Page 2 of Cold Hard Truth

“Feel good about beating a thirteen-year-old, Nick.” Xavier punches him in the arm.

But Nick just scowls. He doesn’t give a shit how old I am, all he cares about is winning. Which is annoying as fuck, but also makes him a halfway decent Twisted King.

Making my way down the hallway toward the front door of the clubhouse, I find it wide open. It’s warm for spring, and the heat makes its way inside. When I step out onto the porch, I find my dad waiting for me.

“What’s up?” I come up beside him and he leads the way down the steps. “I was in the middle of a game.”

“Kane needs you.” Dad leads me over to him.

He’s standing beside the main driveway in front of the clubhouse, smoking a cigarette. He hands one to Dad when we stop beside him, leaning in to say something under his breath so I can’t hear it.

They’re watching a car pulling up the road, and there’s nothing special about it. It’s on the verge of falling apart. The bumper is barely hanging on and the paint is chipping. The wheels crack over the pavement, and the right front tire looks close to blowing up.

It’s a fucking death trap—and nothing like the vehicles we normally see on this stretch of road.

Sycamore Drive only has one address—the Twisted Kings clubhouse. Visitors usually show up on bikes or overfilled pickup trucks. Not beat-to-shit Hondas like the one headed straight toward us now.

Whoever is headed in our direction needs to take a trip to the shop before their car falls off its rims.

“I’m here,” Reed cheers, running past me and knocking me on the shoulder as she does.

Her bright yellow dress flutters in the wind and her dark ponytail bounces from side to side.

“Watch it,” I yell at my sister.

Not that she’ll listen. Reed is three years younger than me and a pain in my ass. Always getting into trouble because she knows she’ll get away with it. It’s my responsibility to look out for her around here. And because of that, anything she does falls back on me.

Reed spins around, walking in reverse and sticking her tongue out at me like a menace. The three years between us feels like a decade-wide gap sometimes, and the older I get, the less we have in common.

It doesn’t help that Dad coddles her and treats her like a spoiled princess. We might both live at the compound, but she’s not living the same life as me. While Dad keeps her away from all the shit that goes down here, he puts me directly in the middle of it.

He wants Reed to get out of here and have a normal life someday. While he’s preparing me to be a Twisted King like him. Eventually, I’ll patch in, and she’ll escape. Which is for the best. I might love my sister but she’s a pain in the ass and doesn’t belong in this place.

There aren’t many kids that live at the Twisted Kings compound. Most of the guys don’t settle down, and the ones who do eventually fuck it up. Their old ladies stick around long enough to put in some effort, but eventually end up leaving with the children.

Reed and I are the exception. We were born and raised here. Mom died of cancer shortly after Reed was born, so Dad’s all we’ve got. And even if he’s not great at many things, outside of being Kane’s right-hand man, he’s always loved us. He looks out for us the best he knows how, and he wants the best for us.

He’s our family and this is our home.

If a motorcycle club can be considered that.

We live in a house a half mile away from the clubhouse in the section of the compound they call “the neighborhood.” Club business isn’t allowed there since that’swhere the members’ families live. So it’s where Reed spends most of her time.

“What is it?” I grumble, still watching the car make its way up the road. “I was winning my game.”

“We have guests.” Kane is the one who answers me.

Looking up, I see both he and Dad have their eyebrows pinched. Kane’s posture is tense, and his fists clench as he watches the car making its way up the road. As the club’s president, it’s rare to see Kane show any hint of emotion, but I sense that whoever’s on their way has him rattled.

Twisted Kings don’t get nervous. They don’t worry about shit when they’re better at controlling it.

Whoever is in that car has Kane anxious.

When the car finally rolls to a stop, a woman climbs out first. She’s vaguely familiar, even if I can’t pinpoint why. I don’t think I’ve seen her around here before. But the members have so many women passing through, so I could be wrong.

Her long black hair is down, and she’s dressed like Kane’s type. Everything she’s wearing is too short or too low, showing off every inch of her pale skin. And her face is caked in so much makeup it’s impossible to tell what she actually looks like beneath it.

She rounds the car, pausing and narrowing her cat eyes at Kane for a moment. Crossing her arms over her chest, I sense a silent war waging between the two of them. I’m not sure what Kane did, but she’s not like the girls around here who are usually fawning over him. She’s pissed.

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