by K. L. Savage
I nod, not wanting to give him any satisfaction of giving him my attention by speaking.
“I’ve seen you around here before. It’s been a while. You’re pretty, you know that? You want to go out sometime? I’ll take you to this local diner, maybe catch a movie. How’s that sound?” His green eyes meet mine when I whip my head up in shock. I’ve never been asked out on a date before.
And I don’t like it.
I like when a man just takes, not asks, and that’s why Tongue is the perfect man for me.
The contractor has a buzzed haircut, short to the scalp, which makes the ridges in his skull appear. I don’t like short hair, something I’ve had to tell Tongue a hundred times, especially since he cut off his beautiful long locks with his knife.
It was such a sad day.
“Um, no thank you. I have a…” Boyfriend? That sounds ridiculous when Tongue and I are so much more. “I have a husband,” I lie, kind of. My heart is married. That is what matters.
“I don’t see a ring,” he notices, laying his hand on mine and rubbing his index finger across the blank space where a ring should be.
“I… I didn’t wear it today because I knew I’d be working. I didn’t want it to slip off.” I slide my hand away and pick up the box. “Anyway, I really need that wall knocked down today.” My voice comes out low and slightly panicked. Anxiety is forming in the pits of my throat. The man walks around the plain wooden desk that has made me pluck splinters out of my palm.
“I’m Zed.” He holds out his hand. There isn’t anything about him that screams for me to get away. Even though he treated my book badly, he seems nice. Nice for some other girl who doesn’t get off on being cut with a knife or cutting the man she loves and licking the blood off the wound. He’s being a little pushy since he isn’t taking no for an answer, but he’s only calling me out on my lie.
“Listen, Zed. You seem nice, but I am with someone and it is serious. Very serious.” The words are out of my mouth, but the determination on his face doesn’t disappear.
“We can be friends. You’re allowed to have friends, right?”
I’m about to say yes, but not friends who are interested in me, when the glint of a black blade suddenly presses against Zed’s throat. It’s the same blade that’s made me orgasm. The same blade that makes me yearn for Tongue to carve his name into my chest.
“Hey man, I don’t have any cash on me. Don’t hurt the girl,” Zed says. “She doesn’t have any either.”
“She has me,” Tongue sneers, pressing the sharp edge against Zed’s Adam’s apple. “And to answer your question, no. She isn’t allowed to have friends. Not when the person wants more than friendship.” Tongue flings Zed against the wall, and I look for fear in Zed’s eyes, but all I see is understanding and realization.
“Sorry, man. I thought she just didn’t want to take the leap, but I get that she is truly taken.”
“She’s taken. Off-limits. And fucking mine. I don’t want to see you around here again.” Tongue lashes the knife against Zed’s cheek, opening a three-inch wound.
Zed hisses and holds his hands against the bleeding mark. “Fuck. I said I was going to stay away from her.”
I need to speak up. I need to stop Tongue from doing what he does best but seeing him in his element has me barely able to breathe. He’s strong, imposing, and in Alpha mode right now. If Zed wasn’t here, I’d lock the door and jump him.
“I don’t know if that’s enough.” Tongue takes a step in the man’s space. He lifts the knife and digs the tip in the man’s throat, but not hard enough to kill him.
But enough to want to.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were with someone,” Zed stammers, his head tilted back to relieve the pressure from Tongue’s knife.
“She’s mine,” Tongue growls.
“And that’s crystal clear. I will just get back to work. No harm, no foul. I swear. It won’t happen again.”
“I think I’ll kill you instead.” Tongue’s hand is quick, his fingers dipping into Zed’s mouth and pinching the red appendage tight.
Zed cries out, eyes wide, and his tries to push Tongue away, but the more he tries, the more his tongue is stretched out, so he stops the struggle.
Until the knife glides up his neck, the tip cutting another bleeding line in his skin. He tries to mumble something, probably a plea for Tongue to stop.
