I stood at the foot of the bed, trembling, terrified of the strange objects hanging on the walls.
John backhanded her, and she plummeted to the floor with a resounding thud.
“Mommy,” I cried and ran to her side.
Blood poured from her mouth.
John picked me up by my neck and flung me into the wall. Pain exploded in my arm.
“Stop crying!” he bellowed. “Tears are for the weak!”
I hurriedly dried my eyes, afraid of inciting his ire further.
“Lift your skirt and pull down your panties, then bend over the bed,” John instructed my mother.
Sobs racked her body as she complied with his demands.
“I’m so sorry, Maverick,” she sniveled.
“Shut up!” John roared and took off his belt.
She screamed out in pain as John brutally struck her until her bottom bled, then he raped her.
At my young age, I didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but I knew it was bad. I pissed myself and John went ballistic, beating me unconscious.
I go to my bedroom and pace the carpet restlessly. The need to hurt someone overwhelms me. I have to release my pent-up energy and rage before I go apeshit.
Cocoa’s image materializes in my mind and my dick stiffens to full-mast.
I call Dee. “What’s popping?”
“You up to being my cornerman?” I ask, cutting to the chase.
“Come on, you can’t be serious.”
“Are you coming or not?”
“I can’t let you go be stupid alone,” he grumbles.
“I’ll be there in fifteen.” I end the call.
I dial Nix next and tell him to get ready. I grab the bag needed for tonight’s jaunt, then leave the house.
An hour later, we arrive at an abandoned warehouse. The parking lot is full to capacity, which means business is booming tonight. Dee, Nix, and I exit my Jeep and stroll to the entrance. Travis, the eyes and ears of this illegal operation, sits on a stool by the doorway.
“Hey, Mav, haven’t seen you here in a while.” We dap in greeting. “Go on in, Hugh will be pleased to see you.”
The stench of sweat and blood is thick in the stale air. It’s ten degrees warmer in here than it is outside. The shouts from spectators, who form a circle around two men thrashing each other, are deafening. I usually earn a couple grand, sometimes more, but money isn’t my motivation for fighting. It’s the adrenaline rush, the pleasure of breaking bones and inflicting pain.
Hugh lounges in a throne on a raised platform. Three men tarry at his rear, machine guns in hand. The fucker thinks he’s king of the universe.
We set out in his direction.
Hugh’s gaze zeros in on me and a big smile spreads across his ruddy face.
“Long time, no see,” he says.
“I’m ready to crack some skulls,” I say.
