Man of the House(138)

It went on like that for a few years, getting worse and worse. At the height of it all, before Larkin saved me, I’d wake up wondering how long I had before Daddy got drunk enough to smack me around.

Usually, that was before noon.

I’d never forget the night Larkin came and changed everything. Daddy was getting drunk as usual, but he had some work to do in the backyard, something to do with the shed. I couldn’t remember exactly what, but it kept him busy. Kept his hands off Mom and me.

But it also pissed him off. He was working himself into a rage back there, unable to fix whatever needed patching, drinking more and more whisky, getting louder, harder, scarier.

Until around four in the afternoon, when he came inside. Mom said one thing, probably asked if he was hungry or something like that, and he started beating on her.

He didn’t stop beating on her. She screamed and tried to get away, but Daddy wouldn’t stop. I’d seen him mad, seen him hit and smack, but never like this.

Daddy was out of his mind.

I hid in my bedroom, and eventually Mom stopped making noise.

That was when he came for me with this look in his eyes and blood on his hands. He slipped the belt from his jeans and just looked at me, blood dropping onto the carpet. I couldn’t breathe.

I had no clue when Larkin decided to come over. But Larkin, he must have heard me screaming as Daddy beat me with his belt over and over, leaving deep welts along my back, bloody scars I carried to this day.

I didn’t know what he thought when he found Mom’s body beaten to death in the kitchen. I didn’t know how fast he got upstairs.

But I remembered the door getting kicked open.

“Frank,” Larkin said, “what did you do?”

Larkin held a gun leveled at Daddy’s head. I could barely understand what was happening.

“Mind yourself, Larkin,” he snapped.

“Drop the belt, Frank. Come with me.”

“Fuck you.” He hit me again.

“Don’t hit the girl again,” Larkin said, cold as he could be.

Daddy just laughed and laughed. “Stop me.” He hit me again and again.

And Larkin put a bullet into his skull.

One second Daddy was hitting me, and the next there was a loud roar in the room and Daddy collapsed onto the floor, red spilling from his face.

Larkin swooped me up in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Janine. I got you.”

He carried me outside, put me on the back of his bike, and took me far away.

I never went home after that. There was talk of finding me a foster home, but Larkin decided to raise me himself. I never understood why a single man running one of the most violent motorcycle gangs in the country wanted a little daughter for his own, but Larkin took me in and kept me safe.

He gave me a life, gave me a home. In return, I gave him and the Demons Motorcycle Club my full and unwavering loyalty.

I grew up in the club. I was Larkin’s little girl, though most guys knew the real story. As far as they were concerned though, I was off-limits. I wasn’t just another club whore, although sometimes I tried to pretend like I was.

Because maybe it was safer that way, if I was just another normal girl.

Living with the Demons MC taught me one important lesson, though: Nothing was safe, not ever, and you better learn to take care of yourself.





2





Clutch





You didn’t become a top enforcer for the biggest motorcycle club in the whole Austin, Texas area without cracking a few fucking skulls.

To put it fucking mildly.

I came from nothing. My momma named me Jonathan but I earned the name Clutch. Even as a little boy, I loved all things with a motor, especially bikes. I got my nickname when some asshole neighbor kid said that I worked on motorcycles so much I was becoming a clutch.

I kicked that kid’s ass and then I took the name as my own.

My dad ran off when I was a baby, leaving me and my momma alone to survive. She had her own problems, mostly booze and pills, but she tried. She worked two jobs and whored on the side to earn her drug money. She kept the whoring a secret for a while, but as I got older, I figured things out.

I was left to figure things out for myself. I got a part-time job when I could and got real good at stealing from the rich kids at school. I saved up everything I had and bought parts at the local junkyard to work on my bikes.

When I found the Demons, it was like coming home.

I was eighteen. I just left home, rode my bike out to Austin with nothing but a duffle bag full of clothes and some money in my pocket. I found them on that first day and never left again.

It wasn’t easy joining the Demons. I had to hang around the bar they used as their clubhouse for over a year before someone invited me to pledge. The man who sponsored me, his name was Leopold. Big guy, old-timer, member of the council. He took me under his wing, taught me everything he knew. I pledged and eventually was the only pledge of the guys I started out with to make it into the Demons.