I finally push the lust aside and unglue my feet from the floorboard to stand between them. Tongue’s hardened gaze flickers from Zed to me.
And just like that, the anger flees, and the edges of his eyes where life has created wrinkles softens.
“He’s okay, Tongue. Let him go.”
“I never let a threat go,” Tongue replies, transitioning his attention from me to Zed.
I look over my shoulder to see Zed nodding, hoping Tongue listens to me. Now that he is in this position, he looks a little pathetic, cornered by a man so much more dangerous than he is. It would be fun to watch Tongue do what he wants. It’s been too long since Tongue and I had a little fun. Like those two guys in the alley when we were walking in downtown Vegas. He tore those men apart and seeing him in his element made me want him even more.
But it’s daytime. There are other workers here. Now isn’t the time or the place. “Let him go, Tongue. He won’t be an issue again.”
“That’s what you want?” he asks, and he does that curious tilt of his head when he is trying to understand me, because he wants to give me what I want.
“Yes, Tongue. It’s what I want. He won’t be a bother again.”
“He can’t work here. I don’t trust him around you.”
“That’s fine. He doesn’t have to be here. You can take his honest day’s work.”
Tongue grunts with a slow chin tilt. He likes that idea. It means he can be here with me. “Whatever Comet wants, she gets.” With that, Tongue lets go of Zed’s tongue and the guy dashes to the door.
He touches the blood dripping down his face and points a red finger at us. “You two are fucking nuts. Jesus Christ. You’re crazy.”
“You have two seconds to get out of here before I decide to change my mind and kill you anyway.” Tongue steps forward and spins the knife in his fingers.
“Fuck this. Crazy fucking people,” Zed opens the door, then slams it, the bronze bell ringing from his departure, but also ringing in old memories.
The days that this place wasn’t mine. The days that I knew Tongue watched me outside through the window. An admission he had no shame in telling me.
“I might kill him later because I feel like it.”
I giggle, patting the middle of his back. I know he wants to kill Zed, but unlike Tongue, I know when someone is good or bad. Zed isn’t so bad. He deserves to keep his tongue. “I love you for wanting to do that.”
He turns around and bites the air when another man passes by too close. “I don’t like you here with these men. I don’t trust them. Can I kill them all? I’ll build the bookstore for you.”
“You can’t kill everyone you don’t like, Tongue.”
“Why?” He’s pouting now. Bottom lip poking out in distress.
“Because that’s how you go to prison.”
“I’ll just kill everyone there too. No one can keep me from you. I won’t allow it.”
Now that is something I believe wholeheartedly.
“Hey, Daphne. You want the same dimensions for the new door?” another worker asks. His name is Zack if I remember correctly. “Just want to make sure before we get started.”
“Yes, I do. Thank you.”
“He likes you too,” Tongue growls, watching Zack like a hawk.
Zack lifts a sledgehammer, typical oak handle and black rubber end, and Tongue breathes heavy, huffing like a bull who is hoofing the ground. He wants to charge. “They all fucking like you.”
“No, they don’t. Tongue, come here.” I take his hand and lead him toward a corner, a place where he feels most comfortable. “What’s going on? Y
ou’re atypically growly today.”
The beast ate the bunny.
Crap.
“I miss you. I don’t like others looking at you.” He rubs the back of his neck and stretches, as if he is trying to get a kink out. “I want to lock you in the room again where the world can’t admire you. I only want to admire you. It isn’t fair, but I don’t care. I want you to myself.” He darts his eyes above, staring at the unfinished ceiling.
Can he not look at me? His hands scrub along his scalp and then then brush down his chest.
“Tongue—”
“I love you too much to have someone else come in and love you too and to take your love from me. I won’t allow it. I can’t. I can’t…” his chest rises and falls, and he continues to shake his head.
“Look at me.”
He won’t.
“Look. At. Me.”
