Kings Don't Break (Steel Kings MC #2)

Prologue - Blake

PROLOGUE - BLAKE

October 1998

“Boy, if you don’t get away from that fucking window...”

My face is pressed into the glass, causing all sorts of smudges, my eyes glued to the moving truck parked against the curb outside. At Pa’s growl, I jerk away from the glass like I’ve been electrocuted.

“But, Pa, they’re blocking our driveway.”

He’s settled in his big recliner in front of the TV. The game’s on, and he’s got a can of beer clenched in his hand.

His three favorite things in the world—leather, beer, and sports.

“You think I give a fuck if somebody’s got a moving truck outside?” he grumbles. “They ding any of our cars or my Harley?”

“No, but?—”

“Then I don’t give a damn. Stop being a nosy little shithead and grab me a fresh one.” He rattles the empty beer can in his hand.

My shoulders slump from the sigh I let out. I do as he says, taking the empty Texas Brew and plodding over to the kitchen to grab him another.

Our kitchen’s like the rest of the house—squashed-in and reeking of cigarettes. Stacks upon stacks of Ma’s order-by-phone catalogs rest on the counters and bags upon bags of recyclables take up a whole wall space.

I pull open the door to our faded yellow fridge and snatch the last can from Pa’s six-pack.

“OH, C’MON!” he roars at the TV. “Chop block! That was a fucking chop block!”

His rant continues. The longer he goes on, the more F bombs he drops. The louder his voice grows.

I wait it out and instead curl the beer can in my arm like it’s one of those dumbbells at the gym. I run a finger down its icy-cool aluminum sides and then pop the tab out of curiosity. Taking a sniff, I shudder at the gross stench.

It smells like that skunk me and Mason saw at the ravine that one time. How does Pa drink this stuff?

“Took you long enough,” he snarls when I finally head over and hand him the fresh can. He barely looks at me before he returns his attention to the TV.

The Longhorns are down by eight.

It’s made his already bad mood even worse.

I take it as a cue to get the hell away from him. Pa doesn’t take losing well. Anybody that happens to be around becomes the target of his anger. A lesson I don’t really want to learn again. I sneak out the backdoor.

Normally, I’d ride my bike around the block. Maybe go hang out with Mason and his big brother, Logan. But since it’s Sunday morning, their mom’s dragged ’em to church.

She’s real religious. Which is funny ’cuz Mr. Cutler’s not. But Mason says he goes along with the family church outings to make his wife happy.

With nobody fun around, I decide to snoop on the moving truck and people carrying stuff into the house next door. It takes me a few tries, but I wrap my arms around the branch of the lemon tree in our front yard and climb up by stepping off the bark with my feet. Sweat breaks out on my face and a sliver of wood sticks me in the palm of my hand, but I pull it off.

I prop myself up on the thick branch and stare down at the people like I’m some neighborhood watchman.

There’s four of them. A dad, mom, boy that’s older than even Logan, and a small girl that might be even younger than me.

Golden-brown skin. Kind eyes. Clean, like-new clothes.

They almost look like they don’t belong in a neighborhood as dusty and worn down as Pulsboro.

The dad walks up to the truck and takes a box from the mom, scolding her about carrying things that are too heavy. She tinkles out a laugh and mentions something about going inside to unpack the kitchenware.

“Come help me put away the pots and pans, Korine baby,” she calls out to the little girl.

But the little girl’s barely heard a word.

She’s spotted me spying in the tree.

I stare and she stares back. We’re locked in a staring contest for a while. Neither one of us wants to blink and lose.

She’s bony, like she’s the type to pick at her food. Big, brown eyes and corduroy overalls. Hair done up in barrettes and little twisted pigtails. Her brows squish together as if she doesn’t like what she sees.

So I do the same to her. I give her my hardest stink eye, thinking I’m looking real mean and intimidating like Pa.

But the girl breaks out in a laugh . She crosses her arms over her chest and starts walking toward the tree.

Toward me .

My belly flips and flops. I hold my position where I am—’cuz that’s what Pa would say a man would do—but on the inside I’m wondering what this girl’s up to. Why she’s challenging me with stares and laughing like I’m a joke?

“You climbed that tree all wrong,” she says once she’s directly under me and the branches. “I can climb it better than you.”

“Girls don’t climb trees.”

She glances around as if checking we’re alone. Probably making sure her mom’s not around. Then she tips her head up at me and says, “Wanna bet? Watch this.”

