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Prologue
Travis - age 11
I'm sitting on my bed, crossed-legged, playing on the Xbox against Logan, the Untamed Hell Fire's Pres's son. My dad, Stormy, is the VP; we've grown up together.
He's one of my best friends.
I sigh when the small TV glitches again, making me lose a life. The TV is quite old. It used to be my mother's before she died, and my dad gave it to me last year, much to his wife's dismay. Apparently, it was in club storage or something. The Xbox was my little brother's Jacksons until last month when it started playing up. He begged Dad and his mom for an upgrade, and they gave in immediately, letting him have a brand-new gaming system while I'm stuck with an old one that likes to freeze more than the TV.
I probably sound ungrateful for having this one, but my problem is he always gets what he wants. I've resented him a lot as we got bigger. He wants new clothes; he gets them while I have to have the hand-me-downs from Uncle David's kids. He wants to go out for dinner; they take him while leaving me behind with Jewels. He wants to go camping; Dad takes him and leaves me with his wife, which sucks.
You see, his mom isn't mine, and she hates me because I'm a reminder of her husband's old life. She has made my life hell for as long as I can remember. If Jackson does something wrong, she tells my dad it was me, and I end up with the belt across my ass. If something goes missing or something's a mess, I'm the one with a belt across my ass. My dad always believes her, even though I try to tell him it's not me. I'm not even home half the time she accuses me, but as far as he's concerned, my mom was a compulsive liar, so I must be too, and as far as Leslie, my father's wife, is concerned, I'm the product of a stupid mistake on my father's end and shouldn't be living with them.
When he started seeing Jackson's mom, my momma, who was a sweet butt for the club, apparently decided to trap my dad. This is coming from him and Leslie. My mother died during childbirth, so she can't exactly tell her side of the story now, can she?
Jewels, a sweet butt who has raised me so far, has told me several times now how my momma didn't trap my dad. She didn't understand how she fell pregnant but refused to get rid of me like my so-called father wanted. According to Jewels, she didn't even ask my dad for anything. She moved out of the clubhouse and got a job as a receptionist for a tire place two towns over. The only reason why I ended up with my dad was that momma made sure the hospital staff knew he was the father when she realized she was dying, so I didn't end up in care. She died of preeclampsia, and apparently, it took Logan's dad, Dead Shot, the president of the Untamed Hell Fire's MC, to convince my father to keep me, even though Leslie threatened to leave him if he did. It was her or me, and Dead Shot made sure he chose me, and obviously, he did; he kept me, and Leslie obviously stayed with him, most likely because she fell pregnant after my birth, causing the man who fathered me to barely pay any attention to me.
Jewels have mainly looked after me. As far as Stormy's concerned, I don't exist.
I shoot and go to kill Logan but miss when the game freezes again, and I groan, thinking it's the Xbox or TV again until a voice sounds over the mic that Jewels bought me last week.
"AFK (away from keyboard) momma wants help in the fricking kitchen again. I nearly had you as well."
I grin and shake my head. Momma Cammy is a bulldog. She can be sweet as pie one second, then a raging dog the next. She's someone you don't want to mess with. I sigh and turn off the Xbox and old TV before I lie back on my twin bed and look at the ceiling. Logan won't be back on now; Cammy will ensure it. She loves me, but she's best friends with Leslie and seems to believe the crap that she spews.
I look around my room and sigh again; it's small. It can only fit my bed and a small chest of drawers that I can't open fully because it's only two inches from itself and the end of my bed. It holds the TV and the Xbox, and that's all I've got; it's all that can fit in here. My room is basically a storage cupboard. I slowly close my eyes and take a deep breath as my stomach grumbles.
I haven't eaten today.
Jackson accidentally broke his mom's crystal vase with his football. She confronted him, and when he admitted it, apologizing repeatedly, she told him it was fine. She gave him some money for sweets before telling Stormy I did it instead. She told him I was laughing at her and calling her names as well, so as punishment, he punched me across the face, dazing me while also splitting my lip. He then told me I wasn't allowed to eat today and not to leave my room, and like the good kid I actually am, I listened even though all I wanted to do was run away from here. I have several times, but I have been brought back each time despite screaming and pleading with people to listen to me and send me away. They never listen; they all believe her, and I would bet my left toe that Leslie will lie later and I'll get another punishment.
I close my eyes, trying to shut my thoughts off, and fall asleep, hoping it would help the hunger pains.
I don't know how much time has passed since I dozed off, but I wake to the door handle to my room jiggling, and I tense. I know it's not Jackson. He's gone to Leo's for a sleepover because he's allowed them while I'm not, plus no other brother or old lady wants me around their kids because of Leslie's lies. I know it can't be Stormy because he had club business to attend until 4 a.m., so that could only mean...
"UNLOCK THIS DOOR RIGHT FUCKING NOW, SHITHEAD."
I swallow hard.
Whenever the house is empty, she does this. She'll get drunk, then come in here and beat me black and blue on my body, ensuring my face is bruise-free. When I showed people the bruises on my body, she came up with a story about how I was beaten by a rival club; no one would look at me right after that. That was when I was five years old. I've kept them to myself since then, including the scars she's caused. Leslie is a nasty, scorned woman, and I'm the reminder. I'm the person, the kid, who she decides needs punishing for her husband's sins when they weren't even a real couple when I was conceived. She's getting worse, which I didn't think was possible until last year when she got two of her friends to rip my clothes off of me before tying me down on my bed while I screamed at them to leave me alone, all while she laughed and recorded it as they put tape over my mouth before they started to touch me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the memories hit me hard. They would touch all over my body while they squeezed their dicks before spurting out cum all over me. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm 11, so I know all about sex. No thanks to the club brothers, but what they're doing to me is wrong, and I hate it. I felt dirty all the time, and when I tried to tell my so-called father what shehad her friends do, he hit me hard in my already bruised stomach for 'lying' like my momma. She's done this every week since until today.
Today, I got the deadbolt installed after I told Tank, Zayne's dad, that my brother kept pranking my room. He made sure it was on properly before leaving me alone after scowling at my box room.
The brothers don't know how badly I'm treated here; they never believed me, and if they did, I don't think Stormy would still be VP. Tank is the only one looking at me fully now; everyone else keeps away from me.
Banging brings me back to the here and now, and I tense even further. They won't touch me again; even if she lies to Stormy, I don't care. If he kills me, then so be it.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, TRAVIS."
I don't listen. I lay down and brought my knees up to my sore stomach, where she hit me yesterday with a bat. I felt a crack, and my whole side hurt, and it's now badly bruised.
"Why the fuck is his door locked, Les? I'm fucking horny, and if you don't open up the door, then I'm fucking you instead."
I tense even more while she growls.
"You know I won't cheat on my husband, Shack. I'll suck you off, but that's it. Tomorrow, I'll make sure Stormy punishes him for this little stunt. Come back next week; I'll remove the locks from the door. The boy is a whore, just like his mother.
