Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
All of it.
There was nothing in our fridge but a sack of potatoes about to go bad, some butter, and some milk.
My mama opened the fridge that morning looking for solace after being up a whole night with fussy, colicky, newborn Destiny and said something like… if we only had a turkey, I'd make us a nice dinner.
Now, my mama had not made me a fuckin' dinner in years at this point. It was frozen mac and cheese or frozen burritos. Never nothin’ homemade. She had been depressed after Destiny was born because Deacon took less notice of her, not more.
I pictured that dinner in my head and decided I was gonna go bag a turkey and hold her to it.
I did get that turkey, and she did make dinner. It was a turnin’ point, actually. She recovered a bit after that. Got through her depression.
That was also the year I learned how Deacon worked. If he was flush with money, he was somewhere that was not our trailer.
He took my money—all that money I saved up—and left. Didn’t come back for weeks.
That’s how I learned I could pay him to stay away.
To leave us the fuck alone.
Anyway, the most important thing about that day wasn't the turkey or my mama, it was Brick.
I was crouchin’ in the fuckin’ shrubs, waitin’ on turkeys. It was a good spot overlooking a small clearing where I figured they'd come to feed. I settled in to wait, back against a tree trunk, shotgun across my knees. But no turkeys showed. Not a damn one.
Instead, I heard engines. Motorcycles, three of them. Then trucks—two—rolling in from the access road about a quarter mile below my position.
Men in black leather jackets covered in worn patches climbed off the bikes as the others exited from the trucks. They moved through this little clearing like they owned the place, like they’d been here a million times. There were eight of them. They didn’t talk loud or bullshit around. Just short sentences to get a job done.
I wasn't hiding. I… wasn't doing anything but sittin', waiting on my turkey. So I didn't move. Just stayed real still as they worked.
They started unloading crates from the back of one truck. Then duffel bags from the other. The bags sagged heavy in the middle, guns, I figured.
If that's what they were, it was a lot of weapons. Like these men were preparing for a war or somethin’.
They worked quickly, easily. Transferring everything from the trucks to some kind of bunker built into the hillside that I hadn’t even noticed before they moved some brush and fallen logs out of the way.
As I watched, it hit me hard. I just saw something very fuckin' secret. Somethin’ those men would kill over.
That’s when one of them finally noticed me.
He walked straight over, aiming his piece at my head.
I held my breath, but I didn't move. I didn't stand up, I didn't explain, and I didn't run.
I just looked him in the eyes.
It was Brick. He was younger then. Tall, lean, with a full beard just starting to show silver. He looked down at me with cold, assessing eyes. "Mornin'," he said, voice quiet as he pressed his gun against my temple.
The metal was cold, his hand did not shake.
"I don't know what you think you just saw, so I'm gonna tell you what you just saw to make sure we're clear. You saw a gun deal, boy. You saw our hidey hole. You saw something you should not have. So you've got two choices, little friend. One—I'm a liar and that's not what you saw at all. Or two—they find your body out here when the snow melts in the spring."
I said, didn't even hesitate, either, "I got no idea what you're talkin' about, mister. I'm here huntin' turkeys and haven't seen shit all day."
He smiled at me. Then he holstered his weapon, pointed off to my left, and said, "Saw some turkeys over that ridge as we came in."
And then he turned and walked back to the group. Said something that made them all look my way, but nobody moved toward me. Brick went back to work like nothing happened.
The next thing I knew, trucks started, bikes fired up, and they were gone.
I bagged two turkeys that day because of Brick.
He fed me and gave me a reason to live all in the span of three minutes and he never even knew it.
Because something changed in me that day.
For the first time in my life, I had a yearnin’. Not the kind of yearnin’ I would have for Savannah, that came later. But a yearnin’ for power.
That kind of power. Real power. Not the kind Deacon had—the power to hurt people smaller than him, to steal from his own family. But the kind that came from a sort of brotherhood where a man's word—my word—was worth something.