LUNATIC (RUTHLESS ASYLUM (A RUTHLESS UNDERWORLD NOVEL Book 2) Read online

  COPYRIGHT© 2021 LUNATIC BY KL SAVAGE

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. LUNATIC is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  ISBN: 978-1-952500-30-5

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL: 2020924724

  PHOTOGRAPHY BY WANDER AGUIAR PHOTOGRAPHY

  COVER MODEL: TUG

  COVER DESIGN: WANDER AGUIAR

  EDITING BY: INFINITE WELL

  FORMATTING: CHAMPAGNE BOOK DESIGN

  FIRST EDITION PRINT 2021

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LUNATIC PLAYLIST

  ACKNOWLEDMENTS

  ALSO BY K.L. SAVAGE

  To our crazy readers,

  Thank you for making this book possible. The Ruthless Universe has grown so much because of all of you and this book wouldn’t have come to life without our readers, so thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

  Please keep in mind that this book is a work of fiction, but the meaning behind loving hard is not. There are a lot of people in the world who are afraid to love and to feel loss because sometimes it hurts like hell. Don’t be afraid to love hard to the point where it is crazy and consuming (safely) and give that person every ounce of effort you have.

  Love lives everywhere.

  Even in the Asylum.

  Even for the minds that aren’t all there.

  Love. Is. Maddening.

  With or without a mental illness.

  Ten years old

  They are going to find me.

  They are going to kill me.

  And there’s nothing I can do. There is no escaping them. There are so many of them. It’s impossible to win.

  “They’re coming,” I whisper, staring out the window and watching the sky.

  “No one is fucking coming,” Martin, my big stepbrother, snaps. “You’re insane. You keep thinking they are going to come out of the sky and get you. No one is fucking coming, Zain. Jesus, enough already.” He flops onto the bed and untwists his headphones that are tangled in a nest. “Will you get the fuck out of my room? Chelsea is on her way back with Jesse.”

  “You would say that because they aren’t coming for you!” I yell and tap against the window to the black sky with all the flashing lights. “They are there. They want me! Why aren’t you listening to me! Why doesn’t anyone ever listen?” I cry, feeling the panic grip my heart. “They want me to be their leader. I’m not ready.” I ignore his order to leave the room. I don’t want to be alone. I want to be right here, where I know I am safe.

  My stepbrother rolls his eyes and covers his ears with his headphones, then blares rock music to tune me out. Everyone tunes me out, but my parents always listen to Martin. He can do no wrong, and it’s because he is the next in line to have the MC handed down to him. Stupid Legacy crap. I never understood the meaning behind it all.

  My brother is twenty-one and got a girl pregnant seven years ago. While it wasn’t responsible for a fifteen-year-old to get his girlfriend pregnant, they kept the baby. He’s grown into a six-year-old boy who runs around without a shirt and likes to steal my stepdad’s cut, since he is in charge of the Ruthless Kings.

  The kid’s name is Jesse. He is my nephew, which is weird since we are only four years apart. Well, step-nephew. We don’t have any blood shared, which is probably why I’m the outcast, the unloved one, the outsider. My blood is no good. At least, that’s what momma says.

  Martin could have six kids and my stepdad and momma would be so happy. Because all of them would be normal. They wouldn’t be freaks.

  They wouldn’t be a disappointment. They wouldn’t be me.

  But not them. They want me.

  I bring my thumb to my mouth and chew on the nail. Maybe I don’t need to be afraid. They named me their leader for a reason. I need to be there. I can do it. I can be who they need me to be.

  I grip the sides of my head when the noise becomes too much and begin to rock back and forth. “Stop, please. Make it stop!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?”

  The door bursts open, and I jump back. My mom is standing there with a grim look on her face, but one that’s more annoyed than worried. “Can’t believe I got stuck with a dud for a kid,” she says, smacking me upside the head. “It wasn’t even that bad of a fall. You didn’t hit your head that hard. Snap the fuck out of it,” she yells, slapping me again.

  “Momma, they are coming for me,” I say, tears filling my eyes. “They want me there. We need to go. We have to move.” I hook my hands in my mom’s shirt, desperate for her to listen to me. I don’t see the threats, but I know what they want.

  And they want me.

  “You know what, Zain? I’m going to be happy when they take you away,” Momma says as two men wearing white uniforms come through the door.

  One has a syringe in his hand. “Momma, who is that? Who are they? They came for me, didn’t they? I won’t let you take me!”

  I try to run around them, jumping over the bed, but my foot catches on the edge of the mattress. I tumble to the floor, smashing my face against the hardwood, and my arms are pulled behind me as something wraps around my wrists. It’s tight, hard, and feels like the plastic that my toys are made of.

  “They found me,” I whisper. “There is no getting away from them. You guys have to leave! Please leave.”

  “I can’t wait until I’m no longer responsible for you,” Momma says. “You’re too much to bear, Zain. You’re too much of a burden. You aren’t normal.”

