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

by K. L. Savage

  But knowing he’s here is making me feel better.

  “You’re here,” I say to the left corner of the room.

  He’s quiet, not confirming or denying his presence. He doesn’t have to. Tongue’s presence is enough to wake me up from a coma if I were in one.

  Tears prickle my eyes when I think about what I saw in my apartment. I never want to go back there. My home, my sanctuary, it’s ruined. I won’t be able to look at it the same again. “Where were you? I thought you said you’d always be there. You weren’t there. Someone—”

  Silence.

  “Talk to me!” I shout, commanding him to speak to me. “Talk to me, damn it! Talk. To. Me. Why are you doing this? God, if you don’t want anything to do with me, just leave me alone. Just go. Go away. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t feel you and know you’re there and nothing happens. You’re… You’re… You’re…” I’m trying to find the right words to say, but I can’t. How do I tell a ghost that I never want him to disappear? How do I tell him I like the feeling he gives me?

  “You’re not hiding in the dark. You aren’t fading into the shadows; don’t you get it?” I say to him, pushing my glasses in place as they slip. “You’ve become my shadow. I need you everywhere or…” Or I feel lost. “I sound insane.” I chuckle and tug the blanket up to my chin. “I’m talking to someone who probably isn’t even here.”

  “I’m here,” he says. The rough dips in his voice have me snapping my head up from where I’m staring at my hands twisting together.

  I close my eyes, and a tear drips down my cheek, relieved. “Where were you today? I was scared.”

  “I had to go see Reaper.”

  If I hadn’t met the man, I would have thought Tongue meant meeting death, which I guess in a way, Reaper is. “That’s the guy in charge, right?”

  Tongue grunts in response, and for some reason, I expect him to come out of the corner, but he doesn’t.

  “Do you not feel safe with me? Is that why you never show your face? What are you hiding from?” I press a button on the remote that controls the bed, and it slowly moves into an upright position.

  “I hide you from me.”

  I shake my head and reach for the light so I can see him.

  “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t turn on the light.”

  “I need to know you’re real.”

  “If you knew me, you’d wish I wasn’t.”

  “Why? Was it you? Did you break into my apartment and leave that…” Bile works its way up my throat when I remember the tongue dangling there, dripping blood. I never knew tongues were so long. I guess I learn something new every day.

  “No. I’d never do that to you.”

  The way he says it leaves it open to interpretation. “But you’d do it to someone else?” I ask, not afraid of his answer but afraid for him.

  “I don’t… I don’t do what that person did to you. I don’t waste tongues. I don’t use them as scare tactics. I am the scare tactic.”

  “Tongue,” I repeat the road name out loud when it hits me how he must have earned that title. “That’s what you do then? You cut out people’s tongues and silence them?”

  “Yes,” he agrees quickly.

  “You like it?”

  “Yes.”

  I swallow, and the heart rate monitor speeds up when I hear the truth.

  “Do you like to inflict pain?”

  “Yes,” he says without hesitation.

  “Um…” I wipe my undereye and sniffle. “Do you like blood?”

  He groans in a sick, twisted way, almost like it’s pleasurable for him to think about. “Love it,” he states, short and sweet.

  “Will you ever stop?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to cut out my tongue? Is that why you’re so interested in me?” I remember the first time we met, and he stared at my mouth. I thought he was looking at my lips, which I had silently praised myself for wearing the new lip gloss I’d bought the day before, thinking that was the reason he stared at me.

  “No. I never want to hurt you. I love your tongue. It’s pretty and pink. I like your voice. Your silence would be my tragedy,” he says sadly. “I’m afraid if I stay around, I’ll be your tragedy.”

  He’s weird. By far, he’s not normal.

  And I want more of him. He’s different than any other man I’ve ever met in my life.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? What are you going to do?”

