Prologue
Awakening
Sig ground his teeth, hoping it would help drown out the noise. The bed squeaking. The thumping of the headboard against the wall. The deep, loud grunts of the man between his mother’s legs.
Years.
He’d heard it for years. Ever since he could remember.
He’d peeked in on them a few times when he was too young to know better. Not understanding what was going on.
Curious.
He’d quietly open the door just a crack and put his eye to the sliver of space.
Watching.
Wondering why the man was on top of his mother. Why they were both making those noises.
Why this happened so often.
But it did. A lot.
Anytime his father wasn’t around.
Which was also a lot.
But he knew his father would come home later, usually after Sig was in bed, and do the same thing to his mother, too.
Only there wasn’t as much noise. At least on his mother’s part.
He’d also watched them a couple times.
Then one day he realized what they were doing.
What it all meant.
And for a while, he had a hard time looking his mother in the face.
A long time.
Eventually, he learned what they were doing because he’d watch the same type of thing happen in front of everyone at the warehouse, which was the Blood Fury’s church, the clubhouse for his father’s MC.
Other women. Other men. Lots of them.
He’d even seen his father do it right out in the open to women who weren’t his mother.
Right there.
In front of everyone.
He wasn’t the only one. In fact, sometimes there was a line-up. All his father’s club brothers. Sticking their dicks into the same woman as she was held down on a table or over a barrel. And she’d be smiling and encouraging them.
At least most of them. Not all.
Some were awake, some weren’t.
Some would leave after that and never return.
Others came back for more.
When he’d gotten older, his body began to react when watching it. And he wanted to stand in line, too.
Hell, he’d even watched his best friend get his cherry popped by one of those sweet butts. What he thought, at the time, was a nicer name for what he learned later was a club whore.
He’d been in the crowd that circled Trip and the sweet butt as Buck ordered the woman to spread her legs and let Trip nut inside her.
Trip did. And he’d only been fourteen.
Sig had been eleven at the time and hoped his father, Razor, would order the sweet butt to do the same for his own son.
He hadn’t.
So, when his body would react, he would have to hide for a while until his painful erection went back down, or he’d end up making a mess in his underwear because he couldn’t control it.
Once, one of the other women in the warehouse had noticed his discomfort and blown him a kiss, saying, “Whenever your daddy says it’s okay.”
Razor never did.
Because Razor didn’t give a shit about his boy.
Not one shit.
Not like Buck did for Trip.
While Trip was his best friend, he also never told him that his father was coming over and screwing his mother.
Because he couldn’t.
Buck had always warned him to keep his “fuckin’ mouth shut.” To keep the Blood Fury’s president’s visits to his mother a secret.
“You tell anyone, I’ll fuckin’ kill her, boy. You hear me? She wants it. Begs for my dick. That’s the only reason I’m here. You say somethin’ an’ if I don’t kill her first, your pop will.” He had grabbed Sig’s long hair, fisted it painfully and ripped his head back. “You fuckin’ hear me?”
Sig had struggled not to cry out or show his fear. Because that was what Buck wanted. Buck liked people to be afraid of him. “Y-yeah.”
“Not a goddamn word, boy.”
In truth, Sig was afraid of Buck. Most everyone was. Except for Sig’s mother, Silvia. And maybe Trip’s mother, Tammy.
Buck had a nasty temper and you didn’t want it focused on you. Otherwise, you’d be hurting and that hurt would last a while.
Like the time Buck caught Sig watching a couple weeks ago. He’d rolled off his mother and within a couple strides, had a frozen Sig by his throat and thrown to the floor at the foot of the bed.
Sig was just glad the man wasn’t wearing his boots. Otherwise, he might have ended up dead.
Instead, a naked Buck stomped on him a few times. In places Razor would never see. Sig’s back, his stomach, his ribs, even his junk.
Sig had curled into a tight ball, trying to protect himself. When that didn’t work, he struggled to crawl back out the door, clawing his way across the dirty, worn carpet.
Luckily, Buck let him go, still kicking Sig as he did his best to escape. And once he got near the open door, Buck kicked his ass right out of it, slamming it behind him and just missing Sig’s foot.
Sig had laid in the hallway for the longest time, simply trying to breathe, trying to think, trying not to cry out loud.
But then he’d heard it again. The bed squeaking, his mother moaning, Buck calling her really dirty names between his grunts.
His mother had said nothing while Buck had kicked him. Never begged Buck to stop.
She just let him do it.
Later on, when asked, she’d answered, “You did wrong, you deserved what you got.”
That was it.
Sig was so mad about that, he’d done something stupid.
