You’ve got five minutes before I drag you out myself
He’d fucking do it too. He’s done shit like that plenty of times. And I wouldn’t be able to do a single thing to stop him. Not with how pathetic I am.
The medicine cabinet makes a satisfying, sharp bang as I slam it open with a little too much force. I reach for the autoinjector like its second nature, twisting off the cap and slamming it into my shoulder.
The needle pierces my skin with a click before it pumps what feels like liquid fire into my veins. With each of my heartbeats, a faux sort of confidence spread through my body.
A rush shoots down all my limbs, lingering in my fingertips as I clench my hands into fists.
I know this shit is bad for me. I know I’ve got a fucking problem with using it, but it’s the only thing that makes me feel remotely close to human when I have to deal with my family.
Most of the time, they treat me like I’m shit under their shoe.
Me
Be there soon
These are the same kinds of enhancement drugs they give the fighting dogs to keep them feral. I know deep down that just because I’m taking these drugs, I won’t magically turn into an alpha, but it sure makes me feel better.
My trailer door slams shut behind me, rattling the thin walls. My boots kick up dust as I weave through the trailers of all the other guys who work for my dad.
The main farmhouse is at the center of the compound. Mercer Stables. My dad’s pride and joy. Probably the only thing in the entire world he actually cares about.
I pump my legs, relishing the stretch of my muscles, the drugs making their way through my system. I feel more alive than I have since... well, since my last dose a week and a half ago.
I’m dosing myself more frequently. Should I seriously slow down at some point? Yeah. Not today, though. Not when my dad’s called a fucking family meeting.
Even though this was the house I grew up in, there are hardly any warm fuzzy memories as I walk through it.
I hate this home. I hate my fucking family.
I hate everything about my life.
As my knuckles rap against my dad’s office door, I have to fight the urge to slam my entire fist against it. I always get angrier after a dose.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m always angry. I just have a harder time keeping that in check.
“Come in,” my father drawls from behind the door.
Well, nothing to do other than brace myself for what I’ll find.
My dad glances up from his laptop, which looks almost comically small against his huge hands.
“Hey, Dad. Jett said you called a family meeting?”
“I did,” he says, not sparing me a second glance.
I lean against the wall across from him, settling in. I’m more than happy to be ignored.
Actually, scratch that.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that being ignored by him is the best-case scenario.
I’m surprised to see that Jett isn’t here yet.
Not a second later, there’s a dramatic banging against the door. It’s almost like it’s being kicked.
“Hey, get the door for me!” Jett yells.
