Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 118333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Suddenly, Papa’s fist hit my cheek. I cried out as I fell to the floor. I looked up, but Papa only hit me again. I tried to get away, but Papa held on to my shirt and kicked me in my stomach until I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see as tears fell from my eyes. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why Papa was hurting me again. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.
He kicked me and kicked me, until I couldn’t move. I stopped crying. Then Papa stopped kicking me.
“Get up.”
I sniffed and tried to move, but it hurt too much. My hand was over my face. I felt something wet under my fingers. I managed to move my hand back slightly so I could see. My fingertips were red with blood.
“I said get up, boy!” Papa picked me up and made me stand. I curled forward when the pain in my stomach hurt too much. Papa’s hand grabbed my hair and he forced my head up. He moved in close, then said in my ear, “You ever speak to another dirty fucking spic again and I’ll kill you, boy. You’re white. You’re the future White Prince, and I won’t have you associating with anyone who is beneath you. Beneath us.” He pushed me back, and I slumped to the floor. “I don’t know who let him into that school, but they’ll fucking pay for it. We don’t tolerate anything less than perfection in that school. We, the good Christian white parents, don’t pay a fucking fortune to have them let in polluted blood, giving you children bullshit ideas about equality.” He wiped his hand on my school blazer, right over the school patch. “You’re my son, Tanner. I love you. But you’re an Ayers. And it’s about time you knew who we are . . . what you were born to be. That will be rectified immediately.”
My papa left the room, and the second the door shut, I started to cry. My body shook. I hurt all over . . . but worse, it was my papa who had hurt me. He had punched and kicked me.
He’d made me bleed . . . again.
I looked up when I heard the door open again. Mrs. Murray put Beau on the floor, then left us alone, locking us inside.
Beau stared at me. “Tanner?” he whispered. He was only three. He crawled over to me. When he saw me crying, he started crying too.
I reached for my little brother and pulled him into my arms. I didn’t like to see him cry. “It’s okay,” I whispered. But the blood kept falling from my lip, and Beau cried harder. I put him on my bed and slid up beside him. I held him close. I didn’t want to see him upset. I had to protect him. I was his big brother. He was my best friend.
Seeing the book Mrs. Murray had left for me, I asked Beau, “Shall we read a book? It’ll make you feel better.”
Beau nodded and started sucking on his thumb. I looked at the picture on the cover again, then read the title: “Go home, Juan.” I opened the book and read each page to Beau.
By the end, all I could think of was Rafael. The book had said that anyone from Mexico was bad. That they wanted to hurt those of us with white skin. White skin like mine and Beau’s. I sighed. I realized why my papa had been so angry. Because Rafael was bad. He had come to my school, to America, to hurt and ruin people with white skin.
I held Beau tighter. Beau was my best friend in the world. Papa never saw us that much. Mrs. Murray was not that nice. But Beau made me laugh. My stomach tightened when I thought about Rafael hurting him because he was jealous of our white skin.
Then I took a deep breath, and I quickly felt better. Because my papa had said he was going to get him out of the school. And my papa always did what he said he would do.
Papa would send Rafael back home.
And we’d all be safe.
Chapter One
Tanner
Austin, Texas
Present Day . . .
The sand crunched under my feet. Bullets flew around my head. My chest was tight, ready to snap, as I watched Gull and Arizona take shots to their heads and drop to the floor.
Both of them fucking dead and done.
A whistle cut through the carnage that was this fucked-up deserted farm. I glanced up to the barn beside me. AK was signaling to me from his place on the roof. He sliced his hand over his throat. I got his message—we needed to draw the fuck back.
“No!”
My gaze snapped to the noise. Viking was scrambling to his feet. When I saw Flame striding toward the crumbling stables across the clearing I knew why. The psychotic motherfucker was walking toward where the Klan were stationed, like he couldn’t be fucking killed, arms stretched wide, firing bullet after bullet toward my old Klan brothers, who were taking us out with fucking pinpoint accuracy.