Um… A what?“Like…for a car?” I ask.
She nods, absolutely giddy while pressing it to my chest.
I search her face, hoping it’ll give me a clue as to what this is all about, but I get nothing. My warped brain immediately goes to those cheesy car commercials.
If she leads me to the window and a Nissan Sentra with a big, red bow is parked in the driveway, I might jump in the fireplace.
“I don’t understand,” I finally say.
“I promise, it will all become clear soon. Stay strong, my darling. You’re destined for something better than this.” Her stare is piercing, like she’s willing the following few words she says to break through whatever disbelief I have. “Trustme.”She steps closer to kiss my cheek, her cool lips making me shiver.
My body bolts upright in bed, gasping for breath. The bedroom is dark, save for the light of the moon, and the sound of Mama Cass’s voice is gone.
And so is my mother.
I sigh, mourning the loss of the beautiful moment, until I look down and see black grease on my hands.
Chapter 2
Torren
Jesus Christ, I need a new bed.
This old-ass mattress will be the death of me—or at least the destruction of my back. I blink my eyes and awake to yet another beautiful day in Belmont.
Belmont. What a shithole.
At least it is when you live in the Patch.
A peek over the bed reveals an upright Brewsky from the night before. A little shake confirms it’s half-full.
Miracles do happen.
I take a big gulp, thanking drunk me for not throwing it against the wall the night prior—a nasty habit of mine when I’m good and toasty. There’s a row of cans littering the floor, but no liquid pouring from them, which means I had the good sense to save the one I’m currently drinking for breakfast.
Well done, Torren. You’re too poor to waste good booze.
“Good” is relative. It’s the cheapest beer you can buy, but it has alcohol, so it’s “good” to me.
Another peek to my right reveals a half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on my bedside table.
“Now we’re talking,” I mumble to myself as I reach for the cigarette and wedge it between my lips. I light it up, inhale the rest of it in one breath, and admire the smoke circles I puff out as the nicotine courses through my veins. There’s nothing like that first-smoke-of-the-day buzz.
Now I can get this shit show on the road.
I smash the finished cigarette into the ashtray, then slowly rise to my feet, careful not to move too fast, or the hangover that’s turned my brain into soup will knock me flat on my ass. My feet scamper across the cold linoleum floor as I make my way to the bathroom. I live above my auto repair shop, so my little “studio” is really just a converted office. The wood paneling on the walls is retro, but not in a cool, hip way. More like a seedy 1970s-porn-studio-casting-office kind of way.
But whoever owned this place before me was fancy enough to have an honest-to-god office with a bathroom.
And now I get to call it home. Dreams do come true.
I remind myself that I chose this life, and that it’s better for me. The shop is the start of a new path, free from crime and violence. A wall between the life I’ve lived and the life I want.
A life that’s mine.
I used to be one half of the notorious Kay Brothers, co-leaders of the Hellcats. Tobias, my adoptive brother, and I created the Hellcats because we had no other options. After we freed ourselves from the clutches of our adoptive parents, we didn’t really have many prospects—barely even went to high school. What started as a motorcycle gang with our close friends morphed into a criminal empire. Petty larceny evolved into high-scale robberies and blackmail. We became kings of the underworld, and the rumors about how we dealt with our adoptive parents created a haunting lore that madegrown men tremble at our name.
But that’s over now.
