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"Oh, Blake. I can't fathom living with a memory like that."
I let out a heavy breath and finally take the chance to share the rest of my story. "After my father and uncle killed the only family I had, they set the house on fire. Standing in the front yard, they made me watch as the place went up in flames, destroying as much evidence as possible, trying to ensure they left no trace of them ever being there." The emotions of that night come flooding back, and I feel them gathering in my eyes. "I stood there, frozen with fear and eaten up by an indescribably empty feeling, with tears and snot running down my face. I was physically outside the house, untouched by the fire, but my entire body felt as though it was inside, with my family, burning to ashes alongside them." Ember reaches over and takes hold of my hand. She remains quiet, but I can feel her love. My voice changes.
"'I don't want you. You have no one now. That's the price you are paying to stay alive. From this point on, I don't care what happens to you. You'd best forget I was here, boy. If trouble knocks at my door, I'll find ya' and kill ya'.' That's what my father said to me before he and my uncle left, leaving me alone." I fight like hell to hold my emotions at bay. I push through the pain and keep going, baring everything to Ember.
"Authorities didn't have any direction with the murders, and I wasn't talkin'. I had no next of kin, so I went into state custody—years of bouncing from one foster home to the next. I was rebellious, a troublemaker, and using drugs. Eventually, I was placed in a group home, which I ran away from at seventeen." I fall silent, collecting my thoughts, needing a moment to breathe.
Ember squeezes my hand. "Feel me, baby. I'm right here, and I'm not letting go." Her words cause what remains of the wall I had built around my heart to crumble.
"I was attempting to clean up my act, get off the drugs. I got a job just outside of my hometown workin' security at a strip club. It didn't pay much, but it was enough to pay for a cheap motel room and food daily. Anyway, one night, I stepped out for a smoke and to escape the noise for a few minutes. I caught a guy assaulting a woman when I walked out the back door." I flashback to the night.
"Hey!" I shout at the son of bitch who just slapped the shit out of the woman he has pressed against the brick wall. It's dark, so I can't distinguish his face from where I stand.
"Mind your motherfuckin' business, boy."
Great. Another drunk motherfucker is forcing himself on someone. "Get the fuck off her, asshole." I move in their direction and reach for my weapon.
"Fuck off before I…" His slurred words are cut short.
"Before you what?" I press the barrel end of the gun to his temple. He takes his hands off the woman. She gives me a look of thanks and then makes a quick escape. "I don't like sick fucks who get their kicks off assaulting women," I growl. The guy fully faces me, and my blood runs cold. It's been eight years since the last time I saw the man glaring back at me.
"You've messed with the wrong motherfucker." My father's face contorts with rage.
I realize he doesn't know who I am; not that he would. Every memory I have of him hits me all at once. All the raw rage I feel for his actions seeps from my pores. The need for vengeance is pulsing through my veins. "You once told me I was nothin' more than a waste of cum." My knuckles whiten as I grip the handle of the gun tighter. "You remember what I said that day?" I wait a beat for him to answer. His nostrils flare, and his eyes flash with recognition.
My father's face hardens, his expression turning hostile, then he smirks. "You ain't got the balls, boy." He sneers. "Should you pull the trigger, my men will hunt you down. And if you don't kill me, I will kill you. Either way, you're a dead man." His words are laced with venom, but I've been bitten by them too many times before, and they have no effect on me.
"A promise is a promise." I pull the trigger.
Ember pressing her lips against mine lifts the veil of my past, bringing me back to the present. She's propped on her elbow, looking down at me. "I took my father's life," I confess.
"Yes." She softly kisses me again.
"You don't think I'm a monster? Look at me. I'm the same as him: a cold-blooded killer." I look away, but Ember places her hand on my cheek and stops me.
"You are not your father, Blake. You are a good man who happens to be part of an MC, and who has sometimes killed to protect his family. You are nothing like your father, and you are not a monster." She presses her forehead against mine.
Silence hangs between us for several minutes while her words take root. My life with the Kings is not a reflection of my father. For him, killing was recreational—a blood sport. The Kings hold the club, loyalty, family, and love above themselves, which is why we kill and what we will die trying to protect.
The night I killed my father, I left California. I traveled as far as the money in my pocket allowed, and Polson, Montana, was where I ended up. For weeks I was paranoid, constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting to see one of my uncle's men. I needed to take off the edge and stop thinking about what I'd done and why I'd done it, so I reached for the one thing that would relieve me. I felt horrible for using it again, but not thinking about the past felt better. The problem was that I had no money. I set out to find a job to fix my cash and drug needs, and I landed a job at a lumber yard helping load and unload shipments. Although I had zero experience, the owner, Mr. Burton, was willing to give me a chance.
For weeks I kept my head down and worked hard. Life in Polson was good, but I was still using, and eventually, I lost my job. Mr. Burton told me he would put me back to work when I decided to get my life together and get clean. He was a nice older man. I had no ill feelings toward him, but that didn't stop me from blowing off steam over it. I took my ass to Charley's that night and drank—a lot. I ended up in a brawl with two men, both bigger than me. I didn't give a shit. I was wasted and feeling no pain. They eventually left me slumped against the side of my beat-up car. I knew I was busted up damn good. It hurt like a motherfucker to breathe. At that moment, I didn't care. I felt myself passing out while I heard the rumble of motorcycles. Jake and the others found me that night. Doc looked after me and treated my injuries. The rest is history. Jake saw something in me I wasn't willing to see in myself. With support from strangers, I got clean and gained a job and a family in the process. My brothers knew everything about me, about my past. I hid nothing from them. Prospecting for the club wasn't easy, but I knew I wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself.
An eruption of gunfire shatters my reverie, and I scramble out of bed, racing to throw some pants on.
"Oh, my God!" Ember is in a panic fumbling to clothe herself. "The kids!" she cries out, stricken with fear.
I grab my gun. "Get to Bellamy and stay put." I storm out the door, running into the other men half-dressed and armed. We burst through the front door into the yard just in time to hear tires squealing and see the red lights of a retreating vehicle racing away from the compound gate. Just as fast as the chaos began, it appears to end. Jake barks orders for everyone to span out and secure the compound. My eyes land on Grey picking himself off the ground near the gate. I jog in his direction.
"Motherfuckers shot me," Grey growls, grinding his teeth, and I notice blood trickling in a thin stream down his forearm. "They threw something out the back of their vehicle, and whatever it was landed too far from the gate for me to make out what the hell it was."
I leave Grey and slip outside the gate, with my gun raised toward the road. It's dark as fuck; more so the farther I get from the dim light shining over the gated end of the driveway. I'm scanning my surroundings when the tip of my bare toe kicks against something solid. I turn my head from left to right, glancing in the direction of the road before squatting. On the ground is a body, but I still can't make out who. The sound of someone's approach has me standing and aiming my weapon.
"It's me, brother," Quinn says, holding his gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
"Got a body. Shine that light down here." I kneel again. The motionless body is lying on its side, so I roll them over. I'm unprepared for who it is, and I recoil with shock. His clothes are soaked in blood, and his face is nearly unrecognizable. On his chest is a crimson-stained piece of paper held in place by a knife; the blade plunged into his body.
"Jesus Christ, it's Charley," Quinn states, then faces toward the clubhouse and shouts"Prez!"His voice holds the heavy weight of urgency.
