One Hundred & Thirty-Six Scars (The Devil's Own #1)

by Amo Jones

  The rough sound of a blade being pulled out of a metal socket rang through my ears, bringing my consciousness back into the now. I squeezed my eyes shut at the knowledge of what was about to come.

  “Would you look at that…” Brian laughed from behind me, “…your back is almost covered. Where will we start once I have no space left on your back?” He laughed again. “You know, for a fourteen-year-old boy, you sure like to cause a lot of trouble, Beast,” he sneered.

  I picked my head up, wrapping my hands around the chains from which I was hanging. “What can I say…” a smirk appearing around my blood ridden teeth, “…I’m a glutton for punishment.” I liked to break the rules because I hated authority. The life I’d lived confined in this community had been hell, yes. But because I was raised in it, and not recruited, so hell is the only place I’ve known. My eyes shut as thoughts of who my mom may have been came flooding through my brain like a rush of false flashbacks, whizzing past my very eyes at one hundred miles per hour.

  I never did know what it was that they pumped us with through the silver needles I’d become so accustomed to. The bright green liquid that glowed from the cannula was usually one of the last things you’d see. But whatever they had done, I never remembered much of what happened from before the needle. They would wipe away any of our short term memories, in large chunks. I may have only be fourteen and I may already be severely broken, but deep inside me, there was a little boy who wished he could have known who his mom was. Did she know that she was dropping me off to a government organization that referred to themselves as The Army? I’d like to think not, but the truth is, I just didn’t know. No-one knew about this organization simply because it didn’t exist. We were off the radar living in our own community in God knows where. I have been here since I was a baby, training since I could walk, and having serum pumped through me as they attempted new ways that they could genetically engineer the human race. I don’t know much else of what goes on, because after we carried out a mission, we are all required in the dungeon where they put us under until we come back out. We never remember what had happened before a line-up, just leaving the base to do a mission, before everything chops out in smudged oiled blurs. My life runs off black holes, I don’t even know if I existed during that time. The new recruits that come in, they break them and then remake them as their own. Not me though, I was born broken, all they had to do was train me.

  Flashback – Beast’s Mom

  I pulled down the ceramic toilet cover after doing my business and took a seat. I scanned around the room, hoping that if I looked anywhere but at that little white stick, it would change. With my palms sweaty and my heart rate in overdrive, I squeezed onto the white stick and began weighing up my options. There was no way I could keep this baby if I were pregnant, and there was no way I could go to Luce about it either. That would bring too much shame to my family. My dad is the pastor of our community church and my mom stands beside him like a good strong woman. Being raised in Las Vegas, there had always been temptation. But I was a good girl, I’d never done wrong—until I meet Luce. How could I have been so stupid? I was disappointed in myself. Just like Eve, I ate the damn apple and now I’m about to be punished. If my parents ever found out that not only was I pregnant, but the father of said child was the President of The Devil’s Own Motorcycle Club, the Devil is not who I’d need to be afraid of. However, there was the possibility that this could all be for nothing. I could be panicking for nothing. Breathing in deeply, I stood from my spot and walked in front of the large glass mirror. After many deep breaths, my eyes drifted down to the white stick. And there, in that little window, showed just how over my life really was.

  Nine Months Later

  “Ma’am? Ma’am, you need to leave unless you want to pay for another room,” the motel owner said, knocking from the other side of the wooden door. I looked to the little alarm clock which sat on the cane bedside table and sighed. Could he not have waited until at least late morning to kick me out?

  I swung my legs over the bed and waddled my way to the wooden door, grasping the metal knob and pulling it open. “I will be gone this morning,” I said to him.

  “All right, good,” he answered rudely. I slammed the door in his face, rubbing my very large belly.

  “It’s okay, big boy, Mama has found you a really nice home,” I spoke directly to him. I do it anytime I can. I read somewhere that while you’re pregnant, the baby knows his mom’s voice. After finding out that I was pregnant, I packed up all my belongings and told my parents I was going to spend ten months on a Bible tour around the US, and they bought it. They had no reason not to. I’d never done anything to betray their trust before. Not like other seventeen-year-old girls my age.

