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

by K. L. Savage

  “I tried so hard for you. I try. I try,” he digs his fork into the wood and drags it, creating deep grooves. “I saved you from evil. He is pure fucking evil. And you are….” he gestures his hands out, like he wants to strangle me, and a rumble shakes the table. “You are special. You’re innocent. You don’t need a life with him. You need to be with people like you. Tongue doesn’t care about you. He can’t…he can’t care about you. He isn’t capable.”

  “He is. He is capable. I’ve seen it. He isn’t the guy you think he is. I swear.”

  He slides back in the chair and swipes the plate off the table. It crashes against the floor and green beans fly everywhere along with their juice. Not that it ruins the place. The entire floor is ripped up and the only thing under us is a slab of stained concrete.

  I think someone has died in here.

  The brown on the floor is either rust or blood.

  “I’ve watched him,” he runs to my side and folds his elbows on the corner next to me.

  I stare at my plate, blinking away the tears. I shiver from how close he is and I’m afraid. I’m so fucking afraid. This is the difference between Tongue and him. Not once have I ever felt like my life was in jeopardy. When he stares at me, when he swallows me in his presence, I’m blanketed in trust.

  He’d never hurt me. He’d never scare me.

  Tongue loves me. I have to keep that belief. I can’t let this guy get in my head. I’m not an object to him. I’m more than that.

  Right?

  “You’re so pliable, aren’t you?” he sweeps my hair from out of my face, and I flinch away. I don’t want him to touch me. He chuckles, then takes the fork from my hand and stabs a green bean. “Open.”

  I do as he says because if I don’t, I have no idea what can happen. “See?” He inserts the bean into my mouth and sighs. “Pliable. You’d do anything you’re told and you have no idea that you’d do it. You think it’s what you want, but really, you’re just giving into the deep need others want from you. That’s what happens when sweet girls like you get involved with men like Tongue.” He stands causing a swift breeze as he maneuvers around me, laying his chin on my shoulder. The stubble on his face is sandpaper against my skin. “So naïve. So sweet. So innocent—Oh,” he laughs again, dark and like he finds me ironic. “I bet you used to be innocent.” He runs his nose over the shell of my ear.

  I sit completely still, gripping the edges of the table and stare at the far end of the hall. I’m so tired, sluggish. I can feel the lack of the medication I need. The walls start to bend and morph, but then I close my eyes, telling myself that I’m fine.

  “He took that, didn’t he? I bet he doesn’t even know you’re gone.”

  His words echo in my head, and I sit straighter, watching a body pull itself out of the wall. The arm is grey, rotted, as if the body has been decaying for years. The hair is long, wet, and tangled. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shake the warped reality in front of me.

  It’s not real. I’m fine.

  “Oh, what do you see?”

  “Nothing,” I whisper, then stare down at my wrists. The zip-ties he put on me earlier were too tight, so he did me a favor and cut them off, so I could eat. My ankles are still bound, and the ties are digging into my skin so much that I can’t feel my toes.

  “Liar.” He pounds his fist on the table, making me flinch and hunch over. The pieces f hair he cut off yesterday hang in my face, it’s so short.

  Will Tongue love me anymore? Will he find me imperfect? I don’t care that all of it seems unhealthy to others, but to me it is. He’s the nutrition my soul needs in order to thrive. I won’t fall victim to the sickness in my head.

  The woman lifts her head, and her hair parts to show her face. “Mom,” I try not to cry when I see her for the first time in years. I’ve missed her so much.

  She isn’t real.

  “You can always see her here, you know,” he says, clapping his hands in excitement. “You won’t ever have to go without seeing your mother again. Don’t you want that? Don’t you miss your mommy?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “She isn’t dead here,” he taps my temple. “She comes to life for you. Don’t you know how fucking beautiful that is? How jealous I am that you can see someone you love? Imagine the conversations you could have, the happiness you could feel.”

  He’s right.

  I could be happy.

  I have missed my mom.

  A little girl shouldn’t have to be without her mother. I think…now that I really think about it, I think she’s why my mind broke. Losing her was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through.