  “Momma, I am. I am, normal. I’m telling you. Look, they are taking me just like I said they would! Momma, look. You have to believe me. Please,” I sob, tugging on the restraints as hard as I can, but I’m trapped. The room starts to spin, and I lose my footing, tripping over my left foot. One of them saves me from smashing against the ground. I want to be thankful, but if they want me with them, why do they need to restrain me? “Dad?” I whimper when I see him at the door. It’s wide open, and the humid air makes it hard to breath from the heat. “Dad, don’t let them take me,” I beg.

  “You need help, kid,” he says, slapping a big hand on my shoulder. “You’ll realize it one day.”

  What are they saying?

  I don’t understand.

  When the sun hits my face as they push me out the door, I see a van waiting in the driveway. My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s like the better part of me is dying to get out, but the bad side of me is
too strong. I can’t fight it.

  This happens sometimes. I have really high highs and low lows. I don’t understand it, but it’s so hard for me to focus sometimes because of how fast my mind is running. It’s gotten me in a lot of trouble at school, but I don’t know how to control it. It’s like I suddenly wake up and they tell me what I did wrong.

  “Where am I going? What’s happening?” I start to come out of the fuzzy haze that’s fogged my mind when they try to put me in a van. “No. No! I’m not going. You can’t make me go.” I struggle, lifting my legs to kick and scream.

  “Kid, let them help you!”

  “Coming from you, that’s means nothing!” I shout to the man I once thought of as my new dad. Tears drip down my face when I read what’s on the side of the van.

  Nevada Psychiatric Facility.

  Where minds come to heal.

  “I’m not crazy. I’m not!” I scream louder until my throat is raw.

  No one is listening to me.

  I kick my feet up and they land on the fender. The men grabbing me don’t expect it, and I use my small size to my advantage. I push out, letting my feet press against the side of the van. Their grips loosen and I yank out of their hold and dart away.

  I try to run back inside the house where my family is, one of the few places I’ve called home, but my mom is there is the doorway, and she slams the door in my face. A sharp pinch hits the back of my arm and when I look, I notice a dart of some sort.

  My head turns foggy again, and I spin slowly, wondering how two grown men can drug a ten-year-old-boy. Another tear drops down my cheek when I realize what’s happened to me. They’re the only family that I’ve ever known. Sure, my momma bounced around before settling with the President of the Ruthless Kings. I had always wanted a brother, so when I met Martin, I thought I had it all.

  The only person in that house that loved me was Jesse, and he didn’t know me well enough to hate me yet.

  I’ll miss the little guy. He was my buddy.

  “I got ya,” a stranger says as I fall, and before I can hit the ground, he catches me in his arms. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. I really am.”

  I believe him.

  He sounds sad for me.

  He shouldn’t waste his breath. I’m not worth it.

  The van door slides open, and I’m placed in the backseat. It’s leather, smells like my brother’s gym bag, and it’s hot.

  He shuts the door at the same time I shut my eyes. I give up. I’m not going to fight anymore. Fighting has gotten me nowhere in life. Hopefully when I wake up, I’m somewhere where I feel more like myself, and maybe one day I can come home again—when I’m better.

  If I’m better.

  Only time will tell.

  I know I’m only ten years old, but I feel like I’ve lived a hundred lives with all the energy in my mind. It’s constant electricity. I can’t shut it off.

  And I don’t know if I will ever be able to.

  Thirty-five years later

  “Happy Birthday, Zain,” the guard says, banging the baton against the door. “How many years does that make it? Thirty?”

  Thirty-five. He’s close enough. It’s been a long fucking time and guess what? I’m going to get the fuck out of here today. I’m done living my life behind bars. Apparently, my stepdad and mom died, leaving a shit ton of money to Martin, only for him to fucking die too.

  The bastard of course paid for me to stay for so long, I’d die here, and my soul would be taken care of behind these bars.

  I ain’t a bad guy. I just want out. I can prove that I can be worthy to the world.

  “Jesus, you’ve been here longer than I’ve been alive, you know that?” Huck, the guard, taunts through the small speaker in the window.

  I ignore him the best I can and continue to do my pushups. If there is one thing this place has offered me, besides drugging me up, it’s the chance to work on my strength. They keep my head in a fog, so I don’t have manic episodes, but I’m done feeling like a zombie.

  I’m ready to release what’s been buried inside for over thirty years.

  “Hey, I’m fucking talking to you, crazy-fuck,” the guard says, swiping his card across the scanner. The door buzzes to allow him in and his boots thud heavily, getting closer and closer until my chin hits the tip of the leather. “Can you not understand me? Are you stupid too?” he asks, trying to rile me up.

  I’ve been a damn good patient here in this fucking cage, but you know what? I’m tired of feeling like a pet. I’m only fed when I’m allowed, and when I’m told to heel, I have to. Years ago, I made a plan. Years ago, I learned the layout of the property when I had my walks. Years ago, I learned the inside of the building like the back of my hand.