  So after I packed up my belongings, I got in contact with Bethy. Bethy and I formed a close friendship over the time I spent with Luce. She was one of their club escorts. They called them another name, but Bethy wasn’t like that. Once I let her know what was happening, she slapped me for getting pregnant and then gave me a number to call. She said they’re a good Catholic adoption center who specialized in moms who wanted to stay off the books. They had an enormous list of loving families that don’t want to wait on a waiting list to have their dream come true. I took the number and after a long talk with Nun Nancy, I was good to go. All I had to do, was hide away for nine months.

  When I went into labor, it was planned that I would go to their clinic to have the baby and they would take over from there. It was a huge relief to know that my baby would be going to a good home, a home that would never outcast him for his own personal beliefs. I would like to say that maybe one day I hoped to meet him, but I don’t. I don’t deserve to know this little joy I have growing inside of me. I have failed as a mother and as a woman—that was how I felt anyway.

  I zipped up my little brown suitcase which has held up for nine months and began walking toward the door. I took hold of the handle at the exact time a gush of slippery wet goo covered my legs, dripping down to my ankles.

  “Oh dear Lord,” I whispered in horror.

  Quickly closing the door behind myself, I hurried to the steep stairs and began making my way down to the parking lot where my car was parked while being careful not to fall through the cracked, worn stairs that were in desperate need of repair.

  Once I was safely in my car, I fished out the address out of my handbag. Glancing down at the blue pen scribble on a now worn piece of paper, I recognized the address as one of the hidden industrial areas off Highway 61.

  I pulled out into the quiet street, looking back down to my paper again before looking back up. The street was empty with nothing but industrial buildings which once occupied employment. I carried on down the road, counting the worn numbers which were sketched on the front of the buildings. Once I rounded the corner and saw a huge pristine white hospital-like building, I knew I was here. It was interesting that this immaculate and new building stood in the middle of such a rundown area. I pulled into the high wired gates when a man wearing a black suit and black glasses strolled out. He had a stern face, giving away how serious he took his job.

  I wound down my window and stuck my head out. “I’m… I’m in labor and I was told by Nun Nancy to come here,” I said nervously.

  “Give me the paper she wrote,” he answered authoritatively.

  I swallowed down my nerves, scattering my fingers through all my belongings in my handbag before grasping it and giving him the little note out of my window. He snatched it out of my hands, looked at it for an inexcusable amount of time before handing it back to me. Twirling his fingers in the air, the high barbed gates squeaked open.

  “I guess I passed,” I mumbled to myself, putting my car in first gear and driving through. The air smelled of disinfectant and cleanliness. I slammed my car door closed just as another labor pain shot through me, stabbing me directly in my—everywhere. By Lord this is the worst pain I’ve ever felt, it’s crippling. I had no time to examine my surroundings or
get a feel for how I felt about this place because this baby was coming and he was coming now. Clutching my hand around the tight bump in front of me, and after the last contraction had disappeared, I continued my now quick walk to the large wooden doors. Pushing them open, I hurried to the front desk where a middle-aged woman sat with bright pink lipstick, her hair in a tight bun sitting on the top of her head and her nurses dress tight.

  “Hi, Nun Nancy sent me,” I said, scanning her perfectly put face. She kept the same smile on her face, not saying a word to the point where I thought maybe she was a doll, not a real person. Another contraction shot into me, causing me to bend over in pain.

  “Please, they’re only a few minutes apart,” I say to her, taking hold of the reception desk.

  “I’ll take you to your room. Nun Nancy will be there in just a few minutes,” the woman replied casually, rounding the desk and placing my arm around her neck, proceeding to help me to my room. We passed many rooms on our way down the dark, gloomy hallway, and once she reached a door, she stopped and pushed it open with her free hand, guiding me in and placing me down onto the stiff, small bed. The room was dark, the walls a washed brown color with nothing in the room but the bed I was currently lying on. There were stirrups attached to the bed and a light hanging from the roof, casting shadows against the walls. I was rubbing my stomach and attempting to get myself comfortable when the reception woman began to head toward the door.

  “Wait!” I said to her, propping myself up on my elbows. “Where’s Nun Nancy?”

  The woman, keeping her back turned to me, cocked her head to the side, looking over her shoulder. She smirked. “Oh, Nun Nancy is not available.” Before walking out of the cold metal doors, leaving me in the darkness just as another contraction hit me.

