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Prologue
Aftermath/Bear
16 years old
Steady pounding of heavy footsteps move toward my cell. The distinct jingle of keys on a ring tells me it’s the guard coming for me and by his harsh breathing, he isn’t happy about this day. Me, on the other hand, I have been counting down to this day for three long, painful years. Not only did I have to escape the abuse of the other inmates, I had to fight my way from the beating by the guards. A poor decision with my friend Daniel and his crew is what brought me to the Vegas Juvie detention center.
Three years ago, Daniel, his crew and I were out boosting cars and I was the only one who didn’t get away. I was thirteen at the time and could barely see over the steering wheel, let alone handle a Pontiac G8 while being chased by the cops. I was terrified the day the judge sentenced me to three years here. My mom cried big, fat, ugly tears when the bailiff put me in handcuffs and carted me away. I refused to turn on anyone that was with me that night and I spent the last three years in hell for it.
On the bright side, I’ve grown about a foot taller and gained around fifty pounds of pure muscle from being here. The men my mom would bring home loved to beat on her if they felt jealous of her job. She’s always been a stripper for as long as I can remember and she isn’t ashamed of using her body to make money. A few times her boyfriends would try to take their aggressiveness out on me. A few have succeeded, breaking my arm or my wrist, kicking me in the gut, fracturing ribs. I had gotten so used to the pain, when the guards or other inmates tried it in here, all I could do was laugh in their faces. One even left a nasty, jagged scar down the side of my face. Eventually, the guards and other inmates stopped coming after me once I started growing. I’d like to see one of those low life mother fuckers touch me now.
“Jacobs!” The guard who gave me the hardest time in here bellows into my cell, making my head vibrate. “Let’s go.”
The tension in his jaw tells me he will try something to make me snap and I won’t be getting out today. But I’ve learned to control my rage and he won’t be able to get under my skin no matter what he does to me or how hard he tries. The distinct buzz of the locks releasing echoes through my cell. I toss the magazine I was reading to the side and stand up. Stretching my six foot four frame, I run my hands through my brown hair and grab my laundry bag.
The guard steps aside for me to exit and I do. Standing still, I patiently wait for his next move. I don’t say a word as he looks me up and down from head to toe. The look on his face makes me gag but I hold it in and don’t move a muscle. The guard smirks and I’ve added him to my list. He’s another fucker that will die by my hands when I have a chance.
We finally move down the corridor and the noise in here is deafening. Other juvies are hooting and hollering as I stroll on past. There are seventy four cells total from Tier one and Tier two that house one hundred and forty eight inmates. Which is always at max capacity. I hope to fuck I don’t have to see any of these faces ever again. Luckily for me, my cellmate had an unfortunate accident six months ago and they didn’t put anyone else in there with me.
The door buzzes loudly as I’m escorted into the holding bay, patiently waiting to be released. I don’t know if anyone will be here to take me home or if I’m walking. But with the way I haven’t seen my mom in the last six months, I think I’ll be walking. The check out process goes smoothly and now I’m standing in the desert sun with the clothes I came in with on my back and shoes too small for my feet. No one is here to give me a ride, so I hike my bag up onto my shoulder and begin walking back toward Vegas. It’s about a fifteen mile walk.
Hours later I make it to the seedier part of Vegas. I discarded my shoes a long time ago and stripped the too small shirt off. I cut the legs of the pants to make somewhat a pair of shorts. I look like a homeless person instead of a newly released inmate. Instead of heading straight home, I decide to go onto the strip and make a pit stop first. If my suspicions are right, I’ll know in a matter of a few minutes why my mom didn’t pick me up.
I swallow hard and open the door to the strip club she’s been working at for years. The weather-worn paint peeling off in my hands and the squeak of the rusty hinges announce my arrival. Darkness settles over me while I stand inside the door and wait for my eyes to adjust. A bouncer nods his head in my direction and I proceed to enter. The air conditioner cools my overheated skin and goosebumps break out onto my arms. The bar is slammed with men lining up to get drinks, the lights aren’t quite dim but not bright either, giving the rooms a soft glow. There is no table in the house open for tonight's performance. The DJ has music playing in the background, which tells me the women are between sets right now. Giving the men time to cool off and spend money at the bar.
