Nathaniel widened his eyes. “You put . . . alcohol in my coffee?”
“Sure. Why not? I was your age when I had my first drink.”
As Nathaniel continued studying the mug, he could feel the familiar tug of his conscience that happened whenever the angel and the devil on his shoulder waged war against each other. He was pretty sure his mother would fall to her knees in prayer for him if she knew, and then his father would tan his hide. Even though he should’ve poured out the mug’s contents, he couldn’t help wanting to taste a little more. “You won’t tell, will you?” he questioned in a whisper.
Kurt flashed him a toothy smile. “ ’Course not.” He nodded at the mug. “Drink up. Make it count.”
Shrugging away his doubt, Nathaniel took several more hearty sips. The more he drank, the more terrible the mixture tasted. He didn’t want to have any more, but Kurt urged him on. Once he had finished it, he set the empty mug down on the table.
“How do you feel?” Kurt asked.
Furrowing his brow, Nathaniel tried to make sense of what was happening to him. His head felt like it might fly away from his body. Within seconds, the room started spinning like it had the time he’d been caged in on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair. He’d desperately wanted to get off, but he’d been forced to endure the entire ride. At the moment, he wanted to stop the way his body was feeling.
A cold hand on his cheek caused him to jump. “Nathaniel, how are you feeling?”
“I . . . I can’t make it stop,” he murmured, his eyelids fluttering closed.
“Don’t try to.”
The next thing he knew, his body was being lifted out of the chair. He was dragged into Miss Mae’s bedroom. After the door slammed and locked behind him, his face was forced down onto Miss Mae’s frilly pink comforter.
“What . . . are . . . you . . . doing?” he questioned. It was a struggle getting each word out.
When hands fumbled with the button of his jeans, he tried to push them away. “I’m going to make you feel good, Nathaniel.” Kurt’s voice came from behind him.
Nathaniel didn’t want to feel good. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to be in the safety of his kitchen, arguing with Benjamin over who got more icing.
As he faded in and out of a dark, shadowy consciousness, harsh hands roamed over his body. Just when he thought things couldn’t be any worse, pain like he had never experienced tore through him. Tears welled in his eyes, then streaked down his cheeks. His suffering seemed to go on and on, and he began to fear that it would never end.
But then, through the hellish haze, he heard someone come through the front door. From the loud clomp of the boots on the floorboard, he knew it was his father. His mother must’ve sent his dad to look for him. Just as he got the strength to raise his head to call for help, Kurt’s hand clamped over his mouth. His harsh whisper came at Nathaniel’s ear. “If you even think about screaming, I’ll cut your throat and all of your family’s. You got me?”
Nathaniel wanted desperately to scream. He wanted the nightmare, the pain, the humiliation to end. And yet even though he didn’t care whether he lived or died, he didn’t want anything to happen to his family.
But when his father didn’t appear at the door, Nathaniel let his hope die. He buried his face in the soft folds of Miss Mae’s comforter and wept. At the sound of a loud bang, he jerked his head up.
His father stood in the doorway. The unadulterated horror mixed with rage on his face caused Nathaniel to shudder with fear. He barely had time to brace himself for his father’s wrath before the gun came up and a blast came out of it so loud that the windows rattled.
And then, as his father called his name in a ragged breath, Nathaniel realized he had just traded one hell for another.
ONE
REV
THE PRESENT
I came awake to find someone shaking the hell out of me. Flipping open my eyelids to escape my tormented unconsciousness, I stared up into the concerned blue eyes of my brother Bishop. His hands gripped my shoulders so tightly I figured there would be marks. “What the fuck, man?” I questioned, slinging him away.
He tumbled back on the mattress. “You were having one hell of a nightmare.”
I sighed and rubbed my shoulders where his hands had been. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I want to wake up to your ugly mug with morning breath in my face,” I replied, trying to ease the palpable tension in the air.
Bishop didn’t laugh. He didn’t make a move to get off the bed, either. He continued staring at me like he hoped he could somehow will me into talking. He’d been giving me the same stare for the past few days while we’d been on the road. Whenever we’d stop for food or to gas up our bikes, I would find him staring at me, chewing his bottom lip like he wanted to say something. He had been desperate since three nights ago, when a personal tragedy within our club allowed him a tiny glimpse at my long-buried secret.
Breaking the silence between us, I asked, “What time is our meeting with the El Paso Raiders?”
“Seven.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the glowing digital clock on the nightstand. “That doesn’t give us much time to make it across the state. Better get crackin’ and hit the road. You want the shower first?”
“Nah, you can have it.” As I rose off the mattress, Bishop said, “I’ll go grab us a quick breakfast.”
“Thanks, brother.”
When I started across the threadbare carpet to the bathroom, Bishop’s words froze me. “Rev . . . you know it doesn’t matter to me what the fuck happened to you—it ain’t gonna change a damn thing about the way I feel about you. No matter what, you’re my big brother and my prez.”