Laughing in my face, he responds, “You’ve got balls, kid. Not many grown ass men would step up and take what’s coming to them. Get back in the car, start it and follow me. If you detour, I will find you, and this will get a whole lot worse. Let’s go.”

I do as I am told, adrenaline building inside of me. I’m not dead yet, so maybe this will be okay after all. He could have called the cops when he found me, but these men don’t strike me as the law-abiding type. Nor do I think they would call for help when they can dish out their own kind of punishment.

Following the bikes, we pull into the Hellions’ motorcycle club compound. Everyone in Haywood’s Landing knows who the Hellions are. Why didn’t I pay better attention in the barn? I should have known with the leather cuts, guns and motorcycles who I was dealing with. I park the car beside where the guys have stopped their Harleys then get out and wait by the driver’s side door.

The long haired biker is definitely the one in charge. He is barking orders and pointing inside the building in front of me before he makes his way over to me.

Before I can speak or move, he yanks me around by my shirt. His arm comes around me into a head lock as he drags me violently behind him. We make our way inside the compound, no one says a word to us or to help me. I grab at his thick forearm, trying to relieve the pressure around my neck.

“Bull, get your ass out here. Your punk ass nephew needs some words,” the biker yells, squeezing tighter with his arm.

Bull, who the hell is Bull?

He releases his grip on me, shoving me forward. Two arms grab me then and pull me steady. Looking up, I am face to face with my uncle, Kenny.

“Franky, what the fuck? Why are you here and why is Roundman dumping your ass in front of me?”

“Umm…” is all I manage to stammer.

“Your boy wanted to go on a little joyride,” the burly biker, who is apparently Roundman, says with a snicker. “A joyride in my fuckin’ car.”

“Fuck. Franky, what’re you thinking? Have you lost your damn mind? Your momma is gonna kill you and me both.”

“Laney needs shoes.” It slips out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop myself.

I don’t want to be rich and wouldn’t have agreed to steal the car for a simple joyride. My mom is two months behind on the electric bill; it’s going to be turned off any day. We have never had cable television, and currently, we don’t have a phone because it was disconnected three months ago. If it weren’t for food stamps and the left-over scraps from her job, we wouldn’t have food most days.

My sisters get good grades and are innocent to the damage our dad’s past brought down on my mom. Hell, Bonnie was only eight and Laney four when he was killed; neither of them really remember him. He wasn’t around much when he was alive anyway. They do vividly remember two days later when the goons showed up and took everything out of our house to repay my father’s debt, though.