by K. L. Savage
Groaning, I hold my arm against my chest as the door bursts in.
“Vegas Police Department!” one of them shouts. “Hey, I need a medic over here now! Ma’am, are you okay? Do you know your name? What happened?” he asks.
“I fell down the steps,” I moan when I roll to my back. “Trying to get away from the blood.” I wince when I try to move my knee, so I keep it in a bent position instead.
“An ambulance is on its way. You’re going to be fine, Ms. Lace,” he reassures me.
“You’re going to want to see this, Officer Hodder,” another cop says from the middle of the staircase.
Paramedics burst through the door and then quickly and load me onto a gurney and strap a brace around my neck. Is this really happening? Did I seriously fall down the steps because there is a tongue nailed to the windowsill? This can’t be my life. If this is what living is like, how the hell do I slow it down? Aunt Tina jinxed me.
The paramedics roll me outside, and my vision starts to blur. The sun is too bright, and my head starts to pound.
“Wait!” Officer Hodder, the cop who comforted me, runs out the front door to stop the medics from loading me in the ambulance.
“We need to get her to the hospital now. She has a concussion,” the female paramedic says with a bit of attitude.
“Hey, Ms. Lace.” Officer Hodder leans down in front of my face, and there are two of him. I blink, trying to focus, but it doesn’t work. He’s mid-thirties, handsome, normal.
A guy I should date. And why am I thinking about that right now and not the disgusting tongue dangling in front of my window?
“Can you think of anyone who wanted to do this? Has anything been suspicious over the last few days? Anything at all.”
“You can question her later.”
“I need to ask her while she has her damn eyes open, Reynolds. Lay off,” he snaps at the woman trying to help me. It’s obvious they don’t like each other. “Ms. Lace. I’m sorry, but can you think of anyone?” he asks me again, softening his voice.
I should tell them about Tongue. Everything points to him, but I don’t say anything. My instincts, no matter how crazy they are, tell me he has nothing to do with this.
“No,” I whisper. I keep my secret to myself, hoping I didn’t sign my death warrant by trusting a man I hardly know.
I shouldn’t have spoken to her, but I couldn’t help it. She looked so pretty. So mine. I got tired of being so far away. I wanted to be close for once. Just one time. When our fingers grazed, fuck, I could live off the feeling it gave me for the rest of my life.
How can I stay away from her when I think she was born for me?
She’s mine.
She’s coded into the DNA in my blood; she’s a part of who I am.
Daphne doesn’t hold the missing piece of me. She is the missing piece.
I crave her.
I’m dying to be whole because being half a man is killing me.
Reaper wanted me to talk to Mercy last night, but on the way out of my room, I turned right down the hall, pretending I needed to go the bathroom, and hightailed it out the door. I hopped on my hog and snuck into her apartment to watch her sleep.
It’s my favorite thing to do. I love watching her chest rise and fall. I even sat on the bed, and she turned against me. It’s like she could feel me there and needed to be close to me. When she left for work, I had to follow. I wasn’t ready to be away from her for the day, but I had to come face the heat at the clubhouse.
Reaper is going to be pissed at me for leaving like I did. After I get my punishment, I plan on going back to watching Daphne. She’s consumed my mind. She’s an obsession that grows by the day. I can’t even remember the last time I thought about a knife.
The bike grumbles beneath me, and I stroke the tongue whipping out of its mouth. I close my eyes and remember what it’s like to cut, to hear people scream, to feel their blood. I miss it. I miss my swamp kitties. I miss my knives.
Maybe it’s time I let Daphne go. She deserves more than me anyway. She loves books for fuck’s sake, and I can’t even read.
How pathetic is that? What am I thinking?
The front door opens, and Reaper is standing there with his arms crossed, a look on his face that can only mean I’m in deep fucking shit.
Whatever.
I’m not afraid of pain. I’ve had worse. Anything Reaper does to me won’t compare to what I’ve already been through. I swing my leg over my hog and shut it off. I open my saddlebags and grab the books Daphne touched at the bookstore. I plan on taking all of them one day; every single one that has been lucky enough to touch her fingertips are going to be in a bookcase that I’ll make her.
