Page 32 of Tattooed Love

I attended school, I ate, and I slept.

What a hell of a life I was leading.

It was Saturday night and, just like the other weekends since their arrival, I was trapped in this hell hole called home. I hadn’t drunk anything stronger than a coffee since my brothers took up living here permanently.

Though they still spent a lot of time at the clubhouse, but when they were out, a prospect was left at the gate to guard the house. God forbid I go somewhere.

And, as for that pain in the ass, Jackson Johnston, I hadn’t really spoken to him since my brothers were back; he was glued to them anyway.

Which I didn’t completely understand.

I had come to the conclusion that he was either in the club, or in a brothering club. Or maybe just a tool my brothers liked. Though what was really interesting to me was that if he was indeed a member of one of these clubs, why didn’t he sport a cut? A son of Satan’s Son was never seen without his vest.

I was debating raiding dad’s whiskey, because that was the only liquor left in the house at this point. The boys had drunk everything else and, if it hadn’t already been consumed, it had been hidden; God forbid I got my hands on it!

I was getting up when the noise of squealing tires caught my attention.

I quickly jumped off my stool and walked towards the kitchen door, pushing the door open; the passageway was empty.

I heard the car coming to a halt outside the front of my house, followed by loud voices.

I darted down the passage and ran up the stairs, sprinting into my bedroom. I went straight for my top door and grabbed my gun.

Better to be safe than sorry.

Especially after the drive-by shootings I had seen; I didn’t want to take any chances. Not to mention the ones I did. I always had a flare for leaving the targets terrified.

Walking down the stairs cautiously, I noticed the front door was still swinging open from being pushed too hard, and a black van, evidently parked in a hurry, and was at the front step, with the sliding door wide open.

I slowly rounded the corner at the bottom of the stair case, gun raised.

“FOR FUCK SAKE!” a deep loud voice screamed from the kitchen.

I lowered my gun.

That voice wasn’t a threat.

I pushed the swinging doors open and walked into the kitchen.

Cole was slumped on a stool, leaning over the kitchen bench, with a pained expression on his face. Tyler was a holding a bloody t-shirt to Cole’s shoulder and Jax was sitting on an opposite stool drinking from a vodka bottle.Where had he got that from? I noticed his otherhand was holding his side.

The side kitchen door swung open and Troy and Adam walked in; Troy was holding a First Aid kit and Adam had multiple bottles of spirits. Again, where was all this liquor coming from?

As Adam handed Cole a bottle, Tyler removed the bloody t-shirt and blood began to run down Cole’s arm; his t-shirt clinging to the wound as more and more blood leaked.

Troy grabbed a bandage from the First Aid kit and stuffed it into the leaking wound.

Cole let out a deep scream of pain and sent a flying kick into Troy’s knee.

Troy then let out a string of swear words.

“For fuck sake, Cole. It’s going to be a lot more painful when I remove the damn bullet!” Troy roared.

My mind raced, putting all the pieces together.

“Well, you could’ve waited until I fucking had a stiff drink!” He roared in response.

Troy grunted in response.

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