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The asshole in question raises his head and turns to me. He's got a fucking smirk on his face. "Didn't touch it, man. Just admirin' its beauty."
"Best keep it that way," I snap.
The asshole raises his hands as I step closer to him, I notice a scar on his eyebrow, one that reminds me of Abel and my heart clenches at the thought of my brother. Christ, it’s been eighteen months and my past is still raw. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about what happened to both Abel and I.
It's been eighteen months since I left that God forsaken house, and I haven't looked back. I'll die before I ever step foot back there again. Ain't no fucking way I'd ever willingly go back. My parents can rot for all I care.
Since I left, my life has gone to shit. I escaped with Garret and his parents. It was easy to do as we left during one of my father's services. What with the beatings that I took in the two weeks leading up to my birthday I wasn't allowed to be seen. My parents lost their ever-loving shit during that time period and didn't give a fuck about keeping up pretences any longer. They repeatedly whaled on me and beat me until I was unconscious. It was fucking brutal. When Garret and his parents arrived, I could barely hold myself up. Thankfully, they helped me into my truck and Garret drove it for me as we got the fuck out of town.
It was hard leaving that house. The morning of my departure, Abel committed suicide. He couldn’t stay in that house any longer. He took his life because he was stuck with our parents. He knew I was leaving because I told him. I wouldn't have left without warning him. But I was leaving him behind, even after he begged me to take him with me. The guilt from that decision has plagued me for the past eighteen months, and will continue to until the day I die.Had I not left, Abel would still be alive.
Our parents acted as though nothing had happened. They went about their day without a second thought. Bastards.
Garret and his family cared for me until I was able to stand on my own two feet. But with the pain I was feeling and the guilt that was burning inside of me, I couldn’t stay around them. I thanked them and left Boston. I owe them my life, but they’re a reminder of everything that’s happened. I moved to New York and haven’t spoken to them since.
Since then, I’ve lost my way somewhat. I don’t go to college, nor do I feel the need to. I don't have a purpose in life, and I'm struggling to find my feet. I've turned into an asshole and I can't help it. The anger I feel is something I can't get rid of. It's so deeply ingrained in me that it flows through me as easily as my blood does.
"Want to calm the fuck down, man? I was lookin'. I didn't touch. Damn... Who the fuck pissed in your Wheaties this mornin'?"
I glare at the bastard, but he's not fazed one bit. "Is there a reason you're annoying the ever-loving shit out of me?"
His grin widens. "Nope. It’s not my fault you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Besides, I was just admirin' your bike. That's all. You can do the same with mine if you'd like. She's a whole lot better than yours."
That's utter bullshit. No one has a better bike than mine. She's one of the best bikes money can buy. I worked every chance I had on it as I was growing up. I spare a glance at his and realize he's got the exact same fucking bike as me.
"Did you restore it?" I ask him, and he nods. "Cool. Same."
"You're not from around here, are you?" he asks. "Your accent is a huge giveaway. You're from the south, right?"
I nod. "Yep. You're not from here either. Where are you from?"
"Raleigh. My name's Todd."
"Kane," I reply, still skeptical about this guy.
"What brings you to New York?"
I lift my shoulders. "Needed a change. You?"
"Searchin' for somethin'. Don’t know what, but I'm hopin' I'll find it. You ever heard of the Vipers?"
I blink. "Vipers?"
"Brother," he says with a shake of his head. "You're in New York and you've never heard of the Fury Vipers MC?"
I shake my head. No, I've never heard of them. "Who are they?"
He crosses his arms over his chest. "I met a guy a couple of weeks ago. His road name is Ace. He's a member of the motorcycle club. He gave me the whole spiel, but honestly, brother, the thing that sold it to me was the belongin'. I ain't belonged to somethin' in a fuckin' long time, and Ace said there's a whole brotherhood in that club. He invited me to come along and meet them, get a feel for them and them me. If the brothers like me, then I can become a prospect for the club. I'm goin' tonight. I can bring a friend. You want to come?"
"Why the fuck does this sound cultish?" I ask, wondering where the hell this fucker's going to lead me. The way he's making it sound, it’s as though they're going to get me to the club and make me sign my rights away in blood.
He chuckles. "Nah, it's not a cult. They own the auto shop in the Bronx."
My eyes widen when I realize who he means. "Fury's Auto Shop?"
He nods. "That's the one."
"So, what—we go to the club, have a few drinks, and meet a few of the brothers? Then what?"
