Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
That guy had been a bit of sadist, to say the least.
The man had kept me out of Juvie, more than once, just by showing up in court or having a word with the cops. He’d also made me pay for every mistake. Conrad wasn’t judgmental and he didn’t hold grudges, but he did believe in accountability and punishment. And he had kept me accountable, which I had needed to learn, being coddled by my mama and aunt. They were poor, and stressed out, but they had loved on me as best they knew how.
So Conrad had been my first and only male role model. And when I fucked up, he hadn’t pulled any punches. He’d made us fight at competition level, every time. And if we crossed a line, he let us know it.
The shame was worse than any physical repercussions. Like holding all your body weight on your fists and knees, with uncooked rice scattered on the ground. Oh man, that had hurt. I could still feel it. And I never forgot what I’d done wrong to deserve it.
But once the punishment was doled out, he let it go. Forever. That had kept me coming back, even if I fucked up. He taught me right from wrong. He taught me how to take pride in my accomplishments, and forgave my transgressions. Hell, that fucker had made me a man.
And when my Grannie had gotten sick and had to go to a home, Conrad put a roof over my head, too. He wasn’t family exactly. But he was the single most important person in my early life.
His only fault? He didn’t ride with a crew.
I’d tried over the years many times but he was a lone wolf. A silver fox, many women would say. Many, many women from what I’d witnessed and gathered.
Thankfully, he’d trained me to fight well. But none of that was in my mind as I settled into a state of relaxed readiness. My mind was blank. Observant. Curious.
As much as I wanted to get into a good old fashioned drunken bar brawl, I needed all my skills for this one. That’s what my gut told me. And I always trusted my gut.
He came at me like a bull at a red flag. I sidestepped him easily, wondering if this was going to be quick. I didn’t want quick. I wanted to make the fucker suffer.
More than that, I wanted him to be scared, even if it was just for a second. I wanted him to feel how he had made her feel. A man who hit his woman should know the other side of that extremely fucked up coin. So I got to work.
He put up more of a fight than expected, but I had counted on him being tricky. I stayed alert as the fight went on. I had a feeling he would do something nasty and he did not disappoint. It was a good thing I was on my toes because towards the end he tried to put a hunting knife in my eye. It scraped my cheek, the flat edge tearing the skin deep enough to scar.
But I didn’t care about what he’d done to my face. I cared about putting him down, the way you would a rabid dog. And in the end, I prevailed.
I finished the fight with a sharp jab to his face. He slipped as I struck. The heel of my hand landed directly towards his nose and continued up. It was a killing blow. I didn’t do it on purpose. But I knew as soon as I felt the crunch, that there was no turning back.
His eyes registered a split second of the shock and that fear I had been waiting for. Right before the lights went out entirely. He crumbled to the ground like a rag doll.
I heard a scream. It was muffled, as if I was deep under water. It was a scream of sorrow. Of anguish. But somehow it sounded familiar…
A girl covered his prone body, crying her eyes out. Not just any girl. It was the sweetbutt who had started it all.
The girl knelt on the gravel parking lot, staring at her now-deceased old man, the same guy who had been dragging her by the hair not ten minutes before. I thought idly that the gravel must be cutting into her knees, since her skirt was so short. Later I would realize that I was in shock.
A hand slammed down on my shoulder and shook it. Not roughly. But firmly. It was a ‘wake the fuck up, friend’ move. But I was still in a punch drunk daze.
I looked up to see Preacher. Doc knelt on the ground, gently pushing the girl away so he could examine the dude. He looked back at us and shook his head.