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She ends the call, and I find myself standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to my apartment, her words echoing inside of my head. You’re fucking worthless. And the kicker of it all is that she’s not wrong, and I hate not only her but myself for that.
KING
“How many kegs do we deliver tomorrow?” I ask.
The secretary, Gnaw, jerks his chin toward me, takes his phone out of his pocket, and glances down at the device before he clears his throat. He lifts his head, and his eyes find mine and his lips twitch into a smirk.
“Three to your favorite bar, as per their standing contract,” he replies with a chuckle.
“Fuck you,” I grind out.
He lets out a bark of laughter. He knows that not only do I hate going anywhere downtown, I despise that fucking place. Considering I’m the vice president, I haven’t done deliveries in a while. We’re shorthanded right now, and I’m forced to do this shit. I fucking hate the fact that I have to go down there.
My mom and stepdad owned the Honky-Tonk bar my entire childhood and forced me to spend my entire life down there and work.
It doesn’t matter that I walked away at eighteen, that I haven’t worked there for twenty years. I still fucking hate walking into the place.
“Someone else can do it,” I grind out, knowing they can’t but hoping there is someone, anyone, who will.
Gnaw shakes his head. “No can do tomorrow. Everyone is booked fucking solid. Even prospects have been given duties.”
“Fuck,” I clip.
He clears his throat. “You want me to see if I can ask someone to switch?” he asks.
I run my fingers through my hair, tugging on the ends before shaking my head from side to side a few times. “No, I’m almost forty years old. I can deliver three kegs to those assholes, one of whom gave me life.”
“I still can’t believe you came from her,” he mumbles.
“Believe that shit,” I snap with a smirk.
Taking the order slip from Gnaw, I glance at the paperwork for a brief moment before shoving it into my pocket. “How long has it been since we’ve done a delivery?” I ask.
“They’re on a six-month rotation right now. I don’t think they’re going to last much longer at that rate. How can you keep the doors open selling three kegs every six months?” Gnaw asks.
He’s right.
Back in the day, my mom and stepdad’s bar was the local place to hang out, and they were slinging beers and booze all night long, every night. I know because I helped them, and I remember my whole body aching by closing time, then we’d do it again the next night, over and over again, until I walked away and never looked back.
“You can’t,” I say. “They are fuckin’ idiots.”
I shove the order in my pocket, turn around, and head toward the club bar. Another reason I don’t have to see my mom and stepdad ever is because my motorcycle club has their own fucking bar.
I quickly walk down the hall, step out into the main room, and inhale the familiar scent of beer, smoke, and bitches.
This is the life I know and love.
Sure, it’s similar to my upbringing, which makes it familiar and comforting in its own way, but it’s not the exact same either. This club doesn’t use me to do all their hard work. We share the load, even the president.
This is a real family, and I will never forgive my mother for treating me the way she did for all those years. I feel the same about my stepdad, but maybe it’s because my mother is my biological parent of the two that I feel most betrayed by her.
CHAPTER
TWO
SHAWN
Another day… and not another dollar. I bite my bottom lip. I have to realize that this is the end of my dream after only four months. I don’t know what else to do. I have no more money to spend on advertising, rent or, hell… food at this point.
