I shrug my shoulders and give a smartass response, “A blade of grass blew in the wrong direction? Who knows, man. It doesn’t have to be anything valid for him to go off the handle.”
“I think we should tell Paps,” Rafe states, sitting Indian style in front of me. “If your papa isn’t going to do anything about your dad’s heavy-handed ways, Paps will.”
I snort because as much as I love my papa, he always comes up with various excuses on the fly for my dad’s temper and lack of responsibilities. He’d rather pass cash along than deal with his son’s self-pitying tantrums.
There’s always one reason or another for us not having enough money to pay the bills. My dad is a functioning alcoholic who still holds down a nine to fiver so nobody can figure out where all of his paycheck goes, and I can’t tell them where since according to him, I’m a liar and a thief.
He uses me as a crutch to get away with his abusive ways.
As if I’d go through his wallet and steal from him, I’d rather have food in my belly and a roof over my head than to use his ‘hard-earned’ money to go out with the guys.
“This has to stop, Leif,” Rafe remarks.
“And it will, someday,” I surmise.
“When?” Rush asks, sounding perturbed.
“When I’m eighteen,” I state, sounding nonchalant because I’m numb. Numb to any type of feeling and I can feel it settling into my psyche.
“And if he kills you or your mom between now and then?” Gage asks.
“What do you want me to say? Nobody would believe me anyway, and y’all know it,” I point out. “You know what he’s portrayed me as. The brothers hide their damn valuables whenever I’m around. It’s a kick to the teeth and tells me that I can’t trust them to have my back.”
Nothing else is said after I say my piece. They know I’m right. But hey, silver lining, if he does kill me, at least I’ll never have to feel another one of his hits or hear any of his comments about me again.
In death, comes peace.
Age Sixteen
I made it my life mission to get buff and take some boxing classes so I’d know how to defend myself. I’ve gotten pretty good at it too, well enough that the gym’s owner has asked me to join a team of guys who are trying to make it their career. I declined because I have no interest in being on the other end of a man’s fist again, even if it’s a sport.
As the days progress, so does my anger.
I’ve become more withdrawn from my friends, keeping them at an arm’s length. I can’t let them know how much worse things have gotten at home. Now that I’m bigger than my dad, he’s taken it as a slight against him and has doubled his efforts. Ihaven’t swung back… yet, scared that if I do, I’ll be outcast from the club and guys. I may not be as close to them as I once was, but I’d still do anything to protect them and keep them safe. They’re the weakness used against me when threats are unleashed.
“Accidents happen,”Dad said to me during one of his many drunken stupors, which is what caused me to take a giant step back from our brotherhood and put distance between me and the guys.
The days of motorcrossing with my brothers behind the club’s property are a thing of the past. I watch them jumping over the hills and racing each other, but I don’t join in because I need Dad to believe that they justaren’tthat important to me anymore. Nothing can be or they’ll pay for associating with me.
Even Papa isn’t safe from the nefarious taunts.“Old ships sink and your Papa is past his prime, it’d be easy to make everyone believe his ticker gave out.”So I no longer spend weekends with him, tinkering on bikes. Instead, I took a job at Carlson’s funeral home, learning the ropes. When Dad said I needed to find work and contribute to the household, the first thing that came to mind was a cemetery so I could bury him—dead or alive, didn’t matter to me as long as he was six feet under. Since I accepted the position with Marlon Carlson, everyone is convinced I have a morbid obsession and do everything in their power to step around me.
Good. The less people I have to converse with, the better. Loose tongues get people killed and I need to make sure mine stays locked up in my mouth because the temptation is there to lay it all out on the table—that is, until Dad’s words dance around in my head and I scowl instead, making people leery of me. I’m persona non grata. I’d rather people fear me and avoid me likethe plague than discover the secrets I’ve kept since I was old enough to understand why I needed to.
CHAPTER
ONE
Icer
Age Eighteen
“What have you done!”Mom hysterically cries, her hands flying over her face and cupping it as she uncontrollably sobs, her shoulders shaking from the exertion.
What the fuck for? I have no clue, I just slayed her living, breathing motherfucking nightmare by slitting his throat from ear to ear. He can never hurt either one of us ever again. That’s a good thing in my books. I should feel bad, shouldn’t I? Well, I don’t. Never will. He killed any type of empathy in me years ago. I watch as my mother dramatically falls to the floor, stating that her life is over which has me rolling my eyes at her ridiculousness. She should be ecstatic that neither one of us are ducking and weaving our way through the house in order to dodge his swinging fists.
The revving from a brigade of motorcycles coasting into our drive has me clutching the grip of the knife harder, my knuckles turning white as I steel myself for the fight of my life. If I’m goingto face a tribunal from the club, if they’re going to judge me for taking a club member’s son, they should know ahead of time that they won’t be taking me in easily—they’re going to have to work for it. I stand stock still in the middle of the floor, refusing to be cornered like a caged animal. I’ve learned through life’s lessons that nobody will have your back outside of yourself and I aim to see another day’s sunrise. I’m finally free from the monster who sired me, and I’m going to goddamn enjoy it.
“Run. Leif, run!” Mom bellows. “They’ll kill you, son. You have to go!”
