Preacher, p.1
Preacher, page 1
PREACHER
FURY VIPERS MC: DUBLIN
BOOK 1
BROOKE SUMMERS
CONTENTS
Content
Prologue
1. Preacher
2. Preacher
3. Ailbhe
4. Ailbhe
5. Preacher
6. Ailbhe
7. Preacher
8. Preacher
9. Ailbhe
10. Ailbhe
11. Preacher
12. Ailbhe
13. Ailbhe
14. Preacher
15. Ailbhe
16. Preacher
17. Ailbhe
18. Preacher
19. Ailbhe
20. Preacher
21. Preacher
22. Ailbhe
23. Preacher
24. Ailbhe
25. Preacher
26. Ailbhe
27. Preacher
Glossary
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First Edition published in 2024
Text Copyright © Brooke Summers
Edits by Farrant Editing
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All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
CONTENT
PLEASE READ CAREFULLY.
There are elements and themes within this book that some readers might find extremely upsetting.
Please click here (https://brookesummersbooks.com/contentwarnings/) for that list of potentially harmful topics. Please heed these as this book contains some heavy topics that some readers could find damaging.
PROLOGUE
PREACHER
"Bro, are you sure you're going to be okay?" Garret asks as we walk quickly toward the house.
I grit my teeth and nod. There’s no way I’d say otherwise. "Yeah, I'll be fine," I lie.
He gives me a look that tells me he doesn't believe me. Garret has been my best friend since we were seven. He knows how fucked up my family is. He knows that when I go home tonight, it's not going to be pretty. In fact, I have no doubt that tonight is going to be one of the worst nights of my life.
Lately, my father has been getting worse. He hates when anyone talks back to him and he despises it when I'm late. Which I am. I'm seventeen minutes late at the moment and we're almost home. I couldn't help it. My truck's battery died about two miles away from home, and I knew if I didn't leave it where it was, I'd be even later than I am now.
"I'll have Dad tow your truck once I'm home," Garret says as he runs a hand through his shaggy hair. "Kane, your father's going to hit the roof. We both know what he's like when you miss your curfew."
Oh boy, do we both know what he gets like. Broken bones, busted lips, and bloody noses are among his favorite injuries to cause when he really gets going.
"I'll be fine. I appreciate your father getting my truck, man. Tell him I'll pay him whatever it is I owe when I'm ungrounded." I sigh.
"Two weeks, bro. You've got two weeks and then we can get the hell out of this fucked up town."
I nod. I'm counting down the days. I can't fucking wait. It's been a long time coming. The sooner I get out of this hick of a fucked up town, the better. "Do your parents know that we're going?"
Garret grins. "Yep. They're coming with us," he says. "They've wanted to be gone for years, but they've been waiting until we hit eighteen. You know that everyone in town knows what goes on in your house, right?"
"Yeah," I say, slightly defeated. It's fucked up that every grown-ass adult knows that the pastor beats the fuck out of his kids and not one of them do anything to stop him.
We reach my house, and the porch light is on. I take a steadying breath and turn to Garret.
"See you in two weeks," I tell him with a slight chuckle. I'm going to be grounded for the rest of the summer, but the moment I turn eighteen, I'm gone, and there's no stopping me. Not anymore.
He gives me a grin. "See you in two weeks, Kane."
I shove my hands into my pockets and move toward the steps. Before I reach the top step, the front door opens, revealing my father standing in the doorway. His green eyes are dark and filled with anger, his lips twisted, and his weathered face contorted with so much rage, I know the beating I'm about to get is going to be one of the worst I've ever had.
He reaches for me, his thick fingers curling around my shoulder, and drags me toward him.
"The fuck are you playing at?" he spits as he pushes me into the house, slamming the front door closed behind us. "You just have to push your luck all the damn time, don't you? Hmm? I told you your curfew was six-thirty, and what time is it now? Almost seven." He pulls his arm back and brings it forward, snapping his meaty fist into my face. "You are such a disappointment," he shouts.
He lands blow after blow to my face and abdomen. He's a heavy man. He's not lean or overly muscular, but he's got a lot of weight behind his punches. Over the past two years, I've bulked up a lot. I've gained fifty pounds of muscle, so I'm able to cope with his blows a lot more. But sometimes he manages to land a hit that drops me to my knees. He's a tall fucker who loves to bully people he deems to be beneath him.
"Where were you?" Mom asks, her eyes wide as she watches her fucked up husband beat me. Yet again.
"My truck broke down. I had to walk two miles," I say, coughing through the pain. "Garret was with me. He's going to get his dad to tow my truck for me."
