Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,35
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.