Last time Buck was screwing his mother, he’d snuck into the room while they were busy, took the knife the club prez kept in his boot and hid it under his dad’s jeans that had been left in a pile on the floor.
That was a week ago. And he was disappointed nothing came of it.
Razor never confronted Silvia. Or Buck. Not that he knew of, anyway.
If his dad had found the knife, he must not have thought anything of it. Or only thought it was his own.
But either way, eventually Sig would give Buck what he deserved. Even if he had to wait until he was older.
He wouldn’t always be twelve. One day he’d be big enough, strong enough, to teach Buck a damn lesson he wouldn’t be able to forget.
And then he’d take the club’s top spot from him.
But that would be years from now, so he had to wait.
He had to suffer through listening to the bastard screwing his mother.
He had to suffer through hearing that bed make noise, as well as the two occupants.
He grimaced and covered his ears.
He could still hear them.
Buck screwing his mother. His mother letting the bastard do it. Encouraging him to give “it” to her harder. Faster.
He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and rolled off his bed. He needed to get out of the house. Needed to get away from them.
That bastard got what he wanted, whenever he wanted.
It was like Buck was king of the club.
He ruled them all.
And no one was going to stop him.
Sig vowed it would be him someday. Buck would pay.
He tagged his jeans from the floor and yanked them up his legs, pulling on the first shirt he came across. He snagged his sneakers as he went and threw open his door, trying to ignore those noises as he passed his mother’s bedroom door.
“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath as he kept rolling.
His feet stopped moving as the front door of their tiny house was flung open and his father came barreling through.
Finally!
Finally, his dad was going to stop Buck. Take him down a peg or two.
Before Sig could say anything, his dad shoved him out of the way and into the wall, not saying a word to him.
Like he wasn’t even there.
Like Sig didn’t even exist.
Like he was only in the way.
His mouth dropped open as he saw his father pull his Sig Sauer from under the back of his cut, lift his boot up and kick in the bedroom door, even though it wasn’t locked.
It wasn’t locked. Why did he have to kick it in?
Sig’s feet unfroze and he quickly followed his father, now scared to death for his mother. “Ma!”
All that got him was a big hand to his chest and a painful shove backward. “Get outta here, kid,” Razor yelled, raising the gun.
“But—”
The room was so small the sound exploded around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and fell to the floor, hearing nothing for the longest time.
Nothing but the ringing in his ears.
The acrid burn in his nostrils.
His heart escaping out of his chest.
He was afraid to open his eyes.
His father had killed his mother.
That was what he’d done.
That wasn’t what was supposed to happen.
He forced his eyes open and all he could see was his mother’s open mouth and her wide eyes as she screamed.
But Sig couldn’t hear it.
He couldn’t hear anything.
But he could see it.
Razor’s .40 pointed to Silvia’s head. And his beet red face, the angriest Sig ever saw him. His father’s finger twitching dangerously on the trigger.
His mother wasn’t dead, but she was about to die.
Just like the lifeless man lying naked on top of her. A hole dead center in his back. A dark red puddle spreading quickly over the dirty sheets beneath them both.
Sig’s throat was raw because he was screaming. He just couldn’t hear it.
He still couldn’t hear shit.
But he could see it.
He could see his father raise that gun and strike her in the head with it.
Not once.
Not twice.
Too many times to count.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
He could barely hear his father bellowing, “Knew you were a fuckin’ whore! Never shoulda made a whore like you my ol’ lady.”
Razor was only supposed to kick Buck’s ass. Teach the bastard a lesson.
That was it.
Nothing more.
“See your fuckin’ whore mother?” The shouted question sounded muffled over the loud ringing still in his ears.
But he heard it.
And, yeah, Sig saw her. He’d never be able to un-see her.
Naked and bloody, her distorted face swollen and split. Sig wasn’t sure if she was still breathing.
“Ain’t nothin’ but filthy snatch. Here’s a lesson for ya, don’t make a cunt like that your ol’ lady, kid.”
His father spun on his boot and Sig never saw him again.
It wasn’t until a few days later, he discovered he had witnessed the man he thought was his father shoot the man who turned out to be his real father point-blank. That was also when he agreed with Razor’s opinion his mother was no better than a lying, cheating whore.
It wasn’t until a few days later, the whole club imploded. Just like his family.
Ox, the club’s enforcer, shot Razor dead right between the eyes. Then another member tried to take out Ox and failed.
When they thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.
Brothers became enemies. Family became strangers.
And his best friend became blood.
Only by then, once he found out Trip was his half-brother, his best friend was long gone.
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