by K. L. Savage
Tongue is against the fence, clenching the chains with his fingers as he stares at Maximo. His chest heaves and his nostrils flare.
“The only thing I ever want my body bathed in, is Tongue.”
Maximo twirls my hair around his finger, and I whip back, astonished he would touch me. “I can have that rearranged.”
“I’d rather—” Maximo grunts, falling backwards onto his ass when I see the familiar ivory handle sticking out of his shoulder.
I snap my head toward the fence and see Tongue sitting on top of it, pissed off, but satisfied he hurt Maximo.
The crowd gasps and doesn’t dare to cheer when they see the man that runs this show on the ground, yanking the knife from his shoulder. “That bastard fucking stabbed me,” Maximo grits, tossing the knife on the ground. Blood spatters along the dirt and I bend over and pick it up.
It’s lighter than I thought. I grip the handle tight and stand. “Be glad he didn’t kill you. Maybe now you get the point. I am his and if he dies, I’d rather die than be with anyone else.” I toss my hair over my shoulder and sit down on the ledge of the stage, then hop down, careful to put my weight on my good leg.
Tongue grips the top of the fence with one hand and then hangs his torso down, then stretches an arm out to take the knife that’s still warm with blood.
“I thought you said he was mafia. Doesn’t that mean you’re as good as dead? What were you thinking? You better be glad his goons didn’t shoot you.”
“He knows what he was doing, and I’d like to see him try,” Tongue cackles, then grabs my wrist and yanks me closer to him. I can smell the sweat and see the dirt clinging to his face. “Kiss me.”
“After you win.” I slither out of his hold and the torment and challenge in his golden-brown eyes tell me he is excited about the present he will receive after. I watch him climb up the fence again and jump down on the other side.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up in warning. I’m getting that feeling again, the one that says someone is watching me. I know it isn’t Tongue because the emotion I get is different. The wickedness slides over my skin like an invisible, sexual touch I don’t want. I pretend not to notice and head back to the throne, limping up the steps to sit down. Maximo looks pissed as he holds a silk handkerchief to his shoulder, but he doesn’t make any moves to hurt me.
“I deserved that,” he says through pained huffs. “If I saw a man talking to my woman like that, I would have killed him. I’m glad he didn’t. I’ll have to apologize.” The lights flicker and the crowd goes wild. This must mean it is the start of the show.
I cross one knee over the other and try to relax. I can’t say there isn’t a small part of me that isn’t nervous. Maximo walks to the microphone and a few stragglers come in off the street, dipping under the metal door of the garage.
“Welcome friends. Foes. Tonight, I have a special treat. You’re looking at the most notorious Ruthless King in Vegas. This is a one-time event. You will most likely never see him again. Place your bets. In three minutes we begin.” He steps back from the microphone and sways from the pain in his shoulder. I hold back a laugh.
He deserves it.
“You want your chair back?”
“No. Please, sit.” Something about his smile doesn’t sit right with me, but I ignore it. He has something up his sleeve or maybe I’m pessimistic these days.
The lights strobe again, and I flinch from the quick pace. One of Maximo’s men comes up to him and whispers in his ear.
“Fantastic,” Maximo says. “The first fighter is here.”
The room falls silent as the metal door lifts from the corner, showing a massive man with knots of muscle across his shoulders. I can only see the outline of his body and behind him, rain is falling, hitting the concrete.
I never thought I’d see a man bigger than Tongue, but I should know not to ever be surprised being submerged in this world. I rip my eyes away from the monster and see Tongue pacing the ring, staring at his opponent.
Now, I’m nervous.
I scoot forward on the seat and hold my breath as the lion sized fighter climbs the fence. The chains groan from the heavy weight, and the crowd murmurs. Did they place their bets on Tongue? Are they disappointed? Are we in over our heads?
We should have run away and never looked back. We don’t need anyone but ourselves. Damn it. I could throw up.
