Tongue (RUTHLESS KINGS MC™ (A RUTHLESS UNDERWORLD NOVEL) Book 8) Read online

  Taking a quick breath, I run across the street and climb up the steps of her duplex. I jiggle the knob in hopes, by some chance, it is unlocked, but it isn’t. That’s fine. I triple check my surroundings to make sure no one can see me and give the door a shove with my shoulder.

  Oopsie.

  There’s a staircase to my right that leads to the other half of the duplex. It’s nice. This place looks like somewhere Daphne would live. It’s clean, pretty, and I bet there is a story behind the building. The light flickers above me, casting a yellow glow along the scratched hardwood floors. There are black and white photos along the floral wallpaper of a married couple with a soccer team of kids.

  I’m not sure how I feel about kids. I never thought about having one.

  I’m not interested in pictures. I’m interested in my comet, my once-upon-a-lifetime, my Daphne. The gold-plated mailbox slots shine beside the staircase.

  Her name is written above one slot on a white sticker in black ink. The writing is flawless, pretty, and serene. It’s cursive. I remember Sarah showing me the two different types of writing. Print and cursive.

  At least, I think it is her name. Since her name is Daphne, I know her name starts with a D and the name below hers does not. “Number two,” I say when I see the number at the end of her signature.

  Something I’ve yet to perfect.

  My hand lands on the wooden rail, and it’s cold to the touch. Daphne has touched this rail. My eyes roll to the back of my head at that thought. I creep up the stairs, and the heavy weight of my body has the stairs creaking. I freeze, hoping she doesn’t hear me.

  I know what I’m doing isn’t right, but I don’t want to hurt her. I promise.

  I’ll be a ghost in the darkness, and she won’t even know I’m there. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I know it’s Reaper calling me wondering where the hell I’m at. All the guys always text me, but since I can’t read, I ignore them. They think I don’t care, but they don’t know how long I’ve glared at those messages and tried to sound them out with my stupid voice and broken tongue.

  I reach the top of the stairs and find the door with a two on it. I step forward and blow out a breath. I put my hand on the knob and quiet the rush of thoughts jarring in my mind. Is this right or wrong? It’s a chance to open her door. She could be right there, and she could see me, but am I willing to blow my cover for one last look of her? With a shaky hand, I twist the knob, and fire brews in my body when it’s unlocked.

  Anyone could come inside and not just me. Someone who intends to hurt her. Oh no, that needs to be changed. I’ll have to install automatic locks when she isn’t around and a security system. I have to make sure my comet is safe.

  As quietly as I can, I open the beautiful cherry red door and see I’m in an empty living room. There’s an oversized green couch near the windows, and books are everywhere.

  I mean everywhere.

  They are in piles on the floor, the coffee table, on top of the TV, the arms of the couch, windowsill, and I bet every other surface she can find. The walls are painted a light blue, and there is a red rug on the floor, almost covering the entire space of the living room. I can’t see all of it since there are books stacked in rows on top of it.

  My little bookworm.

  Maybe she can read to me sometime.

  My brows shoot to my hairline when I see the kitchen. Well, what used to be a kitchen. The countertops are littered with books and takeout containers, and the table is lost under more books.

  I smirk. She’s cuter by the second. I’ll make her a big bookshelf. I bet she’ll like that. I’ll give her a damn library if she wants.

  The hiss of the shower has me turning my head in the direction it’s coming from, and I hold my breath. She’s naked, wet, and alone.

  I’m here, yes, but I don’t count. I’ll lurk in the shadows to keep my eye on her. Being this close, in her presence without her knowing, it sends a thrill of excitement through me, something akin to slicing tongues. I move quickly; she’ll never know I’m here. Lurking. Watching from the shadows.

  Shadows can’t be seen in other shadows, and that’s where I plan to stay when it comes to my comet.

  I wake up with a gasp, my skin prickling with awareness. My body is hot, my nipples are hard, and the space between my legs is throbbing. I’m not afraid. I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is real or if my brain is still sleep-induced and imaging brown eyes staring at me.