I climb the steps to the clubhouse, and Reaper doesn’t move from the middle of the doorway. “Please tell me you weren’t with Daphne, Tongue. Tell me you were doing what you love to do, and you mailed tongues to the fucking gators in NOLA.”
“Is he back?” Mercy bellows from the inside of the house. “He needs to get in here now.”
“What the fuck is going on, Reaper?”
He yanks me inside by the cut and slams the door.
“What did you do, Tongue?” Badge asks me as he types on his computer, frantic.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t done a thing,” I say slowly, sitting on the couch in front of the club as they surround me. I don’t like this. I reach into my pocket and grab my knife, rubbing my fingers up and down the sharp blade. It calms me, but it doesn’t change that I’m being backed into a corner.
Reaper points the remote at the TV and turns the sound on.
“This is Marsha Collins with LV Local News reporting what seems to be a disturbing stalker in our area. Earlier this evening, a young woman entered her apartment to find blood on the walls of her home, along with a tongue nailed to the window. That’s right, a tongue. As of right now, there are no witnesses. The young lady who lives in this apartment building is at the hospital seeking medical treatment after falling down the steps. Anyone with any information regarding this matter, please contact the Vegas Police Department. I promise to keep you informed as more information is made available. This is Marsha Collins with LV Local News; stay ahead and stay safe.”
I throw the knife across the room with a thunderous roar, and it lands next to Patrick’s head. He freezes, not moving a muscle, and stares at the knife.
“If I walk further into the room, am I going to die? Tell me now so I can go in the opposite direction,” he says, holding out his hand when Skirt tries to pass him.
I’m annoyed.
And when I’m annoyed, I tend to kill.
I grab my other knife and go to throw it, but Tool tackles me to the couch and yanks the blade from my hand.
“What did you do, Tongue?” Reaper asks so desperately; his voice is hoarse as if accusing me of this crime is hard for him.
I kick Tool off me and grab his wrist, twisting it to the left, and steal my fucking knife back. “You better watch who the fuck you’re messing with, Tool.” I bite the air, sneering in his face, and he takes a step away as my crazy starts to boil over.
I’ve been wondering where it went.
I need to get to Daphne. I have to make sure she’s okay. How the hell can I get out of here? She’s all alone in that hospital. She has to be afraid.
“Shite, who pissed off Tongue? Ye know better than to do that,” Skirt says just as a pregnant Joanna walks around him to come into the living room, but Doc runs to her, whispering in her ear. She glances at me, then shakes her head before disappearing into the other room. I bet all the ol’ ladies are in there.
I wish that’s where I was. I only ever feel accused when I’m with the guys, but when I’m with the women, they secure me in a blanket of nurturing that I’ve never had before.
“Tongue, what did you do?” Reaper repeats. “I won’t ask again.”
I get up slowly and eye all of them. Mercy and Badge are standing next to one another, and the way all of
them are looking at me, they think I did this. They think I’m guilty. They didn’t ask me if I did it. None of them have any doubt on their faces.
Why is Mercy here anyway? Isn’t he some ‘has been’ FBI agent? This isn’t a federal issue. It’s a psycho on the loose.
“We need to know. The police are going to figure it out eventually. What do we need to do,” Reaper states, brushing a hand through his hair.
“Maybe we send him to NOLA? Just until the heat dies down,” Mercy offers, which is bold considering he isn’t even a King.
I lick the knife, letting the dangerous edge prick my tongue, and the metallic taste of blood flows across the taste buds I have left. I need release. The rage is at an all-time high as they talk about me as if I’m not here.
“You think I did this.” I don’t ask. I state. It’s obvious they think I’m capable of going off the edge like this.
“Tongue, who else did it? I don’t know another guy with the same M.O. as you,” Mercy says. “When I heard what happened over the police scanner, I came right over. There has been another case just like it across the lake.”
