by K. L. Savage
“Sorry doesn’t fix the years of damage he did to me. You will never know the extent of it.”
My phone dings, and I dig it out of my pocket, blinking back the damn tears from everything he just told me. I don’t know how to handle it.
It’s Daphne. She’s sent me an audio message.
“Wayne, please.” Both hands are against the glass and his brows are pinched as a sorrowful expression takes over his face. “I am sorry. I am.”
“I don’t believe anything you say. Daphne sent me a message. One minute.” I press play and the tone hidden in her voice has my hackles raised. I bend over and pick up my knife and sheathe it in the holster on my pants.
“Tongue, please come home. Mercy is here talking to Reaper, but I don’t like how he is looking at me. He’s doing it again. Please. I love you, and next time you run off, take me with you. You know I don’t like to be away from you.”
The message ends. I want to replay it again and again to hear her voice. All of the discomfort, all of the pain I’ve felt, wishing I died when my parents did, all goes away. Nothing Porter says matters to me. His truth hurts, but what’s done is done. I can’t change anything. And while he says it’s the truth, he could be playing me like a fucking violin for all I know.
I press reply and hold down the button. “I’ll be there soon, Comet. I’m sorry. I love you too.”
“Aw, baby brother in love is sweet. Daphne is a real peach. Strong and resilient. You got lucky.”
The way he says her name pisses me off and that fuel I needed to break the glass ignites in my veins. I slam my body against the glass one more time and it shatters, finally. Heavy broken pieces fall across us as I tackle him to the floor. I can feel the pieces digging into my arms and hands. I wrap my hands around Porter’s throat and squeeze.
“Don’t you fucking dare speak her name again.” I lift one hand, clench my fist, and punch him in the face. “I fucking hate you. You think this changes anything? Do you?” I pick him up by the material of his shirt and slam him against the floor, his head hitting with a hard crack. “You find ways to ruin my life. I’m fucking done with you. You hear me? No more curiosity, no more nothing. We are done here. You hear me? Fucking done?” I wrap the hand I just used to punch him around his throat again and squeeze.
And he just lies there. He isn’t fighting back. He’s taking it.
“Fight me!”
“No.”
“I said fight me.” I slam him on the floor again and a few broken pieces of glass skid against the floor.
“No. I’ve been fighting you too long. I’m done.”
“You aren’t allowed to be done.” I shake him so hard his teeth clank together.
“Fuck! Tongue. Get off him. Get off!” Zain yells, grabbing one of my arms while Zipper grabs the other. The only reason they can get me off Porter is because I’m too fucking high-strung right now. I’m shaking all over.
“What the hell, Tongue?”
“Keep him away from me.” I rip my arms from their hold, and without giving anyone a second look, I fly down the steps, not caring about the glass in my arms. So many things are running through my mind. The first thing is, why didn’t I kill him? I’ve killed for so much less; and yet, I can’t find it in me to kill him.
I slip my boots on at the door and leave them unlaced.
“Bye,” Chloe or Jessica or whatever the fuck her name is says.
I don’t bother saying goodbye in return. I take my jacket off the hook, shrug it on, and head out the door, slamming it shut. It’s still fucking raining, but I don’t care.
I want the storm to wash away whatever the hell is wrong with me, because I feel like I’m drowning. Either wash me away or set me free. I can’t swim like this anymore.
Tossing one leg over my bike, I crank it, then slide my helmet on. I don’t bother buckling it under my chin. I fly out of the lot, slinging mud all over their car as I leave. I probably did the damn thing a favor. The bike slips across the wet sand; it takes some direction to make sure she doesn’t topple over. When I get to the end of the dirt road, I don’t even stop. I crank the throttle and speed down the road. I’m about ten minutes from the clubhouse.
The only thing I have to do is make it back in one piece.
For Daphne.
The rain screams, echoing the sounds of a banshee in agony. The wind cuts across to the left and my bike dances with it for a second before I right it.
The driveway to the clubhouse is hard to see this late, but muscle memory takes over as I flip on my blinker and head down the road. Reaper finally fixed all the damn potholes. Not that the fix will matter after this storm. The damn potholes will be back.
