by K. L. Savage
Tongue’s arm has finally regained some motion again after being shot, but he isn’t listening to Doc. It isn’t going to heal, and he might not ever get full motion if he doesn’t stop pushing himself. Only time will tell, but it doesn’t look too promising.
“Let him have it, Tongue!”
“Maizey,” Sarah says her name in a way that tells her to hush and be quiet. Sarah steps in front of Maizey to protect her from the man.
The man starts to sweat, and I glance down at his nametag and roll my eyes when I see that his name is Frank. I feel like all assholes are named Frank for some reason.
“Let’s go for a walk. I want a tree for my princess. I want it now. If you’re lucky I won’t filet you like a fish and feed you to Happy.”
The smell of piss fills the air, and Tongue smirks while the stench wakes the baby, causing Joey to cry.
“I love the smell of fear.” Tongue buries his nose in the back of the man’s head and trembles, as if he’s turned on.
Curious, I glance toward Daphne, who’s biting her lips as she checks Tongue out while he sniffs the tree salesman.
How did men like us end up with perfect partners?
Christmas miracle.
If only that applied to my Lady.
“I can’t believe we’re decorating a cactus.” I giggle while Doc plucks needles out of Reaper’s arm. He really did go chop down the biggest tree he could find, but he only found a cactus. The guys are around the cactus, wearing gloves and plucking the needles out one by one so no one hurts themselves. We will leave a few needles up top for decorations, but the bottom will be bare.
And it’s taking so long.
“Well, if Tongue hadn’t been so quick to kill the salesman, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now. Ow, Doc!” Reaper jerks his arm back, and Doc rolls his eyes. There has to be a hundred different pinpricks along his arms beading blood.
“You survived an explosion, Reaper. You can deal,” Doc says dryly, plucking another needle from his arm.
“Well, if I didn’t have to put the Harley Davidson star on the cactus, by myself, I wouldn’t have had so many needles. Ow! Doc, Jesus. Don’t pluck my fucking arm off.”
No one would put the Harley Davidson star on the cactus because of all the sharp pinpoints sticking out all over the place and Reaper was a few inches too short to miss a few needles. He will be okay. He’s just cranky.
The tree topper is cute. When it plugs into the wall, a white light shines from it and a cut out piece of metal that says Harley Davidson is across the front. The light shines through the cutout letters in the metal and casts them on the wall.
“You. Survived. An. Explosion,” Doc punctuates every word, taking his tweezers and yanking another needle out.
“Yes, Reaper. You survived an explosion. Hurray,” Moretti fake cheers, then plucks a needle from the cactus and purposely stabs Bullseye in the arm.
“What the fuck, Moretti!” Bullseye bellows.
“Don’t you need to check your blood sugar?” Moretti says matter-of-factly.
“I don’t need to check it! I’m fine.”
“Is that why you aren’t waking up until the day is nearly over?”
Color me shocked, but it sounds like Moretti cares. We’ve all been worried about Bullseye’s denial about his type-2 diabetes. It’s serious. He needs insulin, but he’s living like nothing ever happened. No matter how many times Doc tells him, or we plead our concerns for his health, nothing we say gets through his head.
“I’m tired. I’ve been going on long runs for Reaper; everyone knows that.”
“You haven’t enjoyed your fun with your favorite couple. That’s a big deal. Don’t you have a weekly meeting with them?”
I gasp, hanging a candy cane on one of the needles. Moretti might have just signed his death warrant. Everyone knows what Skirt, Bullseye, and Dawn do together. Granted, not much has happened since she’s had the baby because she can’t have sex yet, but it’s only a matter of time. No one talks about it. It isn’t our business. They are happy, and that’s all that matters.
“What the fuck did ye just say?” Skirt comes around from the other side of the Christmas cactus, clenching his scarred fists in preparation for a fight. “Yer going to want to make sure of what ye say next or I’ll make sure ye don’t breathe again.”