I make my way further into the strip club and a few half naked women eye me like I’m their next lollipop eager to suck. Sorry ladies, I don’t fuck or suck strippers. Not when my mom’s one and she taught me to respect all females.
I’m halfway across the room heading toward the back stage where the dancers are when the lights drop. Conversations cease to exist when a spot light shines on the stage. I spot my mom’s long blonde curly hair at the back of the stage, hiding in the shadow behind the spot light. A low base pumps through the speakers setting the theme for seductive and alluring. My mom’s their best dancer and brings in a lot of money for the club, so when she goes on, every red blooded male in the room pays attention. Their money hanging from their fingertips, ready to stick it wherever she allows.
The emcee steps up next to the DJ at the side of the stage and gathers everyone’s attention. “Gentlemen, here’s the one you’ve all been waiting for. A woman who lets her body speak for herself. Let’s give a shout out to our best dancer of the night, Silver Grace!” Men hoot, holler and catcall as my mom steps into the light wearing a shear outfit and six inch heels, leaving nothing to the imagination. I’m not ashamed for what my mom does to put food on the table, a roof over my head and clothes on my back. What I am ashamed of is, not being able to protect her from these animals that pinch her ass or slap her around.
The music turns up and every person is transfixed on Silver Grace popping her hips and swaying to the music. Money is flying in every direction while she moves against the pole, enticing these men. Having seen this routine so many times, I pick up on the subtle hint something is wrong. It might be a misstep here or a falter there, but something is wrong with my mom.
I wait by the stage exit for her to finish her routine. Watching her dance my whole life, I know when something is wrong. I see the pain in her body as she moves and holds back a groan or cry. My fists bunch together at my sides and my vision turns red. I’m going to kill a motherfucker for hurting my mother. I might not have been able to defend her before I got locked up, but now I can. Whoever this motherfucker is, will wish he never touched her. I step back when the music comes to a close and wait in the darkness.
Grace steps off the stage and a man grabs her arm roughly. He stands close to my height around six-foot two but doesn’t pack as much muscle as I do being only sixteen. His dark, greasy, slicked back hair and wife beater shirt reminds me of the dickheads who can only beat up women. My mom bites her lip from crying out under the bruising grip. “That’s the last time you’ll shake your tits and ass for these men. I thought I made myself clear last night, Grace.” He snarls and tightens his grip on my mom’s arm, pinching it hard. She cries out from the pain and I can’t wait any longer.
I step out of the darkness and confront this piece of shit head on. “Get your fucking hands off her.” My voice is low and deadly.
“Who the fuck are you?” Weasel-dick sneers.
“Your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t get your fucking hands off her.” My mom’s eyes grow wide with fear and relief when she finally recognizes me.
The man gripping her arm snorts. “Run home little boy, this doesn’t concern you.” He turns his back on me, mistake number one.
Mistake number two, dragging my mom behind him, making her wobble in her high heel shoes. Her fingers reach out to me before he yanks her away, mistake number 3.
The guards usually set up in the back of the club are missing and I follow them out the back exit and into the alley. My mom’s heels rapidly click on the pavement and she releases a harsh cry when her ankle rolls to the side.
“Move it, bitch!” The man snarls into her face, dragging her up by her arm. My mom whimpers and cowers when he raises his fist to her face.
I’m on them in an instant, my fists in motion, blind fury radiating from my veins. My right fist lands with a hard thud to the side of dickhead’s face. Instantly, he releases my mom’s arm and drops like a sack of potatoes to the dirty pavement. She stumbles and cries out.
I straddle dickface’s unconscious body and rain hellfire onto him. I punch and punch until I can’t move my arms, my knuckles are bloody and raw and his face looks like it went through a meat grinder.
“Bear,” my mom whispers, wrapping her arms around me.
Shuddering a breath from the nickname mom gave me when I was little, I hold her arms around me with my bloody ones.
