Tongue (RUTHLESS KINGS MC™ (A RUTHLESS UNDERWORLD NOVEL) Book 8)

by K. L. Savage

  Tongue is a red rose dipped in thorns, and the only way to get to his heart is to prick my fingers and bleed.

  The valley of death isn’t as dark as people think. It isn’t the valley that’s so dangerous; it’s the souls of the dead that linger. I believe there is more to this world than we know and not accepting it will lead us to be surprised with how we die, what we see in the afterlife, or the challenges we face.

  See, I’m not surprised about anything I’ve ever done. All the people I’ve killed, all the shadows I’ve haunted, all the blood I’ve spilt—I expected. But there are two things that have happened recently that I have not understood.

  Daphne and Sarah.

  Sarah.

  God, I stabbed her. I’ll never forgive myself if she dies. I’ll walk myself into the swamp in NOLA and let the swamp kitties feast on me, and then I hope my soul finds its way to the valley of death where I’ll linger forever without peace.

  I’m standing outside of Daphne’s aunt’s house, knowing my only form of comfort is behind those walls. I want to go inside; I want to say goodbye because I’m leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. Reaper doesn’t want me around the clubhouse right now, and all I can stare at is the blood on my hands.

  It’s never bothered me before. I love blood. I love how seductive it is as I watch it flow. I love the smell, even the taste.

  But this is Sarah’s blood, the blood of an innocent. The blood of my best friend. I almost can’t fully think of a proper thought. My phone buzzes, and I dip in my pocket and grab it, swiping the screen. I’m hoping it’s one of the guys to let me know how Sarah is doing, but it isn’t.

  It’s a picture of one of my swamp kitties in NOLA. Gator is sitting next to the beast, petting its head, and giving me a thumbs-up. I look for any amount of happiness inside me when I see the picture, but I don’t feel anything. I press the button that takes me to my home screen, and I press the number three that calls Slingshot.

  “Hey, it’s Slingshot, leave a message or don’t. I don’t give a fuck.” The beep after that has me hanging up, and I press the palms of my hands against my eyes, feeling a fucking break coming on. I need to leave. What if I hurt Daphne next?

  I cut through the trees, one of the only woods that Vegas has, and keep to the shadows. A gust of wind blows in my face, rustling my hair, and it reminds me that I haven’t cut it yet. I whip out my knife, grab a chunk, and slice. I let the hair fall from my hands and do the same to the other side. I grab the last piece of hair in the back and cut it, watching it fall to the ground. I run my hand through it and feel that it is uneven.

  Who cares?

  Daphne will like it, and she will see how much I tried for her before I have to go away.

  Just a quick goodbye, that’s all. I’ll go inside, say my goodbyes, and leave. It’s that simple. I can do that. I can have some form of control. I check my watch and turn the side on, letting the face become green and it reads…

  Three? I think. And since it’s dark it means it is three in the morning, not three in the afternoon. Everyone should be asleep. I inch out of the trees and creep around the side of the house. My boots crunch against the rocks, the stars are out, twinkling false wishes, and the moon is high, promising deceit.

  When I get to the back door, I grip the handle, and turn it as hard as I can, breaking it. The door opens, welcoming me into a home that isn’t mine, and I step inside. The floorboards creak from my weight, and I shut the door behind me, but it opens again.

  Annoyed, I push it closed.

  It opens.

  I close it.

  The creak tells me it opens … again.

  I growl at it, take my knife out, the widest blade I own, and stab it between the door and the trim. I grin, satisfied with myself. Fucking doors.

  But then I’m reminded of the blood on my hands, and the smile fades. I’m not allowed to smile. I’m not allowed to feel happiness, not when my best friend is hanging on for dear life. I glance to the right and notice the kitchen. I see the block of knives, and I’m tempted to take one for my personal collection but think better of it.

  I have plenty.

