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PROLOGUE
Tats – 21 Years Old
I walk out of the bathroom into my room at my dad's bungalow-style property. The whole room is painted black, and is only a stopover when I need a place to crash. I have a towel around my waist, and I am drying my hair with another, ignoring how the bedroom still looks the same as it did when I was in high school.
Dad had the house built for his wife Emily only a month after meeting her. Before that, we stayed at the club, and the other old ladies and brother's women were forced to help raise me. My dad is the club's enforcer, a role I’ll take over in a few years after Snake, my club brother and best friend, takes over as president.
Not that I feel like I have a right to the role.
I've been brought up to live and breathe the club when, most days, I fucking hate it, and the only reason why I'm here now is because my sister said she missed me. Otherwise, I'd be getting ready for the day at my own place.
My momma is Emily. She's raised me since I was seven, and I love her to bits. She took on that role without a thought even after she had her own baby, and I'll always be grateful to her.
She and my dad had my sister Scarlett when I was nine. At first, it was hard, especially seeing my dad doted over her when he never did with me, but I ensured never to hold that against her. I was her protector growing up, and that hasn't changed over the years; we're close.
My birth mother, well, she's a patch-chasing bitch. She's a clubwhore, a woman who likes to fuck the brothers but wants more.
I was never meant to be born.
Luna Davis, known as Snatch within the club, had poked holes in my father's condoms, as well as the condoms of several other brothers. When she announced she was pregnant by one of the brothers, they tried to convince her to have an abortion, as the bitch is happy to remind me of every day. My father, a man I've wanted to make proud of me, had fucked her the most. He was the main fucking cheerleader for her to get rid of me. When she refused, the brothers ordered a DNA test, my father going first, and I came back as his. During the first seven years of my life, he was hardly there for me, not happy about the situation, and even tried saying she fucked with the results despite her not even handling them.
It wasn't until he met Emily that he decided to try a relationship with me as a way to prove to her that he was a family man.
It didn't work.
Having spent you're first seven years with your birth mother beating how much of a disappointment you are into your head, forcing you to watch brothers fuck her over and over, her blaming you for her chosen lifestyle because your father refused to hand her his patch, it fucks with you. In the end, you need someone to blame, that same someone who basically abandoned me until it suited him, until he wanted to seem like the good guy for his new love, then got mad when I didn't play ball.
Don't get me wrong, I love my father, and he has sort of tried since then, but I've always kept my distance, because I'll always be the unwanted one around here; he ensured I felt that way growing up by keeping the bitch around and not being a fucking parent.
Sighing, I quickly dry myself before getting dressed. Huntersville College's wide receiver Brad Wilson is having a bash at his parent's house while they are out of town. I'm hoping to find some new pussy, needing a release but refusing to touch the clubwhores. If we have hang-arounds, I'll fuck them or a bitch from the college, but never a clubwhore that my father most likely fucked.
I shudder at the thought as I grab my cut, my jaw ticking as I put on the leather, feeling out of place in it, before styling my short, brown hair. I don't focus on my face, knowing my dark blue eyes, much like my father's, are dull and lifeless.
With a last look at my outfit—black shirt, dark jeans, a cut I don't feel right in, and biker boots—I grab my keys then leave my room, knowing I won't be back for a few months. I head down the hallway, ignoring the pictures on the walls of me from seven onward, which says a fucking lot, and smile when I see Scarlett sitting at the kitchen nook trying to draw. She wants to study fashion and design, and she's only twelve. She’s hardcore, already knowing what she wants out of life.
While our parents were out, we spent most of the evening reviewing her designs.
I tug on her black hair, making her giggle.
She swats my hand and says, "Jayden…."
I give her a smile and kiss her head. She's the only one who doesn't call me by my road name, Tats, which the brothers decided suited me because I'm fucking covered in them. Both arms are covered in sleeves, much to my momma, Emily's, dismay. My sister's name is tattooed on the side of my neck, while my chest and back are full of different symbols, from crosses to tribal signs to memorable scripts like the one on my collarbone—forever free on my right clavicle, and an eagle with his wings spread on my left clavicle.
My dream is to be a tattoo artist. Most of my body, I've done myself, learning by doing, trying to understand the right depth and amount of pressure. However, tattooing a snake on my best friend's neck was probably a dumb thing to do. My fucking dad thought he could ground me, a grown adult, when he didn't give a shit about me when I was a kid.
Too fucking late.
I grin wide as Momma walks in from the garage. Her dark blond hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and her green eyes sparkle when she sees me.
She gasps, "Sweetheart, I haven't seen you home for a while."
Shit…. I smile, trying not to flinch at the word “home” as she rushes over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I wrap my arms around her in a hug.
"Sorry, Momma, just busy," I replied. She nods while Scarlett gives me a look, knowing it's bullshit. She may only be twelve, but she's not blind; she's noticed how closed off I am but doesn't understand why. I ignore her furrowed brow, kiss both their cheeks, and say, "Alright, I'm off; I'll see you both later. Letty, be good."
They smile, my sister’s wider at her nickname.
As I get to the door, Momma calls out, "For Sunday dinner?" trapping me, knowing I wouldn't be able to say no to her in person like I have done several times on the phone.
