Page 16 of Brood

“Then what the fuck are you?” he growls right back at me, crossing his arms over his thick chest.

“I’m his prisoner,” I say it so softly I almost don’t think he heard it.

“Go on.” His arms uncross, and he waves a hand out for me to continue, only those words are stalled again. “You can tell me Jor,” he coaxes, softer this time around.

“He…The Butcher stole me from my family… The Shining Saints. He killed all of them, saved my parents for last, so I could witness their death,” I choke on the word death and swallow down the rancid taste that tries to bubble up my throat.

“I’ve never heard of The Saints before.”

“They were small. Not into guns and drugs like most. A religious MC that lived off the grid in their own little colony of sorts. One day near our little town in South Carolina, Butch came riding through. I was sixteen then.” The day is so vivid in my mind. The heat from the mid-day sun. The smile on my mother’s face as we walked down the street, in and out of the local shops. That was the day Butch spotted me. The day I sealed the fate of the Shining Saints.

“How… How old are you now?”

“Twenty.”

“Fuck,” Brood hisses and turns from me, rubbing his hands down his face as he does. I listen as he searches through his pockets until he finds the crinkling blister packet. The foil breaks, and he shoves a piece of gum in his mouth, followed by another. It’s only now that I realize the gum must be nicotine gum. He seems to only go for it when he is aggravated. “He’s had you this whole time?”

“Yes.”

“How were you able to get away?”

“That I will not answer.” No way will I risk letting him know how I made my escape, it’s not only me that will suffer the consequence if it somehow gets back to Butch.

“All right. I need to know one more thing.” I hold my breath hoping he isn’t going to ask something else I won’t answer. “I’m bringing this to the club, I need to know if you will accept our help. ‘Cause if you do, then that’s that. You do as we say, no concocting your own plan. No running off after we put our dicks on the line for you. You got me, Jor?”

“I…” as much as I want to say yes, accept his and his club’s help, I’m still reluctant.

“What will it be?” he prompts.

“Fine,” I pause, digging my nails into the palms of my hands. “Yes.”

We both know it’s a lie.

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