  My body is on fire from a ghost of a man I don’t know. I swear, I feel his intensity surrounding me. I feel watched, but I know that’s impossible. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but I could never forget him.

  Running my hand down my chest, my body buzzes with the thought of him watching me. I can feel him here. I must be out of my mind, but it’s okay. It’s only me here, but I wished I weren’t alone. I wish he were here. I don’t understand my reaction to him, but I’m allowed to want someone I’m not allowed to have. It’s natural to dream about a guy that is handsome, dangerous, and forbidden.

  Yeah, I’ll keep telling myself that.

  I moan when I think about the tattoos surrounding his neck, disappearing down his shirt, and traveling down his arms. I’d like to get a better look at them, up close and personal, just once. One time I want to experience what it’s like to be with a man like Tongue.

  Tongue.

  What kind of name is that?

  I want to know why it exists. Is he good with his mouth? Is that it?

  “Oh!” I arch into my hand, circling the bundle of nerves at the thought of his lips between my legs. I bury my hands into his long, shaggy hair, pulling him harder against me for more friction against the scruff on his face. His eyes slide up my body, and the intensity glaring from them match the grip of his fingers along my flesh.

  A growl from the corner has my fingers pausing their rapid movements. I sit up, elbows against the bed, my breathing ragged. I search the room, but I can’t see much since it’s dark. I reach toward the nightstand and pat around until I find my glasses. I slide them on, and now the darkness is clear instead of blurry.

  “Is someone there?” I ask the shadows like a crazy person. I probably just heard a noise from outside, a dog at the dumpster in the alley.

  All it will take is for me to turn on the lamp, but I stop myself from pulling the switch. The promise the darkness holds is better than the truth that waits in the light. Maybe I’m imagining him there in the corner, and it’s only adding to the fantasy; seeing the space empty will only disappoint me.

  What the hell is wrong with me? If someone is in my house, I need to snap the hell out of it. I try to summon an inch of panic, but the hairs on the back of my neck aren’t standing up in alarm. I feel safe.

  And as long as I have that comfort, I’m not going to ruin the only fantasy I’ve ever had. My hand falls to the top of the nightstand, then rubs down the lip of the top, migrating toward the silver knob. I slowly open the drawer and grab my vibrator, swallowing spit to try to coat the dryness scratching my throat.

  Am I really going to do this?

  I must’ve had too many glasses of wine before I went to bed.

  “If you’re there, you don’t have to say anything or do anything. If you’re not, I guess I’m not losing out, but I hope you are,” I say, hoping I don’t sound ridiculous if I’m speaking to a wall. “I can feel you,” I whisper, spreading my legs wide. “Or I’m losing my mind, but I swear I can.” My room always has an empty feeling to it, but right now, there is this energy I can’t explain. It’s intense and completely overpowers my body.

  I don’t feel the urge to run; I only feel the urge to give in.

  The devil is knocking on my door, and my sin is turning the knob to allow him in.

  I lay back, the memory foam pillow cupping my head gently. I wonder if Tongue has a gentle touch. His appearance is rugged, tough, but I bet there is a side that appreciates a careful caress.

  The straps of my nightgown fall down my shoulders, alm
ost exposing my breasts, and I swear I hear an inhale from the corner.

  Or it’s me since I’m breathing so hard.

  With a free hand, I wiggle free of the gown, pushing it down to my waist, freeing my body. I hope he likes what he sees. The cold air circulating from the fan causes my nipples to bead. I imagine it’s his hands, his calloused fingers brushing over them, and it tugs a moan from the middle of my throat.

  “Oh god,” I gasp, bringing his mysterious face in the front of my mind, remembering every defined line when I met him. Strong jaws, high cheekbones, eyes the color of honey mixed in cinnamon, and there’s this uncertainty I saw when I stared at him. He has an innocence about him I can’t put my finger on.

  I’m not saying he isn’t the kind of man I need to stay away from; I know he is.

  But I don’t think I can help it.

