A Ruthless Christmas by K.L. Savage
What did Porter do?
I know he needs help. I do. He has an identity issue that he has yet to be able to come to terms with. He isn’t all there upstairs, but I guess that’s the story for all of us here at the asylum. We’re all fucked up in the head. Some are worse than others, like me. My mania controls who I am half the time. The battle inside me is loud, a constant bomb ready to blow, until I’m left gasping for air.
Peeking around the corner of the wall, I see him watching through the window of the door that used to allow doctors and nurses to check in on their patients without having to interact. This part of the house, this wing, it’s closed off for a reason. It’s too far away from the main branch of the house because this is where the doctors ran all of their illegal experiments.
Why did I choose to live here?
Because this house is unwanted just like the rest of us. When Porter reached out to me about this place, all of us were homeless, and we banded together to make sure we were protected. Then I found out where it was and who owned it, and I thought there would be no hope.
Jesse is my nephew, the President of the Ruthless Kings. He never got to meet me, and I never got to meet him. My brother had nothing to do with me because of my mental state. I was too much to deal with, too much of a hassle for my family. I’ve always been on my own, and when I explained all of that to Reaper, he graciously had me sign a contract, handed me the keys to the house, and invited me over for Christmas.
I could have a family, one with blood. I want that. I crave that. I’m a lunatic, a havoc, a broken soul, and I’ve found the birds of my flock. That doesn’t mean I don’t yearn for more.
If I’m not honest with Reaper, if I let Porter keep doing this, we’ll end up homeless again. Or we’ll be dead. I have a feeling Reaper isn’t the forgiving type.
“It’s just a matter of time,” Porter says to himself before walking away. His footsteps echo down the hall. When he’s far enough away to where I can’t hear them anymore, I peek inside to see what he was looking at, and my mania roars its ugly head.
I swing my head back and forth, gripping the trim of the door. He kidnapped Sarah. I don’t know the other guy, but this isn’t right. This isn’t right!
I can’t open it because I don’t know if I can trust myself once I’m in there. I might destroy anything and everything in my path.
Including Sarah.
I push off the wall and know exactly what I have to do. Like a pissed off bull, I charge down the hallway until I’m at the front of the house where the others are. They’re sitting on the floor since we don’t have furniture.
“Where are you going, Zain?” Apollo asks. I don’t know if that’s his real name, but I know he’s delusional. He believes he is Apollo, a divinity, a God. He doesn’t believe he is God, but a Greek God.
And honestly, I’m not sure which one is more dangerous.
“Porter.”
“Again?” He stands, wiping off his jeans. “Want me to come with you?”
“No. There are two people he kidnapped in the forbidden wing. Two people who belong to the Kings. I’m telling Reaper. I don’t care what you have to do—you put Porter in a room he cannot get out of; do you hear me?” I don’t say another word. I know Apollo won’t let me down.
I dig for the car keys in my pocket and notice how damaged the Lincoln is. “Damn it, Porter. Damn it!” I punch the hood of the car with both hands, denting it further, and try to take deep breaths like my therapist said. As long as I can control the outrage, I might not experience a full-blown episode, which I can hardly remember when it happens.
Porter is trying to ruin everything we want for ourselves, but I’m not going to let him. I climb into the Lincoln Continental, and the engine clicks as if it’s about to die, but I pull out of the driveway and take the road leading to the compound. All I can hope is I don’t get killed by my nephew.
The miles of desert on either side get my heart racing. I don’t like to be in big spaces; they make me feel lost and alone. I swallow, keeping my eyes forward on the road. I tighten my fingers around the wheel until the leather squeaks.
A Christmas song tries to play through the busted speakers, but all it does is grate my nerves, so I turn down the volume until all I hear is the scrape of the bumper on the road and the hum of the tires.
Ten minutes later I get to the Ruthless Kings clubhouse, but an ambulance is there, along with firetrucks and cop cars. I park on the side of the road and open the driver’s side door. Immediately, I’m hit with the smell of smoke, and I see Reaper shoving the paramedics off him. It’s chaos, something Porter loves to create.
“What did you do?” I ask, knowing Porter can’t answer me. I can’t protect him from this. I’m not sure what his obsession with the Kings is, but it has to come to an end.
“Get off me! I’m fucking fine.”
“Sir, you had a mild heart attack. We need to get you to the hospital,” the paramedic yells and when I hear that, I run toward the wreck. Water splashes under my feet from the firefighters putting out the flames coming from the car. The smoke makes me cough, but the sorrow on my nephew’s face makes me want to kill Porter.