“You’ve been gone a lot.”
I laugh at Reaper and suck my tongue over my teeth, leaving them bloody for all of them to see.
I might be a crazy fucking bastard, but hurting Daphne is something I’d never do. On my dying breath, if someone told me they could save me if it meant inflicting pain on her, I’d gladly die.
“Wow,” I shake my head at my so-called “family,” and my fingers twitch, itching to cut one of their tongues out for the betrayal I feel. “You guys don’t know me at all. You think I’d hurt a woman? When have I ever wasted a tongue? And why would I hurt Daphne? I need to go check on her.” I slide my knife in my holster and try to walk out the door, but Tank stands in front of me. He’s the only one here as big as me, but he isn’t near as vicious.
“If you don’t get out of my way, I’ll slice your throat from right to left, Tank. No one will keep me from Daphne.” I turn my head and tilt my chin down, lifting my gaze through my lashes. “No one.”
“He’s right. He doesn’t waste the tongues he cuts out,” Slingshot says, lifting his feet and placing them on the coffee table.
“These events both happened when you were out for long periods of time. Tongue, I love you like a brother, but I can’t ignore the facts.”
“And what facts are those, Reaper?” I reach for my knife and tap the tip on the front of my teeth. “Tell me the facts.”
“I think you found a tongue you really like, and you’re working her up, getting her scared. I’ve seen you do unimaginable things to other people. I won’t let you hurt an innocent girl. No one else cuts tongues.”
“The man left a note too,” Badge says, printing out proof from the computer. “This was just logged in at evidence.”
“Who has she been around?” Reaper asks, shoving the note in my face. “Why are you doing this to her?”
I stab the paper with my knife, then slam it on to the coffee table, locking the damn picture of the note I can’t read in place. “She’s been around me and that guy she works with at the boo-bookstore.” No, I will not lose my composure now. I refuse to be weak. I refuse to be stupid. “I’ve been around her. I’ve been following her. The only crime I’ve committed is stalking, gently, but she knows I’m there.”
“Spoken like a true psychopath,” Mercy mumbles under his breath.
I grab a short three-inch blade that I keep tucked in my boot and let it fly, nicking him across his neck. “She does know I’m there. I don’t give a fuck what you say. I didn’t write this note. I didn’t leave a tongue in her apartment. I didn’t do this, Reaper. Why can’t you believe me?”
“Because of past behavior.”
“You don’t judge Tool every time he whips out his screwdriver. You didn’t judge Poodle for being a serial killer for a minute. You didn’t judge Boomer or Patrick for being a fucking drunk, but you blame me.”
“Reaper, he didn’t do it,” Sarah says. She runs across the room and wraps her arms around my waist.
“Sarah, don’t—”
“He didn’t do it!” she screams at him with tears in her eyes. “He couldn’t have written that note.”
“It’s okay, Sarah.”
“Tongue, it isn’t—”
I wrap my hand around my favorite knife and pull it from the coffee table. I need to be with Daphne, and I can’t do this arguing my case in front of my brothers, the people who were supposed to have my back. “It’s okay, Sarah.” I push her toward Reaper with a good amount of force, then snag Tank from the front door, and stab the knife into his shoulder, with the note clinging to his chest.
He screams, and it sounds so sweet. I bet his blood is sweeter, but this isn’t about my pleasure right now. This is about proving a point. “Is this what you’re expecting from me?”
“Tongue! What are you doing? Get away from him.” Braveheart tries to attack me, launching his leaner body against me, but one shove of my leg and he flies through the air, slamming against the couch.
“Is this better? Is this what you want from me?” I wrap my hand around Tank’s throat, and a sharp cackle escapes me. The darkness is closing in and man, I’ve missed it. “Nothing personal, Tank. I like you. I’m just proving a point.” I rip the knife out of his shoulder, and he falls to his knees. “Or maybe you expect this.” I grip Tank by the back of the nape and tilt his head back, laying the bloody metal against his jugular vein. “Are you expecting me to bathe in his blood? Do you want to know how much I want to?”
