Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,36

all of his tattoos tell a million stories, and if it meant getting to know Tongue, I’d sit down and listen to every single one of them.

“You’re leaving?” I cut to the chase when I realize where this conversation is going. “Do you watch all girls you take a liking to from spooky corners, and once you’ve had your fill, leave?”

“No. Only you. But to get my fill? Never.”

“Please,” I beg. “Don’t go.”

“I have to if I want to keep you safe.”

“Take me with you,” I blurt, surprised by my outburst for a second.

He takes another step into the light, but only half of his face shows. The one eye I see is dark, matching the abyss around us, and the drag of something along the wall has my eyes falling to the area beside him. A glint of something metal scratches, carving a line as his body seems to vibrate. “Don’t joke like that. You have no idea what you will get yourself into with me. I’m not… I’m not…” he stutters and then stabs the wall. “I’m not the kind of man who changes. I won’t stop being who I am.”

“And who are you?” I ask him, swinging my legs off the side of the bed to stand. My feet land on the cold tile floor, and I limp as I take my first step. My knee is sore, and I can hardly put my weight on it, but it’s better than nothing.

“I’m the man who cuts out tongues—”

“No, that’s what you do. Who are you?” I take another step forward. I’m so close I can smell the leather, the cologne, and the hint of smoke from the exhaust of his bike.

I’ve found peace in a man who is anything but peaceful.

“I-I’m a Ruthless King. I stay in a corner. I feed my swamp kitties. I—”

“You aren’t telling me who you are, Tongue.” I lift my hand to touch his chest, but he takes a step away from me, further into the shadow. I can no longer see him. “You don’t know, do you?”

“There isn’t much to know.”

“I think that’s a lie.” I keep all of my weight on my other leg and take another step forward. If he doesn’t want to come to me, I’ll go to him. “I don’t think you’ve been given a chance to figure yourself out. I think you’re expected to do certain things, and now you think they define you.”

Tongue falls quiet again, and the closer I get to him, the harder his breaths fan across my face. My hand caresses his massive chest, and his heart jackhammers against my palm.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The beat is wild and untamed, and like him, it has no idea of its true purpose. My breath catches when I rub my hand up to his neck, finally able to touch him like I’ve wanted to since the day I spoke to him carrying that box.

He said it dripped blood.

I laughed it off, but knowing him now, he told me the truth.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks, flattening the body of the blade against my arm. He slides it up and down my flesh. I thought feeling a knife against my skin would scare me.

But it feels good.

The metal is cold against my skin and a shiver of the unknown trembles beneath my flesh.

“No,” I state, tilting my head back and exposing the vulnerable part of my throat. The tip of the knife presses under my chin, and I gasp.

“I could cut you,” he says, but the statement is weak and falls on deaf ears. “I could do so many things to you before you wished for death. You’d scream, and I’d get hard because that’s the kind of man I am, Daphne. Fear feeds me.”

“You won’t hurt me. I think you would’ve done it already. You’re trying to scare me away.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“It should,” he states, gliding the knife down to my chest. “I should. My club should scare you.”

“If you leave, put me out of my misery,” I sneer, pushing my chest into his weapon. “Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life searching for my knight in the dark. You’ve made me expect you everywhere I go. You can’t leave me now.”

“I’m no knight,” he growls, removing the knife from my chest. Leather crinkles, and I imagine he’s opening his cut to put the weapon away. “I’m a nightmare.”

My fingers glide over his chest, and I close my eyes, trying to