Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,79
know.
My arms are bound, but the rest of my body isn’t. I kick, trying to push him off me, fling my elbows, but he straddles my lap and holds me down in the middle of the dirt road. In between my whimpers, I hear the rubbing of wings of crickets singing.
Fear is a paralytic controlling my body, but somehow the world finds a way to go one.
It’s impressive, shocking, and more terrifying when you realize you’re about to die, but all you can hear is the life around you. I can feel the breeze against my skin, the dry air, but the promise of cold nights approaching. A bird caws in the distance, a rattle of a snake shivers, and those damn crickets are getting louder.
“I told you not to go near him. I told you. I warned you what he did and yet you were with him anyway. What did I have to do, kitty? To save you from him.”
“Why? So you can have me to yourself?” I sneer, gathering the blood in my mouth to launch it at his face.
“No. No, I don’t want you. I’m trying to do you a favor. I’m trying to save you from his madness!” he roars so harshly; I can smell the coffee on his breath. “I’m trying to save you from him. Why can’t you see that? He isn’t good for you. None of them are. You are…you are…” he says the words again, this time, like he is fascinated with me. He hovers his hand over my jaw, then slides his hand down to the bruise across the middle of my throat. “He did this. He hurt you. I knew he would. I’ve been watching them and then Tongue got away from me. He got away!”
I turn my head away when he rubs his nose in my hair, then across my jaw. My chin wobbles as I do my best not to cry, but it’s impossible.
“I told you, I sent you the roses. I gave you clues about what would happen if you didn’t stay away and look at you. They aren’t good people. Especially, Tongue. I’ve watched him—oh, yes—I’ve watched him. I buried him, and I hate that he lived! Everyone loves him, but they don’t see him as I see him. Sick recognizes sick, and he is a sick fuck, isn’t he?” the man says softly against my cheek. “Look what he did to you. I wouldn’t do this to a woman if I had one. Too pretty.”
I keep my mouth shut. I’m not about to tell him I like every single thing Tongue does to me because what he and I have is love. It’s intense. We give each other everything we need. Maybe he is a sick fuck, but you know what?
I am too.
“I did a little research on you too, you know,” he chuckles, then taps the side of my temple. He brings his lips down to my ear and the warm air against my cheek reminds me of the heat kicking on in the middle of summer, suffocating me for a second. “You. Have. Psychosis.” He taps three times against the side of my head. He lowers his voice, “Do you think I’m real? What if I’m not? What if this is all a delusion in that twisted head of yours? It’s okay,” he shushes me as I cry, petting the side of my head. “I’ll take care of you. I’m going to help you. Okay? I’m going to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. I’m fine. I’m healthy.” Unlike you. I want to say, but again, I swallow my tongue and stare at the road fading into the night.
“Mmm, is that why you’re on medication? Because you’re fine?” he rolls off me and zip ties my ankles together next. “We don’t need medication. Nothing is wrong with us. You need to accept who you are. You don’t have an illness. You have a gift.”
It doesn’t feel like a gift when I’m driving, and I hallucinate I’m about to drive off a cliff or my dead mother is talking to me from across the dinner table. There have been worse breaks in reality, sometimes suicidal thoughts, sometimes my mom would ask me to join her.
Sometimes, I’d want to.
Until I got on the medication.
“It’s why I’ve switched your pills out with a placebo.”
“No,” I shake my head in denial. That can’t be possible. I would have had symptoms. I think. Maybe.