  I’ve been working myself up, building strength, because I know more guards will come, and I need to be able to take them down.

  I’ve only known one man to escape the facility, and that’s Porter. He said he’d find a place for us to live, but in order to get there, I have to call the number at the bottom of the letter. I will when I get out, and this time, I’m not going to pull a Porter.

  I’m going try and take as many with me as I can. No one deserves to be locked up, beaten, and starved, just because we are a little different.

  I’m tired of taking medication every day that makes me so numb, I can hardly remember what I had for breakfast.

  Huck lifts his boot and the rounded tip of the leather presses under my chin. “I’m talking to you. I won’t say it again,” he says.

  I freeze mid-pushup and close my eyes as the rapid thoughts invade my mind. The familiar manic energy starts to pump, but it’s muted from the medication. I only stopped taking it a few days ago. Considering how long I’ve been on it, I’m going to assume it’s going to take some time to get it all out of my system.

  Do I want to keep taking the medication? Maybe, but in smaller doses. I haven’t decided yet.

  The musky leather of his shoe invades my nostrils. I can smell the strong fumes of polish and the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. “You’re too fucking close if I can smell the shit you stepped in outside,” I say, keeping my voice level and calm.

  I’m too fucking old to get too worked up. Forty-five will do that to a man, especially when he has been in a cage for most of his life.

  The baton replaces his boot. At first, it’s colder against my skin before warming to my temperature. “What did you just say?” he sneers.

  I grab his baton, sweat dripping in my eye and stand to my full height. I yank the weapon from his hand, staring down at him as he looks up at me. Yeah, I get that a lot. People think they are so big and bad outside these walls, but once they are in here with me, they change their tune. “I said, I can smell the dog shit on your boot.” I plunge the baton into his gut, then whip it up and slam him in the face. Blood spews from his mouth, along with a tooth, and the red liquid spatters along the tile.

  “You’re in so much trouble.”

  “No,” I grunt, kicking him onto his back. “I have twenty minutes before anyone comes looking for you. You’re the one in trouble.” I squat down and press the baton against his groin. He’s young, but he is a real fucking asshole, and I don’t know what to do with him. Maybe I should kill him and be done with it.

  He smiles, his white teeth stained red. “You’re never going to get out of here. I’ll make sure of it.” Huck reaches into his pocket to pull out his radio.

  Aw, that’s cute.

  I slam the baton on his hand next and the bone crunches. Before he can make a noise of pain, I grab his neck and twist it. The sick crunch sends shivers down my spine. His pupils dilate, getting larger until all that remains are black pools of death.

  Tugging his bent neck forward; I bring his ear to my lips. “Watch me,” I whisper. I pick him up and place him in my bed, then cover him up with the thin sheet they give us to sleep on. I tug the keys from around his belt buckle and steal his keycard.

  I hold his keycard in t
he air and examine it, then stifle a laugh. “Bucklebee Huck? You poor bastard. No wonder you were an ass. You were compensating for your shitty name.” I tuck the keys into my back pocket and walk away, ready to leave this shithole behind me. Better yet, just to be safe, I turn around and pick the baton up off the floor. It reminds me of what cops wear on their hip. The guard isn’t even supposed to have this. They aren’t allowed to abuse the patients here, but this facility is what nightmares are made off.

  No one cares about the patients, their mental health, or their physical health. This place can go to hell for all I care.

  They want to try to cage insanity?

  Let’s give them a taste of what happens when it’s set free.

  I swipe the card over the scanner and the large metal doors swing open. I step out, crack my neck, and groan with relief. That spot has been bugging me for a while now.

  “Zain,” my friend Apollo says with excitement from the room next to me. “Get me out of here, man. I need my books. I need to study my work and art. Oh, how I miss music, Zain. Please, set me free.” They think I’m crazy. This fucking guy believes he is Apollo, the Greek God. He’s a good guy, though. He’s been my friend for ten years. His family dumped him in here just like mine did.

  “You don’t even have to ask, Apollo. That was my plan all along.” I swipe the card and his door swings open automatically.

  He bows to me, then follows me down the hall. I don’t know if Apollo thinks he is truly a Greek god, or if he has a personality disorder. I don’t know too much about what they diagnosed him with. All I know is what they say about him.

  We’re all crazy.

  We’re all dangerous.

  We’re all wastes of space.

  I run down to the next door; the soft soles of my shoes barely make a noise. The next room we get to is Marigold’s. She’s lying in the bed, her back turned to us. She has a major depressive disorder. I’ve never seen her smile, but we play checkers together. She’s become a good friend. “Goldie,” I call out, using the nickname I gave her five years ago. She has long blonde hair, so it makes sense. “Goldie, come on. We are getting out of here.” I look left and right to make sure we are still in the clear. We have fifteen minutes before we need to worry.