Tongue tilts his head up as the man jumps down about to crush Tongue with his weight. My crazy comet doesn’t move. He slings his arm in the air and the body of the knife slides right between the man’s chest. Tongue lets go of the handle and the fighter falls to the ground, chest down, shoving the blade even further.
“Yes!” I whisper and squeal, clapping at his victory, but it isn’t over yet. I cup my mouth with both hands as I watch Tongue circle the giant, who is trying to get up, but can’t. He is on his hands and knees, gasping for air, but can’t breathe because of the waterfall of blood leaving his mouth.
I try to stand, but Maximo holds me down against the seat by grabbing my shoulder. “You never know what can happen or what weapons can leave the ring. You’re safer here. He would want you in this seat.”
Maximo is right. Tongue wants me here, waiting for him when he is done. My excitement is soured by that eerie feeling again. I glance around the room, searching for something, anything to explain this, but all I see is blood-hungry people cheering on Tongue to kill a man.
I would feel bad, but the giant was going to do the same thing to Tongue. It’s survival of the fittest and my man is the strongest of them all.
“What is it?” Maximo asks, staring out into the crowd, following my line of sight.
“Nothing, I thought I saw someone I knew.” It’s a lie, but what can Maximo do for me? He’d probably throw me in the ring given a chance.
No, thank you.
I wouldn’t survive.
I’ll cheer on the killer any day of the week, but I know my limits.
“Holy Moly.” I’m in awe when I see Tongue kick the giant to his back, rip the knife from his heart, and dive into his mouth to cut his tongue out. He tosses the appendage to the side, then from right to left slices his opponent’s throat.
Blood. Is. Everywhere.
A loud roar leaves Tongue, and from where he is standing, he points the knife at me as it drips his victim.
“Does he get a break now?” I ask, hoping I can get him some water or something, but Maximo throws his head back and laughs.
“Oh, you sweet, innocent thing. No. The fights will only get harder as time goes on. Only the best of the best survive.”
I’m about to argue, but two fighters come out from the hallway at the same time and they both have samurai swords. I stand and stabs my finger in Maximo’s chest. “That wasn’t apart of the rules! That isn’t fair.”
“Oh, darling. Nothing is fair in love and war; don’t you know that? People pay for a show.”
I’m panicking now. They have fucking swords, and they scale the fence fast and agile, as if it’s something they do every day just for the hell of it. Tongue doesn’t seem worried and that must be nice because I’m freaking the fuck out. He licks the blade, then spits the blood out onto the dirt floor, gesturing the men with the much bigger swords to come at him.
They circle one another for so long, the crowd start to boo and become restless.
“What is he doing?” I ask myself, watching Tongue’s eyes dart from one man to the next. He doesn’t attack first. He is waiting for one of them to.
One samurai cuts through the air, and Tongue takes the opportunity to dive left, grab the man’s arm, and without hesitation, controls the enemy’s arm, slicing the sword through the air. For a minute, no one sees what happened.
Until the head of the second samurai falls to the ground. Tongue uses the guy’s hesitation as he watches his friend’s head roll across the ground and uses it as an advantage. Instead of using his own weapon, Tongue kills the man in his arm with his own swo
rd, stabbing him right through the heart.
The crowd shouts in Tongue’s victory, but he ignores the attention. He straddles the dead’s lap and from here I can see the large erection tenting his jeans as he cuts out the tongues of the fallen. He tosses them to the side next to the giant’s.
“Three down, two to go,” Maximo informs.
Tongue wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, spins his weapon around as he searches for his next kill. “Who is next?” he yells, the boom from his lungs is louder than the shouts of the crowd.
A tall man wearing a grey hood comes out next, and his weapon is a gun. He climbs up the fence and jumps down, aiming the weapon at Tongue.
“No!” I cry and try to launch myself at the fence. I will do anything to get between the bullet and Tongue.
When the hood drops, I gasp, my stomach cramping at the man I see.
Andrew.
My only friend.
“It gets better, sweetheart,” Maximo’s sly words slither down my spine like the dangerous snake that he is.
