Page 8 of Psycho

“We don’t want that on record, especially when that fucking beast comes by to collect the fees.”

He meant the enforcer of the King’s Men MC.

For their protection against the local gangs who all wanted a piece of the pie, from what Dad brought on from these illegal fights, and from the law enforcement that sniffed around us.

It was a necessary evil, though I knew Dad hated paying the percentage of the profit. So he did what he had always done best.

Cheat.

Again, I nodded.

I had never actually met the man everyone referred to as the psycho of the King’s Men MC, but I knew Dad hated him as much as he feared him.

I had briefly seen the King’s Men riding down the street in this neighborhood, but we were in Del Paso Heights, about twenty miles from where they actually conducted their business.

I didn’t see them all that often, nor did I know what the members looked like, though I knew about their cut.

We were trained from a young age to recognize that because everyone knew the King’s Men ruled California, including this small crappy neighborhood I lived in.

He turned to me suddenly, and I froze, trying hard to keep from showing too much on my face.

The more time that passed when he didn’t say anything, the bigger my fears.

“Make sure you double-check your work. We don’t want to miss out on any money, do we?”

I swallowed, wondering if he knew I had been pocketing a small percentage of the money every time I went to work for him.

But if he actually knew, I wouldn’t be sitting there looking at him.

I would be bleeding on the floor.

I nodded.

He smiled, seeming satisfied, and I felt like I could breathe a little easier, especially when he turned and walked out the door.

My shoulders sagged when the doors finally closed behind him, and I took in all the cash in front of me.

My dad was a fucking monster.

A small, insignificant monster compared to all the other monsters in the world, sure, but to me, he had been the star of all my nightmares since I was little.

I would have left years ago had Grandma’s dementia not taken a turn for the worse, and he was the one who was paying for her care, keeping her in the nursing home.

He had threatened to stop paying for it—for his own mother—and let the state take over her care if I didn’t comply with him.

He found a way to control me through her, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Right now, it felt like I was just waiting for her to die so that I could finally gain my freedom and get the fuck away from here.

I hated myself for even thinking that, and I hated him more formakingme think like that.

I loved my grandma.

She had been the only one who took care of me since I was little.

She had done everything possible to make sure I had at least a normal and somewhat happy childhood—or as normal and happy as it could be with an abusive father. He had allowed me to live with her for a while because he didn’t want to be dragged down caring for a little kid.

Then her health took a turn for the worse, and shit ended up happening, and here I was…

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