  “I should have never… I’m not a good man. You deserve more.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I should’ve stayed outside the window of the bookstore. I should’ve left you alone.” He moves from the corner by a step, but it’s all I need to see a glimpse of his face from the streetlight shining through the window. His eyebrows are creased in worry or maybe pain; I can’t tell since I can’t see his entire face, but I can see the tattoos along his neck.

  I bet all of his tattoos tell a million stories, and if it meant getting to know Tongue, I’d sit down and listen to every single one of them.

  “You’re leaving?” I cut to the chase when I realize where this conversation is going. “Do you watch all girls you take a liking to from spooky corners, and once you’ve had your fill, leave?”

  “No. Only you. But to get my fill? Never.”

  “Please,” I beg. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to if I want to keep you safe.”

  “Take me with you,” I blurt, surprised by my outburst for a second.

  He takes another step into the light, but only half of his face shows. The one eye I see is dark, matching the abyss around us, and the drag of something along the wall has my eyes falling to the area beside him. A glint of something metal scratches, carving a line as his body seems to vibrate. “Don’t joke like that. You have no idea what you will get yourself into with me. I’m not… I’m not…” he stutters and then stabs the wall. “I’m not the kind of man who changes. I won’t stop being who I am.”

  “And who are you?” I ask him, swinging my legs off the side of the bed to stand. My feet land on the cold tile floor, and I limp as I take my first step. My knee is sore, and I can hardly put my weight on it, but it’s better than nothing.

  “I’m the man who cuts out tongues—”

  “No, that’s what you do. Who are you?” I take another step forward. I’m so close I can smell the leather, the cologne, and the hint of smoke from the exhaust of his bike.

  I’ve found peace in a man who is anything but peaceful.

  “I-I’m a Ruthless King. I stay in a corner. I feed my swamp kitties. I—”

  “You aren’t telling me who you are, Tongue.” I lift my hand to touch his chest, but he takes a step away from me, further into the shadow. I can no longer see him. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “There isn’t much to know.”

  “I think that’s a lie.” I keep all of my weight on my other leg and take another step forward. If he doesn’t want to come to me, I’ll go to him. “I don’t think you’ve been given a chance to figure yourself out. I think you’re expected to do certain things, and now you think they define you.”

  Tongue falls quiet again, and the closer I get to him, the harder his breaths fan across my face. My hand caresses his massive chest, and his heart jackhammers against my palm.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  The beat is wild and untamed, and like him, it has no idea of its true purpose. My breath catches when I rub my hand up to his neck, finally able to touch him like I’ve wanted to since the day I spoke to him carrying that box.

  He said it dripped blood.

  I laughed it off, but knowing him now, he told me the truth.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asks, flattening the body of the blade against my arm. He slides it up and down my flesh. I thought feeling a knife against my skin would scare me.

  But it feels good.

  The metal is cold against my skin and a shiver of the unknown trembles beneath
my flesh.

  “No,” I state, tilting my head back and exposing the vulnerable part of my throat. The tip of the knife presses under my chin, and I gasp.

  “I could cut you,” he says, but the statement is weak and falls on deaf ears. “I could do so many things to you before you wished for death. You’d scream, and I’d get hard because that’s the kind of man I am, Daphne. Fear feeds me.”

  “You won’t hurt me. I think you would’ve done it already. You’re trying to scare me away.”

  “Is it working?”

  “No.”

  “It should,” he states, gliding the knife down to my chest. “I should. My club should scare you.”

  “If you leave, put me out of my misery,” I sneer, pushing my chest into his weapon. “Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life searching for my knight in the dark. You’ve made me expect you everywhere I go. You can’t leave me now.”

  “I’m no knight,” he growls, removing the knife from my chest. Leather crinkles, and I imagine he’s opening his cut to put the weapon away. “I’m a nightmare.”

  My fingers glide over his chest, and I close my eyes, trying to memorize the feel of him. He’s all muscle. His pecs are huge and swollen, his stomach has divots, promising abs, and strength. He’s pure protection, the deadliest weapon, the bullet after it leaves the gun. I can sense the wrath under his skin—it’s black and sour, damned, and unable to be saved.

