Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
I take him away from the noise, through the back door, past a couple rutting in the shadowed corner, and into the next building, where we keep exercise equipment. Everything here is brand new, and I feel an inkling of pride when I switch on the light, revealing the pristine space. Several people worked their asses off to make sure the compound’s immaculate for our visitors, even this place, which would remain empty during the rowdy party. Maybe tomorrow it’ll get some action, once the guys attempt to rid themselves of their hangovers?
Kalash approaches the large red punching bag in the middle of the mat and hits it a few times. “We need to get something like this for our club,” he muses, looking around. “You planning to follow in your brother’s footsteps? Rise in the ranks?”
The question catches me off-guard, so I take my time with an answer. “I don’t know if that’s for me, but who knows.” Vague enough.
“There he is,” Kalash says, approaching the shelf mounted close by. A photo of Roy hangs above it, and underneath—a pack of his favorite cigarettes, the keys to his bike, and a small bottle of his favorite tequila, which, miraculously, hasn’t yet been stolen. In the photo, Roy’s quite young, and laughing at something with a bottle in hand. That’s not how I remember him.
I remember his vicious jabs at me, always having to be alert in my own home, and regular fights to “toughen me up”. I guess he succeeded in the last one, because I take no shit from anyone anymore, and always carry a knife, just in case.
Kalash doesn’t care about my silence, and fills it himself, which is a relief. “A party with Roy always led to the craziest fucking situations.” He picks up the photo frame as if he’s reminiscing about something. “Days before he got ended, we went on the most fucked-up bender. Vodka, tequila, speed, coke, you name it, we took it. Tag-teamed a girl on a fucking pool table in a bar, got kicked out, drove off elsewhere, I almost smashed into a tree, then we ended up in some diner, and the waitress was this skinny Minnie white chick. Pale like the moon. I don’t know, maybe an albino or some shit, and Roy gets it in his head, that he’s gonna fuck her.”
I smirk and nod, but the story is as entertaining as watching paint dry.
“Bitch wasn’t having any of it.” Kalash laughs and downs his beer. “But when he heard she was from Vulture Hollow, Roy’s competitive streak kicked in. He grabbed that girl, carried her to his bike, and drove off. She’d either hold on, or fall off and skin her fucking face. I don’t know if she chose right. I tagged along right behind him, and then stayed on the lookout while he fucked her in some bush. Good that no one was passing, because she squealed like a newborn piglet all the way through. I didn’t even want to do her too with that ungodly sound. You know how some girls just can’t shut up?”
He flashes me a stupid grin and winks as I stare at him, numb and quiet.
“You said the girl had long white hair?” I whisper, because I have a sinking feeling that it had to be Luna, Brigid’s daughter. Road would talk about her sometimes, how she’s like a younger sister to him. I’m sick to my stomach when I think of that tiny girl under my brother, and this fuck in front of me laughing about it.
‘It’s not my story to tell’, I remember Road saying with a pained expression, and I feel so damn stupid. He was right. It wasn’t his to tell. She had her right to a secret, and my brother deserved to die.
And it wasn’t for Kalash to tell either.
I slide my hand into my pocket and grab my switchblade.
Blood thuds in my ears like alcohol pumps through my veins, and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t bear people like him getting away with this shit.
All I can see is those spider tattoos on the guy’s hands as he holds down my wrists, and he’s so fucking heavy I can’t push him off, and I squeal, and I cry, and I beg, and it doesn’t stop him hurting me like that’s what he’s getting off on.
Maybe I’ll never find the man who broke me, but I can gut this pig.
My knife goes in so easily I’m almost surprised by how little force the stab required. The bottle Kalash was holding drops, breaking apart when it hits the floor. I hear his guttural protest just before he shoves me away, but I refuse to lean back, and his own force pushes my knife sideways.
My breath speeds up as I watch the blade in my hand pull across Kalash’s abdomen, creating a wide smile that soon seeps through his T-shirt, staining it red.