Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,48

and I don’t know when I’ll be back. Reaper doesn’t want me around the clubhouse right now, and all I can stare at is the blood on my hands.

It’s never bothered me before. I love blood. I love how seductive it is as I watch it flow. I love the smell, even the taste.

But this is Sarah’s blood, the blood of an innocent. The blood of my best friend. I almost can’t fully think of a proper thought. My phone buzzes, and I dip in my pocket and grab it, swiping the screen. I’m hoping it’s one of the guys to let me know how Sarah is doing, but it isn’t.

It’s a picture of one of my swamp kitties in NOLA. Gator is sitting next to the beast, petting its head, and giving me a thumbs-up. I look for any amount of happiness inside me when I see the picture, but I don’t feel anything. I press the button that takes me to my home screen, and I press the number three that calls Slingshot.

“Hey, it’s Slingshot, leave a message or don’t. I don’t give a fuck.” The beep after that has me hanging up, and I press the palms of my hands against my eyes, feeling a fucking break coming on. I need to leave. What if I hurt Daphne next?

I cut through the trees, one of the only woods that Vegas has, and keep to the shadows. A gust of wind blows in my face, rustling my hair, and it reminds me that I haven’t cut it yet. I whip out my knife, grab a chunk, and slice. I let the hair fall from my hands and do the same to the other side. I grab the last piece of hair in the back and cut it, watching it fall to the ground. I run my hand through it and feel that it is uneven.

Who cares?

Daphne will like it, and she will see how much I tried for her before I have to go away.

Just a quick goodbye, that’s all. I’ll go inside, say my goodbyes, and leave. It’s that simple. I can do that. I can have some form of control. I check my watch and turn the side on, letting the face become green and it reads…

Three? I think. And since it’s dark it means it is three in the morning, not three in the afternoon. Everyone should be asleep. I inch out of the trees and creep around the side of the house. My boots crunch against the rocks, the stars are out, twinkling false wishes, and the moon is high, promising deceit.

When I get to the back door, I grip the handle, and turn it as hard as I can, breaking it. The door opens, welcoming me into a home that isn’t mine, and I step inside. The floorboards creak from my weight, and I shut the door behind me, but it opens again.

Annoyed, I push it closed.

It opens.

I close it.

The creak tells me it opens … again.

I growl at it, take my knife out, the widest blade I own, and stab it between the door and the trim. I grin, satisfied with myself. Fucking doors.

But then I’m reminded of the blood on my hands, and the smile fades. I’m not allowed to smile. I’m not allowed to feel happiness, not when my best friend is hanging on for dear life. I glance to the right and notice the kitchen. I see the block of knives, and I’m tempted to take one for my personal collection but think better of it.

I have plenty.

I take a step forward, entering the living room since it’s an open space. There’s a big sofa, a sectional, and a TV that takes up the size of the wall. On the far side of the room, there is a huge spiral staircase, but I remember her limping at the hospital, so I don’t think she’d be upstairs. Looking left, I see another hallway and disappear into it, becoming one with the darkness. My heart pounds, adrenaline rushes, and the quiet ignites my temptation to cause pain.

That’s what’s so beautiful about silence; just because it’s quiet, doesn’t mean something heinous isn’t happening. Maybe the reason why someone can’t scream is because someone like me ripped their tongue out.

I’m usually that something heinous.

But right now, I’m lost.

My mind, my heart, my soul, everything I thought I knew I was, everything I am, what’s it for? Am I made for anything else except