Prologue
Shoved beneath the bed by his mother, he pressed his hands over his ears to muffle her screams. Through a sliver of light beneath the bed skirt, he could see the side of his mother’s blue blouse. Her chest jerked and heaved. Dusty brown work boots cut off his view.
A violent bang cracked through the room, sending his heart racing and a warm stream of urine beneath him.
Two men argued and he held his breath, biting one fist. The boots moved on.
He kept his eyes riveted on his mother. He couldn’t remember when she stopped jerking.
Wiggling backwards, eyes squeezed shut, he panted quietly.
Harsh, cruel hands reached for him and he fought them, terrified, screaming.
He clawed at the floor for purchase, but it didn’t matter.
Brutally yanked from his hiding place, a man with a cruel face looked him over.
At eleven years old, he cried for his mother, and learned early on that crying only made it worse.