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ONE
KAI
Months Earlier
Servite Fucking Academy. A pompous palace chock full of privileged, cocky assholes, and narcissistic, spoiled brats. Here I am, smack dab in the middle of it all, sticking out like the fucked up, troubled punk they already think I am.
Go figure.
It’s no surprise our welcoming was less than warm. No one’s exactly thrilled we’re here, though to be fair, neither are we.
We were brought here against our will. Fuck the damn foster system for making us belong to the state like fucking property. Not even our foster moms could protect us from the headmaster and his crew when they arrived to snatch us up and make us their little pet project.
Since the moment we arrived, we’ve been singled out, ridiculed, and mocked, all for their own personal entertainment. You’d think these rich fuckers would spend their money on something worth their time, but I guess that’s what happens when you have more money than you can spend, and not enough time to spend it. It hasn’t been all bad though. Pussy was slim picking back in Pleasant Hills. Here, at least, it’s fucking cashmere.
There’s only one thing more appealing than designer clothes to these prissy little princesses, and that’s a wicked bad boy that’ll surely make daddy blow a gasket.
Lucky for me, that’s exactly what I am.
Whether it’s because they see us as something in need of fixing, and they're so damn bored out of their minds they decide to take it on themselves to do the deed, or an easy way to fuck the social class system that says they need to breed with their own kind, either way it’s like we’re fucking magnets.
“And I thought parties back home were fucking wild,” my best friend Jaxon says as he hands me a beer from the cooler beside us. He twists the bottle open, dropping the cap on the floor at his feet. Jax is right.
Parties back home, usually thrown at some warehouse on the outskirts of town by the train tracks, were always a good time. Drugs, alcohol, cage fights, and drunk high school girls looking for a good time, what more could we ask for?
Yet here, here, all of that is amped up to one thousand. The drugs are harder, the alcohol three times as expensive, the warehouse is now a private beach with rows of extravagant mansions surrounding the crystal clear water, and the girls, well let’s just say they’re down for a ride or two on the bad boy express.
A snide chuckle escapes me. Shaking my head, I take in everything surrounding us. “Yeah, these assholes got one thing right. They can throw a mean ass rager.”
All around us, teenagers who look like they’ve been picked out of a top model catalog or straight off the runway dance around the sand without a care in the world about what tomorrow will bring. Liquor, drugs, and sex are all around us in equal amounts. They live like no one’s watching, living in the moment. No thoughts about their futures, which are surely perfectly planned out, and definitely no memories of the past. Not like it’s unpleasant.
Jealousy creeps inside of me, envy the wicked green monster coming out to taunt me.How great it must be to not be tainted by childhood trauma, forbidding you to form any healthy relationships?I have friends, sure, more like siblings I’ve chosen as my family, but I wouldn’t consider our relationship to be normal. I’d do anything for them, kill for them if need be. That can’t be healthy.
I have an uncle who’s caught up in so much shit. It’s unsafe to have any sort of relationship with him. As for my parents, a dead mother I never knew, and a deadbeat father who thought it was morally acceptable to beat his son black and blue, all the while sending his crackhead wife into his bedroom when he was ready to become aman. Luckily, the bitch never had the chance to lay a finger on me, not before I taught her every trick I’d learned from years at the end of my father’s aching fist.
That’s when I was finally removed from him and put into the system. It was that or juvie. Though the state must have thought it wouldn’t look so good to have an eleven-year-old put in prison for nearly killing the woman who’d tried to abuse him.
Instead, I was placed in a group home with other kids who had similar upbringings. Best damn thing that ever happened to me. The troubled teens stuck together, needing no one else.
My uncle Zeke, my father’s older brother and my only living relative, never came to claim me. He found it easier for me to grow up amid strangers than be put in danger because of his business dealings.
It wasn’t until I turned sixteen that I found out the truth about Zeke.
The leader of the Pleasant Hills Cobras, a notorious motorcycle gang with a repertoire for gun running and money laundering. That’s what he protected me from all these years, so obviously that’s what I couldn’t wait to get my hands in.
“Fuck man, those girls over there have been looking this way all night,” Jax calls out, eyeing a group of chicks standing about twenty feet away from us. They’re all gathered around one of the fire pits, dressed in minuscule bikinis which surely cost a fortune for the ten inches of fabric they’re made of. Well worth the money if you ask me.
Jax suddenly yelps in pain. “Ow, what the hell, man?” he snaps, turning to my other brother, Damon Drake.
“Thought you were dating my sister,” Drake shouts back at Jax, pissed he’s looking at any other chick when he’s been dating his twin sister Ruby for months.
Jax rubs his arm where Drake smacked him, feigning injury. “I am man, I’m only looking out for you two,” he stutters nervously. The thing about Jaxon Wylde is although he’s dangerously infatuated with Ruby, his wandering eyes are his greatest fault.
My best friends are everything to me, the only damn thing I care about in this wretched world. Damon Drake and Jaxon Wylde, my two brothers who might be the only two people more fucked up than I am. The three of us have our fair share of childhood trauma and unhealthy addictions, though each of us shows it differently.
Drake is the embodiment of ire and neuroticism. He’s possessive, controlling, distrusting and all around a total asshole, but he is damn loyal and protective.
Then there’s Jax, who masks his pain with sarcasm and humor. He’s an all-around good guy, a breath of fresh air amongst the dark clouds constantly looming over the rest of us.
