When I was ten, my father indoctrinated me into the family.
A brotherhood who would fight, protect, and give their lives for one another. A club whose ties ran thicker than blood, murkier than the dirt and grime that tainted my soul. Stronger than the bonds that connected me to my own family.
A band of brothers, where loyalty was kept and paid in a currency of blood.
When I was twenty-seven, I betrayed that brotherhood.
I’ve spent every day since running, avoiding paying back that debt.
My name is Daniel Johnson. I have betrayed everyone I ever loved.
And I’ll betray her too.
This is my story—if you’re screwed up enough to want to read it.
Warning: KICK contains graphic violence, profanity, drug use, and explicit sexual situations of a taboo nature. Intended for an 18+ audience only. Not intended for pussies.
Her panicked gaze meets mine. “He’ll shoot you.”
“No, he won’t.”
“Yes, he will.”
I smile down at her. “What are we just gonna stand here forever, you in my arms, your dad holding a gun to my head? If he shoots me, he shoots me. Ain’t nothing I can do about that, Princess. At least I’ll know I did one thing right.”
She takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”
I nod, because it’s true. If Slayer hadn’t come at a deal, Prez would’ve eventually killed her, and he’d have tortured her some more first. “Promise me somethin’?”
“Get on your feet and then get the hell outta here. Prez will come looking for you again. He’s not a guy who likes to lose. Take as much money as you can, and get the fuck away from this life, otherwise you’re gonna wind up filling a body bag way too young.”
Lauren is wrenched away from me then. She screams as the Italian carts her off toward the clubhouse, flailing and slapping at him despite her injuries.
“Daniel!” she screams, reaching out toward me as he struggles to get her inside. Without thinking I take a step forward, but I’m attacked from behind. My knees go out from under me and I’m shoved face-first into the ground. Some heavy motherfucker sits down on my back. I buck, trying to unseat him, but I’m whacked in the back of the head until I stop.
“Well, isn’t that fuckin’ touching? The Angel scum, in love with my daughter? Didn’t I warn you away from her once before?” Slayer asks, circling me like a predator circles prey. The biker using me for a chair shoves his gun against the back of my skull.
“Yeah, I did,” Slayer continues, and he motions for the guy on top of me to force me to stand. I’m dragged up by the hair and presented to Slayer. “At the rally, where she fuckin’ went missin’!” His red, blotchy face almost touches mine. He’s so close I can see the blood vessels snaking out from the corners of his eyes. He’s fucking high. His daughter’s been locked up, raped, beaten, treated like a fuckin’ animal over some shit that she shouldn’t even have to know about, and the arsehole’s gettin’ high as a fuckin’ kite instead of findin’ her? He makes me sick. He’s everything I hate about the life. And he’s more than likely exactly where I’ll end up, because this is what we are—this is what livin’ in the club gets you: bitterness, enemies, and a shit-tonne of bad blood.
About The Author . . .
While Sugartown may not technically exist, Carmen grew up in a small Australian town just like it, and just like her characters, she always longed for something more. They didn't have an Elijah Cade, though.
If they did, you can be sure she would have never left.
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