“Tongue—” Reaper inches forward, nervous for Tank who is currently nursing a shoulder wound. He’ll be fine.
“Ah, don’t…” I reach into his mouth and pull out his tongue next. “We all know what happens when I get to this beauty.” Tank whimpers. His eyes are wide with fear. I glance down, soaking up the terror like a sponge. He probably sees voids in my eyes, carelessness, and death.
I am all of those things.
But I’m only those things when I absolutely need to be.
I clean my blade against his tongue, letting him swallow his own blood. “Out of everyone in the world to not be on my side, I never thought it would be my brothers.”
“We can get you help.”
“He doesn’t need help!” Sarah screams and stands in front of me, pushing Tank away from me with all her strength. She takes his place. “He can’t read or write, Reaper. It wasn’t him because Tongue doesn’t know how to do those things. I believe him.”
The room falls silent, and all eyes are on me.
“Sarah…”
“I’m sorry, Tongue. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let them think you did it. I know you didn’t. I had to defend you. I know you wouldn’t hurt Daphne. You’ve changed since meeting her. I’ve seen it. You have to be honest.”
“You promised,” I say, broken as I stare at the person who is supposed to be my best friend.
“I know. I know, but now, your name is in the clear—” She reaches for my hand, but I pull away, glaring at her like I don’t even know her.
“His name isn’t clear yet. A few cops know about him. They will come sniffing around,” Badge says. “I can take care of it, though. Going to NOLA wouldn’t be such a bad idea until this all blows over, Tongue.”
Doc is on the floor, examining Tank’s wound. I want to roll my eyes. It isn’t even that bad. A few stitches and he will be as good as new.
“I’m not leaving Daphne, but I’m wondering if I should leave you,” I say the words to all of them and step on the note the killer left Daphne. “For all we know it’s the Groundskeeper, and the first person you think of is me. I might be… I might be…” I stutter again, the scars across my tongue throbbing like they always do when I think I’m about to experience pain. “I’m the monster to you all. I can’t be with people like that again.”
“Tongue, we can talk about this—”
I don’t give Reaper the chance to finish
his sentence. I leave all of them behind, Sarah included. I hop on my bike, not bothering to put on my helmet, and I peel out of the parking lot. My comets must be aligned tonight because the gate is open, and I pull back on the throttle to get the fuck out of here.
They have a point. Going to NOLA would be the smart thing to do. I’d leave Daphne behind, and she’d be safe. I’d be with guys who are more like me, and I’d probably feel more accepted. Maybe the killer leaving tongues in Daphne’s home will follow me since I seem to be the issue.
I’ll leave.
I’ll see Daphne one last time. I’ll say goodbye to the woman I couldn’t keep safe because I decided to go home instead of watching her. The only woman who has ever managed to let the man rise from under the blood-soaked killer will be a memory.
After time passes, I’ll wonder if my crazy made her up in my mind, a figment of my imagination. It would make sense dreaming up someone I couldn’t have because I hallucinated them. Actually, that’s probably what happened because what woman in her right mind would touch herself to a monster hiding in the shadows of her home?
Even villains know love, but I’m no villain, am I?
I’m worse.
Maybe me and the Groundskeeper are more alike than I like to think.
He should lay me down six feet under again because that’s right where I belong.
The closer to hell I am, the better off the world will be. The flames will eventually stop burning my soul, and darkness will be there. That’s what’s so great about shadows. They are always there to welcome me home.
I wake with a start, snapping my eyes open when I feel him.
It’s dark outside, and it only makes the shadows darker in the room since the lights aren’t on. I can hear the doctors outside, the roll of a gurney, and the beep of my heart rate monitor. The doctors wanted to keep me overnight for observation because of the concussion I received, smacking my head against the wall.
Of course, the maniac who left a tongue in my apartment didn’t hurt me; I had to go and hurt myself trying to get away.
Holy moly, speaking of my head—it really freaking hurts.