Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,89
so long, I can’t remember. How sad is that? How bad of a daughter does that make me? She was the prettiest woman I had ever met and now she’s a warped sense of karma fucking with me.
He gasps, placing his hand on his chest, being overly dramatic in his baby mask. “You haven’t met the club.”
“I have,” I defend myself, not wanting to say I’ve only met three of them. I’ve never been to the clubhouse. Besides Reaper and the other two, Tongue hasn’t introduced me, but it isn’t because he hasn’t wanted to. He hasn’t been allowed to go back to the clubhouse. Or what if he is embarrassed of me?
Ridiculous.
I can’t fall for this man’s scheme.
“You haven’t. See, I have been there, unwanted, but I’ve been there. I’ve watched Tongue, seen how he lurks, how he…” his hand drops to my thigh and his finger runs along the shallow wound. “Cuts.”
“I’ve seen it and I don’t care.” The wall morphs again and this time the person that comes out of it is my dad. A man I haven’t talked to in months and he has a beer in his hand, yelling at my mom. I don’t know what he is saying. I can only see his mouth moving. He lifts his arms and points a gun at the back of my mom’s head.
I stand, stinging my palms on the table with how hard I hit it. “No! Mom!” I scream, trying to warn her, but it’s too late. Dad pulls the trigger, and her body drops, blood splatters across the wall, and I scream again, cupping my hand over my mouth.
I hate watching my mom die.
I’ve always wondered if my mom really killed herself or if he did it. He was never happy with his life or with us, mostly me.
The bodies fade away and the walls morph back to normal. The drywall is cracked, and it decorates the floor like breadcrumbs. Apart of the roof is sagging, a chunk of missing, and the black sky is a canvas peeking through.
There are a few stars showing, and I’m reminded about how much beauty there is in this world, even when bad things happen, even when I’m in some abandoned building, beauty exists.
If I died, the beauty of the world would still be there.
It’s depressing to think about.
“What did you see? You know what I think?” he stands behind me and gathers my hair in his hands, exposing my shoulder. “I think whatever you say, Tongue would do.” He dabs my cheek with a dirty napkin, drying tears. “There. There. Everything will be okay now. You’re home now.”
“God, go away! Leave me alone!” I struggle to get out of his hold, but he holds me down in the chair and the walls begin to melt, the window drips, and the curtains flow one last time before the image of Tongue appears. I sob, wanting him to be real.
Is he here for me? He has come to rescue me.
I smile when he walks forward, knife shimmering in his hand like a diamond since the ivory is so polished. “You came for me,” I whisper to him.
I’ll always come for you. I’m always watching you in the shadows, remember? His voice reminds me of home, the comfort of walking through the door after a long day and feeling relieved and safe.
Tongue is my home.
We are surrounded by flames and doubt.
The foundation we have built is being threatened, but our house holds our hearts, and that is solid.
His head is jerked back, and his tongue is ripped out of his mouth, then tossed to me on a silver platter, bleeding, and twitching.
I scream at the top of my lungs.
“That’s it. Scream for him,” the Groundskeeper laughs. “Scream as loud as you can because guess what?”
The plate disappears and so does the disgusting appendage. I jerk my head up to see if Tongue is still there, but he is gone too.
“He isn’t coming for you. No one knows where you are. Get comfortable, Kitty.”
He yanks my arms behind me and zip-ties them again.
This isn’t my home, Tongue is, and right now, I’m caught in the flames.
Two days later.
I’m sharpening my knife and have one of the books I bought from Daphne at my side. The guys have asked about the novels because I can’t read, but it’s a symbol of her and me. I found her at the bookstore, placing a book on the shelf, and I knew I had to get