“Like that scares me,” Moretti rolls his eyes, unimpressed with Skirt’s threat as he hangs a sleigh ornament on the cactus. “I’m pointing out facts. It isn’t a secret what you three do behind closed doors. Hell, I don’t care.” He laughs gently, placing his hand against his chest. “I wish I could join. I can’t remember what I like, but I have a feeling I’d like that. I think I love a man in a kilt. Everyone here is tiptoeing around Bullseye because of his diabetes, yet no one is holding him accountable. Don’t you think it’s time he isn’t treated like a baby?”
Skirt punches Moretti before any of us can blink again. I move out of the way before Moretti falls against me. Reaper wraps his arm around me, pulling me to his side for safety. If I had to bet who would win this fight, it would be Skirt. He’s a professional fighter and blood thirsty. Skirt raises his fist again, and my eyes land on his knuckles. The living room light shines against the red wetness splattering across his fingers from Moretti’s busted lip.
Blood has never bothered me.
But it does today.
I yank myself out of Reaper’s arms and run to the closest bathroom. It’s the one Poodle uses, and the lavender scent from his shampoo is everywhere, which usually smells good, but not this time. It heightens my gag reflex, and I barely have time to lift the lid and puke. Then the smell of the bathroom just makes it worse. That … toilet water smell slams into my nostrils and I throw up again.
“Doll! Damn it, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Reaper’s hand lands in the middle of my back, and the heat radiating from him feels good.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to make you sick,” Moretti says over Reaper’s shoulder, next to Skirt.
Are they friends now? Did they just need a good scuffle? I don’t understand men.
“Doll, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” Reaper rubs soothing circles between my shoulder blades, and it helps with the nausea.
“I don’t know. I saw the blood on Skirt’s knuckles.” I gag again, not wanting to talk about it. “Then the bathroom smells terrible.”
“It smells like my shampoo. That does not smell terrible,” Poodle defends.
“Well, it does to me!” Another spasm twists my stomach, and I shoo everyone away with my hand. “Please, go away. This isn’t a show.” All I want to do is decorate the Christmas cactus. Is it perfect? No, but it seems pretty fitting considering we’re all imperfect. I think the cactus needs to be a tradition in the Ruthless household.
I hear a hiss, and I lift my head from the toilet to see Tongue standing there, Happy strapped to his chest, and there’s red along Happy’s sharp teeth.
The tree salesman.
Oh, I’m going to throw up again.
“Here, take him.” He lifts Happy from the sling and hands him over to Poodle, who holds him out like Badge did to Maizey last night.
“Uh,” Poodle says cautiously as Happy hisses.
Tongue squats on the other side of me and flushes the toilet, tears off a few sheets of TP, and wipes my mouth. “Do you think you could be pregnant?” Tongue asks.
“Yes! Hell yes, she can!” Reaper announces with a clap of his hands. “You hear that, Doll? You’re pregnant.”
“We don’t know that,” I say, slowly lifting myself off the floor. I want to go lay down.
“You’re sick. Smells are bothering you. It makes sense.” Reaper’s hand lands on my arm, and I shrug him off.
I’m getting angry. “I’m not pregnant! I’m just sick. God, just stop! Everyone just stop. It hasn’t happened. It won’t happen, and giving me hope is just fucking cruel! Let it go, Reaper. Everyone just…” I cover my face with my hands and catch a sob. “Just sto
p, please. Just stop.”
I run between the members who crowded outside the bathroom and head toward the room we’ve been staying in. I slam the door, then lock it for good measure. I need to be alone. I need time to think.
I flip on the fan to help with the sweat building on my skin and throw myself on the bed. I grab Reaper’s pillow and hug it to my chest. Slow, painful sobs shake my body, and I can hardly breathe. I want to be pregnant.
I don’t want to be pregnant.
I’m scared.
“Sarah?” Doc calls out my name from behind the door. Right now it’s muted and soft, but I know once the door opens, it will be loud and reassuring.
I can’t handle that right now.
I don’t answer him. I inhale Reaper’s scent and let myself get lost in the comfort he brings me. If I am pregnant, what then? Doc told me once a woman has one miscarriage, it’s probable she will have another. I can’t go through that again.
“Sarah? Open the door, Doll.”
