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“Mark, you’re just as spe—”
“No, I’m not, and I made peace with that a long time ago. But you are.” He grabs my hand and squeezes. “Enough sappy shit. You have work to do.”
I don’t bother arguing because it won’t do me any good. It never does. Someday, someone will knock him on his ass and show him all he has to offer but until then, I’ll just keep loving him like he’s family.
Because he is.
My knuckles burn,and my muscles protest, but I don’t let up on the punching bag. I’ve been in the clubhouse gym for hours, beating on this stupid swinging hunk of leather like my life depends on it. But it’s either me and the bag or me and one of my brothers.
I value my life, despite my actions at times, so I’m sticking with the damn bag.
“Ya gonna stay in there all day or what?”
I pause and twist to glare at the camera in the corner. When Soul, Saints Purgatory MC president, insisted we deck out the clubhouse with top-notch security, I agreed with him. But now the cameras are more of a nuisance than anything.
Knowing Soul can see but not hear me, I lift my hands and let them fly.Thank you, Grim.“Don’t you have an old lady to bang or something?”
“I do, which is why I’m less than thrilled that I’m having to check on your stupid ass.”
“No one fucking asked you to babysit.”
“You’re right,” he concedes. “But you’ve been distracted for weeks now. Ever since Mark was here.”
Mark, my younger brother, and the piece of shit who waltzed back into my life with his hippie girlfriend like he belonged here, rattled me in ways I don’t care to admit. Even to my best friends. There was a time I’d have done anything for him, but that time has passed.
“Was there something you needed?” I ask, not wanting to feed into the conversation he’s trying to lure me into having.
I don’t get a response, which is just as well. Returning my attention to the bag, I begin to pummel it again. My thoughts are all over the place as I punch through the pain, and I let them spiral until I’m deep in a vortex I can’t stop.
“Paul, go tell your mom and brother to hurry up. I don’t want to be late on our first day.”
I scoop up some cereal from my bowl. “I’m eating,” I say around a mouthful of Captain Crunch.
“Don’t start with the attitude,” my dad snaps as he rinses his coffee mug out in the sink. “Go and do as you're told.”
At eight, I swear my dad treats me more like a slave than his kid. I’m always having to do his bidding, and I hate it.
I sigh dramatically. “Fine.”
After pushing away from the table, I race upstairs to the bedroom I share with Mark. I’ve been begging my parents to let me have my own room, but they insist that my stupid baby brother might get scared if he’s alone at night.
When I open the door, Mark is standing in the middle of the room, and my mom is tying his tie.
“Dad says to hurry up,” I announce. “He doesn’t wanna be late.”
“Why can’t I stay home and play?” Mark whines. At four, all he cares about is Legos and Spiderman.
“Because it’s Sunday,” Mom says. “And on Sunday, we go to church.”
“Sundays are stupid.”
“Mark Grandon, that’s enough,” Mom snaps as she tightens his tie. “Sundays are for worshiping the Lord, and that’s what we’re going to do. Isn’t that right, Paul?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I know better than to argue with my mother. The last time I told her church was stupid, I got grounded for a week and couldn’t go outside to play. I’m not risking that again. Especially since we’re starting to attend the church my friends go to.
“Besides, this church has an annual picnic, and that’s today after the service.” Mom straightens and brushes her hands down her dress. “It’ll be fun.”
