A Ruthless Christmas by K.L. Savage
Look at them.
Their festive Christmas spirit makes me sick. There’s one hanging up lights right now, wrapping the red, blue, white, green, and yellow lights around the porch. If I remember him correctly, I believe he is the one with the drinking problem.
Maybe it’s time I plan my next attack.
If I leave him alone in a room with a shot of whiskey or any alcohol, how long would it take for him to break? A grin stretches my lips as I think about him relapsing. He seems so happy, but I’d bet anything he craves for a drink to slide down his throat even still.
I watch him from the distance with my binoculars as he gets tangled in the lights. They wrap around his legs, and he nearly trips and falls when he pulls tight. Damn, he catches himself.
The tree branch sways from the wind, and I grasp onto it tightly so I don’t fall. The Kings think they can beat me with these walls to keep me out? I will always find a way to hurt them, to try to make them weak. They might have beaten me these few times, but someone will fall.
And all of them will break.
“What are you doing?”
“Shit!” I slip off the branch, and the binoculars fall the ground. The lens cracks, and anger boils because I know they are ruined. It’s my third pair.
The bark scratches against my fingers as I look down to see Zain, the leader of our little misfit loony bin we have created; only I’m not crazy. I know what the hell needs to happen in this world to make it better, and biker scum—along with prostitutes and drug dealers—do not make it a better place. I’m cleaning the place up. People should be thanking me!
I’m not fucking crazy.
“Zain, what are you doing here?”
He crosses his huge arms over his chest. “It’s good to see you too, Porter.”
“Don’t call me that,” I seethe. I hate my name.
He rolls his eyes. “The Groundskeeper. That’s ridiculous. I’m not calling you that.” He rubs a hand over his bald head, then drags it down his face. “Also, I need you to lay off the Ruthless Kings. Okay?”
I let go of the branch and hit the ground. My knees soak up the vibrations as I straighten. “Why?”
“Because no thanks to you and your fucking stupidity, they are our new landlords.”
“What? No, that’s impossible. I scared them from that place!”
“No, you don’t scare a King. You only dare them. Plus, I’m related to one.”
“You’re…” I clench my fists, doing my best not to launch myself at him to wrap my hands around his throat. If he’s related to bikers, he’s just as bad as they are. Except me. It’s not like I asked to be related to Tongue. He’s my half-brother.
That doesn’t even count.
Plus, I haven’t told anyone.
“Which one?” I ask.
“Reaper. He’s my nephew.”
“I’m so sorry.” It disgusts me. How did I not know this when we were all in Riverside Mental Institution together before we broke out? If I would have known, I wouldn’t have agreed to live with him.
“Why? It’s going to be because of me that we have a home. I’m going to introduce myself, pay rent, and then we can move into the old asylum. You should be thankful.”
“I’d rather live on the side of the road than live in a building they own,” I spit.
“Then have fun dodging cars, fucker.” He flicks me off as he walks away.
“Wait, you’re doing it now?” I run after him and shove my hands in my pockets. I can’t walk to the front door with him considering Daphne knows my face. Sweet little thing. She’s got fight in her that I want to see again. I lift my hand to my head and feel the indentation left from the bar she smacked me with. I wasn’t expecting such a hard hit from such a small woman.
It’s beautiful.
“Um, yeah, I have to do it now if we want a place to sleep tonight. The others want a home too, Porter. Not everything is about you.” His chest rises and falls, then he snaps his neck from left to right, an audible pop telling me to tread lightly.
I hate treading lightly.
But Zain has this disorder called mania, and when he’s in one of his episodes, I know he could kill me if he wanted. A part of me wants to see him try. His mania is triggered when he feels like he has to prove himself. He gets a surge of energy and lashes out, becoming out of focus, desperate, irritable, and he gets an overload of confidence. When he crashes, he enters a depressive episode that can last days, maybe weeks.
Blah, blah, blah. We all have our problems, don’t we?
“Stop calling me Porter.”
“Realize you have an identity disorder, and maybe I will,” he sneers. “Now, go back to the asylum. The others are there.” He spins on his cowboy boots and kicks up the desert dust. His lumbering body turns the edge of the wall, and I don’t tell him I’m not going back to the asylum. I’m going to watch this unfold.
I grab my broken binoculars from the ground, accidentally getting sand embedded underneath my nails, and climb up the tree again. I lay across the branch like a panther and get into position. “Yes,” I cheer when I see only the left lens is broken.
The right is crystal clear.
I peep through the lens and watch Zain get to the front gate. Immediately, a scrawny guy appears from the gate, holding a gun at his head. The guy is brave; I’ll give him that. Zain is holding on to the last ounce of strength he has not to release the mania building up inside him. I swing the binoculars to the right and see Reaper standing on the porch. He passes a tangled-up Patrick on his way down the steps to confront Zain.
Oh, this is going to be good; only, someone on the porch has me backtracking, and my breath catches when I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s helping Patrick untangle himself, laughing at him because he was dumb enough to get twisted up in Christmas lights. Her blonde hair hangs over her shoulders, and her body has parts of me awakening that rubs against the tree branch.
This must be Sarah, Reaper’s ol’ lady. Isn’t that what the bikers call their bitches?
I want her to be mine.
“What a vision,” I whisper with awe, just as she bends over to help pick up the lights off the porch. Her ass is fucking perfect. I rock against the tree branch, needing some type of friction as I watch her every move.
I knew she was beautiful. I really did, but my god, I’m seeing her in a new light since the last time I paid a visit here without any of them knowing. She isn’t like Daphne. I was only trying to help Daphne when I kidnapped her because we are so much alike. People should stay with their kind of people, you know?
But Sarah might be the exception.
Merry Christmas to me. It looks like I’ve been a better boy than I thought this year.