  My thumb presses the button on the vibrator in my hand, and I rub it over my tight nipples, gasping from the sensations. I’ve always been sensitive. I can bring myself to climax just by tugging on them. I need more than that tonight. I need to see if this relieves the pressure in my head, and maybe the need for Mr. Mysterious will fade.

  I turn my head to the right and stare into the corner, hoping to see an outline of him, but it’s only darkness with the hint of the moon peeking between the curtains. I bite my lip as I glide the silicone shaft down my body and insert it between legs. “Yes,” I hiss, letting my eyes roll to the back of my head.

  Another grunt coming from the corner has me rocking my hips back and forth, needing more friction. I want the vibrator deeper, filling me, stretching me, but it isn’t big enough. I can’t stop moaning. I’m drowning out any sounds that are coming from the corner, if there are any, and I turn up the vibration level.

  “Oh god!” I cry out, spreading my arm to grip the edge of the bed. My thighs tremble, and there is a molten hot swirl in my lower belly. “I’m going to come,” I announce to the fantasy and snatch the pillow from the left side of me and smash it against my face to mutter my sounds.

  Liquid drips down my thighs as I orgasm, shaking uncontrollably. I think of Tongue, the stranger in my dreams, the haunting I hope is in the shadows, and my muscles spasm again.

  The vibrations become too much against my sensitive pussy, so I reach between my legs and turn it off. I throw the pillow off my face and a flash of his face hovers over me in my drunken, orgasmic state. I freeze, staring into the eyes that have been embedded into the marrow of my bones in such a short amount of time.

  He’s beautiful.

  I gasp, holding my breath as I hurry to turn on the light to see if it’s really him. I stretch and pull the string of the lamp. With a click, the bulb flashes on, and I smile to myself when I realize I’m finally going to get to see him.

  Forgetting that he’s in my house watching me without being allowed in. Semantics. We can work those issues out later.

  “I’ve been thinking about you so much—” But when I turn around to talk to him, he’s gone. “Lately,” I finish my thought. I slide my arms through the string of the nightgown and tug the hem to my knees, then frantically straighten my hair and tuck it behind my ears. “Hello?” I call out to my dark apartment, but all I hear is the echo of my voice.

  There is no way I imagined all of that, is there? I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, forgetting the vibrator between my legs. It falls on the floor, leaving me empty and feeling a bit awkward when it thuds loudly, shining wet against the hardwood.

  “Thank God I live alone so no one can witness this,” I mumble, grabbing a tissue from the purple container and then pick up the vibrator off the floor and carry it to the bathroom. I’ll clean it later. I swear, he was here. I’m not losing my damn mind.

  I take the robe from the hook on the back of the door and wrap it around my shoulders, gliding my arms through the holes before securing it around my waist. “Are you still here?” I call out, staring at the faint glow of the streetlights from the windows in the living room. I step around the stacks of books and flip the lights on, but I’m alone. There isn’t anyone here.

  And I have no idea why that upsets me so much.

  Maybe I am losing it.

  With a sigh, I make my way toward the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea when I notice something off about the room. I study every stack of books, trying to figure out what looks different, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  The takeout containers are gone.

  I rush to the corner of the table and rub the empty spot with my bare hand. “There was a book here,” I say to myself, knowing that I’m not losing it because I was creating a new stack. My apartment isn’t big enough for all the books I have, so I have to use all the space. I tap the secondhand wood with fingers and grin. “There was a book here.” I squeal. “I knew I wasn’t crazy. He was here! He was here. The man from the bookstore was here. He took my book. Why?” I ask, thoughts drilling my mind a million miles an hour.

  And why did he clean my kitchen?

  I check the fridge for a note, for something to tell me that it was him who came to see me, but there is nothing. All I have are tingles from my orgasm, a possible flash of his face, and a missing book.

  Disappointment crashes through me. What if this is all we will have? What if we don’t even have this and I’m imagining it? What if he listens to Reaper, or if I listen to Reaper, and we never get to know each other because of the rules stamped on us?

