Blood & Bones - Rev (Blood Fury MC 8)

He was forced into a tub of searing hot water and the brush she gave him to scrub his sins clean didn’t have soft bristles. They weren’t even firm. They were like a Brillo pad against his skin.

She stood over the tub and supervised him as he scrubbed every inch of his body until it was red and raw. She made him scrub his penis until the tender skin bled and the bristles left visible scratches behind.

“You scrub that filth off your skin. You scrub those sins free of your soul. You wash away those ugly, ugly, forbidden thoughts.”

When the water was pink and cold, when his mother’s anger had turned to exhaustion, she forced him to stand in the tub and turn in a circle to make sure he got every spot. Once she pulled the drain plug, she left him standing there shivering with his hands over his raw, burning privates.

He hadn’t cried. Not once.

Instead, he had taken himself elsewhere to a far-away place. Anywhere other than that bathroom. Because he couldn’t cry.

His father told him over and over real men don’t cry.

If he cried, it only made things worse.

But he wanted to cry. Not because of the burn of his skin but because his parents only saw what they wanted to see, they never listened to the truth.

They saw him as a wayward child who needed more discipline.

The same as Sarah.

Their goal was to teach her how to be a good and obedient wife for her future husband. How to be a good mother to her unborn children.

For Michael, it wasn’t the prayer circle, it wasn’t the scrub of the brush, it wasn’t his mother’s harsh words that he feared. It was what his father would do when he came home later.

Last night, their father had made Sarah cry.

Tonight, it would be Michael’s turn. Only, he would have to hide every single tear.

Chapter One

Rev stood under the Toyota Avalon absently watching the dark motor oil piss from the engine into the oil drain dolly.

He could change oil in his sleep. He probably had a few times after partying late some nights and coming into work like a hung-over zombie. He only had to make sure he looked alert enough while he worked so Dutch wouldn’t crack him upside the head with a wrench. His melon had been close to being dented a few times.

In truth, he appreciated the gruff old fart. He only never told him because Dutch probably wouldn’t give a fuck and, instead, yell at him to get back to work.

But it was Dutch who had given him a job of sweeping floors and doing bullshit work a few years ago when he finished his last stint in Dauphin County Prison and had nowhere else to land.

He’d been sitting in a diner in Harrisburg, eating his first good breakfast since he’d been released and scanning the want ads in the day-old paper some other patron had left behind.

He hardly had any skills but the ad for Dutch’s Garage said the owner was looking for an apprentice to train. Rev had read between the lines and figured the owner basically wanted an able body to work for shit pay.

It just so happened Rev was able and willing to work. Also willing to dig his feet in somewhere for a spell—at least until his sister got out of juvie—to put some scratch in his pocket and stay out of the joint.

He borrowed the diner’s phone, called the number in the ad and was told to get his ass up to Bumfuck, Pennsylvania pronto, so that was what he did. Since he didn’t have wheels, it took longer than expected to hitchhike his way from Harrisburg up to Manning Grove and, after doing a couple of questionable things along the way to snag a ride, he finally made it.

And managed to arrive alive and in one piece, thank fuck. But with empty pockets, no place to stay, no wheels, and, of course, no morals, which helped him do what he needed to do to get some of the basics he needed, like food in his belly and clothes on his back.

The salt-and-pepper-bearded Original had taught him to turn a wrench just like he’d taught everyone else in that garage. Dutch liked to train them young and keep them.

For years, the man had dealt with mechanics coming and going like a revolving door, but between his two sons, plus Rev and Whip, he now had a steady crew. Well, steady now that Rook wasn’t landing in jail every few months. Hell, now that none of them were landing behind bars anymore. Though, that had more to do with Trip, the BFMC president, than Dutch.

Rev had done a little bit of time here and there. Nothing like Rook. Mostly for minor shit and certainly not for grand theft or aggravated assault on pigs like Dutch’s oldest son.