been around longer than I have been alive.

  The mountains are different sizes as we pass them by. My right leg shakes, and I pinch my lips between my fingers while staring out the window. My nerves are getting worse, my stomach knotting, and my instincts warning me that I need to jump out of this moving vehicle if I have any chance of survival.

  The truck slows down, right before the Henderson sign, and he pulls off the side of the road.

  I begin to tremble, and I continue to stare out at the desert. If I look at him, I’m afraid of what will happen. His hand lands on my thigh and inches up until I squeeze my thighs together. Tears pool to block my vision, causing the desert to look like it’s underwater.

  “Aw, come on, now, blondie. You know you gotta pay me back for givin’ ya a ride. What’d ya expect?” he says, his lips too close my ear and his breath heating my cheek.

  It smells of old chewing tobacco and morning breath.

  I hold a hand over my mouth to stop myself from throwing up.

  “Now, why don’t you lay back and spread those thighs. Pay up.”

  I slap his hand, then backhand him across the face. “You won’t touch me,” I hiss.

  He grabs me by the back of the neck, then punches me in the face with the other. “I’m gonna do whatever the fuck I want to you. I’m going to fuck your face, your cunt, and your ass. Then, I’m going to toss your naked body on the side of the road while you’re dripping of my come and let the buzzards have ya.” He grips my shoulders and forces me to lay flat against the seat.

  “No! Get off me!” I scream, but he shoves his filthy hand over my mouth. I can taste his sweat on my tongue and a hot tear sears my cheek while he pulls up my shirt and tries to yank my shorts down.

  I’m not going down without a fight.

  With a deep breath, I lift my knee, slamming it against his gut. He groans in pain, but I’m far from done. I slam my head against his nose and blood spurts out, dripping down his chin. “You fuckin’ bitch!” he screams. “You broke my fucking nose!”

  “And you messed with the wrong bitch, you disgusting fuck,” I exclaim, then reach down and grab his pathetic dick. “This is what you wanted, right?” I squeeze and squeeze, then pull until he is crying out in pain. I twist, which has him doubling over and gagging. “You should have thought twice. Don’t you know not to pick up hitchhikers off the side of the road?” I sit up and pull my shirt down, annoyed that the only time Chloe has use for me is when she’s too weak to handle her own business.

  He lunges for me again, and I dodge out of the way, then move to the driver’s side. He has his back turned to me still, and before he can try to make a move again, I grab him by the neck and slam his face against the door. “How many women have you done this to?”

  I lift his head again and use all my weight and smash the worthless thing against the window. The glass cracks and blood spreads along the broken slivers.

  I smash his head again.

  And again.

  Until I’m heaving and sweating.

  “How about I leave your body out for the buzzards? Huh? Tell me,” I growl, snapping his head back by the grip I have on his thin patch of hair. He has glass in his cheeks and forehead and he’s sobbing just like the pathetic loser that he is.

  “Please,” he begs. “Please don’t do this.”

  “You didn’t listen to Chloe when she said get off. Why would I do the same for you?” I open the passenger’s side door to dump his body but think better of it when I think about what Zain and them bikers would do to him.

  Or maybe I should kill him off.

  They can help me bury the body, and I know Zain would help.

  It’ll take time, but Chloe will come around. The one thing she wants more than anything is to be loved.

  Zain and us, we’re a match made in fucked-up heaven. And there is no way in hell I’m going to let Chloe ruin that for me.

  For us.

/>   I climb in the driver’s seat and push the fat ass’s legs off the bench seat. “Get the fuck out of my way, you sorry piece of shit. Do you have cigarettes?” I ask him, but he doesn’t answer. He’s too busy coughing and choking on blood. “I know you have to.” I reach into the glove compartment and push his belongings around.

  I find a gun instead.

  Oh, this just got a lot more interesting.

  And the road to hell just got a whole lot shorter.

  I stare at the empty side of the bed. The sheets are cold, which mean she hasn’t been in bed for a while now.

  Cracking my neck, I try to take long, deep breaths. I try to calm down, but anger unlike anything I’ve ever felt before runs through my veins. Anger, fear, panic, everything hits me all at once.

  I can’t fucking breathe.

  Why would she leave me? Why?

  I pick up the mattress, gripping it as tight as I can and tossing it off the box spring. The bed slumps against the wall. It’s nowhere near enough to make me feel better. It’s too much. I grip the sides of my head and roar, then fling my arm out to throw the lamp off the nightstand.

  The bedroom door kicks in and Reaper is there with helmet hair. “Now, Zain. Calm down—”

  In two stomps I have Reaper by the cut. I pick him up and slam him against the wall. “Where is she?” I yell so loud my voice breaks and my throat becomes dry. “Where is Chloe? Where is Jessica? Where are they?” I scream into his ear. I hope it fucking bleeds. “What did you do to her? I’ll fucking kill you,” I threaten him, not giving a fuck that he is my nephew. If he is keeping her from me, so help me god, I will snap his neck right here.

  “Put him down before I blow your fucking brains out,” Knives snaps, cocking the gun he has in his hand and placing the barrel right against my temple. “I’ll fucking kill you, you crazy fuck.”

  I don’t blink. I don’t flinch. I take my free hand and smack the gun away from me, then punch Knives in the face. He smacks against the wall, unconscious, and the gun clatters against the floor. It goes off, a loud gunshot ringing the air. A hole in the wall appears next to Reaper’s head. He doesn’t even flinch.