He hears the biting edge to my voice and finally lands his eyes on me, and the pain… my god, the pain I see, no wonder he can’t breathe. His heart is racing, and his shirt is hot and damp. His neck is red, and beads of sweat are traveling down his neck.
I do the only thing I know to do.
I grab his face with my hands and kiss him. In the background, the men whistle and cheer, but I don’t care about them. I only care about the man in front of me. The very controlling, temperamental, possessive, dangerous, frightening, loving, caring, and kindest man. The man who’s mine.
Mine.
He somehow learned how to love me while thirsting to kill everyone around me.
His breathing changes. The thundering heart beneath his chest evens out, and when we break apart, his forehead lands on mine and his coffee laden breath puffs across my nose. “I’m sorry I’m so much to deal with. You’re the only good thing I’ve ever had. And it makes me crazy. It makes me… the thought of losing you makes me crazy.”
“Why are you thinking like that? Why would you ever lose me? Does this still have to do with me bumping my head?”
His silence is the only confirmation I need. “Tongue,” I brush the scruff along his face with the back of my hand. “You can’t do that to yourself. I don’t blame you. I blame your uncle.”
“It isn’t about that. Well, it’s not just about that,” he corrects himself. “It’s about all of me. How fucked up I am. My fucked-up way of thinking and feeling, and that isn’t going to change. I want you to myself. The world can burn in hell for all I care. That’s who I am.”
“And I love you for who you are. Because I don’t want the world, Tongue. I only want you. I want the most fucked-up parts of you because that’s what I love most. You think I care if others want me or look at me? The only attention I want is yours.”
“Yeah?” he questions on a relieved exhale. “Why?”
“Why?”
He taps his head and then his heart. “I’m not right, Comet. You don’t think I don’t see that? I’m not like everyone else. I need blood on my hands to sleep most nights. How does that make me worthy of you? How do I know next time won’t just be a bump on the head? But worse?”
My hands move up and over his arms, feeling the hard muscle of his biceps flex under my touch. His forearms are strong, and his veins are protruding all the way down to the wrist. My fingers make their way home between his and hold onto him tight.
“I’ll get my hands bloody with you and when we get home, I’ll help wash it off. Blood doesn’t scare me, but not having you? That does. You have to stop running with the ideas you think of, Tongue. That if I’m hurt, it’s your fault, or someone is going to come and love me in ways you can’t. You love me in all the ways that matter to me. Get out of your head, or you’re going to drive yourself crazy.”
He takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips, kissing me softly. I stare at the hands that have caused so much pain and torment and been drenched in so much blood. They are the same hands that have caressed me in bed as he makes love to me, the same hands that protect me, and the same hands that hold me.
“Knock, knock! Sorry to interrupt.”
I turn to see an older man standing in the doorway. Tongue immediately clears his throat and masks the emotions on his face. Those emotions are for my eyes only. Only I get to see the side the world will never have the privilege to see.
“Mercy, what are you doing here?” Tongue asks, his shoulders thrusting back and his tone suspicious.
Oh, Mercy. Right. I’ve seen him briefly, but we have never met.
I step around Tongue and kiss the side of his cheek. “I’m going to go in the other room to look at paint samples. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Wait,” Mercy says, lifting a finger to gesture ‘one minute’ as he dashes out the door. “This was wrapped and ready at the clubhouse. I was going to the hardware store across the street anyway, so I told Reaper I’d bring it. He said you wanted it to come here.” Mercy’s eyes flicker to me. His black brows pinch together, which are such a contrast to his silver hair. He leans the package against the primed wall and eyes the room. “Place is looking good.”
“Thank you,” I say, Mercy’s eyes falling to me again.
I lower my sight to the floor and stare at my feet, watching my toes wiggle under the material of my Converse sneakers. He’s making me uneasy.
“You’re Daphne, right? I only saw you briefly one time, quick, you were on you way out somewhere.”
“Yeah. Hi,” I greet, and he holds out his hand to me for me to shake.
Tongue slaps it down and growls. “No touching.”