Mom's expression shifts from wide-eyed and sad, to angry, her eyes narrowing.
"Seriously?" she says with a shake of her head. "Why do you always lie, Kane? Why can't you just tell the truth for once in your life?"
She's just as bad as Dad. She always eggs him on, making stupid comments to get me into trouble. She's the perfect pastor's wife, all about faith and appearances. Yet everyone knows how fucked up both of them are.
"You know what the Lord said about lying, son," Dad says thickly, his voice filled with rage. "The LORD detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy," he snarls. "Proverbs chapter twelve: verse twenty-two."
He throws yet another punch, and I'm unable to block it or dodge it. This one connects with my nose, which cracks beneath the force. The impact reverberates around my skull, creating a hideous sound.
Blood spurts from my nose and fills my mouth, the metallic taste has always been something that I hate. I spit the blood from my lips and glare at my father. I hate this man.
"Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord," I say in return. "Ephesians chapter six verse four."
"Are you talking back to me?" he snarls. "You dare to challenge my words?"
I stare at him, every ounce of hate that I have for him pours out of me like an open wound. There’s no one I hate more than the man that raised me. "I'm not challenging your words. I'm merely conveying what the Lord has said," I say, knowing that it's going to rile him up even more. "You're all about serving the Lord, our Savior, but you do not do as he says. Instead, you abuse your children, and have your wife follow by example. There will be no Heaven for you, Father, only Hell, and I pray to God that you burn when you get there."
I knew it was coming, but bracing wasn't enough to prepare me for the onslaught that ensues. Punch after punch after punch, he doesn't stop. The hits are hard and punishing. It doesn't take me long to realize that it's not just my father who’s attacking me, but my mother also.
"You need to repent," my father spits. "Repent for your sins, give your life to the Lord and he shall repay you. Go against the Lord and you shall suffer the consequences."
"You need to learn, Kane. Seek solace in the Lord and let him guide you. Let him show you the path to forgiveness and righteousness. If you don't, you'll end up in Hell," Mom says harshly.
"Fuck you," I hiss, blood pooling in my mouth. "If Heaven has you two in it, I'd rather go to Hell. Then again, do you honestly believe that either of you are going to fucking Heaven?" I chuckle. "No, you two are going to the depths of Hell, right next to child predators and murderers."
"You liar," Mom screams. "You dirty rotten liar."
I hear the sound of my father's belt buckle, and I know the beatings are about to get a whole lot worse. Fuck these bastards and their bullshit. Two more weeks and then I'm out of here, and I’ll never have to see either of these fuckers again.
"You need to wash your mouth out, son," my father snaps as he whips the belt across my back.
I learned a long time ago not to cry out in pain. That only fuels the fire within my parents and makes them extend the beating. Instead, I bow my head and take the pain, twisting it to rage. I know that one day, I'll lose control of the rage bottled up inside of me, and I'll end up hurting someone. I pray that someone is my father.
Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention, and
"Stop it!" Abel screams at them. "Stop hurting him. He's right, you're evil. You're both pure evil. Our Lord wouldn't want you at his side in Heaven. He'd look down on you in Hell with disgust."
"Boy," my father snarls. "Stay the fuck out of this. It's between your brother and us."
"No," Abel says. "It's not. You're the worst parents in the world and I hate you. Everyone in this town knows how fucked up you both are. Everyone hates you. But because you're the pastor, there's nothing they can do about it. You ever wonder why the conversations stop whenever you walk into a room?" he taunts them. "That's because you're the conversation. It's about you and how fucked up you are for hurting your boys. They all think you're hypocrites. Preaching about love and forgiveness but beating your boys until they can't move. You're the talk of the town."
"You dare," our mother screeches at him. "You dare lie."
I chuckle, unable to hold back. "He's not lying. Come on, Mother, you know he's not lying."
The belt hisses through the air as my father brings it down across my back. I bite back a pained groan. He's cut through the skin. I can feel the blood pooling in the wound. Fuck.
"Carry on, Abel, and your brother is going to feel a lot more pain," he goads.
Fuck, this is new. Usually, they'll beat one of us and move on to the next. It seems as though they've found a new way to torture us both. They know we don’t want the other hurting. Sick fucking bastards.
"Fine," Abel snaps. "Just so you know, my nightly prayers consist of me praying for your death. Every fucking night." He turns on his heel and moves to his room, slamming the door as he does. I smile when I hear the snick of his lock engaging.
"Get up," Father shouts. "Get the fuck up and get out of my sight. I'm not finished with you yet."
