Page 23 of Property of Camo

“Yeah. Sleeping when I left. I got Titch to track down his folks and lessons need to be taught, man, but I want no blowback on the club, Skyla, or the boy.”

A grin slips across his face, as he rubs his hands together.

“Then, my feared brother. Let’s go and cause some pain.”

We step up to the house, and some game show can be heard through the door. Halen looks through the front window, shaking his head when he looks back to me.

“The fat fuck is passed out on the sofa; the bitch is sitting in the chair rolling joints.”

“Time for the pain.”

Stepping back, I raise my foot and kick the door in with one hit. The wood splinters and the woman screams. The sound wakes the fucker up, and he bolts to his feet, reaching for his gun but I am quicker.

Kicking it out of his hands, his eyes widen in fear.

“Fucking Kings of Anarchy. Why are you here? I got no beef with you,” he splutters.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” I hear behind me.

Looking over my shoulder, I see Halen standing over the woman. Dropping my gaze to her, I see the gun in her hand. My brother takes it from her, then I see his fingers touch her shoulder, just as she cries out in pain.

“Damn, I have been holding onto that broken hand for a long time.” She clutches her hand to her chest, crying out in pain.

Halen can transfer illness, injuries, and pain but it passes through him, which can weaken him, so over the years he has learned to control his power. He also taught himself to hold ontosome injuries, to keep them so they can be passed onto someone who deserves it like these two fuckers.

“You can’t come in here and just hurt us. We have done nothing to the Kings,” the prick jabbers on.

Turning back to look at him, I curl my lip in disgust.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Any King can do whatever they want. No fucker tells us otherwise,” I growl, stepping closer.

“What do you want?” the woman whimpers.

Without taking my gaze from this fat slob in front of me, I ask them, “Tell me something. Where is your boy?”

The prick’s gaze turns to anger, and he looks behind me at the bitch in the chair.

“This is your boy’s fault, you whore. I knew that he would bring trouble to my door one day.” He looks at me. “What did he do? Punish him for all I care, he deserves it, the little shit.”

My fists clench at my sides, as I step closer to him. The anger still swirls in his eyes, showing me he really fucking thinks this is all Aston’s fault.

“The boy is not at fault here, you worthless cunt. You beat on him, starve him. Does that make you feel big and powerful? Huh? Beating on little kids, make you feel like a man?” I snarl.

“Fuck you. That punk is the worthless one. Always on about how hungry he is, that he needs something for school.”

“He is fucking eleven years old, motherfucker. It is your job to take care of his needs, not beat and starve him.” I reach for my gun, but Halen’s voice stops me.

“I got this, brother.”

“What you got, pretty boy? You think you can hurt me? Fuckers, I know people,” he boasts, and I laugh, stepping back.

His sudden confidence makes me curious, and I will look into his so-called connections later, but right now he needs to feel the pain that he inflicted on a child.

Stepping over to the chair where the woman is watching what is playing out in her living room, her gaze bounces between the three of us, while she cries, shelving her broken hand.

“How does it feel? You are pathetic; you should be protecting that boy of yours, not leaving it for someone else to. To treat him like he should always be treated.” Her eyes fill with tears and I see pain but also concern for her son.

“You do not deserve that kid.” I shake my head at her, just as cries of pain fill the room, making her whimper again and look to where my brother has the cunt on the floor, withering in pain.

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