KNIVES (RUTHLESS KINGS MC™ (A RUTHLESS UNDERWORLD NOVEL) Book 10) Read online

  COPYRIGHT© 2020 KNIVES 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. KNIVES is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  ISBN: 978-1-952500-31-2

  PHOTOGRAPHY BY WANDER AGUIAR PHOTOGRAPHY

  COVER MODEL: GABE LADUKE

  COVER DESIGN: LORI JACKSON DESIGN

  EDITING: INFINITE WELL

  FORMATTING: CHAMPAGNE BOOK DESIGN

  FIRST EDITION PRINT 2020

  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

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FifTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  KNIVES PLAYLIST

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ALSO BY K.L. SAVAGE

  To all the outsiders, the runts, the lonely souls, our Ruthless Readers,

  We know what it’s like to be the ones looking in. We know what it’s like to feel isolated, hopeless, and so alone you don’t know where to go or how to get out of the bubble you’ve found yourself in.

  There is always love. There are always people willing to welcome you with open arms. We are those people. You have us.

  Pop. That. Bubble.

  It feels good to be set free.

  Fifteen Years old

  Silence is the clearest speaker of all. Its words ring loud and true.

  I read that somewhere a few years ago etched in a bookshelf in a library. I ignored it at the time because I didn’t understand what the statement meant. Silence doesn’t speak. Silence doesn’t make noise.

  But silence spoke volumes when I started high school last year, and that’s when the understanding clicked in my mind.

  It’s what happens in the quiet that means the most.

  Teenagers are brutal. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. They are bullies, plain and simple. And even worse are the ones who stick around to watch me get my ass beat. Every damn day. No one says a word. They laugh, they point, they watch.

  It’s because I’m a nobody.

  I’m scrawny, I’m short for my age, I have long hair that’s dirty because I have no money to get it cut. I’m only allowed to shower once a week to save on the water bill because everyone else in the house has to bathe too.

  I’m a natural target.

  I’m the kid everyone avoids. I’m the kid no one trusts. It’s easy to be an outsider when I’ve never fit into any group, made friends with any kids, or have had a home to call my own. I don’t have parents, and the kids love to remind me every day that I don’t have a mom and dad.

  As if I could ever forget that I’ve been on my own for a long time.

  My caseworker found me living on the streets a few years back after running away and sent me back to another foster home. It’s my tenth one since I was eight. It used to bother me, not having that sense of family, but I’ve learned not even family is all that cracked up to be. My foster home has ten kids. Our clothes are always dirty. We go days without eating a proper meal. We get slapped around some, so it has skewed my idea of what family is. The foster parents are only in this for the paycheck.

  I’ve learned to trust no one because everyone disappoints.

  Well, I take that back. There is one person. My foster brother, Mason. He is a year older than me and takes the ‘big brother’ role seriously. He’s a protector. He’s always standing up for me when the kids at school call me a loser, a freak, a creep, a bastard. Other kids don’t make fun of Mason. They wouldn’t dare. Mason is already over six feet tall, and muscular, while I’m pathetic and weak.

  It’s not like the kids at school are wrong about me. I’m all of those things because I don’t know how to be anything else, but it’s time for me to learn. Mason won’t be around forever to save my ass, so it’s up to me to make the change, to be my own protector. When Mason turns eighteen, he is going to be out on his ass because the system doesn’t keep adults, and where will that leave me?

  Alone.

  Vulnerable.

  And with no one in my corner.

  It’s why I need to find a way to protect myself. A weapon of some sort. Something that’s quick, agile, and fierce. I want my weapon to say, ‘don’t fuck with me’.

  Maybe then the bullies will see how serious I am.

  I’m tired of always looking over my shoulder. It’s exhausting, and I want to be done being afraid.

  Like right now.

  “Hey, loser!”

  I keep my head down and shrug the raggedy blue backpack up my shoulder. It’s torn, stained, and the straps are barely hanging on to the last bit of thread. I stuff my hands in the hoodie pockets and walk faster. The sooner I get off this back road and onto the main road, the better.

  “Hey, freak, I’m talking to you.”

  “Yeah, we’re talking to you. It’s rude to ignore us.”

  “I bet he’s scared.”

  The three of them taunt me, but I know better than to pay them any attention. I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t.

  My breaths come out quicker. Sweat starts to bead across my neck. I knew I should have taken the other way, but it adds on another twenty minutes. The back road is abandoned, and everyone dumps what they don’t want back here along the sides of the fence that block the road off from someone’s property. Tall weeds stand tall among a few silver trash tins, rusted bikes, and old sewing machines strewn all over the ground. This road is a homeless person’s dream, but horrible things happen here because of the weapons laying around.

  This road always has a massive amount of random trash all over it. It’s why everyone in town calls it Miscellaneous Way, because anything and everything can be found. Even bodies.