I can tell Tongue is surprised, but not for long because he laughs, and his laughter quiets the excitement of the crowd. “Oh, my-oh-my, is it good to see you.”
“Shut up!” Andrew hisses and when his eyes land on me, then Maximo, I know how he got here.
“What did you do?” I spin around so fast, I forget my knee is injured and almost fall forward, but Maximo catches me.
“I upped the stakes. Everyone wins some. Everyone loses some. Andrew came to see me for a favor about a year ago. He opened his own bookstore and he had issues paying me back, so I kept tabs.” Maximo’s finger slides under my chin. “I learned about his fascination with you. I told him he could fight tonight to help pay off his debt, and then you and Tongue showed up. It was like stars aligned.”
A tear drips from my eye as I wrench my face away from his touch. I turn toward the ring, and Andrew is staring right at me. He has bags under his eyes, and his face is pale. He looks terrible. “What happened to him?” I ask.
“You did,” Maximo says just as Andrew points the gun at me. “Oh, now there is a twist I didn’t see coming.”
“Andrew,” I choke out his name, staring at a man that I thought was my friend.
“I loved you,” he yells, “and then you started talking to him! This fucking psycho who followed you. Watched you. I knew, I fucking knew I’d lose you to him because good girls like you always fall for the assholes. I could have been good to you! Look at yourself, Daphne. He abuses you.”
“No,” I explain, inching my way toward the fence, but stopping at the edge of the stage. “He doesn’t do anything I don’t want him to do.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“It’s going to have to be. It is always going to be him, Andrew. Always.”
The barrel of the gun gets bigger as I stare down it. “I won’t allow it.” His fingers flex, and I shut my eyes when I know he is about to pull the trigger, but it never comes. After waiting a few seconds, I open my eyes to see Andrew on his knees, the gun pointed to his head.
His hand is chopped off, and he is holding it to his chest, cradling it as he sobs. Tongue is standing there with his dead opponent’s sword in his hand, then places the tip against Andrew’s throat.
“No!” I scream. “I don’t want him to die, please, Tongue. Please. He’s my friend.”
“I don’t want to be anything to you,” Andrew replies, and the sharp bang of the bullet leaving the gun has me falling backward. I witness bits of brain, skull, and blood spew out the other side of Andrew’s head.
I can’t even hear myself screaming as heartbreak shatters me. I can’t breathe. I didn’t love him, but I cared for him. I looked forward to work every day because of him. This can’t be real. It all happened so fast. Maybe that wasn’t Andrew, and all of this is a sick joke.
He wouldn’t have gotten into bed with a man like Maximo, would he? Did I know him at all? He was going to shoot me, but Tongue stopped it by slicing off his hand. There is a lot I can handle, but I don’t know how to process this.
Andrew died because of me.
Because he wanted me, and I didn’t want him.
Does friendship mean nothing? Is friendship not good enough?
The thought has me narrowing my watery eyes at Andrew’s dead body, wishing his heart would pump for a few more minutes so I could spew my anger at him. If friendship wasn’t enough, then what the hell would have been?
Tongue starts to climb the fence to come to me, but Maximo holds up his hand, stopping him. “You have one more fight.”
“Fuck the fight,” Tongue sneers, staring at me through the chain fence. He wants to come to me.
“Then you don’t want to get married,” Maximo reminds us. “One more.”
“One more. One more. One more,” The crowd chants and stomps their feet in equal rhythm.
What is love if there can’t be different versions of it? Love is meant to be flexible, mendable, pliable to form what the heart yearns for in a certain person. There is a friendship love, a lover’s love, a mother’s love, a father’s love, and so on, but there is one emotion people forget.
Out of love, hate is born.
And there are different versions of hate.
Right now, my love for Andrew is turning dark and twisted. A part of me is glad he is dead because I would have learned eventually that my version of love would not have been what he wanted.
And all there is left, is hate.
“I’m okay,” I tell Tongue, wiping my cheek. “I swear.”
