Thirty-Two
Trent
Los Angeles, Six Years Ago
Years went by that way. His life a blur of blood and atrocity.
Trent chased a high that always dropped him to the lowest low. He could no longer tell if it was rage that drove him or just duty.
Numbness had frozen over his soul, this detached sense of being each time he pulled the trigger.
But it wasn’t the comfortable kind. It was an ocean of disgrace. A sea of shame.
The sins that mounted.
The pleas. The cries. The blood.
The blood.
He was floating in an endless abyss of it. Face barely breaking the surface.
Soon he wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Would drown.
But he had one reason to keep going. That tiny glimmer that burned through the bleakness of who he was.
And he’d fight for them until his last breath came.
Only problem was he’d started to wonder what that really looked like. Started to wonder if he were doing it all wrong. Had started to wonder if he should just go, the way his mother had said.
The life they were living was so vastly different than the one he’d imagined. He didn’t deserve any better, but his brothers sure as hell did.
He pressed his hands to the dingy table tucked in the back room of the dive where his crew liked to hang. He glowered across at his father.
Cutter, the piece of shit.
He might still be the President, but he wasn’t gonna push Trent on this.
“Leave Logan and Nathan out of it,” Trent warned, his voice a growl. “No way they’re coming on that run.”
A smirk ticked up at the edge of Cutter’s greasy mouth as he sat back in the chair, his teeth ripping the flesh of the chicken from the bone before he tossed it to the plate. “And how do you have any say about this?” he snarled as he roughed a napkin over his beard.
“They’re not like us.”
Cutter spat a laugh. “That so?”
“I promised my mother I would protect them, and I won’t let them get in the middle of this bullshit.”
Jud was different.
He’d followed Trent like that was what he’d been born to do. But as time went by, Trent had started to wonder if it wasn’t only because Jud was doing some of that protecting, too.
Nathan and Logan wouldn’t survive this world. This vile, disgusting world.
Sickness curled through his stomach, all mixed with the cruelty of who he was.
Cold.
Hard.
Numb.
Years of it.
But lately, the awareness of that depravity kept breaking through the oblivion. His spirit staging some kind of revolt. Truth was, Trent wasn’t sure how much longer he was gonna survive it, either.
“Your mother?” Cutter laughed. Pure disgust. “Tell me you aren’t still hung up on that.”
Trent was in his face, gripping him by the vest before the asshole had the chance to prepare himself. Trent pressed the barrel of his gun to the underside of his chin, aching to put a bullet there.
Cutter might be the boss.
But it was Trent who ran the show.
Cutter might not want to admit it, but most of the men were loyal to Trent. Looked to him for direction.
“Hung up on it?” The words were razors. “She is the reason I’m here. Only reason.”
Retribution.
Revenge.
Justice.
His own debt that could never be repaid.
A vicious smile curled Cutter’s mouth. “You put that Demon in the ground years ago. It’s done.”
“Last I checked, there are still a few Demons walking this earth.”
And he wouldn’t stop until he reached the top. Until Pit was dead. Because there was no way the order for that hit came down from anyone but their president.
Cutter edged back from the barrel, staring Trent down. “And maybe it’s time you focused on what you were made for rather than chasing a ghost.”
Ghost.
Ghost.
Ghost.
“Only. Reason. I’m. Here,” Trent hissed.
Loud and clear.
Except Cutter wasn’t one who wanted to hear it.
Cutter’s eyes flashed. “You belong to me, Trent. You shouldn’t forget it, VP.” He said it like a taunt as he jutted his chin at the patch on Trent’s cut. A reminder of the chains that bound. “You’re lucky you have my blood running through your veins or that little stunt would have been your last.”
Cutter tipped his attention to Trent’s gun, a threat in his eyes. But Trent saw the rest, too. The jealousy. The flicker of fear. Trent had long since become more deadly than him.
Giving for the moment, Trent straightened and tucked his gun back into his jeans. “Wrong again, Prez.” He sneered it. “Don’t belong to anything but the promise I made my mother. You’d do well not to forget it.”
Raging like a beast, Trent strode back into the main area of the bar. Slew of Owls were there, tossing back drinks, sluts dancing on the tables.
He moved to where Jud was at a tall table in the middle, dude sitting back and taking it in. He slid a beer in Trent’s direction. “About time. Wanna tell me what that was about?”