  “You aren’t my nightmare,” I whisper, skimming my hand up to his chest and neck, gasping when I feet the heat of his skin. He is hot, burning alive from the inside out, but he stands calm and collected, as cold as ice.

  Maybe he is from Hell, but even the Devil is an angel.

  And if redemption isn’t possible, then what has the world come to? I’m not asking him to change who he is; I’m just asking him to take a chance on me. I want him to come out of hiding. There is no reason for him to hide from me. Everything he exudes is everything my soul is aching for.

  I don’t do normal because I know deep down I’m not.

  I want sinister and wicked things. Tongue can promise both.

  The invisible flames dancing along his skin travel up my arm and through my body.

  “Y-you … have no … idea … what … you’re asking,” he says between shaky breaths as my fingers dip into the small craters along his neck.

  I wish I could see him, but I won’t push him into the light if he isn’t comfortable. I can explore him from here. We can get to know each other in blindness. “What’s your name?” I question again, letting my hand drop to his heart. “Let me in, please.” My forehead lands on his chest.

  “You don’t want to know me.” His thick fingers drag along my chin, the rough violence of his skin scratches against mine, vowing nothing but kindness as he touches me. “So pretty,” he maps my lips, outlining the round shape. “I’ll never do anything in this life to deserve you.”

  His palm cups my neck, his right hand almost takes up the entire right side of my face, and I’m dizzy from being touched by poison, but somehow, I’ve managed to survive.

  The toxins he spits, I’m immune to.

  Opening my eyes, I know he’s close because the scratch of his scruff rubs along my cheek.

  “You smell so good,” he growls, burying his nose in my hair.

  His erection is pressed against my thigh, long, hard, and thick.

  “Did I smell good the night you watched me touch myself?”

  He nips my jaw. “Yes. You have no idea how much I wanted to taste you.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I moan, rolling my head back as he glides his nose down my throat.

  “Because I’ll ruin you if given the chance. It’s something I can’t risk.”

  “I’m already ruined,” I admit, tears soaring across my eyes. The ratio of how I hold myself together day by day to how many hours I search for him in a day is astronomical. One clearly outweighs the other.

  “Then let me save you from me,” he whispers against my lips, and right before I think he’s about to kiss me, right as his mouth lands against mine, he’s gone. “Tongue?” I call out to him, but the air is different. The electricity that tingles my skin has vanished. “No.” I search for his chest again, to feel his warmth, but I fall forward, catching myself on the wall. “No!” I cry, frustrated and heartbroken because he left me.

  He always leaves me.

  I limp toward the lamp and turn it on. The yellow cast falls along the white floor, and tears drip from my eyes when I inspect the room only to find myself alone.

  I drop to the bed and cry, big shoulder shaking sobs. I bury my face in the pillow, feeling more lost than I ever have before. This is what he does to me.

  I wasn’t lying when I said he has ruined me.

  His presence is just as earthshattering as his absence. He empowers me, and when he leaves, the power causes the strength to crumble, and I’m left in the devastation of his debris.

  “Why!” I scream, slashing my arm across the nightstand. The lamp flies through the air and unplugs, slamming against the wall. It shatters. Small glass pieces hit my arms, and a flurry of doctors rush into the room when they hear the noise. “Why did he do this to me? Why?” Why am I addicted to the presence of a ghost?

  The overhead light flips on, and the female nurse hurries to my side, helping me lay in bed. “Shh, it’s okay. I know. What happened to you was so scary. It’s okay to have nightmares. I’ll have the doctors give you something to relax. You’re safe here, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

  “I’m not,” I cry, clawing at the skin covering my heart. “I’m not.” Is this what Tongue meant by ruining me?

  Why play with my mind only to leave me obsessed?

  I feel like I’m experiencing a mental break.

