Page 1 of Malachi (Outsiders MC #1)

Malachi

My feet slam against the cracked sidewalk, each step a warning shot rattling through my bones.

The air reeks with blood, sweat, and stale smoke that curls thick into my lungs.

My breath tears through my throat, jagged and raw, as the house comes into view.

The front door hangs open just a crack, a gaping mouth poised to swallow me whole.

No . My pulse stutters. That sliver of black is enough to spike cold dread in my gut. I stop short of the porch, chest heaving, ears straining, the world narrowing to the muffled static of being underwater.

“You fucking bitch!”

The words explode from inside, a gunshot tearing through the silence.

My father’s voice is ragged with fury. I’m moving before I can think.

My hands hit the door, but something’s wedged behind it—heavy, unmoving.

I throw my shoulder into it once, twice as the wood creaks and groans, then finally, it gives way.

What’s on the other side nearly drops me to my knees.

Matt, my older brother, is sprawled across the entryway floor, limbs tangled in the shape of a broken marionette, a crimson pool oozing beneath his skull. Blood inches outward in slow, horrifying strokes, each one telling the story of what happened here.

My knees buckle. My stomach twists into a knot so tight I can’t breathe. The room swims, making the walls tilt and the edges blur while my hearing tunnels into a distant roar.

But my father’s voice cuts through again, a vicious snarl deeper in the house, and it jolts me back into motion.

I shouldn’t have left. Not today. Not with the way Dad was acting this morning.

I scan the living room with frantic, jerking movements.

Relief crashes into me when I find them.

Jared is crouched behind the couch, arms banded tightly around Amelia.

She’s pressed into his chest, her tiny body shaking, her face hidden in the safety of her brother’s shirt.

Jared’s hands tremble where they cling to her, as if he’s holding on to life itself.

His eyes meet mine. So wide. So full of terror, they’ve lost all trace of a child’s innocence. I raise a finger to my lips, mouthing one word— quiet.

Jared nods, barely, his mouth a tight, pale line. He tightens his arms around Amelia as her small fingers fist his shirt. She’s silent, but the tremble in her shoulders screams loud enough for both of them.

Stay hidden. Stay small. Stay alive.

I don’t give myself time to cry. Time to break down. I move, rounding the corner into the kitchen, then everything inside me shatters.

He’s on top of her. My father. His knees straddling Mom’s hips, a predator pinning its prey, his fist crashing into her face over and over with sick, wet thuds.

And the sound will never leave me. The crack of bone.

The slap of flesh. It’s carved into my brain, leaving a scar etched deep beneath the surface.

My feet feel rooted, but my hands? They’re already moving. One reaches behind me, sliding across the counter until my fingers find cold steel. The knife feels heavy in my grip, too real, too final.

I come in from the side, and the knife sinks into his neck. At first, he doesn’t react. Doesn’t even flinch. He’s so high, so strung out, that reality hasn’t caught up to him. But the second the blood starts, something inside me fractures wide open.

I rip the blade free. Blood splashes across my face—hot, metallic, blinding. My hands go numb, the knife slippery, the world slipping sideways. I stab again. Blurred shapes. Muffled screaming. The pounding of my own heartbeat drowning everything else out.

Again.

And again.

Until he slumps forward. Dead weight. I shove at him with my foot, rolling his body off my mother. His eyes are open, glassy, and void. For the first time in my life, there’s no threat behind them. Just... nothing. He’s gone. I made sure of it.

There’s no room for softness. Not for me. Not ever again.

I drop the knife with a clatter and fall to my knees beside Mom. My hands shake as I press them to her chest, her neck, her face, anywhere I can reach, desperate to feel breath, warmth, something.

Nothing.

I choke on a sob, pressing my forehead to hers. She’s still warm, but not for long. My brain screams at me to do something, but I never learned CPR. I skipped school and never listened. I thought there would always be time to learn, to fix things.

If I had stayed home, maybe Matt would be alive. Maybe she would be too.

I drag myself across the blood-slick floor toward Matt. His body is twisted, one arm flung wide, palm open, reaching for help that never came. I don’t have to touch him to know—he’s gone too. His blood has already gone cold.

He tried to fight. Tried to hold the door. But my father was a monster, and monsters don’t stop until they’re dead.

My stomach knots viciously. Bitter bile scorches my throat. I brace my hands on the floor, forcing it back down, forcing myself not to break. Not yet. Not until I know Jared and Amelia are safe.

I crawl back to them.

Jared hasn’t moved. He’s still curled around Amelia, a human shield, his eyes red and rimmed with tears. The moment our eyes meet, a sob escapes his throat.

“Is he gone?” he whispers with a voice so small I barely hear it.

“He is,” I say, voice low, even. Flat. Lifeless. You have to be the strong one now . I reach for him.

He latches onto my hand as if it’s a lifeline, dragging himself into my arms. Amelia comes with him, clinging to both of us. Wrapping them up, I press their shaking bodies to mine. I don’t care about the blood soaking my shirt. I don’t care about the knife on the floor or the corpses in the room.

Right now, all that matters is this—keeping them safe. Keeping them together.

“Mama,” Amelia whimpers, voice barely more than a breath.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t say it. Not here. Not now. I can’t tell her.

A voice cuts through the silence, low and commanding. “You three need to come with me.”

