Grey (Soulless Outlaws MC #3)

Prologue

Grey

I sneered at the cop who had just closed the door to the SUV I had been placed in.

All he did was take one look at my clothes, and he didn’t bother to say anything to me.

Sure, they were threadbare. Sure, there were holes in the knees of the well-worn jeans I had on. Sure, there were holes in the t-shirt that it couldn’t be called a t-shirt anymore.

And yes... he had seen me dumpster-diving for food.

Sometimes, you just had to do what you had to do. And when it came to feeding myself and my six-year-old sister... I had no qualms about doing something to take care of us.

Two hours later, I was sitting behind a table.

The metal cuffs around my wrists were aggravating.

I rubbed at the skin.

The door opened, and a man in black pants and a blue button-down shirt walked in.

And had I been in the right frame of mind, instead of starving... I would have started to put two and two together.

But I wouldn’t... not until years later... not when everything could have been different.

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.

Then he asked, “Why were you dumpster-diving?”

And since he was the first person to actually ask me a relevant question, I answered him, “My mom probably ran off with some man. She left my six-year-old little sister and me alone with no money. Kacie said she was hungry.”

The man looked at me, looked deep into my eyes, and then he seemed to come to some sort of understanding.

That was when he pulled something from his pocket and gestured to my wrists.

The moment I put my wrists on the table, he used a key and unlocked them.

I sat there with my arms braced on the table as he walked out of the room I had been taken to.

And I sat there for an unknown amount of time.

I was released two hours later.

My sister was there waiting.

Her dirty-blonde hair was in a disarray that needed to be washed, and her dirty clothes were too small on her already smaller body. She was six, yes, but she looked like she was four.

Her dark green eyes, the color so much darker than mine, came to me then. And there in those depths, answers I would need for years to come reflected back at me... I just hadn’t known that at that particular time.

We were placed in a car and taken to a home.

Foster parents, we were told, were taking us in.

And so, the course of our childhood had been set.

Age 9

“She’s too much. We can’t.” Foster mother one said.

Foster father one nodded.

Age 10

“She stole from us. We can’t.” Foster father two said.

“I’ll never get that necklace back.” Foster mother two said.

Age 11

“We’ll keep him. But she has to go.” Foster father three said.

“I hate it. But... she’s... we just can’t.” Foster mother three said.

Age 12

“What do you think?” My sister Kacie asked.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

She snickered, “From some kid at school. You want some?”

I growled as I took the little baggy of white stuff from her and headed to the bathroom to flush it down the toilet.

Unfortunately, Foster father four walked into our shared room, saw the little baggy in my hand... and called the cops.

And guess who showed up with a smirk on his face?

The same cop who arrested me when I was eight.

Age 15

“She’s only thirteen. She shouldn’t be acting this way.” Foster mother five said.

Age 16

“What are we going to do?” Kacie asked.

Seven Months Later

I held my sister’s hand and bit the inside of my cheek as hard as I could while I watched my nephew being placed into a woman’s arms who had tears in her eyes.

And as I watched my nephew being taken away, all I recalled was the woman who had on a blue dress and short brown hair.

I looked at my sister, who had her eyes turned to the television, laughing at the show she had become invested in.

Age 16

The same cop smirked at me as he pulled out a set of cuffs, “Told him. Warned him. Can’t fucking wait to say I told you so.”

I knew he was talking about the man who had arranged the foster placement for my sister and me when I was eight, and she was six.

Then I was placed in the back of a squad car once again.

But this time... well... it would be worth it.

Four Days Later

“How do you plead?” The judge asked.

“Guilty,” I said with my head held high.

Then he told me my sentence.

Two Days Later

“I told you he didn’t do anything to me that I hadn’t asked him to,” she sneered at me.

“So, you're telling me that when I heard you screaming in fear, telling him no and to stop, that you wanted it to be like that?” I asked.

She nodded, “Yeah. We don’t live under a rock, Michael. Ever heard of role-playing?” she asked sarcastically.

“Watch your mouth,” I growled.

She scoffed, “I’ll watch my mouth the day you stop acting like my dad.”

I didn’t let it show, but her words pierced something in my chest.

Age 17

One more year.

Age 18

“Want to join the motorcycle club we’re starting?” the boy known as Kase asked.

I shrugged, “Got nothin’ else to do.”

Age 20

As soon as I got the address from Merlin, I walked out of the clubhouse, strode to my bike, started it up, and made the two-hour journey to New Orleans.

Then I looked up at the house and waited.

The house wasn’t fancy in any sense. It was a standard brick two-story with white columns, like a lot of homes in New Orleans seemed to be.

An hour later, I watched as a little boy who had Kacie’s dirty blonde hair smiled widely as he clutched a stuffed dinosaur in his hand.

My god but he was beautiful.

Something in my chest squeezed.

And when he laughed just now... I wanted to bottle that sound up so I could hear it whenever I wanted to.

He was laughing at a woman’s side. It was the same woman who had taken him from the hospital the day he was born.

The image of a perfect little boy was seared into my very marrow.

Thankfully, I had gotten to hold him for two minutes before the social worker was there to take him from my arms and place him in the woman’s arms who had adopted him.

It’s been one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days since I last saw him.

His sixth birthday was tomorrow.

I waited until they left to pull the bag out of my saddlebags and walked up their front walk.

Then I set the bag with the colorful balloons and blue tissue paper on their steps and walked back to my bike.

And I repeated the process until he turned eighteen years old.

Age 30

“I need some money,” Kacie said.

I took a sip of my whiskey and asked, “How much this time?”

She smirked, “A couple hundred.”

I handed her two hundred.

***

“Brother, you know we got your back, but something has to give with your sister,” Nuke growled.

I nodded as I helped Grimm, Kettle, and Saint set the body on fire.

The fifth drug dealer who had come looking for payment.

“You're only adding to her addiction. Gotta stop it,” Kettle growled.

Two Days Later

Kacie was moaning in the cellar.

Sweating.

Scratching.

Itching.

The Next Day

She bailed.

Age 31

I pulled up behind the truck.

“Need a hand?” I asked.

The teenager looked at me and nodded.

I stood there as I helped load the blown-out tire in the back of his truck.

“Thanks, mister.” The teenager said.

I lifted my chin.

Then I placed a call.

Jury had a new tire on my nephew’s truck within two hours.

Age 42

This was not how I saw my day going when I got out of bed.

Fuck. Me.

But really... Fuck. Me.

That perfect body wrapped up in my favorite sweet treat from a carnival.