  I take a step forward, entering the living room since it’s an open space. There’s a big sofa, a sectional, and a TV that takes up the size of the wall. On the far side of the room, there is a huge spiral staircase, but I remember her limping at the hospital, so I don’t think she’d be upstairs. Looking left, I see another hallway and disappear into it, becoming one with the darkness. My heart pounds, adrenaline rushes, and the quiet ignites my temptation to cause pain.

  That’s what’s so beautiful about silence; just because it’s quiet, doesn’t mean something heinous isn’t happening. Maybe the reason why someone can’t scream is because someone like me ripped their tongue out.

  I’m usually that something heinous.

  But right now, I’m lost.

  My mind, my heart, my soul, everything I thought I knew I was, everything I am, what’s it for? Am I made for anything else except a killer with blood-caked hands?

  Maybe in another life, I could be made for Daphne.

  I open one bedroom door to find it empty and stare at the other end of the hall. That is where she has to be. With determined strides, I march down the hall and push the door open since it isn’t closed all the way. The room is drowned in night, and the moon is shining through the sheer curtains. It’s as if a spotlight is being shined on the object of my obsession. She’s laying in the middle of the bed, and she’s mumbling something again.

  I close the door to her room and lock it, wanting to be alone and uninterrupted. I tilt my head to the side, admiring the curves of her body the comforter gets to touch. I step forward, and there it is again, that deep yearning for something more than I’ve ever been.

  Bending down, I take one of my bloody hands and pick up her hair, bringing it to my nose so I can smell her. My cock hardens when I get a whiff of coconut and sunlight. She smells like the beach, and I want to lay in her waters for the rest of my life. I rub my face against the soft strands, grunting when my erection thickens. She feels so good. I want to feel the strands tickle my chest as she licks down my pecs while teasing a knife against my skin.

  She whimpers in her sleep, and I let go of her hair to not wake her. I let out a haunted breath and turn away from her beautiful, porcelain face. That’s when I see the roses. Who the fuck gave her those? Those were not there when I visited her in the hospital. Fuck, why didn’t I think of bringing her flowers? Women like flowers.

  I can give her a knife. I’ll make one for her. She’ll like it. And she’ll be able to protect herself. Flowers fucking die. How is that a good gesture to get well? A knife is much better, and she needs protecting. Daphne falls down the damn steps. She needs all the help she can get.

  Maybe…

  Maybe I can slide in against her. To hold her. To know what it’s like. I’ve never held someone before, not like how I want to hold Daphne. I walk around to the other end of the bed, keeping my eyes locked on her prone form, never wanting to miss a second of her chest rising and falling. I unlace my boots and kick them off, deciding if I do this farewell, I’m going to do it the right way.

  A horrid thought flashes in my mind.

  What if I kill her so she can’t be with anyone else, and then I kill myself? Then we can be together forever without the stressors of life holding us down. We can haunt the valley of death together.

  “I can’t,” I whisper to myself and crawl onto the bed. I reach my fingers out and stroke the apple of her cheek. I can’t take someone so beautiful out of this world. The universe is too lucky to have her. She’s the kind of person who makes the world a better place. I know that because ever since my eyes have landed on her, she’s made me want to be better.

  I lay next to her, and the bed dips so far down her side raises because she’s so light. My god, I could throw her around, manhandle her, do whatever I wanted to her with ease. I rub a hand down my chest and unbutton m
y pants. My cock is dying to get out. I’m surrounded by her scent, by her. I need her.

  Turning to my side, I watch her lips as they part, exhaling cute puffs of air as she sleeps. She has a bruise on her head where she smacked against the wall, and a tendril of guilt worms its way through me. I wasn’t there when she needed me. The one time I wasn’t watching her and something bad happened.

  Of course, I have a feeling she’d be better off without me. She’d stay safe, but I can’t stay away. Daphne is the madness healing my brain. We can change together, morph into something no one expected.

  “Tongue?”

  Her voice is unexpected, and my heart jumps in my chest. I roll to get out of bed, but I fall on the floor with a hard thud, smacking cock first into the unforgiving wooden slates. I groan in pleasure. Some would think a fall like that would hurt, but I’m on the brink of coming. I love pain.

