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He stands, leaving me in my despair and pity.
As I hear the door close, I let out a sob and roll over so I’m lying on my stomach. My face presses against the cool ground and my tears create a pool beneath my face.
I hate my life.
I hate what it has become.
That night, I don’t create another tally along the wall.
Every night thereafter, I don’t make another tally.
My life ended the last night of my being fifteen years old.
In my mind, I died on my fifteenth birthday.
Well, Ivy Davis died.
Now I’ll ever only behis.
3
Aziel
Smoke swirls between my fingers like a maze as it works its way off the cherry. I exhale, ruining its trail, only for it to start back up again once the air stills.
The night is quiet. The air is dry and hot. Sweat makes my shirt stick to my back. My jeans feel rough and too thick against my overheated legs. But I have no energy to remedy my situation.
Being VP is exhausting.
I slip my lighter from my pocket and relight my cigarette when the cherry burns out. Taking a drag, I exhale heavily with all the fatigue festering in my body as I look into the distance. All I can see is mountains surrounding me, the peaks glowing bright as the sun has its last glance at the world before it departs.
This has become a ritual of sorts.
Sitting on the roof of the clubhouse as the sun sets. I need this peace and quiet, a time to do nothing besides smoke my cigarettes and stare at the endless landscape in front of me.
My anger these last few years have been getting the best of me, which I suppose makes sense given the name they gave me once I became VP—Wrath. For years people thought I should've been named something else. I was too much of a playboy and not enough of a VP or dedicated enough to take over the reins of a motorcycle club.
But these last few years have been like a knife digging into my spine. Every fucking puncture is turning me into someone else. Nothing can stop this change. It was inevitable. I was just blinded by the immature reality of being young with an overeager dick.
You’d think my dad, President of the Seven Motorcycle Club, would've wanted to rub the grime of the world in my face since I was a toddler. He didn't. He let me learn the shit by myself.
I sure did.
I went from carting drugs and guns over the border and splitting bullets in old men's skulls since I was a kid. That shit hasn't changed. But the years have changed me. I think it changed all of us.
My boy, Jackson, from Minnesota…he went through some shit that no one should ever have to go through. Boy got himself paralyzed, had a kid, and had his baby momma kidnapped. If you call someone strong, Jackson better be first in line. He persevered through that shit and came out a better guy. He got his legs back; he got his girl back. They're good.
It was a private discussion between my pops and I that we would get Jackson and The Grove out of the shit they were dealing with the Mexicans. Considering it was our shit with them that started the whole feud in the first place. They wanted into our territory. We didn’t want them into our territory. The feud fueled between us, growing until the fire couldn’t be put out. Whatever thin business relationship has been between us and the Mexicans in the past, that shit is done and buried. Now I’m fueled by the need to take him down.
I can handle going up against grown men. I can handle getting bloody. I can handle watching people I know, and trust take their last breath. That shit hurts, but it won’t knock me down.
What kills me—what brings me to my knees, honestly, is the fact that this sick fuck, Santiago,Jefeof the Mexican cartel, traffics little girls. Not just women, that's terrible as it is. Girls. Of all fucking ages. I've seen them in their worst forms. I've seen remains offucking children. Their skeletons are burnt into my fucking skull.
Dealing with this type of shit for the last few years has changed me into someone else. It's literally changed me into the fucking Wrath that this club has always believed I was. I'm angry. I'm fuming. I promise myself every night the moment I finally catch Santiago, I'll put a bullet in every two hundred and six bones in his damn body.
It's been a slow process, but we've been taking down one location at a time. Sometimes we are able to free some people. Sometimes we get to kill some people. Other times, we come to an empty building, and all we get to do is explode the motherfucker so they can't hold anyone there in the future.
It might seem tedious, and my bones are screaming at me for some fucking mercy, but we can't stop.
