Brooklyn, New York
Age 26
Good and evil exist within the bounds of a person and one does not harm those who have not sought the destruction to man. His lot, his life, his freedom or his happiness. They say we’re the rulers of our destiny and sin is a choice. Maybe for you that’s true but, for me, the same rules don’t apply.
Born into a life I didn’t ask for, with the spirit of Satan trapped inside of me and his blood pulsing through my veins. I’ve spent most my years walking in his shadow paying for his sins. Something I didn’t realize until I was nineteen-years-old and prospecting for one of the most notorious motorcycle clubs. After spending a year hanging around the Raleigh, North Carolina charter, and another prospecting, I became a full-fledged member of the Satan’s Knights MC. It was during those early years when I learned there was no escaping Hell. It was alive inside of me. Its ember flames were the foundation of my soul.
Being part of an outlaw motorcycle club only reinforced the painful knowledge that I was not invincible. The days of believing in luck died along with Savannah and I wasn’t in control of anything—certainly not my own life. My path had already been mapped out for me and anyone who came into my life would be a victim of my destiny.
No one associated with me would ever be granted a pardon.
Not my newfound brothers or the girl who somehow wormed her way into my life and into my bed. The girl who got under my skin and wrapped herself around my black heart. That girl would suffer the most.
Maybe there wouldn’t be a man like Sally waiting to make a dress out of her skin but, there would be something. Someone. Another ruthless villain who took her away from me and made her suffer on the cross for my sins.
After Savannah I thought I’d never feel again, that I’d never look at another woman and want my whole life to revolve around her.
I was wrong.
Again.
It was becoming a pattern and so, the decision to leave North Carolina was relatively simple. It was finding the courage to walk away from the greatest thing I’d ever known that was hard. It was waking up next to waves of pink hair and leaving her sprawled between my sheets that was the problem. I knew I had to cut her loose but, every day I found another reason to stay.
Another reason to hold onto something I could never truly have.
Then one day tragedy struck. Wolf showed up and I found the courage I was seeking in the desperation reflected in his eyes.
Like clockwork, every six months Wolf came barreling through the door with his thick New York accent. I thought it was just another routine visit from the man who saved my life—that he was there to make sure Sin was doing right by his sister and that his sister was doing right by his niece.
During these visits, he also made sure I was prospering and like a father would take his son to dinner to catch up, Wolf took me. Throughout the meal, we’d talk shop. I’d tell him about the shit in North Carolina and in exchange he’d school me on the Brooklyn charter. Very rarely he would throw me a crumb and tell me about the old days when my father was his commander and chief. On those days I paid close attention because like any other orphan, I wanted to know where I came from. It didn’t matter how miserable of a man he was, the mystery of Cain would always fascinate me.
However, I knew I wasn’t going to get much out of Wolf during that particular visit. There was something off. It was as if he disconnected from life. I probed and probed but, he brushed off my concern until the night before he was scheduled to ride out of North Carolina. It was then as we shared a bottle of whiskey that he confessed the cause of his misery.
His club was dying.
My father’s club was about to be wiped off the map.
In short, the Brooklyn charter had been struggling a lot since my father’s death. Their new ruler, Jack Parrish, had done his best to save what they all cherished and mostly, he had kept them breathing for a long time. However, you can only ride on luck for so long and theirs had finally run out. Their enemies were too advanced, too powerful, and it was hard to find their footing after being knocked down so many times.
It became Wolf’s mission to scour the east coast for new blood. He figured if he could sway a couple of Nomads to take purchase in Brooklyn, then maybe they would have a fair shot at fighting whatever threat came next.
Somewhere in the middle of him confiding in me, the solution to both our problems became clear. I would go with him. I’d be one of the four men he recruited for his club. So, I wasn’t technically a nomad—no one needed to know that. Just like no one needed to know I was Cain’s biological son. I was still a patched member of the Satan’s Knights. I served my time and earned my colors without riding on my father’s legacy. I could finally repay the man who saved my life and in turn, I’d also be saving his niece from succumbing to the wrath of my destiny.
I’d spare Kelly the fate she’d likely suffer loving me.
Being on his turf, I’d also have the opportunity to learn more about the man whose blood ran through my veins.
I thought I’d have to put up more of a fight to get him to agree with my plan but, desperation weakens even the toughest motherfuckers and when I suggested it, Wolf agreed without pause. Before the sun rose the next morning, I rolled away from the sleeping pink haired beauty beside me and without so much as a goodbye; I straddled my bike and followed Wolf home to Brooklyn.
To the streets ruled by a clinically insane man name Jack Parrish.
It’s funny how certain things stick with us through life’s misery. Things you assume would be blocked from your memory find a way of taking root inside your head and at your lowest points assault you. If I close my eyes, the sterile scent of the hospital will fade and, I will be transcended back to the first day I walked into the Dog Pound. The very first day I laid eyes on the self-proclaimed Bulldog and caught a glimpse of the tribute to my father he had inked on his shoulder.
The doctors circling my hospital bed will disappear and I will stare into the darkest pair of eyes I’d ever seen. He’ll size me up and I’ll wonder if he sees the resemblance between me and the man he held in such high regard. He’ll welcome me into the fold and the lonely ride to hell will officially begin.
“Do you understand what we’re telling you Mr. Brandt?” one of the surgeon’s questions, drawing me away from my head and back to the present. Taking a minute, I process his words forcing myself to replay everything he’s said since I first realized I couldn’t move my legs.
I survived a bomb—one I don’t remember. I should be thankful I am alive after suffering a long list of injuries. According to him and the fleet of surgeons surrounding him, I was thrown from the blast and pinned beneath a shit ton of debris, including a bar. Both of my legs had complex compound fractures, and they needed to surgically install titanium rods in order to fix them. On top of that my spleen ruptured and needed to be removed to stop the internal bleeding. Lastly, I was informed of why I couldn’t feel my legs. There was severe swelling on my spinal cord and it was impacting my nerves, causing what they believe is a temporary paralysis. They relieved some swelling but, it didn’t do much. My legs feel like lead and I can’t even wiggle my fucking toes. I’m a crippled son of a bitch. A useless motherfucker who should’ve blown up.
“I’m fucked is what you’re telling me,” I say finally, lifting my eyes to meet a room full of expressionless faces.
“Mr. Brandt please understand we’ve done everything in our power to help you. Now once the bones heal properly, we can remove the rods but the real issue is the swelling.”
“Why don’t we cut through the bullshit,” I growl, losing my patience.
My eyes dart to my legs and the two casts that cover them. The thought of never standing on my own two feet, of never walking again cripples my mind and rage engulfs me. I’ve felt like a burden my whole life and now I’ve finally become one.
“Will I be able to walk again?” I rasp hoarsely.
“Once the swelling goes down completely and there aren’t any obstructions leaning on the nerves, then you should regain sensation in your legs. However, your mobility will not return without extensive physical therapy.”
It sounds more like a life sentence than a diagnosis.
A punishment to fit the crimes of my past.
Whoever said karma was a bitch had it wrong. It’s a prank Satan pulls when he wants to remind you of who you are and where you came from. When you think you’re better than your D.N.A. and you can right the wrongs of your old man.
Another lesson learned.
Cain always wins and me, I lose every fucking time.