The Biker’s Mafia Princess (Angel and Savage) novel Chapter 173

Sophie POV.

No matter how far away I run, they always manage to find me. I could fly to the moon and they would find me. I never understood why I was hated so much. Well, that’s a lie. They blame me for what happened. I am the reason she died.

Our family was always so loving, so warm. Until that warmth and love died in a car accident. My father and brother blamed me. Hell, I even blamed myself. No matter what I did to make it right, it wouldn’t bring her back.

I was five when it happened. Mom was driving us back from one of my dance competitions out of state. It was raining, and the road was slick. Mom lost control of the car and smashed into the central barricade. She died on impact. I didn’t.

I wished every day that it was me who died, then maybe my father and brother would feel something other than hate towards me. My father and brother changed when they learnt mom died.

At first my father was grieving, and he still loved me, then as time went on, he started drinking to numb the pain. Then came the blame, the beatings, the punishments for being alive. Not just from him, but from Jared, my older brother.

They were always careful not to beat me where you could see the damage. When I was seven, Jared threw me down the stairs. I broke my left leg and right arm. I was taken to the hospital. The police and social services became involved, but I knew better than to tell the truth. So I lied, telling them all that I tripped.

They believed it. I thought that if I showed my loyalty to my father and brother that they would stop. It only made things worse. They knew no matter what they did to me, I would lie to protect them.

My father and Jared both drank and did drugs. They have lost themselves. One night when I was sixteen. My father’s friends were at the house and my father offered me up to them. Telling them they could do whatever they wanted to me because I always kept my mouth shut. That was when I had enough.

Broken bones healed, bruised and cuts faded. But pimping your daughter out to greasy dirty men, no. I escaped. Not after I stabbed one of them for touching me.

I ran away. Leaving my father and brother behind, or so I thought. I was eighteen when they found me again. I got the beating of my life and that time I fought back. I was no longer that scared little girl who just wanted to feel safe with her daddy. No, I learnt a long time ago just how much of a monster my father truly is.

For most kids, the monster is either under their bed or in their closet, not mine. Mine was sleeping in the next room, fucking the latest flavour of the month. Whilst the other one was passed out in his own vomit in the living room.

I evaded them again, and I kept moving around, changed my hair and eye colour, covered myself in tattoos and piercings to look anything like the little red-haired little girl I once was.

Now I have long black hair with neon blue and purple streaks. My nose, my tongue, and navel are all pierced. I have intricate tattoos all over my body. Some people say their scars make them stronger. Well, my tattoos make me.

I have been running now for seven long years. I am twenty three-years-old. Moving regularly from town to town, like a drifter. But there is something about this place that calls to my soul.

I came here just over a month ago and I felt safe. I needed a job and applied for the newest bar that had opened up. I was interviewed by the owner, Harmony. She hired me then and there. Then I met her brother. The future president of the Princes Of Darkness MC, Wild Child. He said I could call him by his legal name, which is Harry Fanucci-Steele.

He is gorgeous. All tall, muscular, with long blonde hair and the same coloured eyes as his sister. A warm golden honey colour. He too is covered in ink, but it’s his smile. Those damn dimples make my ovaries play jump rope with my fallopian tubes. He is drop dead gorgeous.

Then today was my day off. I was supposed to go to Harmony and Outlaws wedding and I was on my way when instead of making it to my car. I was met with a fist as I was leaving my apartment building.