  “Are you okay?” She hurries to the side of the bed and looks down at me on the floor. Her hair becomes a waterfall, cascading down her shoulders. The ends sway and dance above me, like a mobile for a baby.

  Daphne is my devil’s lullaby, the only thing known in existence to tame the evil inside the hell in my heart.

  I open my eyes, and she hurries to turn on the lamp near the bed. The light turns on, and I flinch. I feel caught. I don’t have the darkness anymore to hide who I am.

  “You’re real,” she says in awe, tucking her brown strands behind her ear. “I thought … I thought you were … a dream.”

  “You’d be better off if I was, Daphne.” I push off the floor and grip the bed, using it as leverage to stand.

  Only I don’t straighten like I should. I don’t take the moment to walk out the damn door like I should. I don’t say goodbye.

  Like I fucking should.

  Instead, my dumbass inches forward because I’m entranced in her blue eyes.

  “I can’t see you,” she says, reaching for her glasses.

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’m not that great to look at.”

  “I think you’re the greatest thing in the world to lay my eyes on,” she states, stealing my breath. No one has that ability. She slides those black-framed glasses on her face, and my heart melts when I see how happy she is to see me.

  Me.

  She must be fucking crazy.

  Her eyes roam my body, and she almost seems … hungry as she checks me out. The smile fades when she sees my hands. She gasps, grabbing the sardonic palms, uncaring of the blood. It’s obvious what it is, yet she doesn’t flinch. “What happened?” The way she rubs her hand over mine has my cock jerking. I don’t deserve pleasure. Not after what happened to Sarah.

  “Something bad,” I state. “Something really bad.”

  “Tell me.” She pushes off the bed and starts to limp toward another room.

  I stop her, not wanting Daphne to hurt herself. “Where are you going?”

  “The bathroom to get a rag. You don’t just have blood on your hands,” she says.

  “Don’t,” I say. “I deserve to feel it. What I did is unforgivable. I came here to tell you goodbye—”

  “What!” she yells and then realizes how loud she’s being. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave me. You can’t go. You can’t just…You can’t. Okay? You can’t leave me. I need you. I search for you in all the corners. Every shadow I see, I want to see you, and when you aren’t there, it hurts. It hurts so much. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

  “You don’t know me. This”—I hold up my hands for her to see—“this is nothing compared to what I’ve done. I’m not a good man.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I stabbed my best friend tonight. She might be dead right now. I don’t know. That’s the kind of man I am.”

  “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

  There is no way she can know that. “Maybe I did.”

  “You didn’t. I don’t know how I know that. I just do.” She flinches in pain, and I swing her up into my arms and carry her to the bed.

  “It doesn’t matter how I did it. What matters is that I did, and I need to leave for a while, until Reaper says I’m allowed to come back.”

  “What happened?” She cups my face, searching my eyes for the truth.

  I’m too afraid to give it to her.

  “You want to know me? You want to make the decision for yourself?”

  “Yes,” she says. “More than anything.”

  I take a step away, shrug off my cut, and begin to undress. “You want to see the monster you allow to look at you at night?” I toss my shirt on the floor. “You want to see the man you touched yourself in front of?” I hiss, unzipping my pants. “I’m no fucking angel. I don’t say that with wiggle room for you to think there is hope for me. I’m hopeless, Daphne.” I’m becoming angry. What does she see in me? Everyone fears me. Why can’t she?

  I toss my pants on the floor and stand in front of her naked as the day I was born. I turn, holding out my arms to show her the ruin of what is my body. Sure, I have tattoos, but the scars aren’t impossible to see. “You want to know what made me a man?” I charge at her and grab her hand within my bloodstained grasp, then run her fingers down the front of my body. Her eyes are locked on my straining cock hanging between my legs. I’m throbbing for her, dripping pre-cum down my thigh with her fingers on me.

  “Holy moly,” she whispers. I think she whispers. She says it so soft that I’m not sure if it was an exhale of air or what.

  I never thought a woman’s touch could feel so good. I never thought any touch would feel good, but I want these slender fingers to wrap around my shaft. I want her to bite me. I want her to threaten me. I want her to promise harm.

