5 Months Later
My bastard of a father is dead.
Thank fuck for that.
My hands shake a little as I read the letter from his lawyer, my rage for the man pouring out of my fingertips.
I was brought into this world by that bastard, who taught me how to grow a set at a young age. I’ve not seen the man in nearly twenty years. I had often thought about finding him and showing him exactly who I’ve become, but that’s no longer relevant.
I was lucky because I got out from under him when I was eleven years old. The bastard was blackmailed into releasing...
But that’s another story.
Over time, I’ve learned the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in the end. That seed was apparently already sown, or I wouldn’t have turned out the way I did.
His death had happened eight months ago, and it’d taken them a while to track me down. I’m surprised they found me because I sure as fuck didn’t want to be found. Now, some bitch named Whisper has my fucking shameful inheritance.
No. Fucking. Way. Is any bitch taking that from me.
Who is she but some money-hungry old whore who got in good with him? She got her name on those papers, because he sure as fuck didn’t want to give his only son anything but one hundred dollars.
Yeah, I hold in my hand a check for one hundred dollars and a letter with my deceased father’s address on it.
It’s like he’s gloating from the grave.
Cocksucker!
My mother apparently left him when I was a baby, and he refused to talk about her or give me her name. She abandoned me to that man and no doubt got herself safe and sound away from his evil ways. I have no clue if she’s alive or dead. I was never granted any answers, and I sure as hell knew only to ask once. I haven’t even thought about her in twenty years.
I slam my fist down on my kitchen table, making my beer jump. What a pain in my fucking ass. I was gonna settle down tonight and get some sleep for once, but now I have this to deal with. I finish off the beer and toss it with enough force that it shatters against the inside of the bin.
“Motherfucker!” I roar at my ceiling.
I hope he can fucking hear me, too.
I’m pleased the bastard is dead, but there ain’t no way some old, bitching whore is taking what’s mine.
I snatch my cell phone off the table and punch in one number. I’m the fucking Soulless Bastards’ enforcer. I know how to make bitches disappear. My president picks up on the first ring. “Hazard...yeah, good...I need some personal time for a couple weeks because I just found out my father’s dead... Don’t be sorry. I sure as fuck ain’t,” I grunt back and I mean every word.
“Hazard, I need to clear up some financial matters. Are we good if I take off immediately?” I know he won’t have a problem with my request. I’ve given my loyalty to the club, and now I need to sort this mess out. He wants to know if I need backup. “Nah... this little misunderstanding will be easy to reconcile. Some random whore got dibs on my money.” I listen as he curses at my injustice. “Just holler if you need me for a job. I’m heading to Louisiana...no problems, will do. I’ll let you know when I get there.”
I scrub my hand over my face. He wants to send a brother with me. I don’t need anybody knowing about my past. “I’m good. I can’t see how this will be any trouble for me. I’ll be in touch.” I disconnect and grab a few things. I’m always packed, ready for a job.
I stop off in the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I need to be careful because this isn’t club retribution; this is personal. I worked hard at keeping my birth identity a secret for fear my adopted parents would be harmed.
By the time I’m finished, my long, light brown, shoulder-length hair is laying on my bathroom floor. I’ve used the clippers and shaved it close to my head around the back and sides, and left it long on top, so I can comb it back or tie it up. I’ve taken my thick beard and reduced it to a closely shaved scruff on my face.
I grip either side of the hand basin as I look at myself in the mirror, admiring my handiwork. I look different, and that’s a good thing. Now, my own MC brothers would walk past me without a second glance. Without my cut on, I’ll be just another civilian. I have to go in this way. I don’t need the club brought into this.
My father would’ve been around fifty when he died. I’ve been gone nearly two decades, and I’m not Dallas, the eleven-year-old, scared, broken little boy.
I’m now Edge, a stone-cold motherfucking killer. Make no mistakes about that.
It doesn’t take me long to head on out to my Harley and start the trip. I can get a few hours ride in tonight, and then I need some sleep. If I stayed at home and went in the morning, it would only set me back a night. I need to sort this shit out ASAP.
Albuquerque to Louisiana, here I come. My father owes me, and if this is the only way he can pay up, then so be it. I don’t care if I burn the house to the ground, but some whore isn’t getting it just because she was weak and slept with the sick fuck.
The bitch now has a price on her head, to be paid in full.
She’s already dead.
She just doesn’t know it yet.