As much as I want to kill him, I’ve seen Porter on medication, and he can be a good man. He needs help. I won’t give up on him, even if he does deserve it.
“I don’t give a fuck. Get off me!” Reaper shoves the medic again and staggers to his feet.
“The car is empty,” the firefighter informs everyone at once.
Reaper turns around, hope on his face as he stares at the firefighter. “It’s empty. You’re sure?”
“Positive. There are no crispy skeletons in there,” the guy says casually as he walks to the firetruck.
“Guys, they might be alive.” Reaper grins, tears shining in his eyes. “Alive.”
This is my chance. I step forward, cutting through the men in leather until Reaper can see me. “They’re alive, and I know where they are.”
In a second, Reaper has his hand wrapped around my throat. I expect the cops to do something, to aim their guns and to order Reaper to stop choking me, but no one does anything. Reaper has Vegas in his pocket for good reason.
I don’t want to be the outsider.
“Tell me,” he sneers. “Uncle or not, I’ll fucking kill you.”
I gasp, my face heating from the trapped blood. “They’re at the asylum. It’s Porter. He did it.”
Reaper lets go, and I gasp, clawing at my throat and coughing to try to breathe. He holds a hand against his heart, and the medics come to his side again, but he pushes them away. “Get the fucking point. I am refusing medical treatment.”
“Your funeral, dude,” a small man with a feminine voice says to Reaper as he shuts the doors to the back of the ambulance.
“You need us, Reaper?” a cop asks, just as another member, Badge, hands him a stack of cash.
“No, this is club business,” Reaper growls, his eyes like slits as he stares at me.
If I don’t make this right, I’m a dead man.
“Okay. Call if you need us.” The cop whistles and rounds up his officers. They climb in their patrol cars, turn off their sirens, and drive away. Badge hands over a stack of cash to the firefighters too and then to the medics.
“Are you buying my silence?” The gay medic sounds insulted; at least, I’m assuming he’s gay.
“You can pay with your life if you want?” Badge suggests, slapping the cash against the guy’s chest.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
“It means you’re who we call. You work for us now,” Badge says.
“Honey, I work for the hospital. Until my paycheck says big bad bikers on it in the left-hand corner, I do not work for you.” The guy struts toward the driver’s side door, hops in, and waves goodbye as he drives off.
Little man has big balls. Good for him. I think.
You can kill him. Release it and you can kill all of them.
I scratch my fingers against the bumpy road, letting the skin peel and blood drip. Inflicting pain reminds me that I’m just as human as anyone else. I can control me. I am the control.
“Who the fuck is Porter?” Reaper snarls, his boots blocking my line of sight as I lay on the ground.
“You know him as The Groundskeeper. He has an identity disorder—” I don’t get to finish my explanation because my tongue is being pulled from my mouth, and a knife is threatening to cut it off.
“Tongue, don’t. He has answers, and he won’t be able to give us information if he has no tongue.”
The metallic taste of blood bursts across my taste buds. I can tell the man isn’t happy with his Prez’s order, but I’m appreciative because it causes him to pull away. “That man buried me, nearly killed Knives, kidnapped Daphne, and now Patrick and Sarah? We’ve killed for less.”
“You knew? About Porter, you know him?”
I swallow, the cut on my tongue stinging with pain. “I’ve known him since we broke out of the mental institution we were in. He’s a good guy on the right meds. We’re all fucked up, Reaper.”
“I want retribution,” Reaper growls. “No one takes Sarah and lives to tell the tale.”
“He’s sick, Reaper. He’s sick.”
“Once I rip his heart out, he won’t have to worry about it anymore. Take me to the asylum. Now.”
“Reaper, I need to make sure your heart is okay,” a blond guy with looks that tell me he isn’t meant to be here warns Reaper.
“Later Doc. If Sarah isn’t okay, then you’ll have your answer.”
Porter better hope he hasn’t harmed a hair on their heads. The only way I can save Porter is if Sarah and Patrick are okay.
“Reaper, I don’t know if she’s pregnant. The test came back inconclusive.”
The blood drains from my face when I hear that bit of news. Sarah could be pregnant.
“Let’s hope she isn’t, or this stress will cause another miscarriage,” Reaper mutters. A few trucks pull out of the compound’s driveway, coming to pick us up to go to the asylum. Tongue grips me by my shirt and lifts me to my feet.
Another?
Porter, what did you do?
