I pulled up to our average home that was on the middle-class side of town. Shutting my bike off, I began walking up the steps, opening the front door. I closed it behind me and walked into the kitchen. I flicked the light on and looked to the ground. That was when I saw my mother lying there in a pool of blood with slashes across her wrist, legs, and neck. I ran over to her and checked her pulse.
“Mom?”
I shook her, but she was not responding. I ran to the phone and dialed 911, then I called Zane.
After making the calls, I dragged myself down the wall and just looked at her. I should have felt sad, but if anything, I was angry. What sort of selfish bitch would take their life when she had a kid? I would never do that to my kid. I stood from where I was sitting, running up to my room and started packing a bag, throwing the things I’d need into the black rucksack.
Fuck this house! I’d burn it to the ground with my bitch of a mother inside it, I thought to myself. Five minutes later, I heard cars pulling up and knocking on the door. I made my way over and opened the door to the police and ambulance service. I let them in, giving them my statement and then I got onto my bike and rode. I pulled out onto the highway and headed to Abby’s. She was the only person I could stomach to see at that time. I pulled up to her house and shut off my bike before walking to the little cabin she stayed in at the back of her home.
“Ade? Are you okay?” she asked, opening the door when she saw me walking up.
I shook my head. “Mom’s dead. She sliced herself up. I found her after my fight tonight.”
She threw her hands up to her mouth in shock. “Come here.” Pulling me in, she wrapped her hands around me.
I looked down to her, and she looked back up to me with complete sadness in her eyes. It touched something deep inside to see her hurt for me.
I wiped the tears away from her eyes. “Don’t cry Abby, she’s not worth it.”
Abby had a rough life. She was raised in the system after her parents were murdered when she was four. It took someone one whole week to find her and when they did, she wreaked of death, because she was smothered in her parents’ blood. They said that at night, she used to cuddle with them for comfort, not knowing the absolute horrific scene in front of her. Both parents were bludgeoned and stabbed to death. So after that, she was living in all sorts of fucked-up foster homes. That was until she was nine and got a family in Westbeach, who were equally as fucked-up. She ran away one night and my Aunt Shelly found her walking the streets in ripped clothes with dirty hair and skin. She and my Uncle Pincher took her in from then onwards. That was off the record, though, as far as the system knew, she was a runaway who raised herself.
She sniffed and took off my cut. “Come, you can have a shower. Clean you up.”
She led me to her shower and began taking off my clothes.
“Ah, Abby? What are we doing?” I asked, looking down at her.
“Just, let me take care of you. Okay?” she whispered.
I thought her statement over for a second, standing still. I brought my eyes back to her and narrowed them slightly. She smiled at the hint of approval from me and took my clothes off before taking off her own. We both stepped into the shower, and I think, that was the first, and only time, that I’d ever had sex with a chick that had some actual feeling behind it. Not enough for it to mean anything, more than exactly what it was, but still some meaning behind it nonetheless. I spun her around so her back was against my front. I grasped her hair in my fist, pulling her head back before running my other hand over her tight torso and down to her pussy. She moaned out and threw her head backward. Pushing her head down roughly, I grasped her hips and lifted her onto my dick, slamming into her in hard deep thrusts until she was spilling herself all over my cock.
Present Day
I’m drinking in the bar at the clubhouse when Zane comes through. He pulls out a seat next to me, and orders a drink before looking over at me.
“Anything you want to tell me?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer.
I nod my head and tap on the bench. “I followed the high target (HT) to a warehouse, the same warehouse my dad took me to for my first fight to the death.”
Zane looks to me, eyebrows scrunched together. “So you killed Bruce Peyton. Why? And I really hope you give me a better reason than your anger issues, brother. This has just started a war.”
I clenched my jaws tightly together. “I’ll handle it. Whoever they get to fill him, I’ll handle him, as I will the next person and the next. Until I can think of something that will end their whole fucking organization.”
Zane places his drink down and turns to me. “Brother, we’ll handle it together. You, me, and Blake? We were brothers before these cuts bonded us together. We got you.” I smiled up at him and nodded.