I feel awful for acting this way. After all the trying, we might finally have what we want, and I’m terrified. I don’t want them to give me hope. I don’t want to talk about me being pregnant because if I’m not, I’ll be crushed.
If I am, I’ll be crushed. What if I can’t protect him or her? The safest place for a baby is inside it’s mother’s womb, and I don’t have that ability.
I’ll lose it again.
“Sarah, open the door, or I’m going to break it down,” Reaper threatens.
“Go away,” I say, burying my face in the pillow.
I hear his deep sigh on the other side of the door, and the wood creaks, probably from him leaning against it. “Never, Doll. I’m never going anywhere. Open up this door and talk to me. Talk to Doc. I know you’re scared, but I’m here. You know I’m going to fight every ounce of your fear like it’s my own. Open the door so we can get answers and see what we need to do. Come on, Doll.”
“Mommy? What did you do, Daddy?” Maizey accuses him.
“I only did what she wanted me to,” Reaper says as innocently as he can, which makes me smile.
He did. I asked for a baby, and now I might have one.
I sit up and wipe the tears off my cheeks, still hugging his pillow. I glance toward the door and sniffle, unsure if I want to go down this road. If I’m pregnant, what steps can we take to make sure I’m able to carry the baby to full term?
Fresh water brimming my eyes, I stand and twist my hands together. When I get to the door, I unlock it without opening it, then hurry back to bed to lay down. I’m not feeling well, and I don’t know if it’s because of panic or the stomach flu.
The knob turns, and light spills in from the hallway into the dark room. “Sarah, Doll, what’s going on?” Reaper sits next me, and the bed dips so low from his weight, I grip the side of the mattress to prevent myself from rolling off. He takes my hand and intertwines our fingers while Maizey climbs up and sits next me, laying her head on my shoulder.
“We got a tree, and Santa brought you a baby just like I asked,” Maizey states cheerfully.
“What do you mean?” I ask her.
“I wrote Santa. Told him to give you a baby, but we didn’t have a tree, so I knew it wouldn’t happen unless we had a tree.”
“Oh, Maze.” I hold her against me and place my chin on top of her head.
“You don’t want this anymore?” Reaper asks, his hope broken, but he holds my hand anyway.
“What? No, that’s not it!” I sit up and lay our hands over my belly. “I’m so scared. If I am, I will be equally as happy and terrified. I’ll be afraid to move, to breathe, to do anything to risk losing our baby.”
“Anything you do won’t be the reason why. These things, they just…” He sighs, blinking toward the ceiling as he takes a deep breath and exhales. “They happen.”
“He’s right, Sarah,” Doc sets his medical kit on the floor beside the vintage nightstand I bought from a local antique store. “You can walk, breathe, eat, laugh, but even just laying here can put you at risk for a miscarriage. Let’s take a test.”
“But the stabbing…”
“I know,” Doc says with a grimace twitching his mouth. “I’m not going to bite off more than I can chew right now. The first step is to see if you are pregnant. I’m going to take a blood test; it’s quicker and will tell us if your hCG levels are elevated.”
“Okay.” I nod, holding out my arm for him to wrap the rubber band around my bicep to plump the vein. I squeeze Reaper’s arm, holding onto him as if I’m about to drift away. He’s my anchor, the strength that keeps me still in the storm that rages around us.
Doc cleans the inside of my elbow, sanitizes it, then draws a few vials of blood. “Okay, I’ll get this downstairs right now and test them. You’ll know by the end of the day. Everything is going to be okay.”
Doc gives us a parting smile before exiting the room and closing the door behind him. Joanna is pregnant too, and Skirt and Dawn’s daughter Joey is barely a few months old. If I am too, our kids will grow up close in age. How exciting would that be?
“Do you want to come decorate the tree?” Reaper asks. “We can stay in here if you want.”
“No. I want to enjoy the night with my family.” Maybe this will be the last Christmas it will be the three of us.
One can only hope.
Four days until Christmas.
I got my comet the only thing in the world she’s ever wanted.
A bookstore.
