Page 2 of Smitty

And when they didn’t, I ran.

And there are nights like these that I think the running was worse than the crash. I could still remember the smell of the river on my clothes.

The mud. The gasoline. And the blood.

Every step, I told myself, he'd be fine. I just had to be fast enough. I just had to find someone to help.

I was wrong.

They called it an accident, so I didn’t have to call it what it truly was.

I got up that day without a scratch. Twelve years old and already wearing my brother’s death as a second skin. Most fucked-up part of it all was that I already knew what it’d look like when my life finally came to an end.

I saw it that summer afternoon when they put my twin brother on that stretcher. It was an image that would haunt me until I took my last breath. It would haunt my folks, too. My mother never said it was my fault. She didn’t have to. I saw it in her eyes any time she looked at me.

That’s why I left as soon as I turned eighteen.

Woosh, woosh, woosh, tick.

Woosh, woosh, woosh, tick.

It wasn’t until years later that I first saw a Fury cut.

I was at the shop, working on an oil change and tire rotation, hoping it would earn me enough to pay my electric bill before they cut off the power. I was covered in grease and grime when I glanced over and spotted a guy walking through the front door.

He looked tough, tall and fierce with a beard and a leather vest with Satan’s Fury embroidered on the back. I’d seen cuts before, but never one like this. Never one that made my throat tighten the way this one did.

Once he was gone, I asked my boss about him and Fury, and before I knew it, Cyrus had gotten me an invite to one of the club’s gatherings. And days later, I was prospecting.

Woosh, woosh, woosh, tick.

After every test they put in front of me, the vote had gone through unanimous. I’d done it. I’d proven that I was worthy, not only to them but to myself. Now, I was lying there with a girl at my side, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach.

That damn fan kept wobbling, and I kept looking over at my cut. And somewhere underneath the pride and relief, there was a gnawing feeling that ate at me in a way that brought bile to the back of my throat.

Woosh, woosh, woosh, tick.

Preacher. Goose. Seven. Skid. Memphis.

They were just a few of the men I would now call brother, and they were all incredible men. They were men I would be proud to stand beside and give my life to protect, but none of them, not a single one, would ever be able to replace him.

Aiden.

He was my twin brother.

My better half, and I let him down in a way no brother ever should.

I knew he would’ve been proud of how far I’d come. I wished I’d been able to find comfort in that, but that knot in my stomach seemed to grow tighter with every whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, tick.

I knew the truth.

I could never make it up to him.

I could never make it right.

But there was no doubt I would spend the rest of my days trying.

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