Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,39

enough. She’s soft, like those silk sheets my uncle used to lay me on, but she isn’t tainted like those sheets. Daphne isn’t ruined. She’s new and fragile. She’s so small. When my hand cupped her face, and I saw just how much power I have over her, my cock leaked, and I swear, I came a little in my jeans.

I could pin her down, flip her over, spank her ass and overpower her…

I could inflict pain on her if I wanted to.

But I don’t have the urge.

Never.

I never want to see her hurt. I always thought if I ever had sex, the only way for me to get pleasure was for me to cut them or worse. Sexually, I didn’t know who I was as a man because the only time I ever got hard was when I saw blood.

That’s not the case.

I only want to lay her down and be gentle with her. I’ve never been gentle; I wonder if I have it in me to be as soft as she feels. I want to be. I want to try.

The pothole in the driveway yanks me out of my thoughts as my bike dips. The cool night of autumn turning into winter blows against my cheeks, causing them to be red and raw. At night, the desert gets cold, to the point where every time you breathe, a puff of smoke leaves your lips.

I pull up to the front of the clubhouse, away from the other bikes, and sit off to the side, alone. I stare at the place that’s been my home for almost as long as I can remember. When I was taken from my uncle’s house, I didn’t get charged with his murder because it was self-defense, but I was put in a rehabilitation center to try to improve my social skills.

I was hopeless.

Officer Lionel ended up taking me in and calling in a favor to a friend in Vegas. We upped and moved, he got a job at the police department, and I found the Ruthless Kings as I became a man.

I haven’t spoken to Lionel in years. I left the moment I could, and I never looked back. I thought I was with my own people, my own brand of fucking crazy, but that is far from the truth. I am the crazy here. I am the outsider. Yearning to belong is something that hasn’t gone away; it’s gotten worse over the years because I’ve noticed just how different I am.

I can’t control my impulses.

No one understands.

I need to cut. Every tongue I remove is another way of defeating my uncle. Every drop of blood is one step closer to ridding the world of rancid human beings. I’m one of those people too, but my time will come when it’s meant to; that’s something I believe whole-heartedly.

Until then, I’ll ride my bike, want a woman I can’t have, and contemplate my life choices.

The soot from Skirt’s house can still be smelt if I really concentrate. The maze is still to the right from Halloween, and I don’t see it coming down anytime soon. People are healing, the members need time, and the kids like it.

I bet that’s enough for Reaper to keep it.

Leaning my arms against the handlebars, I stare out over the open land and the homes being built. We have really made something out of ourselves.

“Not wanting to go inside?”

I turn half my body and see Moretti smoking a cigarette. He looks like hell. He’s been avoiding seeing his brother and his daughter because he can’t remember them. I think he will one day, but he has his process he has to go through. In the meantime, he’s being a prickly asshole.

“Not really,” I answer simply, wishing I had a flask in my cut pocket.

“I heard you can’t read and write,” he states, blowing out smoke from between his lips. “That fucking sucks.”

I grit my teeth together and swing my leg over the bike. If there’s one thing I never want to talk about, it’s my stupidity.

“How have you gotten through life?”

I crack my neck and pull out my knife. “Don’t tempt me, Moretti. I’ve had a long few days. If I have to cut your tongue out to make you stop speaking, I will.”

“Got it. Don’t want to talk about it.” He chuckles, throwing the butt of the cigarette on the ground. He smashes it with his foot. “I don’t know how I got through life if it makes you