His fist smashes against my face. He laughs as he hits me again, and again, and once more. Blood fills my vision and my mouth at the same time. I shake my head as I stumble backward. He laughs, his friend laughs too, then he charges me, his fist slamming against my gut and sending me to the ground.
It’s a fury of steel-toed boots meeting my ribs from all angles, gut, face, and head until everything goes completely dark. I wake hours later, I only know that it’s much later because instead of the blazing hot sun beating down on me, it’s now dark.
Standing, I take one step, a moan escaping my mouth as I stumble back down to the ground. I hear the sound of a bike’s rumble. Turning to the side, I cringe as it pulls up next to me.
A guy who appears to be about my dad’s age looks down at me. “Who did that to you, boy?” he demands above the idle rumble of his bike’s engine.
“My brother,” I rasp, spitting on the ground.
“He do that often?” he asks.
I nod my head. He’s been doing it since he was fourteen and I was twelve. There’s been an uncontrollable anger inside of him, something that I don’t think he will ever get control over. Since my dad walked out the door, he hasn’t been the same. Now that my mom’s gone, it’s gotten so much worse.
“Yeah,” I grind out.
“You want a safe place?”
Shifting my gaze from his face to his jacket, my eyes lock in on something that I have only heard stories about. A patch. A one percent motorcycle club patch. Then, my gaze flicks over to the embroidered emblem on the front breast corner of his leather vest.
Savage Beast MC.
“What do you get out of it?”
His lips twitch into a smirk. “Get a new brother maybe, a bitch-boy prospect, definitely.”
“What’s being a prospect include?”
“Safe place to rest your head, food in your belly, and you gotta be our bitch for a year. Do what we say, how we say, and when we say. Prove yourself useful to the club and you’re in.”
“I’m only seventeen,” I mutter.
He snorts. “Anyone aside from that deadbeat brother gonna give a fuck if you ain’t comin’ home at night?”
I think about my mother. She’s gone. Bounced about a week ago. I keep waiting for her to come back, but I don’t think she will. She’s been pretty busy trying to get random men with a little coin in their pocket to notice her, even if she does appear again, I doubt she’d notice I was even gone.
“Nah,” I admit.
“You come down to the clubhouse, we’ll get one of the bitches to take care of your injuries. Call you a doc if we need to. My boy’s a few years older than you, so are a couple other guys. Be good to be around some real men for a change.”
I lick my lip, tasting the blood on the corner, then let out a grunt. “Yeah. I guess I could check it out.”
He grins. “They call me Hipp. Let me get a cage down here to pick you up.”
Ten minutes later, a pickup truck arrives. A guy a couple years older than me is the driver. He looks like a miniature version of the man on the bike. He grins as he makes his way toward me and helps me climb inside.
“I’m Joel,” he announces once he’s shifted the truck into drive.
“Wilder,” I rasp, my arm wrapped around my middle, holding my damaged ribs.
He chuckles. “Badass name, bro.”
Looking over to him, I watch him for a moment. “This isn’t some weird shit, is it?” I ask.
He snorts. “You want it to be?”
“Fuck no,” I bark.
“It’s not. It’s an MC. Bitches, booze, parties. Some sketchy dealings and a whole host of men who will die for their brothers.”
“Sounds like the military,” I point out, remembering the shit that the recruiter told me not long ago at the school career day. I’ve been thinking about joining, just to get me out of the house and far away from my brother.
There’s a moment of silence, then Joel speaks. “It’s similar. Except not on the up and up. We’ll have your back, if you’re loyal and prove yourself.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Wanna tell me who did that shit to you and left you in the street to get run over by a car?”
Shifting my gaze from his profile, I look out the passenger window as we