When I get to the gate, Braveheart sees who it is and lets me in immediately. Poor kid. He needs to be inside where it is warm, but he refuses to leave his post.
He gives me a wave and I head under the awning where all the bikes are parked to get them out of the rain. I cut the engine off, already missing the vibration between my legs as they tingle. I take my helmet off and place it on the seat as I dismount.
I pass Mercy’s bike and glare at it, wishing I was disrespectful enough to kick it over so it hits the ground, maybe breaking his mirror. Maybe I’ll put sugar or sand in his gas tank one day. I’ll just have to wait and see how I feel after I figure out what he wants with my Comet. I dig my boots into the steps, pounding up them until I get to the front door. I shake my hair out and wipe my boots on the ‘welcome’ mat and then pull my jacket off. I shake the leather out too, so I don’t drip water all over the floor, then bang on the door so someone lets me in.
The small window opens in the middle of the door, and Slingshot’s eyes widen when he sees me. When he opens the door, he throws himself at me, wrapping me in a hug. “Man, where the hell have you been? Do you know how worried we were?” He pulls back and analyzes my face. “Why are you bleeding? What happened? Why didn’t you text me? Who are we killing? Did you kill them already? Do you need help burying the body?”
He throws question after question at me, but there is only one person I’m interested in talking to tonight, and she’s on the couch, reading a book with her legs tucked under her. I scan the couch to see what the problem is and there is Mercy.
Sitting there. Ankle crossed over the other the knee, and his sights are set on her.
Again.
I push Slingshot to the side and take a step forward, bringing in mud and rain. Daphne unsticks her nose from the book when she hears the pound of boots against the floor. Her eyes light up and her shoulders deflate like, the weight of the world is lifted off her shoulders.
Mercy doesn’t even notice me. I don’t like that he is studying her. He scoots across the sofa to get closer and leans into Daphne. I can’t hear what he says, but it has her sliding her legs out from under herself and trying to scoot over. And then his hand lands on her bicep. Her blue eyes land on mine and are as big as the moon.
She has no idea what to do.
But I do.
I push by Skirt next, careful not to hit him too hard since Dawn is in front of him holding Joey. I shove Patrick aside and his glass of water drops from his hands. It clatters to the ground, spilling water all over his shoes.
“What the fuck, Tongue?” Patrick asks with a hint of annoyance as he wipes his hands on his jeans.
I march toward the sofa and snag Mercy’s wrist from her arm, then bend it back to the edge of a break.
“Ah, fuck!” he screams.
He stands as I yank him to his feet, and when he tries to use his other hand to hit me, I’m too quick with my knife. I slide it out of my sheath and plunge it through the second and third knuckle. I pick him up by his cut and drag him toward the nearest wall. I slide the blade out, uncurl his fingers, then shove the knife in his palm until the tip lodges in the wall. I apply more pressure to sink the knife into the drywall. Blood drips from his hand and down his forearms. That familiar bliss takes over, causing my cock to become half hard.
“Tongue, what are you doing?” Tool wraps his fingers around handle of the knife. I stop him by elbowing him in the gut, then whack him across the cheek when I drive my elbows upward.
“Get the fuck back or I swear to God, I’ll become the monster you all think I am.” Everyone forms a circle around me, but it’s Daphne whose hand sears the middle of my back.
“It’s okay, Tongue. I’m okay,” she reassures me.
My arm starts to shake from stretching his hand too far back. I won’t let go. I don’t care how much pain he’s in. “What the fuck do you want with Daphne?” I ask Mercy, curling my lip as the words leave me on a deep gravel.
“I swear, she’s safe. I am not trying to hurt her.”
“Then why are you looking at her? You stared at her in the bookstore. You stared at her here. She sent me a message. You’re making her uncomfortable. I don’t like it when she is uncomfortable.”