  “I need to go to bed. I’m obviously losing my mind.” I press my hand against my forehead and forgo the tea. Opening the white cabinet, I reach for another bottle but find my wine gone. “What the fuck?” I curse. “Okay, I know for a damn fact I had another bottle in here.” It’s gone. I slam the cabinet door and reach into the Lazy Susan to grab the whiskey instead. I hate whiskey, but I use it for emergencies, and this seems like an emergency because I’m fucking losing it.

  The seal breaks as I twist off the cap. The burning scent has my eyes watering, and I’ll bet my nose hair is singed because holy moly that is strong. I take a swig and immediately spit it out, spewing it all over the books across the table. “Oh my god, who drinks this stuff?” It’s literally burning a hole in my stomach.

  Note to self: stick to wine.

  I weave my way through the books on the floor and take another swig when I remember I’m alone. I’m always alone. Lonely Daphne in the big sin city all by her little self. It’s what my dad said when I left home, but not in reassurance. He doesn’t think I can make it out here, but he is wrong. Aunt Tina lives around the corner, and while she’s MIA half the time, she loves me and means well.

  And that’s more than I have ever had from my father.

  I check the lock on the door to make sure that I stay alone for the remainder of the night.

  Another thought hits me while I take another awful swig of whiskey, a thought I haven’t considered until this moment.

  What if it wasn’t Tongue in my apartment?

  “Where the fuck have you been, Tongue?” Reaper asks as soon as I walk through the front door. I’m holding a bottle of wine I stole from Daphne’s apartment and a book in the other hand.

  I had the best night of my life. What I shared with Daphne, I’ve never had with anyone else before. I don’t want Reaper to ruin it for me, but it’s Reaper. He’s our Prez. I have to listen to him, but I have a feeling if he says anything to me about Daphne, listening is the last thing I will do.

  “I was out,” I state, simply, eyeing the guys who are sitting around on the couch at nine in the morning. I might have left Daphne’s apartment, but I stayed outside until she went to work. I hate that I have to take my eyes off her for one minute, but the club is my family. They are my home.

  “You were … out?” Reaper asks, nearly red in the face. “Out? Are you fucking kidding me? After what happened on Halloween, I really thought you would be more responsible, Tongue. We need to stay together right now. We need you here at home. Skirt needs his home rebuilt. The walls are
going up around the compound. I can’t have you doing whatever the fuck you want, when you want because you fucking feel like it right now.” His eyes drop to the book in my hand and the wine bottle in the other. “The bookstore girl, that’s who you’ve been with?”

  I forgot he knows about her now. I saw him at the coffee stand while I watched her from the alley. I was hoping she’d be my secret for a little while, but Reaper always figures everything out. “No.” It isn’t a lie. Technically, she had no idea I was there, so she can’t say she was with me.

  “So you stopped at the store and grabbed a book and a bottle of wine?”

  “What’s the harm in that?” I say. I remember the times when I could barely say a word without stumbling over myself. I’ve learned how to speak without sounding like a complete fool since my tongue has healed.

  “You’re not to leave the compound until further notice. Do I make myself clear?”

  Like I give a flying fuck what he has to say. Nothing is going to keep me away from Daphne.

  “We have more important things going on than you chasing some ass.”

  “I don’t chase ass,” I say darkly, itching to grab my knife. I crack my neck, twisting it right and left until it pops. “You know damn well that’s not what I do.”

  “I know, but you being around that sweet, innocent girl will bring her nothing but pain, and you know it. Stay away from her. If you want what is best for her, leave her alone.”

  What feels like a sharp knife pierces my heart, then twists. I can’t leave her alone. Now that I finally have her, she always needs to be by my side. A baby cries in the kitchen, and Skirt gets up from the couch and gives me a nod, exiting the room silently to go care for his newborn daughter, Joanna, named after Doc’s ol’ lady who tried to run into a burning building to save him. They nicknamed their daughter Joey, so it’s less confusing.

  Slingshot digs into a bag next to him and unwraps the foil around his food. It’s a breakfast burrito. I’ve come to learn he eats when he’s nervous.