Andrew’s bookstore, which I know will hold some meaning for her. I don’t know why. The guy was a complete waste of space, but just because I can’t understand her feelings doesn’t mean they aren’t valid. I’ll love her through them, even if I disagree.
Plus, the bookstore has this really old book she likes, and I want her to have it. I want her to have everything.
I can’t wait until Christmas. I got the keys to the place yesterday. The bookstore was supposed to go to next of kin if something happened to Andrew, and since something did happen, I had to threaten the lawyer that I’d kill him and feed him to Happy for that not to happen.
I won, and the lawyer still speaks.
How do I want to surprise her? Women like that, right? She deserves it. She’s been teaching me how to read, but since I’m a fucking idiot, it’s taking a long time. I’m lucky to read three words before I get frustrated and throw the book across the room.
“Tongue? I need your help. I can’t—” Daphne grunts as she stretches her arm to grab a book on the shelf I just installed, “—I can’t reach it.”
Of course, she can’t. What would make her think she could? It’s an entire foot above her. Sometimes, I don’t understand her efforts. I like watching her try, though. Her ass jiggles every time she loses her balance, and my cock hardens. I growl as her sleek body moves. A body that’s mine. I was just inside her this morning, but I want her again.
I can’t because there’s no time. I need to take her to the bookstore, and then we’re going to do some last-minute Christmas shopping for everyone. All I want to do is stay in bed, deep inside her tight cunt, rubbing her body with my knife that I had engraved with her. I want her to beg me to cut her, to carve my name into her chest like she wanted before.
“Wayne,” she gasps as I pick her up and throw her on the bed.
Christmas can wait. It isn’t like it’s going anywhere. It will be there next year, and the year after, and then the year after that. And since me and Daphne are going to be together for all eternity and in death, I think it’s safe to say we will have plenty of holidays.
Daphne’s tits bounce as she settles on our mattress. Her nipples are hard, tenting the shirt she’s wearing. “We have to go shopping. We can’t,” she moans as I strip off my shirt.
She loves my body for some fucked up reason, but it’s why we’re meant to be together. She loves me, and only the Devil knows why.
I’m about to unzip my jeans so her plump lips can wrap around my cock and suc
k me down her throat, when someone who has a death wish knocks on the door. I curl my lips, grab my knife from on top of the dresser, and lick it. I’m ready to kill somebody for interrupting me.
“Be nice,” Daphne says with a giggle.
“I am nice,” I grouse.
I open the door and place the tip of the blade under the visitor’s chin. “Boomer,” I greet with zero excitement. Maybe I would’ve been if he didn’t interrupt me. “I didn’t know you were coming. You and your members here?” If they are, I’ll have to take Daphne away from here. I don’t know Boomer’s guys like I know the Vegas members. They will want her. I’m not afraid to cut out their tongues. I don’t care if they are brothers by the Ruthless name. I’ll kill.
I’ll bathe in their blood victoriously, and you know what Daphne will do?
She’ll join me.
Oh, now that would be the perfect Christmas gift. Maybe we can find someone walking down the strip again and do a little hunting, have some fun, let our hair down.
“It’s good to see you too, Tongue. Merry Christmas.”
“I would say it’s good to see you too, but I’m busy.”
He peers around my shoulder, no doubt seeing my beautiful comet laying in bed. His eyes widen. “Well, how are you doing? I’m Boom—Ow!”
I drop my knife from his chin and slice it across his arm. “Don’t.” I wave the blade in front of him.
“I should’ve known that even after you found someone, you’d still be a psychopath.”
“Don’t call him that!” Daphne comes to my defense and loops her arm through mine. I tilt my head down and notice her glasses are crooked, so I straighten them and push the frames up the bridge of her nose.
Damn, I’m a lucky man.
“Does anyone know you’re here? Reaper didn’t mention you coming.”
“I tried calling him, but he hasn’t been answering, so no, I don’t think anyone knows we’re here. I’m excited to see everyone, meet all the new members we have—”
“We have. Not you. You left, remember?” I didn’t know it bothered me that he left until this moment. “Don’t say we. You picked a new family.”