  A chunk of me died that day, fermenting a part of my brain for the rest of my life because of grief. I’m forever changed. I’ll forever be sick. I’ll always have this dread inside me that I’ll hallucinate, but what if this is my new reality? What if I’m meant to be this way?

  Paths of the future change, grow, and shrivel, but at the end of the journey, the same place waits for you no matter how many different ways you try and become better. One way or another, life is planned. There isn’t a secret way out. There isn’t a magical button to try and get away from who you are meant to be.

  Who you are is who you will always be. People can’t change, and if they do, they are lying too, because the need is inside them, gnawing, clawing, begging to give in to the person they used to be.

  A murderer will always murder.

  A rapist will always rape.

  A thief will always steal.

  And I will always have psychosis.

  What I love about Tongue? He has never once tried to be anything other than who he is. He tried to stay away because he knew he couldn’t be anything other than the stone-cold killer than he is. He isn’t fake. He doesn’t pray for forgiveness, if anything, he summons the damn devil because, holy moly, only something wicked could answer someone so dark.

  Maybe I should give in.

  Maybe I shouldn’t pretend anymore.

  “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

  I look away from my mother, who is filthy and looks like she just crawled out of the grave, and stare at my kidnapper. I blink, a tear catching on my lower lash line as I try to figure out what to say to him. “Who are you? What do you want with me? What did I do to you? What did Tongue do? Why did you bury him?”

  “So many questions for a woman who is questioning if she is really here,” he taunts.

  “I know I’m here. You don’t know much about my condition if you think that’s the case. You won’t be able to trick me into thinking otherwise.”

  “Power of persuasion is a beautiful thing and as for Tongue, did he not tell you about me? Did the club does not whisper in your ear about Halloween?”

  I turn away and stare at my mom again. The gown we buried her in is disintegrating and I can’t even see the color it used to be. It’s been so long, I can’t remember. How sad is that? How bad of a daughter does that make me? She was the prettiest woman I had ever met and now she’s a warped sense of karma fucking with me.

  He gasps, placing his hand on his chest, being overly dramatic in his baby mask. “You haven’t met the club.”

  “I have,” I defend myself, not wanting to say I’ve only met three of them. I’ve never been to the clubhouse. Besides Reaper and the other two, Tongue hasn’t introduced me, but it isn’t because he hasn’t wanted to. He hasn’t been allowed to go back to the clubhouse. Or what if he is embarrassed of me?

  Ridiculous.

  I can’t fall for this man’s scheme.

  “You haven’t. See, I have been there, unwanted, but I’ve been there. I’ve watched Tongue, seen how he lurks, how he…” his hand drops to my thigh and his finger runs along the shallow wound. “Cuts.”

  “I’ve seen it and I don’t care.” The wall morphs again and this time the person that comes out of it is my dad. A man I haven’t talked to in months and he has a beer in his hand, yelling at my mom. I don’t k
now what he is saying. I can only see his mouth moving. He lifts his arms and points a gun at the back of my mom’s head.

  I stand, stinging my palms on the table with how hard I hit it. “No! Mom!” I scream, trying to warn her, but it’s too late. Dad pulls the trigger, and her body drops, blood splatters across the wall, and I scream again, cupping my hand over my mouth.

  I hate watching my mom die.

  I’ve always wondered if my mom really killed herself or if he did it. He was never happy with his life or with us, mostly me.

  The bodies fade away and the walls morph back to normal. The drywall is cracked, and it decorates the floor like breadcrumbs. Apart of the roof is sagging, a chunk of missing, and the black sky is a canvas peeking through.

  There are a few stars showing, and I’m reminded about how much beauty there is in this world, even when bad things happen, even when I’m in some abandoned building, beauty exists.

  If I died, the beauty of the world would still be there.

  It’s depressing to think about.

  “What did you see? You know what I think?” he stands behind me and gathers my hair in his hands, exposing my shoulder. “I think whatever you say, Tongue would do.” He dabs my cheek with a dirty napkin, drying tears. “There. There. Everything will be okay now. You’re home now.”

