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Dusty and Gavin, the Vice President and Sergeant-at-Arms, respectively, stand over the half-dead man with their tattooed arms folded over their chests, looking as menacing as ever.
Johnny tosses his bag on the floor and strolls over to the three men with his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune from one of his favorite songs.
“Well, well, well,” he says softly, looking down his nose at the bloody man. “Look at the big man now.”
“P-please, Johnny, I didn’t mean to,” the man pleads desperately. “I swear I didn’t mean to.”
As blood and spit fall from his mouth, a part of me feels bad for him. I know he’s not walking out of this shed in one piece—orever, for that matter—but I know that he must have done something really bad to be in this condition.
I go to sit on a barstool in the corner, watching everything with fascination and fiddling with the knife. It’s rare that I get to see Johnny in action; Ma doesn’t want me exposed to this life, even though she chooses to continue to raise me around these men. I know what Johnny’s into, and now I finally get to see it instead of just hearing about it after the fact.
“Stand up and accept your fate like a man,” Johnny says darkly. He whips another knife from his back pocket and starts flicking it in and out of the handle.
Shit’s about to hit the fan.
The man tries to get up, but he’s so weak he falls back to the floor. Gavin grabs him under the arms and hauls him to his feet.
“He said stand the fuck up, bastard,” he growls in the man’s ear.
The man sways on his feet as he struggles to follow Johnny’s command.
“Look at me, Brandon,” Johnny commands. The man, Brandon, looks up at him. “Do you know what happens to bastards who cross me?”
Brandon shakes his head. My stomach turns as the reality of the situation begins to sink in: Johnny’s going to kill this fucker right now.
As if sensing my thoughts, he turns to me and asks, “now’s your chance to leave, Leland.”
He only calls me Leland when something bad or serious is either currently happening or going to happen. I nod anyway, because I want to know what exactly Johnny does in this shed.
He gives me a devilish grin before walking to the closet in the back of the room and pulling out a long, thin pole. It’s sharpened at one end while the other is flat. What the fuck does he need a pole for?
“Strip him down.”
Dusty and Gavin start removing Brandon’s clothes, and I start to wonder if I’m about to witness this man get raped by the higher-ups.
Johnny Holloway, the President of the Lords of Grove Hill Motorcycle Club, is my unofficial stepfather—and the most terrifying, most loving man I’ve ever met.
He and Ma aren’t married, but they don’t need to be. He loves her like I’ve never seen a man love a woman before, and he treats her like a queen. He’s never once pushed me aside or made me feel insignificant because we’re not blood.
“You don’t need to be blood to be family,” he’s always told me.
And it’s true. Wherever we are, he always introduces me as his son. Not his stepson or his girlfriend’s child, buthis.
And despite being the President of the MC, he doesn’t give me any special treatment or privileges. I haven’t been fully patched yet, mostly because of my age, but also because I haven’t yet proven myself to be a worthy member of the club.
Not until now, when Johnny takes the pole and shoves it into Brandon’s ass without warning. Brandon, who was barely responsive just seconds ago, screams in agony. I have to grip the sides of the barstool to keep from falling off at the grisly sight in front of me.
Gavin and Dusty have to hold Brandon down as Johnny continues to shove the pole into his body.
Brandon’s screams are suddenly cut off, followed by a gurgling, rasping sound. He’s dying.
I’m watching someone die right in front of me. I have to keep asking myself how this makes me feel, so I can make sure I’m still human.
It’s fucking disgusting, the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. This is what Johnny does back here. For years, I wondered why he’d always hurry off to the shed, and now I know.
He tortures people. Keeps them alive until they’re just barely hanging on before ending them in the most inhumane way possible. Hearing from others that he tortures people and seeing it right in front of me are two different things.
My stomach turns, but I can’t look away as the sharpened point of the pole pokes through Brandon’s shoulder.
