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I stare at him, every ounce of hate that I have for him pours out of me like an open wound. There’s no one I hate more than the man that raised me. "I'm not challenging your words. I'm merely conveying what the Lord has said," I say, knowing that it's going to rile him up even more. "You're all about serving the Lord, our Savior, but you do not do as he says. Instead, you abuse your children, and have your wife follow by example. There will be no Heaven for you, Father, only Hell, and I pray to God that you burn when you get there."
I knew it was coming, but bracing wasn't enough to prepare me for the onslaught that ensues. Punch after punch after punch, he doesn't stop. The hits are hard and punishing. It doesn't take me long to realize that it's not just my father who’s attacking me, but my mother also.
"You need to repent," my father spits. "Repent for your sins, give your life to the Lord and he shall repay you. Go against the Lord and you shall suffer the consequences."
"You need to learn, Kane. Seek solace in the Lord and let him guide you. Let him show you the path to forgiveness and righteousness. If you don't, you'll end up in Hell," Mom says harshly.
"Fuck you," I hiss, blood pooling in my mouth. "If Heaven has you two in it, I'd rather go to Hell. Then again, do you honestly believe that either of you are going to fucking Heaven?" I chuckle. "No, you two are going to the depths of Hell, right next to child predators and murderers."
"You liar," Mom screams. "You dirty rotten liar."
I hear the sound of my father's belt buckle, and I know the beatings are about to get a whole lot worse. Fuck these bastards and their bullshit. Two more weeks and then I'm out of here, and I’ll never have to see either of these fuckers again.
"You need to wash your mouth out, son," my father snaps as he whips the belt across my back.
I learned a long time ago not to cry out in pain. That only fuels the fire within my parents and makes them extend the beating. Instead, I bow my head and take the pain, twisting it to rage. I know that one day, I'll lose control of the rage bottled up inside of me, and I'll end up hurting someone. I pray that someone is my father.
Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention, and I turn slightly to see my brother standing in the doorway, tears streaming down his face as he watches our parents beat me. He's only fourteen years old. I've tried to shield him as much as I possibly can from their brutality, but sometimes it's not enough. They get to him when I'm not around. It seems they've been on one today, as Abel's got a busted lip and his nose is bloodied. He hates them just as much as I do. Leaving him behind is going to be hard, but I have to. There's no other choice. I have to leave him behind for my own sanity. I can't stay here. If I do, I'm going to end up dead or killing someone, and neither is an option for me. Not yet anyway.
"Stop it!" Abel screams at them. "Stop hurting him. He's right, you're evil. You're both pure evil. Our Lord wouldn't want you at his side in Heaven. He'd look down on you in Hell with disgust."
"Boy," my father snarls. "Stay the fuck out of this. It's between your brother and us."
"No," Abel says. "It's not. You're the worst parents in the world and I hate you. Everyone in this town knows how fucked up you both are. Everyone hates you. But because you're the pastor, there's nothing they can do about it. You ever wonder why the conversations stop whenever you walk into a room?" he taunts them. "That's because you're the conversation. It's about you and how fucked up you are for hurting your boys. They all think you're hypocrites. Preaching about love and forgiveness but beating your boys until they can't move. You're the talk of the town."
"You dare," our mother screeches at him. "You dare lie."
I chuckle, unable to hold back. "He's not lying. Come on, Mother, you know he's not lying."
The belt hisses through the air as my father brings it down across my back. I bite back a pained groan. He's cut through the skin. I can feel the blood pooling in the wound. Fuck.
"Carry on, Abel, and your brother is going to feel a lot more pain," he goads.
Fuck, this is new. Usually, they'll beat one of us and move on to the next. It seems as though they've found a new way to torture us both. They know we don’t want the other hurting. Sick fucking bastards.
"Fine," Abel snaps. "Just so you know, my nightly prayers consist of me praying for your death. Every fucking night." He turns on his heel and moves to his room, slamming the door as he does. I smile when I hear the snick of his lock engaging.
"Get up," Father shouts. "Get the fuck up and get out of my sight. I'm not finished with you yet."
I roll my eyes. Of course he isn't.
“Don’t think this is the end. You carry on with that backtalk, boy, and that bike that’s in that garage will end up in a landfill,” Dad snarls.
Damn the asshole. He’s really starting to find new and creative ways to make both Abel and I compliant. I have a Harley Davision Cruiser. It's taken me two years to restore it to its former glory. She's one of the best bikes money can buy. I saved up to get it, both my parents hated it, but there was nothing they could do about it. I’m not allowed to ride until I’m eighteen, but it’s fully restored and waiting for me to come of age.
It takes me a lot longer than I would have hoped to get to my feet and move away from him, but I manage to make it to my room. The second my door is closed, I flip the lock. Our parents don't have keys to them. Oh, they'll be pissed that they can't come in, but it'll give both Abel and I time to heal from the beatings.
I collapse onto my bed and release a muffled groan into my pillow. Fuck. I'm in so much fucking pain. I won't be able to move again for a while.
It doesn't take long until I pass out from the pain.
CHAPTER1
PREACHER
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
"The fuck?" I growl as I see some asshole looking at my bike.