I look up fast, adrenaline flaring again. But it’s not danger this time. It’s salvation.

Cornelius. President of The Outsiders. My father’s opposite in every way.

He’s standing in the doorway, black boots planted wide, leather cut stretched across his broad shoulders, his face grim but calm.

The faint, clean scent of leather and oil clings to him.

It’s a sharp contrast to the blood and rot around me.

“What?” I rasp, barely able to speak.

Jared clutches me tighter. I shift, lifting both him and Amelia against me, just as I’ve done a hundred times before. Only this time, it feels as if I’m carrying the whole damn world.

“The sheriff will be here soon. We don’t have time.” Cornelius’ voice is steel wrapped in gravel.

I nod, automatic. I don’t ask how he knew to come. Maybe someone called him. Maybe he just knew. Cornelius always did. I don’t care. He’s the only adult I trust. The only man I don’t flinch from.

“What’s going to happen to us?” My voice cracks. I’m almost eighteen, but Jared’s twelve. Amelia just turned eight. I can’t let them be torn away from me. Can’t let the system chew them up and spit them out.

“You’ll live with me,” Cornelius says, stepping closer. His hand lands firm and steady on my shoulder. “I promised you when you were fifteen. I meant it.”

Gratitude wells so fast it chokes me. I can’t speak. I just nod.

I glance one last time toward the living room at the blood, the bodies, the silence so loud it screams. And I know I can’t take another second in this house.

Cornelius reads it in my face. “It’ll be taken care of,” he murmurs.

Maybe Matt got a call out. Maybe someone heard the screams. It doesn’t matter now. I don’t ask how. Don’t want to know. Just let someone else handle it. Just let us leave.

I tuck Amelia’s face into my shoulder. “Close your eyes, baby. Don’t look.” She obeys without a sound, her arms tightening around my neck.

I follow Cornelius out into the night. The air feels heavier now, burdened with the weight of something the earth itself seems to mourn. A breath caught in its throat.

Jared slides into the backseat beside me. I climb in with Amelia still in my arms, refusing to let go.

“Kai,” she whispers.

“I’m here, Amelia,” I say, brushing her hair back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And I won’t. No matter what it costs. No matter who I have to become. Family isn’t something you’re born into. It’s something you bleed for.

The car ride is silent, except for the soft hiccups of Amelia’s crying. Jared leans into my side, clutching a wad of my shirt, as though releasing it would make him vanish too. The streetlights flash past, flickering against the window, ghosts of everything we just left behind.

Cornelius doesn’t say a word as he drives.

But he doesn’t have to. He’s always known when to talk and when to stay quiet.

When to wait for the storm inside me to calm before asking me to steer it.

He’s the only adult I’ve ever met who never tried to fix me.

Just stood still long enough for me to steady myself.

We pull off the main road, winding through back streets I know by heart. Not because I grew up here, but because I escaped here. Every time my father broke something in the house, or in me, this was where I came. To the club. To Cornelius.

When the car finally stops, it’s in front of the back entrance to the clubhouse. Not the main gate. Not where outsiders come and go. This is the family door.

Cornelius kills the engine and turns in his seat. His gaze sweeps over me, then the kids, then back again. There’s no softness in his face, but there’s something stronger. Steady. Unshakable.

“You three don’t ever go back there,” he says quietly. “Understand?”

I nod. My throat feels like sandpaper.

“What about—” I glance toward the road, not able to finish the sentence. The house. The bodies. The mess.

Cornelius holds my gaze. “It’s being taken care of.”

I know what that means. Not in the way most people might. But in the way someone who’s grown up too close to the MC world does. There’ll be no police reports, no drawn-out trials. No headlines. Just silence.

Maybe that’s wrong. Maybe some part of me should care about justice. About rules. About doing things “the right way”, but right now, all I care about is that Amelia’s safe. That Jared isn’t alone. That we’re together. And Cornelius made that happen.

“You remember what I told you when you were fifteen?” he asks, his voice low, rough with grit.

I nod again. “You said I wasn’t him.”

He leans closer, resting his arm on the back of the seat. “That’s right. You have his blood, but you’re not his shadow. And don’t you ever forget that.”

Something tight and aching blooms in my chest. My father raised me with fists. Cornelius raised me with words. Not often. Not soft. But real.

“I should’ve been there,” I whisper. “I could’ve—”

“No,” he cuts in, firm. “This isn’t your fault, Malachi. None of this is.”

His hand lands on my shoulder again, anchoring something in me I didn’t realize was drifting. His grip is strong. Unshakeable. The kind that could hold the world together if it ever split in two.

“You’ve done more to protect those kids than most grown men could. You understand what that means?”

I swallow hard. “It means I don’t get to fall apart.”

“No, son,” he says, gentler now. “It means you already proved you won’t.”

I look down at Jared, asleep now against my side. At Amelia’s small hand wrapped around my thumb. I don’t feel strong. I feel broken. But maybe, just maybe, that’s what makes me dangerous to anyone who tries to hurt them again.

Cornelius opens the door. “Come on. Let’s get them inside.”

I shift the weight of Amelia in my arms, feeling Jared stir as I nudge him. We step into the night air together. Not just as a group of survivors, but something closer to a family.

It’s not the one we were born with. But it’s the one we’ve got now. And I’ll burn the whole damn world down before I let anyone take it from me.