Maybe she didn’t think I’d be a good father.Hell, I didn’t exactly come from a loving home.If anyone knows the demons I carry because of my childhood, it’s her.
Did she believe I’d be likethem?
Did she think I would ever put my kids through what my parents did me?
My stomach churns as memories try to shove their way through the barrier they’ve been locked behind.
I chastise myself because she doesn’t know half the shit that happened in my childhood.I could never bring myself to open up to her for fear of how she’d look at me after.Hell, I’ve never even been able to fill in Gavel.The man isn’t stupid.I’m sure he knows from the way I showed up in Coral Cay, just like I’m positive Birdie knows something.You can’t lie beside a person for years and not familiarize yourself with the monsters that haunt their sleep.
My parents weren’t just shit parents, they were shit people.You’d have to be to loan your only child out to a cult of religious fanatics to abuse anytime he didn’t fall in line.
They were getting the devil out of me.At least, that’s the lame excuse they used for my sexual assaults.
So many pathetic excuses.
It washisway.
Hetold them to do it.
It was the only way to purge the unholiness from my veins.
Sick excuse after sick excuse to fucking justify touching me in ways they shouldn’t have.
They hid their vile ways behind fanatical preachings.They worshipped a fucking deity who allowed them to do unholy things in his name.Personally, I’d rather worship the one under the ground than in the sky.
The last time I was left broken and bleeding, bent over the altar, was the day I finally gave up thinking anyone was going to save me.The only one who could do that was myself.So, I found the strength to grab the motherfucker’s leather belt from the ground and wrapped it around his neck.I almost lost my hold on him a few times because of the pain.Then the vile taste in my mouth and the stabs of agony in my ass gave me the strength I needed.By the time he dropped lifelessly at my feet, I vowed no more.It wouldn’t be long before his wife came back for another go at me, so I knew I had to get out of there.
I stole what money he had in his wallet and got out.I didn’t even bother going to that soulless home to get shit.They’d just use it as an excuse to hurt me more, and everything I needed could be replaced.I knew they’d probably cover up the murder of one of their congregation members.No way in hell would they want their sick little ways found out.
Back then, I didn’t know much about my grandfather because my parents didn’t associate with him.I’d grown up hearing plenty about him though.All the nasty, derogatory shit that would spew from their mouths about how he ran his own motorcycle ‘gang’ in Coral Cay, Florida.
I didn’t know whether he’d be receptive to me dropping on his doorstop, but he’d been the only place I knew to go when I ran.To say Gavel and I had a rocky start would be an understatement.He didn’t hesitate to take me in, but it took us a while to find our footing.I was a surly teenager full of trauma, and he was an old biker who lived a volatile life.We made it work.
Trust took a while to build.Not just with him, but with the men and women around him.It got easier once Birdie and Cyanide came into my life.
Then Gavel let me start prospecting for the club, and I knew I’d found my peace in life.The Saint’s Outlaws gave me purpose and a way to purge my anger and need for blood.
Between the club and Birdie, I’d found my home.Demons stopped chasing me during the day and only haunted my nights.Memories of my childhood got easier to put in a cage.The longer I basked in Birdie’s warmth, the easier it was to stay connected to my soul.
It wasn’t until she was gone that the thread to it snapped.
At least, I thought it did.As soon as Cyanide said she was at our gate, I felt it rebound and smack me in the fucking face.
Birdie and I aren’t finished.
Hell, I doubt we’ll ever be.
Birdie has always been my endgame.That shit hasn’t changed.I just need to help her remember that.
There’s anger inside me at her for keeping my kids from me, but there’smoreaimed at whoever put hands on her.
My gut is telling me there’s one person missing from their little family dynamic, and there’s a reason for that.
The only way we’re going to get to the bottom of whatever is going on is for me to put away my anger.That way, we can focus on what’s behind her bruises.
I slide a hair tie from my wrist and pull my hair up.Scrubbing a hand over my face, I take a deep breath before yanking open the door.
Valkyrie, Birdie, and the kids are standing on the opposite side of the room from everyone else, a clear divide between them and the club that sends my guts churning.
