Page 11 of True Bastard
The word property had always been a ghost in my life. That specter of the past, whispering of obligations and chains I thought I’d broken free from, now felt like a brand, seared into my soul by a lifetime of men who saw women not as people, but as possessions. The biker, that hulking embodiment of danger, had dragged it back into the light, branding me with it.
He claimed I was his collateral, a pawn in his game, and the thought sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins. It was a grim echo of my childhood, of being passed around like chattel, of never truly belonging to myself. My mother, a woman who had known her own share of being owned, had always warned me about men like him, men who saw women not as people, but as possessions.
My mother’s story was a constant, painful reminder. She’d been sold, essentially, into a marriage that was as gilded as it was suffocating. Her father, a desperate man drowning in debt, had traded his only daughter for a lifeline. I’d watched her wither, her spirit slowly chipped away by a man who viewed her as nothing more than an extension of his own power, a trophy to be displayed and then discarded when he had no more use for her. Her hushed tears, her phantom pains—they were etched into my memory, a stark warning against ever allowing myself to be claimed, to be owned. My mother, once beautiful and gentle, had been my father’s prize for a short time, paraded and controlled, her spirit slowly eroded until nothing but a hollow echo remained. When my father realized that he would never getwhat he desperately wanted, he threw my mother away, selling her to a vile man in Birmingham, Alabama, where he made her his whore until she died shortly before my sixteenth birthday.
My sister, bolder and more rebellious, had fought her gilded cage, only to be crushed by it, her dreams of freedom extinguished before they could truly take flight. She also died young. Barely twenty-one.
And now me. I was no different. Here I was, facing the same fate, a different man, a different kind of debt, but the same suffocating promise of being someone else’s property. Destined to be someone’s collateral, a bargaining chip in a world where my own desires and safety were deemed secondary. The biker’s declaration, though chilling, was merely an echo of a truth I’d known since birth: I was never truly my own. I closed my eyes as the weight of my history pressed down on me.
Keely’s offer of sanctuary felt like a temporary reprieve, a fragile barrier against the storm I was caught in. But the biker’s gaze, that unnerving, calculating stare, had seen something in me, something he intended to exploit. Was it my defiance? My brokenness? Or was it the fire he’d spoken of, a fire that, like his own, promised destruction? I knew I couldn’t stay here, especially knowing that I was now entangled in whatever dark dealings Jessup had with this man. It was a terrifying prospect, being pawned off by one abuser only to be claimed by another, but the thought of facing my past in Alabama, of admitting defeat to the ghosts I’d tried so hard to escape, felt almost as bad.
Sleep offered no escape. The biker’s voice, that low, resonant rumble, played on repeat in my head.“You owe me, Kitten. And right now, you’re all I’ve got.”His words had found their way under my skin, searing themselves onto my very soul. My fear was a cold, hard knot in my stomach, a stark contrast to the fiery defiance that had burned within me earlier. I was trapped, a bird with clipped wings in a cage I couldn’t even see, and the shadowof this mysterious, dangerous man loomed large, threatening to consume what little freedom I had left.
The next morning, the sun was already high in the sky when I woke. Keely was already up, making coffee. I sat at her small kitchen table, the events of the previous night replaying in my mind, a twisted montage of violation and unexpected danger. Jessup’s brutality, the biker’s unnerving intensity, Cade’s betrayal—it was a relentless onslaught. The bruises on my ribs throbbed, a constant ache that was a physical manifestation of the emotional toll.
I couldn’t stay here.
I couldn’t risk Keely getting caught in the crossfire. Alabama, a place of painful memories, was beginning to feel like the only safe harbor.
As Keely handed me a mug of steaming coffee, her brow furrowed with concern, I knew I had to make a decision. A bus ticket out of town, but to where? The image of the biker’s predatory smile, the weight of his unspoken threat, was a far more immediate reality.
I wasn’t free.
I was tied to him, to whatever twisted game he was playing, and the thought of being owned, of being collateral, sent a shiver of unease down my spine. I took a deep breath, the warmth of the coffee a small comfort, and decided.
It was time to run.
Chapter Seven
Firestride
The violent, insistent slamming of a fist against wood ripped through the suffocating stillness of my sleep, a raw, guttural sound that clawed at my ears. My breath hitched and a strangled groan escaped my lips as I fought the leaden drag of unconsciousness, my body protesting the intrusion. My bare feet slapped against the cold, unforgiving floorboards, each thud a testament to my burgeoning dread as I yanked my door open, the hinges screaming their protest, to find a thundercloud condensed into human form.
Cerberus.
His name was a whispered legend, a shadow that danced in the periphery of our brutal world, and tonight, he radiated a potent, simmering rage. His knuckles were bone-white, his jaw a rigid line, every muscle in his broad frame coiled like a viper ready to strike.
“What is it?” My voice was a ragged rasp, which tasted of already forgotten dreams, a pathetic counterpoint to the tempest brewing before me. His eyes, dark bottomless pits, bored into mine. They held a chilling stillness that promised no good.
“Inferno’s bitch and her husband are dead,” he snarled, the words punctuated by a venomous spit. “No one knows where his kid is at. Morpheus wants officers in the sanctuary. Now.”
“Where is Inferno?”
“Scythe is sitting on him.”
Nodding, I said, “I’ll be right down.” Closing my door, I took a deep breath and sighed as I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The air in my room instantly felt colder, heavier. Cerberus, as always, delivered bad news with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He was our vice president, our grim reaper, and tonight, his rage felt amplified. Scythe, our resident interrogator and enforcer, was a man who knew how to make even the most stubborn rock weep. If anyone could keep Inferno from going nuclear, it was Scythe.
Pulling on my boots, I grabbed my jacket. The thought of Inferno’s kid, alone and scared, snagged at something deep within me. It was the echo of my own past, the gnawing emptiness left by a life I’d barely known. The Brotherhood of Bastards wasn’t a family in the traditional sense, but we looked out for each other. That kid was all Inferno had left. He’d always been a good brother, loyal and steady, and this... this was a betrayal that cut deep. Someone had crossed a line, and they were going to pay dearly for killing the mother of his bastard daughter.
The sanctuary, the heart of the Brotherhood, was buzzing with angry bodies when I walked in and immediately spotted Morpheus, our leader, the club’s president, sitting at the table saying nothing as he listened to the surrounding conversations. The man was a force unto himself. A veritable beast of death and destruction.
Morpheus finally broke his silence, his voice a low rumble that commanded the attention of everyone in the room. “We have a situation. Kaycee and her husband are dead. The kid is gone. And Scythe’s got Inferno pinned down, waiting for orders because the fucker is threatening to burn the world down to get his daughter back.”
“Who the fuck would be stupid enough to take out one of us?” Carver, the club’s doctor, asked. “Kaycee and Karter are protected. Everyone in Rapid City knows that.”
“A dead man,” Garotte growled. As the other enforcer for the Brotherhood, Garotte was just as deadly, maybe more so than Morpheus. The two of them were always beating the hell out of each other.
“This is a betrayal, brothers,” Cerberus stated. “Some motherfucker declared war on the Brotherhood, and they’re going to pay.”
