Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,87

but it falls from my fork, and back onto the plate. I try again, but the trembling is too strong. I can’t get the food to stick on the fork. I’m crying, not that it matters the man in front of me, he doesn’t even seem to notice.

And he is still wearing that fucking mask.

I’m waiting for my mind to fail me to conjure up some sick, twisted, bent form of reality. Every time I see the old, tattered curtain hanging in the window blow from the wind coming inside the busted glass, I always think it’s my brain playing tricks on me.

I’ll be fine. I’m strong. I can do this. I can make it until someone finds me.

Someone will find me, right?

Tongue will look for me. He won’t give up on me. He loves me. He’s made for me. People who love each other don’t give up on one another. No, I know he is searching for me. I feel it.

“You aren’t eating!” he slams his fist on the old wooden table and I jump.

“I’m trying.”

“You aren’t trying hard enough. God,” he runs his fingers through his air, tugging on the locks. The veins in his arms pop, and he rocks his jaw back and forth, either trying to calm down or figuring out if he wants to eat me.

Not in a good way.

I’m worried for my health.

“I tried so hard for you. I try. I try,” he digs his fork into the wood and drags it, creating deep grooves. “I saved you from evil. He is pure fucking evil. And you are….” he gestures his hands out, like he wants to strangle me, and a rumble shakes the table. “You are special. You’re innocent. You don’t need a life with him. You need to be with people like you. Tongue doesn’t care about you. He can’t…he can’t care about you. He isn’t capable.”

“He is. He is capable. I’ve seen it. He isn’t the guy you think he is. I swear.”

He slides back in the chair and swipes the plate off the table. It crashes against the floor and green beans fly everywhere along with their juice. Not that it ruins the place. The entire floor is ripped up and the only thing under us is a slab of stained concrete.

I think someone has died in here.

The brown on the floor is either rust or blood.

“I’ve watched him,” he runs to my side and folds his elbows on the corner next to me.

I stare at my plate, blinking away the tears. I shiver from how close he is and I’m afraid. I’m so fucking afraid. This is the difference between Tongue and him. Not once have I ever felt like my life was in jeopardy. When he stares at me, when he swallows me in his presence, I’m blanketed in trust.

He’d never hurt me. He’d never scare me.

Tongue loves me. I have to keep that belief. I can’t let this guy get in my head. I’m not an object to him. I’m more than that.

Right?

“You’re so pliable, aren’t you?” he sweeps my hair from out of my face, and I flinch away. I don’t want him to touch me. He chuckles, then takes the fork from my hand and stabs a green bean. “Open.”

I do as he says because if I don’t, I have no idea what can happen. “See?” He inserts the bean into my mouth and sighs. “Pliable. You’d do anything you’re told and you have no idea that you’d do it. You think it’s what you want, but really, you’re just giving into the deep need others want from you. That’s what happens when sweet girls like you get involved with men like Tongue.” He stands causing a swift breeze as he maneuvers around me, laying his chin on my shoulder. The stubble on his face is sandpaper against my skin. “So naïve. So sweet. So innocent—Oh,” he laughs again, dark and like he finds me ironic. “I bet you used to be innocent.” He runs his nose over the shell of my ear.

I sit completely still, gripping the edges of the table and stare at the far end of the hall. I’m so tired, sluggish. I can feel the lack of the medication I need. The walls start to bend and morph, but then I close my eyes, telling myself that I’m fine.

“He took that, didn’t he? I bet he doesn’t even know you’re gone.”

His words echo in my head, and I sit straighter, watching