Free Biker Stepbrother by Rossi St. James

PROLOGUE - EVERLY
     
    PAST
     
    “Shh…”
    I peeled my eyes open. A shadowy figure lurked over my bed, arms outstretched and pulling me out from under the warmth of my covers.
    “Mom?” I whispered.
    “Hush.” As the figure pulled me closer, I recognized my mother’s scent: cigarette smoke, Charlie perfume, and the permanent cheap beer smell that was always on her breath. “Be quiet , Everly.”
    The moon shined in through the paper-thin curtains of the tiny trailer bedroom I shared with my two stepbrothers, Gray and Little Nash. Space was at a premium in the vintage blue singlewide the five of us shared, but home was home. It didn’t bother me as much as it bothered Gray, but he was older. He knew we deserved better.
    “Where are we going?” I whispered as my mom set me down. At twelve years old I was too heavy for her to carry me very far. I glanced back at my brothers, the only siblings I’d known for the bulk of my existence. Little Nash was ten and Gray was fifteen.
    My hand reached out in the dark as I followed my mom out of my room, and it stopped as it found the splintered hole in the door where the knob used to reside. Big Nash had kicked the door in the night before in a drunken rage. Gray moved the dresser to block the door to protect Little Nash and me, but it only served to make Big Nash even angrier. Little Nash and I hid in the closet, behind the broken door that was barely hanging on its hinges, and when it was all over, we emerged to find Gray perched on the foot of my bed, catching his breath and holding a shaking hand over his purple, swollen eye as blood trickled from his left nostril.
    He always took the beatings for us.
    I planted my feet in the hallway, demanding an answer from my mother as my heart raced with the jolt of adrenaline still coursing through me from being woken in the middle of the night. “Where’re we going?”
    I glanced back toward the bedroom where my brothers were quietly sleeping, none the wiser.
    “I want to say goodbye,” I said, crossing my arms. Mom grabbed the crook of my elbow and yanked my arms apart, jerking me so hard my arm nearly came out of the socket.
    My eyes struggled to adjust to the dark of the window-less hallway. Mom lowered her face to mine and gritted her teeth. “We’re leaving. Do not make a sound.”
    The bone-chilling look she gave me was the kind I knew I’d never forget as long as I lived. I knew she and Big Nash were having problems, but it was nothing new. They fought like cats and dogs since the day they met. The constant screaming and yelling in our trailer was normal. It was the way we lived. Big Nash was a drunk with a temper, and when he was done beating on her, he’d always come looking for Gray.
    Though Gray was just a kid of fifteen, he was already taller than his daddy. He was going to be a behemoth someday, and I just hoped one day he’d get to clock Big Nash so hard it’d send him sailing across the room. Maybe then Big Nash would never touch him again.
    My mother’s long nails dug into the flesh of my arm as she led me towards the creaky screen door. Two packed bags rested against the wall. She hoisted one over her bony shoulder and shoved the other into my arms.
    I turned around, scanning the dark living room and trying to take a mental snapshot. We weren’t coming back, that much I knew. I inhaled the scent of the place I’d called home since I was seven years old. Stale cigarettes. Cheap, cinnamon candle. Dirty carpet.
    Snoring in the broken armchair in the corner was Big Nash, passed out drunk. I glanced back at my mother who studied him for a second, as if she were wondering just how passed out he was. He’d been known to come flying out of a dead sleep and start wailing on whoever was in his vicinity before. Mom called them his night terrors. They always seemed to happen the most when he was drinking Jack Daniels. She took a deep breath and opened the screen door with a painfully slow-motioned push, and then