  “God, go away! Leave me alone!” I struggle to get out of his hold, but he holds me down in the chair and the walls begin to melt, the window drips, and the curtains flow one last time before the image of Tongue appears. I sob, wanting him to be real.

  Is he here for me? He has come to rescue me.

  I smile when he walks forward, knife shimmering in his hand like a diamond since the ivory is so polished. “You came for me,” I whisper to him.

  I’ll always come for you. I’m always watching you in the shadows, remember? His voice reminds me of home, the comfort of walking through the door after a long day and feeling relieved and safe.

  Tongue is my home.

  We are surrounded by flames and doubt.

  The foundation we have built is being threatened, but our house holds our hearts, and that is solid.

  His head is jerked back, and his tongue is ripped out of his mouth, then tossed to me on a silver platter, bleeding, and twitching.

  I scream at the top of my lungs.

  “That’s it. Scream for him,” the Groundskeeper laughs. “Scream as loud as you can because guess what?”

  The plate disappears and so does the disgusting appendage. I jerk my head up to see if Tongue is still there, but he is gone too.

  “He isn’t coming for you. No one knows where you are. Get comfortable, Kitty.”

  He yanks my arms behind me and zip-ties them again.

  This isn’t my home, Tongue is, and right now, I’m caught in the flames.

  Two days later.

  I’m sharpening my knife and have one of the books I bought from Daphne at my side. The guys have asked about the novels because I can’t read, but it’s a symbol of her and me. I found her at the bookstore, placing a book on the shelf, and I knew I had to get a closer look.

  It’s hard to believe that the woman that caught my interest loves words and stories when I can’t even read a sentence.

  Love can really exist anywhere, between anything and anyone. I pause sharpening my knife and think back about the night she laid on my chest after we fucked, and she said something about a certain book in the bookstore that she wanted but wasn’t permitted to touch.

  Yeah, that’s changing.

  When I get her home, she’s going to have all the damn books. I’m going to buy her that bookstore. Andrew is dead. She would want it. I should have killed him earlier and then maybe she could have gotten it sooner.

  Sigh.

  I can’t change the past, but I can change the future.

  “What did you say Seer said?” Reaper asks me for the thousandth time.

  I reach in my back pocket and pull out one of my journals, flip to the first page, and see the drawing of her that I made while I watched her sleep.

  I swear to god when I get her back, I’m always going to watch her. I don’t need to sleep, but I need to make sure she’s okay.

  “Tongue! Focus,” Reaper snaps his fingers in front of me, blocking my view of my drawing. He grips the journal and tries to take it out of my hand and a water droplet falls between the space of his finger and thumb. Damn it.

  I need my punishment. Maybe then it will snap me out of my depression. I had no idea I could feel like this. I’ve been ice, stone fucking cold, but Daphne, her light, so warm and bright has melted me.

  The man I’m becoming I don’t know, but I’m better than what I used to be and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

  “Hey, I’ve been there. All of have when it comes to our ol’ ladies. The journey to get to happiness is a long one.” Patrick slaps his hand on my shoulder and flips his sobriety chip in the air, catching it before it falls on the ground.

  “I…don’t understand why this is happening,” I state confused. “But I feel like I need to. I feel…” I rub my and over my heart because it hurts. It physically fucking hurts. It’s as if someone has reached inside me shredded me apart. “I feel…” I try to explain again, but I can’t find the words. I stab the knife in the table and growl. I’m fucking angry. I’m angry she isn’t here. I’m angry I can’t move my damn arm from the fucking bullet. “I’m so pissed off.”

  “Good. We need that,” Knives says, throwing his ninja star into the air. “Use it because wherever she is, she’s going to need you to fight for her.”

  “Till my death,” I say with obvious undertones.

  Reaper gently tugs the journal out of my hand and closes it. “I know it’s a tough time, but I need you to focus. What did—” Reaper’s ringtone goes off and Poodle snickers when the Hocus Pocus theme song blares as the cellphone chimes. “—Who did this? I’ll find out,” he seethes. “And when I do…you’ll be fucking sorry.”

  “It was me,” Slingshot whispers in my ear. “It was me, I changed it. Good, right? I set it for the NOLA group. It’s fitting.”