“Right,” he says. “I’m not trying to step on your toes, man, or cross lines. I wanted to check out the place and properly introduce myself since I’m going to be around more. Daphne and I don’t see each other much—”
“Good,” Tongue states. “You don’t need to see her a lot.”
I hide my smile, but Mercy doesn’t get the picture. He continues to stare at me, and not only is it making me uncomfortable, Tongue is getting edgy.
“I’ll go. I’m meeting Whistler and One. If you need any extra hands, let me know. See you.” Mercy pushes the door open and Tongue watches him walk down the sidewalk and pass the window in the front of the store.
But before Mercy is out of my sight, he gives me one last look, and it isn’t with want. It’s with another intention. I can’t place my finger on it.
“Everyone is looking at you today,” Tongue slams his fist on my fake countertop and cracks it in half.
Great. Now, I need another one.
“I don’t know why. I’m just me…” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and then tug the long purple sleeves down my wrists.
Tongue lifts my chin with his fingers. “That’s why. You’re too beautiful for anyone to miss.”
Feeling uncomfortable with all the attention, I try to put Mercy’s odd interest out of my head and bounce over to the package he delivered. “What’s this?”
Tongue gives that small tilt of his lips as his cheeks turn pink. “It’s something I made you. For your store.”
A loud drill digs into the wall, followed by another loud bang of a hammer somewhere.
“You made me something? Can I see?”
“What if you don’t like it? I don’t know—”
“It’s from you. I’m going to love it.”
Unless it’s bones. I have no idea what I’d do with them. Maybe it’s a real human skeleton. I could put it in a corner.
Well, now that I’ve thought of it, I hope that’s what it is.
Tongue steps over a few two-by-fours and glides his knife down the package. I wait for it to bleed or moan, but nothing happens.
What in the world is in this box that doesn’t leak red?
Tongue’s just full of surprises lately, which goes to show, no matter how much time you spend with someone, there is always something to be learned about them.
And I just learned, Tongue loves surprises. Not getting them but giving. He’s chomping at the bit with excitement, giving me side-eye glances a
nd tiny grins.
I see more of him peeking through his damaged exterior lately. He’s a lesson that will never be finished. A subject I can forever learn about.
What will I learn next?
I don’t know.
But I can hardly wait.
I’m nervous.
I’ve made this in secret for the last few weeks. The only person who knows about it is Slingshot, since he’s been the one outside helping me build the swamp for Happy. I swore him to secrecy. I didn’t want anyone to know what I was up to. Lately, I’ve felt like more of an outsider at the clubhouse. They watch me like I’m planning some hideous crime.
I thought I was one of them, but Daphne has made me think about life in a new way. Maybe I’m not one of them. The thought has put me in the corner again, only the shadows feel lonelier than ever. I don’t say anything, because speaking up about it would make me seem weak. So I hold back and let them stare, let them see if I’m about to go on a killing spree.
Which I haven’t done in a while. I’ve been calmer since Daphne came into my life, but that doesn’t mean to I don’t crave it sometimes.
Reaper’s been cautious about everyone, especially since Moretti and Maximo are still M.I.A. It’s like they disappeared off the face of the earth. No one knows how they managed to get over the gates. Braveheart wouldn’t let them go.
Moretti figured out a way, and as curious as I am, I find myself not caring.
It’s hard to care when no one seems to care what happens to me. I’ve dedicated my life to the club, but I’m starting to wonder if the club would do the same for me. They are good guys, but whatever notion they have about me, it’s pushing me away.
I shouldn’t care, but I do.
They don’t trust me, and if I don’t have the trust of my brothers at my back, then when the time comes that I’ll need them most, it will be too late.
I don’t know how to redeem myself. I always thought redemption was weak, a pointless goal to achieve for someone who isn’t being themselves. Redemption? No such thing. People are who they are. They don’t change.
If someone actually wants to get something done, they should try justification for their actions. What type of man are you to do what needs to be done?