  Maybe he is someone that I’ve made up. Is he real?

  “Shhhh, sweetheart. You’ll feel the medicine take effect any moment now. You poor thing. It’s okay. You sleep. Everything will be fine in the morning.”

  Everything will not be fine.

  Nothing is fine.

  There was a tongue in my apartment.

  There was blood on my hands that didn’t belong to me.

  The man I want, the man I dream of, the man I talk to in the corner, doesn’t exist.

  I think I’ve made him up.

  My eyes hood and begin to close, sinking into oblivion. I’m about to be trapped in darkness, and the only thing I can think about is Tongue. If he wants to live in my mind, if he wants to stay in the dark, then I’m going to join him, and I never want to find a way out.

  He has to be real. I felt him under my fingers. I heard his voice. What I feel is real, even if he isn’t.

  “Has she taken her meds today?” the doctor asks the nurse as he flips through my file.

  “I need him! I need him, please, please! Bring him to me, please,” I cry as the sedative tries to take me under.

  “There’s no one else here, sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  “She isn’t having an anxiety attack. It’s her psychosis if she hasn’t had her meds today.”

  “He was here. He was right here. In the corner,” I explain, so they don’t think I’m crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not. He was here. I swear.

  “Oh, sweet girl,” the nurses croons at me, brushing her hands through my hair.

  “Tongue. I need…” I slur, doing my best to force the words out from between my lips, but I fail.

  My psychosis…

  I haven’t had an issue with that for a few years. Of course, it would come back to play from one interaction with a man I only met once.

  Tongue has no idea, but I was ruined before I ever met him.

  I’m the devil she doesn’t know, and she still grips me by the horns, uncaring of the warnings I’ve given her. She doesn’t understand. She can’t seem to wrap her mind around just how bad I am for her.

  If I stand on the steps of a church, I’ll burst into flames. My evil cannot be contai
ned, but I have a feeling, if she allows, she’ll be the closest to a holy experience I’ll ever get.

  She’s a saint.

  A sweet, innocent beautiful woman who loves books, who is educated and happy. I’ll dumb her down, hold her back, and have her worried about me constantly.

  Maybe I need to watch her from a further distance. No, I have to go away. I have to get the person threatening her to follow me. She’s in danger because I took an interest in her.

  I lay one hand on my knee and keep one hand on the throttle. The wind blows through my hair, and it reminds me that when I get back, I’m going to cut it. Even though I’m leaving, I still want to be everything Daphne desires, so when I come back, and I will come back, she’ll want me.

  I’ll kill the man who ruined her home and made her afraid, and then I’ll come back. NOLA isn’t my home, but maybe it’s where I need to be to get some space from my brothers here. For the first time in my life, when the driveway comes to view, I don’t want to turn left.

  I don’t want to go home.

  I rev the engine, and the exhaust rumbles, a sound every biker has come to love.

  Blum, blum, blum, blum, the bike growls like a beast between my legs. The vibrations travel up my thighs, tickling the heavy sack that’s filled with cum. My cock is still hard and leaking from how close she was to me at the hospital.

  I could feel the warmth between her legs, the tight peak of her nipples against my stomach and her skin. Mmmm, fuck, her skin. I could rub my hands all over her body for the rest of my life, and it wouldn’t be long enough. She’s soft, like those silk sheets my uncle used to lay me on, but she isn’t tainted like those sheets. Daphne isn’t ruined. She’s new and fragile. She’s so small. When my hand cupped her face, and I saw just how much power I have over her, my cock leaked, and I swear, I came a little in my jeans.

  I could pin her down, flip her over, spank her ass and overpower her…

  I could inflict pain on her if I wanted to.

  But I don’t have the urge.

  Never.

  I never want to see her hurt. I always thought if I ever had sex, the only way for me to get pleasure was for me to cut them or worse. Sexually, I didn’t know who I was as a man because the only time I ever got hard was when I saw blood.