  And I don’t want to be one of them.

  If I only had a weapon that could go the distance, that could protect me from a few yards away; then I’d have a chance at escaping these guys.

  “Thomas,” Murray singsongs my name, then hits one of the trashcans with the bat he always has in his hand.

  The loud clatter startles me. I trip over my own feet, which only draws a big, ugly laugh from the three bullies. I hate this life. Everyone says it gets better, but when? I’m
face down in the dirt, rocks are digging into my hands, and I can hear their footsteps getting closer. Nothing about this is better.

  I’m a dead man.

  I look around for something to protect myself with, but all I see are some rusted knives on the ground next to a busted-up kitchen sink. It’s probably not rust; it’s probably blood that’s been there for far too long. But they are the only thing within reach.

  I dig my elbows in the ground and scurry toward the knives hiding in the grass and reach for the closest one. It’s a useless steak knife.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Why couldn’t it be a butcher knife? Something big and scary?

  I get to my feet and throw the one in my hand, launching it with a panicked grunt, but the blade comes detached from the black handle, and the threat falls short.

  “Oh my god, you’re so stupid. Did you honestly think that would work?” Louis says. He’s shorter than the others, only around my height. I’m sure if he was all alone, he’d turn into a scared dog like me.

  Falling to the ground, I gather the last four knives in my hand, ready to use them if I have to. A spider crawls around the blade, then scrambles to my hand. Its legs are light on my skin, a tickle. In a way, I feel like it’s good luck. Unlike most people, I’m not afraid of spiders.

  Insects, reptiles, and animals only attack when they feel threatened. Humans attack whoever the hell they want to, when they want to. Or just because they feel like it. It’s why I think out of everything this world has to offer, humans are the most dangerous.

  The spider falls off my arm and disappears into the grass, leaving me alone against my enemies.

  “What are you going to do with that, Thomas?” Murray asks in a mocking tone, digging the baseball bat into the ground as he takes a step. “Are you going to stab me?”

  My hands shake as I slice the knife through the air. “I… I might if you come any c-closer,” I stutter, then lick the sweat off my top lip. The backpack slides down my shoulder into the crease of my elbow, and I drop my hand to let it fall to the ground.

  “You think you can kill someone?” Murray tosses his head back and laughs, placing a hand in the middle of his chest. He abruptly stops laughing and taps the aluminum bat against his left foot. “I could kill you,” he sneers at me, then spits. “You are worthless. You take up too much space. You breathe my fucking air. You don’t deserve to breathe my air!” He swings the bat, and I hear the swoosh of it as it barely misses my face.

  Stumbling back, I trip over my backpack, and when Murray goes to hit me in the face, I roll away and stab his leg, then yank out so I can still have my weapon.

  “Mother fucker!” he screams, adding most of his weight to his other leg. He points the bat at me, red-faced with anger. “You’re a dead man, you hear me? Dead.”

  Louis tries to attack me next by taking the bat from Murray, but I move to the side and bring the knife down on his back, slicing directly into his shoulder blade. Louis pitches forward with a pained grunt, and his grip loosens, causing the bat to clink to the ground. The blood spreads across his shirt and drips down until it’s soaking into his jeans.

  I’m waiting for guilt, for the voice in my head to tell me to run, but only adrenaline is speaking to me, and it’s telling me not to stop until all of these assholes are bleeding. For good measure, I kick Louis in the stomach, and he cries out in agony.

  “How does that fucking feel? Huh? How does it feel?” I scream, then pick up the bat and slam it against the stab wound on his back.

  “Stop! Stop, no more. Please,” he sobs.

  “Stop?” I ask, barking out a chilling laugh. My eyes fall on Murray, who is currently backing away from me. “You want me to stop? That’s rich coming from the lot of you! You didn’t stop beating me last month when I asked you to. I pissed blood for a week!” I yell, tears blurring my eyes as I slowly make my way toward Murray and Pete. Pete is the quiet one, the one that follows but never says or does anything because deep down, he knows he is just as weak as I am. “I’m going to—”

  A hand pulls me back and yanks the bat from my hand along with the knives.

  I whip around to punch whoever it is in the face. I’m done. I’m fucking done with the constant bullying, the pain, the crying. I’m sick of it. I lift my arm and clench a fist, preparing to fight again, when a hand grips around my knuckles.

  “It’s me, Thomas. It’s Mason. You’re okay. You aren’t alone.”

  “They were attacking me. I didn’t know what else to do. I…I…”

  “You did the right thing.” He grips my shoulders and tugs me behind his oversized body and hands me back the knives.

  Why can’t I be more like him? Why do I have to be stuck in this body?

  “Problem, Murray?” Mason asks him, swaying the bat left to right.

  Louis groans from my left and somehow manages to get to his feet. He stumbles back over to his friends and sags against Pete. I stare down at the knives in my hands, speckled with blood, and I still don’t feel guilt.

