Page 62 of Praying for Thunder

ELEVEN

SAY HELLO TO HELLION

9 years later…

When a soul isn’t properly nourished—cared for—respected, it starves. My surroundings had gone from one extreme to another. Onus wanted a strong son to make up for his first fuck-ups. All I can say is… be careful what you wish for.

For Ani and Dio, I’d been the perfect son. I gave back all they gave me.

For Onus, it was the same. I gave back all he gave me and became the epitome of the most destructive child possible. He had indeed beat my manners out of me but was now paying the price. He was conducting MC business while I was causing havoc at the actual MC. I stormed in a blaze of I Don’t Give A Fuck. When I wasn’t personally, and purposely, creating a ruckus, I found other ways to offer no rest for the wicked. At this moment, it was my stereo thundering my never-ending rage.

My bedroom was painted all black, like my heart. But on every wall and my ceiling, there was my artwork, all done using silver markers. That color was the only one I’d use in honor of Ani’s dancer persona, Lace Bandit.

Piercer hated it.

I hated him, so it was a double-edged sword I loved to slice us both with.

Why punish myself? Because I’d fucked up. And now, hurt golden eyes kept calling out to me…

In my bed, once again, I shoved away images of my salvation.

Roam, the only Titan near my age, leaned his upper body over the edge of his top bunk, smirking. He knew me well, and knew exactly what I was doing; pouncing on any ‘patched’ nerve daring enough to show weakness. I wanted everyone, except for my roomy, to be as miserable as me.

Boom! Boom! Boom! pounded a club member on the locked door near the foot of our bed. “Jesus Christ, Hellion! You’re making me crazy with that shit!”

Our bunk bed was along the wall closest to the mess hall—the main area of the clubhouse. It had been done to keep an eye on me. I’d made them suffer ever since.

Thumb ready on the remote, I instantly turned up the volume on a Lynyrd Skynyrd classic I had no idea why I loved so much.

Only minutes later, another patched member kicked at the door. “Hellion! I give! Enough!”

A smile crossed my face.

Onus, ‘Dad’, wouldn’t let me have the name my mother gave me when I was born, so I was sure to keep earning the one he wouldn’t soon forget.

Per usual, Roam jumped from his bed, landing on his feet with ease. My music masked his laughter, like his earplugs. I was my fury, but I could see him admiring my fight as he slid on his cut. He had only been fourteen when mandated to be a Prospect. He didn’t want it, but shit like that isn’t your choice when your dad is the VP.

Yes, my only friend was the youngest son of my worst enemy, Piercer.

Roam was nothing like his dad, though. In fact, that was the ‘why’ of his road name. Onus and Piercer knew he wasn’t full-heartedly committed to the club since he truly wanted to be an architect. Hence, calling him a roamer when still demanding him elevate to a patched brother. Roam’s heart was good. The involuntary act of being a Titan didn’t cause him to carry the hatred I did.

I didn’t judge him for it. He never had an Ani, nor watched the beautiful woman die, brutally. Then be forced to live, every day, with her murderer.

Heading toward our door, he tapped his belly and mouthed, “Starving.”

My dirty biker boots on my blanket—a pet peeve for ‘Dad’—I gave Roam a peace sign.

With an envious smile for my rebellious side, he held up his matching two fingers in return.

Soon, another set of pounding fists echoed through the loud music. A Titan begged, “Hellion! I’m choking on my eggs, you little fucker!”

Satisfaction at the disruption had me singing along with “Sweet Home Alabama”, the complete opposite of the home these men were trying to survive. I had to relish the success because I knew who would be banging on my door next.

I counted down in my head, three, two, ONE—

Bam! Bam! My door swung open, and my boots were swatted off the bed. “Turn off that fucking music, Hellion!”

Fuck you.