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Flickin’ on the lights, I head into the bedroom and shrug off my cut before making a beeline fer the bathroom. I turn on the shower to scaldin’ before strippin’ down and steppin’ under the cascade. A hiss leaves my mouth when the water hits my skin, and I plant a palm on the cold tiles as I lower my head under the waterfall of hot spray. When I close my eyes, I think about the blonde beauty. Long, white dreadlocks that hang to the middle of her back, those tight feckin’ jeans, and the tight tank top that made her perky tits attract my gaze.

She’s done me in. I can’t describe it, but she’s goin’ta be mine, one way or another. She has a permanent place in my head, and I don’t ever want her to leave. I have ta find a way to tell her, to make her see. Maybe, just maybe, there is a chance I can get through to her.

I lather myself in shower gel and rinse off quickly before steppin’ out and wrappin’ a towel around my waist. I’m late, and Monster is goin’ta have my head fer it.

My phone buzzes on the bedside table. A message from Monster gives me instructions to get to the warehouse. Looks like I’ll be cleanin’ up a mess again today. I don’t respond. Instead, I get dressed and make my way back to my bike.

The rain beats down on me as I speed up the road. I shouldn’t be ridin’ so fast, but I need to clear my mind. It’s been weeks since the new year has come and gone. And now we have to figure out how the feck Bragan is goin’ta exact his revenge. We’ve had the mafia and law enforcement lookin’ out fer the bastard. He’s underground. When he wants to hide, he’s good at it.

With Monster on the war path, focused solely on Bragan, I’m havin’ta clean up more of the mess than usual. I don’t mind it, though. There are times I revel in the violence just because it forces me to forget where I’ve come from. The stench of death surrounds me, it permeates through my skin, and I exude it as if it were the feckin’ cologne I wear.

It forces me to think about my own past. Havin’ blood on my hands since I was a wee one has changed me in ways I don’t want to think about. But I do because it’s made me the man I am today. Takin’ shite from arseholes isn’t my thing. If I see a bastard startin’ a fight, if I notice some cunt doin’ somethin’ he’s not meant to, I step in. I’m not afraid to die.

The day I took matters into my own hands and made the cunt who’d hurt my ma pay fer his sins, I knew I wouldn’t be the same again. Once you steal a life, it changes you in ways ye don’t expect. But he was the devil, as if he’d risen from the feckin’ depths of hell to live on this earth. I pray the moment I killed him that I sent him back there. He deserved an eternity of torture and pain. The fecker smiled as I squeezed the life out of his lungs. He knew he wasn’t goin’ta make it, and I knew it too.

Though, I didn’t want to admit it.

Ma stood on and watched her son become a madman. She hasn’t spoken to me since that day. There wasn’t hatred in her eyes. She merely shook her head and walked away. I wanted her to thank me fer freein’ her, but she couldn’t. I didn’t understand it, because I thought she would be safer without the bastard. Even though she hates me now, I’m proud I killed him. He can’t hurt her or any other woman again. He deserved all he got in the end.

After that, I walked out of the house I lived in with Ma, and I found my own way. I was the loner, and I was happy with what I’d become. She doesn’t know I still check up on her. It’s my wee secret. She’s my responsibility even though she doesn’t know it.

When I pull up to the warehouse, there are still a few bikes parked outside. Monster and Rebel are here, as well as Rev. The moment I step into the large room, I find them staring down at some poor bastard who’s goin’ta die today. At least, he looks like he’s about to take his final breaths. Fecker is worse fer wear, and I doubt anythin’ is goin’ta fix his face after what Monster has done to him.

“If you can’t tell me anythin’, then ye’re no help to me. And you know what that means?” Monster leans forward so he’s right in front of the bloody pulp of the fecker’s face. “That ye’re goin’ta meet yer maker today.”

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