Page 17 of Tinsel & Chrome

Ezekial

Trixie walks out to a noisy common room and leaves the door to my office open behind her.

Fuck, I’ll be happy when this holiday shit is over.

The tree they put up here in the clubhouse is over seven feet tall.

They decorated it with ornaments, twinkling lights, and strings of popcorn and cranberries.

There’s even a multitude of presents underneath.

I stand from my desk and get up to slam my door shut.

I was five years old when my father fell into a drunken stupor, grabbed me by the neck, and made me burn each one of the wrapped presents under the tree.

All of them, including my sister’s and mother’s.

He verbally abused me the entire time, then threw me to the floor once all the presents were in the fireplace.

My mother and sister were crying, throwing me dirty looks as my father painted the picture of me just wanting to burn the presents.

I never, after that day, was allowed to celebrate Christmas with them.

They would celebrate the holiday, and I would be locked in my room.

My father beat me to a bloody pulp each December 25th.

He said it was to make me remember what I did when I was five.

He seemed to forget that he was the catalyst for it.

I would lie in a heap on the floor for days.

That happened until I was sixteen.

That was the last time he put his hands on me.

I threw my first punch at him, breaking his nose. It was the greatest sound I’d ever heard. The blood flowed freely. Then I kicked him in the nuts, making him fall to the ground. His yowl of pain was a symphony to my ears. I kicked him in the stomach several times for good measure. I refused to stop until he started vomiting all over the floor.

That was the beginning of my new life.

I packed my clothes in a backpack and ran.

I didn’t take anything personal with me; after all, my family had failed me.

Why the fuck would I want to remember them?

My sister tried to contact me a few times over the last few years.

She wanted to tell me that our mother’s dying of cancer.

I told her it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.

My mother allowed my father to beat me.

Hell, she cheered him on.

She and my sister can go fuck themselves—I let her know that, too.

That was the last time she called.

I was five and excited about Santa.

I was excited about life—just like any other five year old.

My father killed that for me.

He killed my childhood.

It was brutal and a harsh way to try and survive.

The club saved my life.

When I left home at sixteen, I didn’t even know where I was going to go.

Fuck, I didn’t care.

I just wanted out of that hell house.

I was starving, so I stopped at a pub.

I saw the bikes all lined up outside, but didn’t think anything of it.

The emblem on their cuts said they were The Merciless Few.

I’d heard about them, but I’d never seen them before.

I took a small booth in the corner then pulled out my wallet, counting out the few bills I had. The waitress came over to take my order. She said, “What can I get you, hon?”

I showed her my bills, then asked, “What can I get for this?”

Before she could answer, a burly man with a cut on came over and said, “Give him a burger and fries with a soda, Sheila. I’ll pay for it.”

The waitress nodded at him and walked away.

The man sat down at the table and introduced himself.

“I’m Hammer. What’s your name, kid?”

“Ezekial. Thank you for the food.”

I looked at him warily.

“Are you waiting on your parents?”

Hammer asked.

“No. I’m alone.”

It hit me right at that moment that I truly was alone.

Hammer looked at the backpack I had, and took in my meager belongings.

“We’re looking for prospects for our club. You know how to ride a bike?”

I shook my head. I saw him examining the scars on my face.

“Your old man do that to you?”

I slowly nodded, embarrassed. Today, I finally stood up for myself.

My food finally came, and I devoured it. I was starving. He sat across from me, looking thoughtful. When I was finished, he sat there looking at me. I couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking.

“Do you want to learn to ride? I can teach you, and you’d be part of a family. A real family.”

What brought me to this pub, I wasn’t sure, but when I left, I had a new mission. For the first time, I had people who wanted me around.

I worked like hell to get where I am. I never would’ve guessed, back when I was a child, that I’d be president of an MC. But, then again, as a child, I assumed my father would kill me.