Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,80

feel so much better instead of living in a fog, unable to be yourself because society thinks you’re broken!” he yells, sliding his arms under my body and slings me over his shoulder. He trudges out from the side of the road and, steps up on higher ground, and begins to walk into the trees.

Vegas is mostly desert, but there are some areas that are wooded and rocky. I bet I’m about to get thrown off that cliff I used to see when I had breaks in my reality. At least it will be a quick death.

“We are going to be great friends. I found a place. It’s close to the Ruthless Kings, you know. I like to keep an eye on them. They can’t be trusted. Especially Tongue. I buried him. I told you that, right?”

I lift my head to see where we are going, but I see a ton of land, and it’s hard to decide where I am when I am seeing everything upside down. I open my mouth and start to scream at the top of my lungs, “Help me! Someone help me! Help me!”

He flings me to the ground, the thin skin around my elbow pierced by a cactus. “Why did you have to go and do that? I thought we were friends. I’ve been doing you so many favors.” He sighs, clearly not happy with me. He rips a section of his shirt off, squats, and carefully wraps the material around my head after stuffing it in my mouth, then ties it, tight.

“That ought to do it,” he says proudly, patting my cheek. “Now, what was I saying?” he lifts me up and over his shoulder again. “Right. Tongue, your little boyfriend. I buried him. Six feet under. The chances of him surviving were…slim,” his voice darkens. “He was so stupid, walking around, all scary and badass, yet he couldn’t read the back of a milk carton.”

I mumble around the mouth gag, “He isn’t stupid!” not that it matters. It sounds like nothing, but I can’t sit back and let him talk about Tongue like that. Tongue is smart, he is brilliant, and I can’t wait to teach him the things he has missed out on because he will own the fucking world if given a chance.

I’m going to give it to him.

I lift my arms and slam them against my kidnapper’s back. I’m sick of this nice guy act. He isn’t nice. Nothing about him is fucking nice. I want to go home. I need to know Tongue is okay. I want to live my life waking up to Tongue licking my skin and promising a world filled in his shadows.

“Will you stop? That hurts. I have feelings.”

I scoff and mumble, “I don’t care.” It doesn’t sound that way, again, I’m sure he can’t understand me, but it’s worth a try. I keep hitting him, hoping I punch a kidney, or I paralyze him somehow, but he keeps walking as if he is in a field of damn wildflowers, casual and happy.

Holy Moly.

This is exhausting.

“We are here.” He slings me over his shoulder again and holds me like a baby. “See, this can be our new home. We can get people like us. We can have our Asylum. It can be a place of safety where we can all be normal.”

I tremble, slowly moving my neck until I’m looking at an old, run-down brick building. The windows are bashed in. There are plywood sheets over the door with a big red X to warn people to stay away. I bet this house is hundreds of years old. It’s beautiful.

Or it was.

Until this creep found it.

“Daphne,” I mumble her name as I wake up slowly, the sound of machines beeping interrupting my dream. Daphne was there. She was beautiful in a long white dress, wearing my ring, and that night, while we were alone in our room, she let me carve my property patch into her skin while we fucked.

It’s a dream that needs to become a reality.

But she isn’t here.

“Daphne?” I croak, then yank out the oxygen tube hissing through my nostrils. “Daphne!” I yell through the cold, dark room. I used to yearn to live in the shadows, to be in the place I call home, but now, there is no appeal without the light at the end of the tunnel.

The light is Daphne.

“Hey, Tongue. Woah, it’s okay. You’re at the clubhouse. You’re safe.” Doc’s voice has my eyelids trying to open