Glitch chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s a business plan he’s putting to the club, taking old places and doing them up. Selling them for profit. We won’t sell the place, but it will give us an idea of numbers, money, and how much we can move between places.”
I couldn’t help but smirk.
Flipping houses was a good plan. It would bring in a small amount of extra income, but the biggest bonus would be the money they could hide inside the investments and projects.
“He home?”
Glitch nodded. “Should be. We’ve got church in an hour. And the old ladies are about to start setting up for Scarlet’s party.”
I was already heading for the exit. “I’ll run and see him, and we’ll be back for church.”
I jogged out to my ride—my old baby that I’d left behind for when I came back to visit. Climbing on was like the definition of coming home. I’d had this motorcycle since I got fucking patched—a present from Glitch and his old lady which also doubled as a welcome home present after the two years I did in lockup.
My stomach twisted as I pulled into the driveway of my old home, next to Slate’s ride.
The place I grew up, in more ways than one.
“Get me another drink, Marcus!”
Gritting my teeth, I looked up from where I had my homework spread out across the living room floor. “Get it yourself, old man,” I hissed back, the grip on my pencil tightening to the point I thought it might snap.
Dad didn’t even bother to look over at me. Instead, just clambering awkwardly out of his chair and stumbling toward the kitchen. “Useless child,” he grumbled, bracing himself against the archway for a moment before taking those last few steps to the refrigerator. I couldn’t see him any longer, but I could hear the fridge door being yanked open so hard it slammed back against the wall, followed by the rattle of bottles as he pulled out beer number fourteen.
Yes, I’d been counting.
My brain calculating just how many beers he’d downed and the cost of each one when the bastard couldn’t even spring for a loaf of bread or a bottle of milk most days so Scarlet and I could eat. Thankfully, now we were older, Glitch had invited us to eat at the clubhouse whenever we needed to, knowing we could at least get three meals a day there.
That was all he could do.
Dad was a bastard, but the club had rules about stepping into what they called family matters.
Glitch did what he could to help without stepping on toes, but it wasn’t up to him to dictate how a man ran his household.
“Marcus, can you help me wi—”
THUMP.
SMASH.
I was on my feet already, heading for the kitchen.
“You stupid fucking little bitch!”
Jerking to a stop at the opening between the kitchen and the living room, I barely managed to avoid the scattered glass strewn across the tiles. It was everywhere, beer too, bubbling and fizzing.
“I didn’t mean to!” Scarlet sobbed softly, rubbing at the back of her head while tears streaked down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. “I’m sorry!” My father’s hand reared back, and like I was pretty sure he’d already done, he collected the back of her head with his open palm before I could stop him.
“You gonna pay for that?” he spat from behind her.
“Hey!” I roared, this time, not giving a shit about the tiny pieces of glass as they stabbed at my feet and the shooting pain I knew was about to come. I embraced the adrenaline, balling my fingers into a fist and drawing it back before using my body’s momentum to help drive it through my father’s face.
I caught him right in the mouth.
His teeth shifting but also tearing at my hand before it bounced back at me.
His body spun, his weathered hands grabbing at the kitchen counter to try and stay on his feet. I braced myself, waiting for the fury and anger to fill the room like a rising water level, wondering for a second whether I should grab Scarlet and run, but his rattling, deep laughter caught me off guard.
“For someone who was born out of a drunk and a meth whore, you think you’re pretty fucking special, don’t you?” he hissed, his body slumped as he turned, smearing at the blood dripping from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, good fucking luck with that because when your genes finally kick in, and your body recognizes those uncontrollable cravings that are in your blood, you won’t be the hero then. You’ll be just like me.”
My body moved before I had the chance to stop it.
Only proving his fucking point.
“Marcus! Stop! He’s baiting you!”
Scarlet’s words were a blur.
I leaped forward, grabbing his shirt in one hand and pressing my arm tight against his throat, my fifteen-year-old body already stronger than his frail form. But he had been drinking himself into an early grave since I could remember. “I’m not you. I would rather douse myself in gasoline and burn your fucking genes out of me before I became anything like you.”
The thought made my stomach churn.
Was I reckless? Sometimes.
Hot-headed? Maybe.
Did that mean I couldn’t control my actions? Did that mean I couldn’t turn down temptation?
My grandfather was an asshole. An alcoholic who beat on his wife and kids. My father used that as an excuse to do the same. And now that the pieces were falling into place, I wanted to be fucking sick.
I wouldn’t turn out like them.
I couldn’t.
“We share the same fucking blood,” he taunted, red fluid smeared across his toothy grin. “The same goddamn DNA, and that shit is inside you. You can’t run from it. You can’t hide from it. And one day, it will burn so deep in your veins that you will have to give in.”
I took a step back, releasing the old bastard who almost fell to his knees, clutching at his chest for breath.
“Get the fuck out of my face,” I growled, sneering at him, unable to pull back, still fighting the urge to beat his face in.
“And then one day, you’ll pass it on to your kids,” he continued to taunt even as I helped Scarlet pack up her things. “And they’ll hate you, too, for passing on these traits that we are so fucking unable to fight. Just like you hate me! Just like I hate my father!”
I hooked my arm around Scarlet and led her away, my shoulders tight.
“He’s not like you, you know,” Scarlet whispered as we took one slow step at a time. “You’re not going to be anything like him.”
“I know.”
I was going to make damn sure of it.
There was a little hatchback thing parked out at the curb, letting me know exactly what the fuck he was doing, and why he wasn’t at the clubhouse welcoming his best fucking friend home. He always said he had my back, but he’d have it right after he got his dick wet.
It was no fucking lie.
I had to still love the bastard, though.
He’d been there through the hard shit, and now I was about to attempt to do the same.
I didn’t bother knocking, pushing open the door and strolling straight down the hall, knowing if the rumble of my Harley hadn’t alerted him to my presence, my heavy footsteps would be about to wake his shit up. I grabbed the banister at the bottom of the stairs and cupped one hand around my mouth. “Where’s my welcome home, you horny motherfucker!”