In a few quick seconds, she’s scrambling up the tree like some kind of cat. She’s hooking her leg over the same branch I’m on and then pulling herself up so that she’s sitting by my side.

That had to be under ten seconds.

Way faster than me. I’d almost fallen and busted my ass. Twice.

My face warms. I must be turning red. “So what?” I snap at her. “This ain’t no tree-climbing contest.”

“So, I was right. Girls do climb trees. Even better than boys.”

“Nuh-uh!” My hands curl into frustrated fists.

But she only laughs. “Geez, it was a joke. Ever heard of those? What’s there to do around here? Wanna race down the block?”

I’m not sure what to think of her. The other girls from school aren’t like this. They’re busy playing with Barbies and jumping rope. They’re not challenging me to climb trees or run around the block.

I stare down at the street below, wishing I hadn’t caught her attention. “Where’d you come from anyway?”

“West Haven. It’s an hour outside of Hous?—”

“I know where it is. You guys left West Haven for Pulsboro?”

“My daddy got a promotion. He’s a cop.”

I grunt.

I’ve never been a fan of the cops—well, Ma and Pa have never been. Which means I’m not either. Being a Steel King, Pa’s no stranger to spending some time behind bars.

“Wanna come over for supper?” she asks randomly. Suddenly, there’s a friendliness to her. She swings her legs as they dangle off the branch. “My mama loves having company over, and she always says God wants us to love thy neighbor.”

“Nah, I probably shouldn’t. My folks say treat strangers like strangers. You don’t know ’em enough to be getting chummy.”

Her nose scrunches. “That’s not too nice.”

I shrug. “They’re not very nice people.”

“What’s that?” She points at the ugly mark purpled all up and down my arm.

I forgot all about it—it still throbs if I move it too much, but I’ve been wearing long sleeves at school to cover it up.

I jerk my arm away from her. “Mind your business. I don’t even know you.”

“Well… you’re going to,” she says in a smart-alecky tone. “We’ll be in the same class, won’t we?”

Probably so. Pulsboro Elementary’s small enough that there’s only one or two classes per grade level.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t know you… and… and I don’t like you very much. You come over here laughing at me and showing me up climbing the tree. Why would I wanna go over your place for dinner?”

As soon as I say what I’ve said, I know I’ve finally done it.

I’ve hurt the girl’s feelings.

She slow blinks several times. Tears shine in her eyes and her chin quivers.

Oh, no. Here it comes. The waterworks.

Girls love breaking out in cries and making boys the bad guys.

But she doesn’t let a single tear fall. She sucks in a sharp breath and then mumbles, “Fine.”

I’m speechless watching as she swings upside down for a brief second before letting go of the branch completely. She flips over and lands perfectly, right side up on her feet.

How the hell did she do that?! And why can’t I be that cool?!

She takes off without another word or look at me. She’s decided I’m no good and not worth any more of her time.

The screen door to her house slams shut.

Her old man’s on his way out to grab more things from the truck. He glances at his upset daughter as she scurries past him and then looks over at me.

Yep. I’m already the bad guy.

I fold my arms and glare at him. Much like Pa would.

He doesn’t intimidate me, and I don’t feel bad for running his daughter off.

…except, I sorta do. The longer I stay put on the tree branch and watch the house, waiting to see if she’ll make another appearance, I wonder if maybe I really was a jerk.

She seemed like she was just trying to hang out. Even if she did it in an annoying way.

I huff out a sigh and roll my eyes at how she’s got me feeling guilty when I barely know her name.

Korine.

Getting down from the tree’s almost as hard as getting up. I struggle and cut up my palm with bitter thoughts about how easy it had looked when she did it.

It’s official. I don’t like the girl. I don’t care how bad I feel. I’ll get over it.

“BLAKE!” Pa roars from inside the house. “Where the hell’d you go?! Get me another cold one!”

Dread sinks into me. My shoulders slump and I drag my feet, following the sound of his angry voice. It’ll be another night of his fits and bad mood. Another night of peanut butter and jelly for dinner. Meanwhile, my new next-door neighbors will be having a pot roast (I smell it wafting in the air later on).

More than once I consider heading over to knock on their door and apologize.

The girl had said her mom liked having company over. She had seemed nice… like one of those TV moms.

As the sun sets and the sky turns into night, I peek out the window and happen to catch the girl looking too. Her eyes widen at the sight of me catching her, then she tugs the curtain back over the window.

She can’t stand me either.

Good. Because I don’t like her anyway. We’ll never ever be friends…