  “I don’t care,” I grumble, sliding the journal back in front of me.

  “Seer, we were just talk—of course you know that” Reaper drops his head in his hand and exhales, stressed. “No, we haven’t found her. Yes, I know we exhaust you. I didn’t ask for you to have visions of us. Seer, I am very thankful. Why are you being a prissy fucking bitch about this? Jesus, you blame us for your gift, if you don’t want to fucking help, don’t, but the last thing I need is for you to continue bitching about it. The next time you have one of your visions, just ignore it if you hate it so much.” Reaper hangs up the phone just as it rings again and he throws it across the room, smashing it against the wall. It crumbles to pieces and the Hocus Pocus movie ringtone droops to a stop. “Damn it.”

  “You need to stop doing that. It’s getting expensive,” Tool states.

  Reaper narrows his eyes at Tool, daring him to say one more thing that Reaper already knows.

  Another phone rings, and it’s the Adam’s family ringtone. “What the…” Bullseye pats his pockets and hangs his phone to Reaper. “It’s Seer.”

  “I did that one too,” Slingshot snorts. “God, I’m so good.”

  I stare at the map on the table, knowing I’m not going to be much good. Jesus, not being able to read anything is making me feel worthless. When we get Daphne back, I’ll have her teach me. It’s something to look forward to.

  “What, Seer?” Reaper snaps and starts to pace the area next to the sink, prowling like a caged animal. “I’m in the middle of a rescue mission here for my most vicious member who is barely hanging on to his sanity and only has one working arm while my fucking ol’ lady is healing from a stab wound. I have a mafia boss missing, his brother is a raging pain in my ass, and two of my members were pinned against each other and killed ten cops. So, stop yanking my fucking dick and tell me the news you have beca
use I—” he holds out the phone and yells into it. “—Am about to lose my shit!” He places the phone against his ear, nodding until he freezes. “Is that so? Are you serious? Okay, yes, thank you. He’s expecting a gift. From you? He’ll know when he sees it. Yeah, I’ll tell him. Thank you, Seer. Again. I’m sorry for the trouble.” Reaper hangs up the phone and hands it back to Bullseye. “That was our favorite wizard. Tongue, you said it was a run-down brick building, right?”

  “Yeah, Prez.”

  “Seer just told me there is one close to here about five miles that way.” Reaper points to the map and then glides his finger across along the red line. “And guess what? It’s an old fucking looney bin and it’s up for sale. It’s been up for sale for a while and no one has wanted to buy it because apparently it’s haunted.”

  “Yeah, don’t tell the NOLA guys that. They will come up here with sage and fucking voodoo bones or some shit,” Tool shivers in discomfort. “Freaks me out.”

  “Anyway, Seer said he saw another glimpse of the place. You guys have to remember this building. It’s right off the side of the Loneliest Road. Kids go there all the time, dare each other to go in and all that shit. The Groundskeeper has her there. It’s the only rundown brick building close to us.”

  “I know the place. It’s old. It’s falling apart. Who the hell would go there?” Poodle asks, scratching the top of Lady’s head as she lays her chin on his lap. She hasn’t been feeling too well lately and Poodle has been pretty sensitive about it, so we have let it go, but she’s old.

  I’ll make sure to cut her tongue out for him when she dies. He’d like that.

  “I’m about to make a call to the bank and buy the place. Cash. Because then not only can we get that asshole for kidnapping, but we can get him for trespassing and breaking and entering and whatever else we can conjure up. Plus, I think it would be a good place to have. Maybe we can fix it up and rent it out.”

  “Isn’t a good reason to buy it,” Bullseye says, eating a banana to help bring up his sugar.

  “It is if it stops the Groundskeeper from staying there. Give me your phone. I’m making the call to the bank. It’s up for auction, and I’m going to place a bid they can’t refuse, and I swear to fucking god, the next mother fucker to get buried will be the Groundskeeper. I’ll stake my damn life on it.” Reaper snatches the phone from Bullseye’s hand and stomps down the hallway, then slams his office door, shaking the floorboards.