  And then I want her to make me come.

  “What…” She swallows. “What are those bumps? There are so many.”

  “Cigarette burns.”

  She gasps in horror and yanks her hand away, but I snatch it and spin around, slapping them onto my lower back. Her hands shake as they glide up my shoulders, then down over the globes of my ass. I whirl around and snatch her wrists in my hands, tightening my fingers around them like cuffs.

  A simple flick and I can snap her in half.

  “No one touches me there. No one.”

  “Why?”

  I sneer, bringing my face closer to hers, debating if I want to tell her the truth. I’ve never said the words out loud to anyone besides Sarah. My eyes land on the dried blood on my hands, and I realize it’s the least I can do for Sarah. She’d want me to confide in Daphne.

  She leans closer to me, not fighting the hold I have on her wrists, and lays her cheek against my chest. I inhale the sharpest breath when I feel another person against me. I freeze. I don’t know what to do. What do I do?

  The air coming out of her nose tickles the hair on my chest. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and a piece of me breaks. I gasp. I can’t seem to find a way to breathe. And then she does something I would never expect.

  She lays a kiss in the middle of my chest.

  Another piece of me dissolves, and I tilt my head back, my eyes burning with how … intense she’s making me feel.

  “My uncle… My parents died in a car accident when I was a kid. He took me in. He … did things to me.” I gulp. “He liked to dress up in women’s clothes, and if I didn’t call him by his female name, he’d make me bend over. He liked to play first. He always told me not to make a sound. It took me a long time to learn to speak because he would burn my tongue.” I stick it out so she can see, and she has tears dripping down her cheeks.

  “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” I ask her, and she nods.

  “For you. I’m in pain for you.”

  “I killed him when I had the chance. I cut out his tongue. I slit his throat, but living with him changed me. I don’t know how to read or write. I learned how to count because of Sarah and how to write my name, but she’s… I stabbed her because my club found my journals. Since I don’t know how to w
rite, I got really good at drawing, so I’d draw the events of the day, you know? A way for me to express myself. They found them. They thought I put that tongue in your apartment. They thought I’d hurt you. They held me down, and I was reminded of…” I lay her hands on my shoulders, and she slides her fingers down the swell of my arms. The fury building like a raging fire simmers down from her touch. “I only saw my uncle, and I thought I’d stabbed him, but I stabbed her.”

  Daphne wraps her arms around my neck, and her eyes are like neon oceans with how bright they are right now. “You only thought you were protecting yourself. Surely, Reaper knows that. I’m sorry all of this happened to you.”

  I lift a shoulder, uncaring, but I’m realizing that I care a-fucking-lot. “The last thing any member does is fuck with the ol’ ladies,” I state. “People have been killed for far less than my crime.”

  A few moments of silence pass, and she strokes my skin with her fingers, her knuckles, brushing her lips against my chest, and I can barely fucking focus. I need to leave. I need to tell her that her life is better off without me.

  “You can’t read or write? Why take the books from the bookstore?”

  “Because you touched them,” I answer honestly. “I never thought I’d experience your touch, so I wanted the closest thing to it.”

  Her breath breezes over my nipple, and I feel it constrict. “And how is it now? Is it … is it what you thought it would be?”

  I look down and arch my brow at her, confused about why it matters to her so much. Can’t she see I’m bad for her? “It’s more. I’ve never…I’ve never had a woman’s touch, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

  She rears back, cocking her head in confusion. Daphne eyes me up and down, those blue orbs widening when she sees my cock again. “You’ve never…”

  “No. I only got hard when I saw blood. I thought I was just sick in the head. I never wanted to have sex because of what my uncle did.”

  “And now?”

  “You’re all I can think about wanting,” I say. “Daphne, I’m not allowed to want things. I’m dangerous.”

  “I’m okay with that.” She grips my hands, lacing her fingers with mine; not caring about the blood. “I’m not perfect. I know what you see, but it is what you don’t see that matters.”