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I hear the of the pipes can’t bepeople and soon the devil will be here, de his due In this case the devil is a tall, tatted biker naiven ether He didn’t I could have told him he wouldn’t

I guess this is dear old Dad’s third strike I should wake him up He’s passed out on the stained, broken, worn out, red futon in the back room I know because that’s usually my bed When I came home from my shift at Jenny’s—the local diner where I cook—that’s where I found him

I should wake hihter would do Then again, Dad’s never been decent totrouble druy to care what happens to hiood never did shit for , it’s save yourself No one else is going to Marcum runs the Steel Vipers They’re a one percent MC club here in Florida that no one fucks with No one, except ain, is proof that ive a fuck about rules and laws They’re their own entity A smart person would steer far away from them My father has never been smart

I run through the house grabbingwhat clothes I can find in it I’ve got to get out of here I know enough about Marcus to know they leave no witnesses Maybe I’reat cosmic issues of epic proportion, butside of his fists often enough that I don’t really give a darand in a local nursing ho happened to her I would kiss Crescent City goodbye But I’ to come up with money to move

Theto live on my own That didn’t work, my father found ways to spread his shit to my new place, so it was just easier to stay here

The roar of the bikes is getting closer I took too long trying to get rab my keys off my dresser I can hear them pull into the drive I’ll coh the back of the house, even as a fist is banging against the front door—alasp, and then bite my lip painfully to stop the noise I’m sure it’s impossible for them to hear me, but I don’t want to chance it I bite so hard I can taste the bitter, coppery tang of blood in ht for the sht off the kitchen I close the door quickly, which dulls the yells of Marcu as I close the lid on the commode and then cli it up I would have preferred a bigger , but this is the only one in the house that doesn’t have a screen Once I get it pushed up, I throw round, but luckily it’s quiet enough I doubt it will alert the others Next, I heft e and then contort my body to the outside while I slowly slide down the back of the house

“Look e got here boys!” a e hands captureme his prisoner My heart somersaults in rab my stuff first

What in the hell was I thinking?

“Is that Weasel’s kid?” another asks

“She don’t look ood addition to the club talent,” I hear from another one I’m afraid to look at him My hands are on the shoulders of a very tall ot dark hair which is cut unevenly and sticking up in different directions on one side of his head, but done so in a jagged enough pattern that it looks good He’s covered in ink; I can see it on his neck and on his thick ar His eyes are brown and where I expected hate and anger, I see none I don’t even see the look of interest in my body I can literally feel those looks fro close to us, but not from him I almost feel…safe I start to cals aren’t… Right? Your mind always creates worst case scenarios Maybe this is one of those cases Maybe this guy will be my savior