“You’ve been looking at her? In front of Tongue? You’re an idiot,” Slingshot chuckles, and then pulls out said slingshot and launches a Skittle at him. The red round candy smacks Mercy in the middle of the forehead. “You deserved that,” he says, pocketing his weapon. He sends me a wink. “I got your back, buddy.”
“You are dumb,” Tool says, rubbing his jaw.
“I’m staying out of this.” Poodle continues to pet Lady. He is sitting on the ground, leaning against the side of the couch with his beloved dog on his lap.
“She looks familiar, okay? That’s all. That’s why,” Mercy says quickly, grunting through the pain.
I grab the handle of the knife and twist. His screams send a pleasurable stroke down my spine, and I shiver. “Why?”
“I don’t know you,” Daphne says so softly, I can hardly hear her. “I swear, Tongue. I don’t know him. I’ve only seen him around here.”
“I know, Comet. I don’t doubt that.” I twist the handle again. His knees buckle, but the knife keeps him nailed to the wall, and the gravity tugging against his flesh is used against him. More skin tears and more blood pours. “So why?”
“She looks like someone I used to know, okay? She looks like Michelle Douglas, okay? She looks just like Michelle Douglas!” he roars when I twist the knife again.
Daphne inhales, then steps in front of me, her back against my front. No doubt she can feel my hard cock between the crease of her ass. “How do you know my mother?” she asks in a shocked whisper.
“Holy shit,” Poodle repeats the stunned word in my head.
“Damn.”
“Ye knew her mother? Shite, it’s a small world.”
“You knew her mom?” I ask again.
A bead of sweat drips down his temple. He closes his eyes just as I yank the knife from his palm. His arm falls limp to his side and a thick river of blood drips onto my boots. “I didn’t know you were her daughter; I swear. You look so much like her I thought I was looking at her twin. You look so much alike. I’m sorry. I should have been more upfront, but I couldn’t believe it. So many memories of her came rushing back.”
“You knew her,” Daphne sighs in disbelief and awe. “I’ve never met anyone else that has known her. Do you know a lot about her? How did you know her?” I can hear the pain in her voice.
“Did? What do you mean?”
“You don’t know?”
Mercy glances at everyone in confusion before landing on Daphne. “No, what do you mean?”
“She died when I was eight,” she admits, sadly.
Mercy’s face falls. Any hope of seeing his old friend again fades; the color in his cheeks changes to a pale white. “She died? How? What? No.” Mercy shakes his head. “No, that’s not how it was supposed to be,” he mumbles, eyes glossing over.
“She killed herself.”
Mercy’s head snaps up to stare at her and shakes his head, tears forming but not falling. His eyes are stern, and his lips are pressed in a thin line. “That woman was a lot of things, but she would never kill herself. Ever!” he yells at Daphne. She jumps back, slamming against my front. I place the knife against his throat in warning and he gives me a small nod. “I knew her back when we were just teens, Daphne. The woman was life. No way in hell would she kill herself, and I’m going to find out the truth to make sure you know.”
I don’t think she killed herself either, but Daphne is certain her dreams aren’t real.
Mercy squints his eyes and bobs his head as he checks Daphne up and down. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” Daphne answers.
Mercy seems horrified. “I need to go.”
“Wait, no! You knew her. I have questions. I hardly remember her. Please.”
“I can’t,” he says, his tone full of regret. “I’m sorry. I need to go. I have… I have questions you can’t answer.”
“I might,” she pleads. “I’m begging you, Mercy. Please.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I press my knife against his throat, warning him he better tell Daphne everything she wants to know.
“You want to kill me? Go ahead. I don’t have answers. Not yet. I need to figure it out and when I do, I’ll come back, and I swear I’ll answer all your questions. Daphne, I swear.” His aching hand, the one that’s not bleeding, touches her cheek. “God, you look so much like her.”
I see now he isn’t looking at her like a lover would, but like a father would a daughter.
That’s impossible, considering we know who Daphne’s father is. Mercy has answers, though.
“Yeah?” Daphne’s on the verge of breaking with how her voice trembles.
