Page 9 of Biker Daddies

He’ll make her watch as he hits me. She promised me to never interrupt him when he’s in one of his moods.

But it hurts me so much to not do anything.

“It doesn’t change the fact you fucked the neighbor.”

“I didn’t,” she pleads her case again. “I swear on my life.”

“So if I go next door, will he tell the same story?” he asks.

“It isn’t a story.”

He backhands her again and she crumbles to the ground. Before she can fall, he stops her by wrapping a hand around her throat again.

Then, he uses the other one too.

Her face turns red and she claws at his hands.

She can’t breathe.

I run to grab my baseball bat from my room. When I have it in hand, I don’t think, I spring toward the kitchen and swing.

He bellows in pain when his legs buckle. My mom gasps for air and her eyes widen when she realizes what happened.

“Victor! No! Put the bat down,” she rasps.

I can’t. I hate him. I hate him so much.

When I swing again, he catches the bat in his hand and yanks it from mine, tossing it to the side.

“You little fucking brat.” He punches me in the face and the one strike sends me to the floor.

“Get off him!” My mom tries to stop him, but he pushes her so hard she falls back, smacking her head against the table.

She’s out cold.

“You always get in the way. You were a mistake. I never wanted you, you know. Your mom got pregnant, and I got stuck with her. Just like I got stuck with you.” He picks up a knife. “You want to be so fucking mouthy? Fine.” He slices from the top of my lip all the way down to my chin. “Try to open your mouth now. No one will want to listen to you.” He cuts in another line, then another.

I cry, trying to push him off me, and scream, but then the knife drops from his hand. His eyes are wide and he falls to the side.

My mom is standing there with blood dripping down her head and she’s holding a butcher knife in her hand. The silver blade is dripping with red.

“Get your fucking hands off my son,” she yells, stabbing him in the chest. Then she twists the blade before pulling it out.

She killed him.

She drops the knife and runs to me. “My baby. It’s okay. We’re going to get you help, okay? He won’t touch you again. He won’t.”

I swerve, the tires bouncing over the raised ridges of lines on the side of the road. I’m pulled from my memories and I look in my side mirror to see Alto speeding up to come up by my side.

He glances at me, giving me the universal look that asks if I’m okay.

I give a quick nod and he falls back, giving me space.

I don’t talk to the club about how the scars got on my lips. I’m a monster to a lot of people and most can’t stand to look at me because of it.

My club accepts me for me, but at night it sure does get fucking lonely. Not even the club whores will give me the time of day, not that I want them to. I don’t want them to fucking give me the time of day either, but that’s how I know Harlow’s message is a mistake. She wouldn’t be caught dead with me. I’m the worst part of the dream, the darkest part, and there isn’t one part of me that is desirable to anyone.

Even if she did want me, which she doesn’t, she is Grizzly’s daughter.

---