I roll my eyes. Of course he isn't.
“Don’t think this is the end. You carry on with that backtalk, boy, and that bike that’s in that garage will end up in a landfill,” Dad snarls.
Damn the asshole. He’s really starting to find new and creative ways to make both Abel and I compliant. I have a Harley Davision Cruiser. It's taken me two years to restore it to its former glory. She's one of the best bikes money can buy. I saved up to get it, both my parents hated it, but there was nothing they could do about it. I’m not allowed to ride until I’m eighteen, but it’s fully restored and waiting for me to come of age.
It takes me a lot longer than I would have hoped to get to my feet and move away from him, but I manage to make it to my room. The second my door is closed, I flip the lock. Our parents don't have keys to them. Oh, they'll be pissed that they can't come in, but it'll give both Abel and I time to heal from the beatings.
I collapse onto my bed and release a muffled groan into my pillow. Fuck. I'm in so much fucking pain. I won't be able to move again for a while.
It doesn't take long until I pass out from the pain.
CHAPTER 1
PREACHER
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
"The fuck?" I growl as I see some asshole looking at my bike.
The asshole in question raises his head and turns to me. He's got a fucking smirk on his face. "Didn't touch it, man. Just admirin' its beauty."
"Best keep it that way," I snap.
The asshole raises his hands as I step closer to him, I notice a scar on his eyebrow, one that reminds me of Abel and my heart clenches at the thought of my brother. Christ, it’s been eighteen months and my past is still raw. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about what happened to both Abel and I.
It's been eighteen months since I left that God forsaken house, and I haven't looked back. I'll die before I ever step foot back there again. Ain't no fucking way I'd ever willingly go back. My parents can rot for all I care.
Since I left, my life has gone to shit. I escaped with Garret and his parents. It was easy to do as we left during one of my father's services. What with the beatings that I took in the two weeks leading up to my birthday I wasn't allowed to be seen. My parents lost their ever-loving shit during that time period and didn't give a fuck about keeping up pretences any longer. They repeatedly whaled on me and beat me until I was unconscious. It was fucking brutal. When Garret and his parents arrived, I could barely hold myself up. Thankfully, they helped me into my truck and Garret drove it for me as we got the fuck out of town.
It was hard leaving that house. The morning of my departure, Abel committed suicide. He couldn’t stay in that house any longer. He took his life because he was stuck with our parents. He knew I was leaving because I told him. I wouldn't have left without warning him. But I was leaving him behind, even after he begged me to take him with me. The guilt from that decision has plagued me for the past eighteen months, and will continue to until the day I die.Had I not left, Abel would still be alive.
Our parents acted as though nothing had happened. They went about their day without a second thought. Bastards.
Garret and his family cared for me until I was able to stand on my own two feet. But with the pain I was feeling and the guilt that was burning inside of me, I couldn’t stay around them. I thanked them and left Boston. I owe them my life, but they’re a reminder of everything that’s happened. I moved to New York and haven’t spoken to them since.
Since then, I’ve lost my way somewhat. I don’t go to college, nor do I feel the need to. I don't have a purpose in life, and I'm struggling to find my feet. I've turned into an asshole and I can't help it. The anger I feel is something I can't get rid of. It's so deeply ingrained in me that it flows through me as easily as my blood does.
"Want to calm the fuck down, man? I was lookin'. I didn't touch. Damn... Who the fuck pissed in your Wheaties this mornin'?"
I glare at the bastard, but he's not fazed one bit. "Is there a reason you're annoying the ever-loving shit out of me?"
His grin widens. "Nope. It’s not my fault you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Besides, I was just admirin' your bike. That's all. You can do the same with mine if you'd like. She's a whole lot better than yours."
That's utter bullshit. No one has a better bike than mine. She's one of the best bikes money can buy. I worked every chance I had on it as I was growing up. I spare a glance at his and realize he's got the exact same fucking bike as me.
"Did you restore it?" I ask him, and he nods. "Cool. Same."
"You're not from around here, are you?" he asks. "Your accent is a huge giveaway. You're from the south, right?"
I nod. "Yep. You're not from here either. Where are you from?"
"Raleigh. My name's Todd."
"Kane," I reply, still skeptical about this guy.
"What brings you to New York?"
I lift my shoulders. "Needed a change. You?"
"Searchin' for somethin'. Don’t know what, but I'm hopin' I'll find it. You ever heard of the Vipers?"
I blink. "Vipers?"
"Brother," he says with a shake of his head. "You're in New York and you've never heard of the Fury Vipers MC?"
