Page 4 of Prospect
One face always stood out amongst the rest. I didn't know his name at the time, but back in Mexico, I noticed he was always around—always watching me. He was a member of Los Demonios.
They entered our home, forcing my mother and me to watch as they beat my father. The entire time the President, Jorge sat back demanding to know where his money was. It wasn't until my father's blood covered the tiled floor did he confess he took the money and it was gone, shocking both my mother and me with his admission. My father committed a crime—he stole money from the notorious Los Demonios.
That night changed my life.
With a nod from his leader, I was snatched from my mother's embrace by the man who always watched me from afar. Who I now know to be Antonio. I remember the struggle as I tried to go back to her.
Now you will pay with your life and the life of your daughter for what you have done.
My mother's wails still resonate as strong as the day it happened. Antonio stood there over my father who was on his knees pleading for my life over his own, but it was of no use. Antonio forcefully lead me out of the house and into the cold night. A single gunshot sliced through the night air like a lightning strike.
I feel suspended in time as all these moments in my life collide in my mind. It's one of several flashbacks I continue to have.
A small voice keeps telling me to breathe. It is not until my heart beat slows do I recognize it as my own.
Unless someone knows my story, they would never know all I have overcome and my journey through hell. I win tiny battles against them and myself every day. The way your mind adapts to coping, to surviving also shrouds a lot of ugly to protect you and sometimes even tricks you into thinking you are always okay, when honestly, some days, I'm not. But I am determined to be, and that is what matters.
Chapter three
Sam
Iwake first thing Saturday morning to my cell ringing. Reaching over, I grab it from the table beside my bed to see my father's name lighting the screen, and I immediately send it to voicemail. I have been avoiding his calls for months now. I know what he wants. He wants me to come home and for whatever reason has been more persistent lately. That leads me to believe there is something more behind his recent calls. A moment later the phone rings again. This time I answer. "Dad." My voice is cold and detached.
"You know I'm tired of your games, Sam. When I call, you answer."
"I don't answer to you. I haven't for a long time," I say cutting him off.
"Stop acting like a spoiled little shit. I don't have time for it."
"Then stop fuckin' calling me," I grind out.
"You have an obligation to this family, Sam. It's time you come home."
"I'm good where I'm at. I think I'll stay here."
"Goddamnit, Sam!" my father roars on the other end of the line. Not in the mood for his tirade, I hang up.
Tossing my phone on the bed beside me, I run my palm down my face and let out a heavy sigh. I know ignoring my father won't make him go away, but I have reached a point where I don't have the energy to give a damn. Pushing aside the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach my father will stir up shit, I stand and head to the bathroom for a shower. Stripping out of my briefs, I step into the stall and under the spray of hot water. The heat does little to ease the tension in my shoulders. Shaking thoughts of my dad away, I focus on my tasks for today. I will be moving into the clubhouse this morning and officially become a prospect for The Kings.
The club is where my loyalty lays. They are the ones who matter. Those men have treated me like family from day one. They have never asked for anything in return and have no hidden agenda. I wish I could say the same about my father. He doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself. He only pretends to care when he wants something. Just like he did with my mother. He used her up until there was nothing left but a shell of a woman. When she died, all my dad cared about was how her death affected his reputation. People back in Texas only saw a perfect family when it came to the McGregor's. They never saw the kind of man William McGregor really was. I vow never to be anything like him.
Once I'm finished with my shower and dressed, I walk out of my room and make my way into the kitchen to find Leah sitting at the island drinking a cup of coffee. "Hey, darlin'."
"Morning," she smiles.
Pouring myself a cup, I then turn, face my friend and eye her over the rim of my cup. We talked about my moving out last night. Leah put on a brave face and assured me she was cool with living in our apartment on her own, but she is not good at masking her feelings. I know she's scared. "Will you stop looking at me like that," she fusses. "I'll be fine, Sam. Quit treating me like some fragile, broken girl who can't take care of herself."
"I don't think of you like that, Leah." Setting my cup down, I look her in the eyes. "You are one of the strongest people I know. But you're also my friend, and I will always look out for you. You're like a sister to me, Leah." Her face softens at my words.
"I know. You're like a brother to me. Which is why I'm happy for you. I'm happy you're moving on. Now go on and finish packing. Stop worrying about me. I'll be fine."
I kiss the top of her head. "Okay. If at any time you need anything, you call. The clubhouse is only five minutes away. Understand?" I say, and she nods. I'll make a point to talk to Jake about the situation and find out what can be done to make sure Leah feels safe and comfortable about living on her own.
An hour later I stroll into the clubhouse with my bags in tow. The moment I step inside I'm welcomed by the guys pounding their fists on the bar while Jake steps forward with a cut fisted in his hand. Dropping my bags at my feet, I take the offered cut. Holding it out in front of me, I read the word Prospect stitched on the back. Without wasting time, I slide it on.
"So, it begins," Jake states. "First things first. I need to speak with you in my office. Leave your shit at the bar. You can get settled after we talk." Without a word, I follow Jake down the hall to his office. I wait for him to take a seat behind his desk before I follow suit sitting in the chair in front of him. Jake leans back in his chair and studies me for a moment while running his palm through his beard before he opens his mouth. "I'll be the first person to tell each of my men that your personal shit is your own until it fucks with my club. I'm also a man who believes in laying my cards on the table when needed. I want to ask you where you stand when it comes to William McGregor?"
For a split second, I'm taken back by Jake's question.
