Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,15

Daphne might be upset if I kill her friend.

She can always make new friends, right?

Trying again, I hold the weapon between my hands and lay my finger on the trigger. Come on, why can’t I do it? This isn’t like me. I need to get this guy out of my way. He wants Daphne. Daphne will want him. He is better than me. Everyone is. If that means I need to take out everyone, then that is what it means. I will kill everyone on this goddamn planet making us the last two people on earth if I have to.

Damn, that actually sounds kind of nice.

It’s a long list. It will take me a while, but it can be done. My swamp kitties will be nice and well-fed too. The idea is something to consider. It’s on my list.

She nods at him after he speaks to her. I wish I could read lips. Hell, I wish I could read, but I can’t, so I’m stuck wondering what the hell he’s saying to her. Is he admitting his love? That thought has my finger twitching on the trigger. I need to be smart about this. I could stage his death.

He could die in a horrible car accident, and then I can finally have Daphne all to myself.

It sounds selfish because it is.

I want to be selfish when it comes to Daphne.

The fucking walking dead man gives her a hug, but she doesn’t seem to reciprocate it in the same enthusiasm. She turns her head toward me and lays her cheek on his chest, arms to her side, and her eyes are staring down this dark alley again.

All I can hear is my breathing. My heartbeat. It’s deafening, and after spending a few hours in a box in the ground because of some killer on the loose, my heartbeat sounds pretty fucking good right about now.

Shit.

That reminds me, I’m supposed to be at the clubhouse helping the club clean up Skirt’s old house so they can break ground on a new property.

I can’t leave Daphne just yet.

He finally releases her, and she vanishes inside the bookstore, then comes outside a second later when she has her purse. It’s a nice green color. I can see why she likes it. It can go with all the clothes she wears and still look fashionable and bright. She gives him a wave and walks down the street.

By herself.

Fuck no.

She’s not ever going anywhere by herself ever again.

I wait for the shitbag who works with her to disappear. I watch as he locks up the shop, then trots over to his fucking Prius. What a pussy.

What man drives a car like that?

No man does, which means he’s a bitch. Daphne doesn’t need a man like that. She needs someone who is strong, a protector, someone who isn’t worried about needing to charge his car before they go out on a date.

I should have brought my silencer. This mess could have been dealt with already and one less Prius loving, plant-fucking guy would be off the map. Damn it.

He rolls down the windows and—oh dear, all the blades in the world—is that a saxophone? He’s listening to jazz! I’m too baffled to shoot him as his car hums like a honeybee before driving down the road in the opposite direction.

Inching out from the alleyway, the sun is high in the sky, and the cool morning is now a thing of the past. I run across the street and then throw the hood I have attached to my cut over my head, staying close to the quaint brick buildings. They look old, like they have been here awhile.

Keeping my head down, I count the cracks in the sidewalk, smiling when I remember when Sarah taught me how to count over ten. Sometimes, I count for the hell of it just because I know how. People don’t know how good they have it. Life is easy for others because counting, writing, and reading is something people learn so early, and they really can’t remember when it started to flow so easily that it has been embedded in their minds.

Sarah says she’s going to teach me how to read soon, right after I perfect writing my name. I’m close. My handwriting is sloppy, but it’s better than not writing at all. A man my age, I should know how to do all those things, I know that. I know I’m not smart, not like the rest of my friends. I