“Yeah, kiddo. It’s uncanny.” Mercy drops his hand, breaking the intimate contact, and starts to walk away. Whistler, who was standing near the pool table quietly, follows him. “I’ll be back, okay? I’m sorry. For her death. She was too young.”
“I’m sorry too.” Daphne closes the space between them and hugs him, wrapping her small arms around Mercy’s neck. “You obviously cared for her.”
“Cared?” Mercy’s eyes shut as he pats Daphne’s back. “I loved that woman,” he admits. “I loved her more than the—”
“Bees love honey?” Daphne finishes for him, pulling away and staring at him with curiosity.
He mirrors the same expression. “How’d you know that?”
“It’s something she always used to say to me when she tucked me in at night.”
Mercy’s brows rise and his eyes turn red. He stares at his boots and coughs, clearing his throat. “I used to tell her that all the time. I’m sorry, I need to go.” Without another word, he holds his arm to his chest and hurries out the door.
“No! Wait. Who are you?” Daphne screams in desperation for answers, for anything, but Mercy heads out the door.
Whistler gives a sad half smile. “It will all be okay. Mercy is the best at finding the right answers. He doesn’t want to answer any questions without doing significant research. He’ll be back.”
Everything Daphne needs to know is gone when the door closes. Everyone is silent, everyone is staring at us in shock.
“I… I’m going to clean the blood off the floor,” Daphne says in a daze. “Don’t want it to stain.”
“Daphne, I’ll clean the blood, go take a bath,” I tell her, not asking if she wants to, but telling her she has to.
“I’m fine.” A tear rolls down her cheek, and I wipe it away, then bring it to my lips like I always do and kiss it clean.
“You aren’t. You just met someone who knew your mom. Go, Comet. I made this mess, I’ll clean it up.”
“Thank you.” She stands on her tip toes and kisses my left cheek. When her lips are gone, the skin burns, as if she’s poured kerosene on me and lit a match.
A door bangs open in the kitchen and Reaper appears, dragging a hand down his face. He sees us and ignores the mess on the floor and the bloody knife in my hand. “How is she?” I ask, wait
ing for him to finally kill me.
“She’s on bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy, but she’s okay. The baby is healthy.”
“Oh, that’s great, Reaper,” Skirt exhales.
“I’m so glad she’s alright.” Juliette peeps from Tool’s lap as she holds a pack of ice against his cheek.
Pussy. I barely hit him.
“Tongue, it’s time we talk about your punishment,” Reaper states.
“What? No! It was an accident, you can’t,” Daphne begins to cry again as she comes to my defense. “That’s not fair, when you wouldn’t listen! You drove him to break!” She shoves Reaper’s chest.
I tug Daphne away from Reaper and pass her off to Patrick, who holds her still when he understands what I’m about to do.
“No, you can’t. Please,” she begs.
“I’ll be alright, Comet. I got you now, remember? Pain is a momentary, necessary evil to move on in life.” I kiss her forehead just as Reaper opens the Church doors to allow me in.
“Tool, start the fire and heat the poker.”
My skin tingles with awareness, a blanket of fear cloaking my skin as the memories of being burnt hundreds of times washes over me. I hold my breath as I step inside the room.
He can’t cut me because I’ll like it.
Burning me is the only thing he can do, because it’s one of the only things I fear.
“You’d do that to him? You’d burn him, knowing that’s what his Uncle did? Do you hate him that much?” I lift my body, kicking my legs up to try and get away from Patrick, but his hold on my arms is too strong. “Let go of me!” I scream through a closed jaw.
I thrash and pull against Patrick with all my might until I’m as far as I can go and just a hair away from Reaper’s face. “This cannot be undone. You will not be able to fix this. Whatever shred of hope there is between the club and Tongue will be gone, and you will lose him.”
Reaper’s dark eyes dance between mine. I can tell he is contemplating what I’m saying. A variety of emotions flicker across his face. His shaggy, dirty blonde hair hangs in his face, and when he makes his decision, he thrusts his shoulders back, lifts his chin, and holds out his hand. “Tool, is the poker ready?” he asks, sending me into a blind rage.
