Five years old
I huddled on the floor of the clubhouse and spun an empty beer bottle around. My palms were sticky from it. When I brought my fingers to my mouth for a taste, my lips pulled into a grimace. A bitter, rotten flavor exploded on my tongue, clinging to my gums and throat. I spit it out, but the foul taste didn’t disappear.
The room was filled with smoke from the cigars and cigarettes, making my nose itch a little and sometimes my snot even had dots of black in it.
I kept spinning the bottle. I didn’t have any other toys here. My toys were all with Mom, but Dad had picked me up there yesterday and they had screamed at each other like they always did. Dad had slapped Mom, creating a red handprint on her cheek, and he’d been in a foul mood ever since. I always stayed out of his way when he was like that. Right now, he was yelling at someone on the phone.
Pop, his second in command, usually played games with me, but he sat at the bar with a blonde woman and was kissing her. The other bikers huddled around the table and played cards. They didn’t really want me to annoy them. One of them had pushed me away, so I fell on my bum when I’d asked if I could watch them. My tailbone still ached where it hit the floor.
Steps thundered closer. The door to the clubhouse swung open and one of the prospects stumbled inside, eyes wide. “Black limousine!”
Everyone jumped up as if the words were a secret code. My head swiveled to Dad who barked out orders, spittle flying from his mouth. I didn’t understand what was so bad about a black car. A cry sounded, high-pitched, then gurgling. I looked back to the door and the prospect fell forward, an ax in the back of his head, parted like a ripe watermelon. I dropped the bottle, my eyes going wide. The body fell to the ground and blood splattered everywhere as the ax toppled out of his head, leaving a deep gash in his skull so I could see bits and pieces of his brain. Just like a watermelon, I thought again.
Dad rushed over to me and grabbed my arm in a painful grip. “Hide under the couch and don’t come out! You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
He shoved me toward the old gray couch and I dropped to my knees and crawled under it. It had been a while since I’d tried to squeeze under the couch and I barely fit anymore, but eventually I lay on my belly, facing the entrance door and the room.
A huge man with wild eyes stormed inside, a knife and an ax in his hand. I held my breath as he came in with a roar like a mad bear. He hurtled his knife at Dad’s treasurer, who’d reached for his gun. Too late. He fell forward, right before the sofa. His huge eyes stared at me as blood pooled under his head.
I scooted back a few inches but froze abruptly, worried my feet would stick out. The screaming got louder and louder until I pressed my palms over my ears, trying to block them out. But I couldn’t look away from what was going on. The madman had grabbed his knife and threw it at Pop. He hit him square in the chest and Pop toppled backward as if he’d had one too many drinks. Dad dashed behind the bar with two prospects. I wanted to hide there with him, wanted him to console me even if that wasn’t something he did. The madman shot another club brother in the hand when he reached for a dropped gun. I could hear shots even through the palms over my ears, dulled bangs that had me flinch every time.
The madman kept shooting at the bar, but eventually everything turned silent. Had Dad and the prospects run out of ammunition?
My eyes moved to the armory at the end of the corridor. One of the prospects jumped out from behind the bar, but the man chased him and swung the ax at his back. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a few shuddering breaths, before I dared to open them again. The blood of the treasurer slowly spread closer and began to soak my sleeves, but this time, I didn’t dare move. Not even when it soaked my clothes and covered my small fingers. Two more of Dad’s men came in, trying to help. But this madman was like an angry bear. I was motionless as I listened to screams of agony and rage as I watched one dead body after the other drop to the ground. There was so much blood everywhere.
Dad cried out as the man dragged him out from behind the bar. I lurched forward, wanting to help him, but his eyes cut to me and warned me to stay where I was. The bad man’s eyes followed Dad’s gaze. His face was like that of a monster, covered in blood and twisted with rage. I ducked my head, terrified that he’d seen me. But he kept dragging Dad toward a chair.