Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,17

my surroundings to make sure no one can see me and give the door a shove with my shoulder.

Oopsie.

There’s a staircase to my right that leads to the other half of the duplex. It’s nice. This place looks like somewhere Daphne would live. It’s clean, pretty, and I bet there is a story behind the building. The light flickers above me, casting a yellow glow along the scratched hardwood floors. There are black and white photos along the floral wallpaper of a married couple with a soccer team of kids.

I’m not sure how I feel about kids. I never thought about having one.

I’m not interested in pictures. I’m interested in my comet, my once-upon-a-lifetime, my Daphne. The gold-plated mailbox slots shine beside the staircase.

Her name is written above one slot on a white sticker in black ink. The writing is flawless, pretty, and serene. It’s cursive. I remember Sarah showing me the two different types of writing. Print and cursive.

At least, I think it is her name. Since her name is Daphne, I know her name starts with a D and the name below hers does not. “Number two,” I say when I see the number at the end of her signature.

Something I’ve yet to perfect.

My hand lands on the wooden rail, and it’s cold to the touch. Daphne has touched this rail. My eyes roll to the back of my head at that thought. I creep up the stairs, and the heavy weight of my body has the stairs creaking. I freeze, hoping she doesn’t hear me.

I know what I’m doing isn’t right, but I don’t want to hurt her. I promise.

I’ll be a ghost in the darkness, and she won’t even know I’m there. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I know it’s Reaper calling me wondering where the hell I’m at. All the guys always text me, but since I can’t read, I ignore them. They think I don’t care, but they don’t know how long I’ve glared at those messages and tried to sound them out with my stupid voice and broken tongue.

I reach the top of the stairs and find the door with a two on it. I step forward and blow out a breath. I put my hand on the knob and quiet the rush of thoughts jarring in my mind. Is this right or wrong? It’s a chance to open her door. She could be right there, and she could see me, but am I willing to blow my cover for one last look of her? With a shaky hand, I twist the knob, and fire brews in my body when it’s unlocked.

Anyone could come inside and not just me. Someone who intends to hurt her. Oh no, that needs to be changed. I’ll have to install automatic locks when she isn’t around and a security system. I have to make sure my comet is safe.

As quietly as I can, I open the beautiful cherry red door and see I’m in an empty living room. There’s an oversized green couch near the windows, and books are everywhere.

I mean everywhere.

They are in piles on the floor, the coffee table, on top of the TV, the arms of the couch, windowsill, and I bet every other surface she can find. The walls are painted a light blue, and there is a red rug on the floor, almost covering the entire space of the living room. I can’t see all of it since there are books stacked in rows on top of it.

My little bookworm.

Maybe she can read to me sometime.

My brows shoot to my hairline when I see the kitchen. Well, what used to be a kitchen. The countertops are littered with books and takeout containers, and the table is lost under more books.

I smirk. She’s cuter by the second. I’ll make her a big bookshelf. I bet she’ll like that. I’ll give her a damn library if she wants.

The hiss of the shower has me turning my head in the direction it’s coming from, and I hold my breath. She’s naked, wet, and alone.

I’m here, yes, but I don’t count. I’ll lurk in the shadows to keep my eye on her. Being this close, in her presence without her knowing, it sends a thrill of excitement through me, something akin to slicing tongues. I move quickly; she’ll never know I’m here. Lurking. Watching from the shadows.

Shadows can’t be seen in other shadows, and that’s where I plan to stay when it comes to