I can tell he is torn. My wicked warrior wants to come to my side, but right now, I’m filled with so much rage toward Andrew that I need Tongue to finish this once and for all. I want to move on with my life because now I realize how stagnant it has been.
“The last fighter. May the best man win,” Maximo announces, a knowing smile on his face. Was Andrew not enough to torment me with?
Tongue’s murderous smile fades, and I follow his line of sight until I see a familiar redhead wearing a kilt.
Both men stare at each other in shock and that’s when I realize what Maximo has done.
Ruthless King vs. Ruthless King.
And only one man can come out alive.
I’ve lived through a lot of nightmares, and I’ve killed a lot of men. I’ve lost count of the number of tongues I’ve cut out and how many of my victims begged for their life. I’ve laughed in a dying man’s face because it was deserved. I’ve bathed myself in blood and I’ve been so turned on by death, I’ve jacked off to the memory of inflicting pain.
But this…
I don’t think I can survive knowing I killed Skirt. My brother. My family. I know there is a rift between me and the club right now for what I have done, but that doesn’t mean I won’t ever have their back.
“What the fuck is this Maximo? You said you had a fight for me. You didn’t say this,” Skirt sneers, clenching his fingers around the brass knuckles. I bet he is holding himself back from beating the living shit out of Maximo. I know I am.
“I’m not fighting him,” I state, and the crowd boo’s me. I flick them off, not giving a fuck what they have to say. I was doing this for Daphne, but I can afford to buy her my own ring and we can get married anywhere. I was only doing this because Maximo made a deal. I’ve hurt the Kings enough by hurting Sarah. Skirt has a little girl now, a wife, a son, and he is my family.
I’d have the power to kill him, but truth be told, I’d let him kill me if it meant him going home to see his family.
I’m vicious. I’m cruel. I’m fucked up.
But the one thing I’ve learned I’m not?
Heartless.
Daphne has made me realize that.
“If you don’t do this, you do not get what you want,” Maximo warns, wrapping his hand around the back of the throne.
I shrug and walk around the ring to pick up the tongues I’ve cut out. My swamp kitties are going to have a nice treat waiting for t
hem when I overnight these bad boys. “I got what I want,” I say simply, sliding the appendage in my cut pocket and staring at Daphne.
She gives me one of those smiles that makes it seem like everything is going to be okay.
“Fight or the girl dies,” Maximo says, snapping his fingers. One of his goons presses a gun against Daphne’s head and that beautiful, brilliant smile fades.
“Let her go or I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you,” I warn Maximo.
“She’d be dead before you could. I refuse to lose money because you can’t nut the fuck up and fight.”
“He is my family!” I roar, spit flying out of my mouth as the rage turns to lividity.
“I thought she was your family?” Maximo runs a finger down her cheek, touching her.
Only I can touch her.
“I’ve stabbed you once. I’m not afraid to stab you again.”
“Tongue, it’s fine. We fight until one falls, not dies,” Skirt says, walking toward the fence. “Just don’t cut out me tongue. I need it. Dawn likes it too much,” he winks, trying to lighten the mood, but I’m furious.
No wonder they call Maximo the damn Devil. He should name his resort Hell’s Playground because that’s all Maximo really likes to do, play in the fires until someone burns.
“I’m not fighting you,” I tell him and grip the fence in my hands, blood dripping off them as I try to get as close to his face as possible. “Please, Skirt.” I’m not the man to beg, but I am right now.
I can’t handle the guilt.
He climbs the fence and lands beside me. “Ye girl is in danger right now, and if we don’t fight, Maximo would probably kill her.”
“He’ll start a war,” I whisper. “Why would he do that? It makes no sense.”
“Business doesn’t have to make sense when the person holding all the power wants something. And if we don’t fight, I have a feeling he will kill her or take her. Unless ye can kill his goons at the same time, is it something ye want to risk?” Skirt looks around at the carnage and whistles. “Damn.”
I spare another glance at Daphne, who is trembling in the arms of a man I want to add to my list to kill.