  I feel like the job isn’t finished.

  “Yeah, your fucking boyfriend here is a psycho!” Murray pulls up his pant leg and shows Mason the wound on his leg. “Look what he did to me.”

  I hate it when they call us boyfriends. All because we aren’t blood related, and Mason is always coming to my rescue.

  “And what were you going to do to him?” Mason slams the bat against the trashcan next to him, denting it.

  “Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Murray hisses.

  And that’s when Mason surprises me. His hand disappears behind his back, and lifts his red shirt, grabbing the handle of a gun. I gasp and take a few steps back. This isn’t like Mason. Where the hell did he get that?

  “You have two seconds to get the fuck away from my brother before I put a bullet in your head. You’ve been warned a hundred times from me. I’m done giving out chances.” Mason cocks the silver gun, the cylinder spins to lodge the bullet in place, and the three boys that have been picking on me instantly freeze.

  “Woah, Mason. Just hold on a second,” Murray says, trying to calm Mason down.

  I tug on Mason’s sleeve, but he doesn’t look my way. He’s bound and determined to stare at them on the other end of the barrel. “Mason, what are you doing? Let’s go home.”

  “We won’t pick on him anymore, I swear. Let us go,” Murray holds his arms wide and steps back. “We’ll go. No more trouble.”

  “I think I need to go to the doctor,” Louis moans.

  “Shut up, Louis,” Murray snaps, staring at the gun as the sun shines against the sweat dripping down his temple.

  “Mason, let’s go home. Please,” I beg him. I don’t want any more trouble. Mason has come to my rescue one last time. He’s risking himself for me, and I don’t want to be responsible for ruining his life too.

  “I’m going to call the cops if you don’t put the gun down,” Louis warns us, fumbling for his pocket.

  Mason’s jaw ticks, and his chest rises and falls in a burst of anger. He’s really holding himself back. His body is shaking, and his face is red.

  “Mason, put the gun down,” I beg him. “They aren’t worth it.”

  “Yes, they are,” he says, taking his eyes off the trio for a moment. He stares at me. Mason seems a lot older than seventeen years old right now. “You don’t deserve the treatment they give you. It’s up to me. I’m your brother. Me. I protect you.”

  Okay, so he’s a year and three months older than me. Same difference.

  “And I protect you too,” I say, wrapping my hand around the barrel of the gun to get Mason to drop it.

  “They aren’t going to stop until you’re dead, Thomas.” Mason jumps when he hears sirens in the background, and with every second that passes, they get closer.

  Mason lifts his gun again, pinching his lips with determination as he aims at Pete. Time slows as I turn my head and grab onto his arm to stop him. “Let go, Thomas! Let me do this,” Mason grunts, fighting me.
>
  “No. We can’t—” My ears ring, and the heat from the bullet leaving its home is hot on my palm, burning me. I hiss and yank my hand away.

  “Murray!” Pete yells, and that’s when my stomach churns as I peer over my shoulder, seeing Murray with a gunshot wound in the middle of his chest.

  “Oh my god,” I mumble.

  Mason doesn’t hesitate. He lifts the gun again and aims it at Pete, letting another bullet fly. My mouth falls open, and I’m on the verge of puking. Pete’s neck snaps back when the bullet lodges between his eyes. Mason swings his arm and lands on an injured Louis, but he is on the ground, gasping for air and blood bubbling out of his mouth.

  I must have nicked his lung somehow when I stabbed him.

  The sirens are anxiously close now.

  “Mason, we need to go. We need to get out of here.” Oh my god, what did he do? How can we get out of this?

  “We have to tie up all the loose ends, Thomas.” Mason squats next to Louis. A fifteen-year-old kid who sat in the back in Biology class today is going to die.

  I didn’t want this. Did I? I only wanted to go home, to get away, I wanted them to let me be, but they couldn’t. They had to keep pushing. I stood up for myself and maybe I got carried away. I was protecting myself.

  I never thought Mason would find me and commit murder.

  Mason slides the gun between Louis’s lips and pushing it down his throat until Louis gags. When he coughs, he spits up blood. Tears trickle down his cheeks, and he slides his eyes to me, silently begging me to help him.

  “You aren’t ever going to hurt anyone again,” Mason says to Louis.

  Louis grips Mason’s bicep with a bloody hand, squeezing it, but doesn’t have the energy to push him off.

  I can’t have Mason kill someone else for me. I’m not worth it. I run to him, and right as I’m about to launch myself at my foster brother, my feet digging in the sand to push me off the ground, he pulls the trigger.

  The breath is knocked out of me when blood splashes against my face, warm and wet. I close my eyes, not wanting to see the raw scene in front of me. I can’t figure out how to breathe. I’m panicking. The sirens are getting closer, the world is caving in, and the only person I could count on just ruined his life for me.