  “Oh no,” I begin chanting. “Oh no, oh no, oh no. My baby, my baby, I can’t have him in here,” I screamed as another contraction came crashing into me. Beads of sweat begun dripping from my forehead while my body convulsed and my stomach tightened before my body began contracting again. My breathing started to heave in deep, shallow breaths as my body started to push involuntarily all on its own. I screamed an all mighty scream while ripping my pants off and sitting up on the bed on my knees with my legs open. Propping myself up on my elbows against the headboard, I waited for the next contraction to come, knowing that this time, I would be pushing with it. I don’t know many things about childbirth, but the one thing I do know is that the body usually does it for you.

  I began my prayer. “Father, pour your holy spirit over me and my little boy, ma—”

  The next contraction came in tenfold and I screamed bloody murder. My toes curled as I took a deep breath and began pushing. Three pushes later and I was holding my little boy. Except he wasn’t little, he was huge. My heart ached as tears begun streaming down my face. I knew that I need something done down there, I hadn’t stopped bleeding since I gave birth to my placenta.

  “Hello, little boy. Well… you’re not so little are you?” I kissed his head that had a full head of dark hair—just like Luce. God, he looked like Luce. My eyes began shutting out, and I struggled and fought to keep them awake. Curling to my side, I tucked Luce Jnr into my arms, so if I fell asleep, or worse, he wouldn’t fall off the bed.

  I cried for the baby I wish I could know. I cried for the wrong decision in trusting Nun Nancy and lastly, I cried for the loss of losing my baby, my precious boy. Darkness began to shade my vision as I attempted to kiss Luce Jnr on the head, only my body was heavy and deep down I knew it was shutting down.

  “I love you,” I whispered before the darkness of the unknown sucked me in.

  Fourteen-Years-Old

  I was four when my father started his assaults on me. Four. My mother left when I was a baby and I’ve not known her since. My father—Donald—was my very own devil, and the apartment we lived in was my very own hell. As I got older, the assaults became more forceful, more violent. The day he took my virginity was the day he began a new game that he liked to play. I thought of killing him in his sleep more times than I could count, but that wasn’t who I wanted to be.

  “Meadow!” Donald yelled from down our tiny hallway in our run-down apartment. The walls were peeling from age and the early morning train that would zoom past my bedroom window every hour. Hot water was a luxury that we could not afford, and our power would run out at least twice a month. He never paid for it unless he really needed it.

  “Meadow, get the fuck in here!” he repeated from the living room, his voice blaring through my walls, sending shivers down my spine. I gulped, clutching the 9 mm Glock in my hand with a single tear rolling down my cheek. The heavy footsteps rattled the thin walls, and I quickly pushed the gun under my mattress. Rubbing my tears away, I stood from my bed and straightened my attire.

  “Sorry, I fell asleep,” I said to him as he swung my door open, smashing the back of it against the wall. I flinched at the sudden crack from the door knob splitting the wall open.

  “You fell asleep?” he questioned with a laugh. His gray hair was short and his skinny frame still the same. He was frail, his skin scaling in flakes with stains of yellow seeping into it. I bet if I wanted to, I could kick his ass. But deep down, I was a slave to my abuser. I was terrified of him. School was my only out, but even there I’d get picked on. Friends were out of the question for me and my raggy clothes which only made people repel away from me. The girls would laugh at me and the boys would gag at my mere existence. I didn’t mind, I would live through their snide remarks for the rest of my life if it meant I never had to see Donald, even if it was only seven hours a day.

  He walked up to me, a loud slap sounding around the room at the same time my cheek stung from the impact. My malnourished body hit the spring mattress in my room and I clutched my cheek with my hand.

  “Get up you little bitch, we need to go to the store! You’re not leaving my sight.” He gripped onto my long unkempt hair, yanking the oily mess so roughly, the sting of my hair being pulled out sounded around my scalp. I kept quiet and never spoke. I did what I did every time something like this happened—I went to my happy place. That place is filled with red roses and the ocean, where I have a shack on the beach that I could go to sleep every night with the sound of waves crashing against the sand and the air so thick with salt it would make my eyes sting. The grip around my neck snapped me back to reality. He picked me up off the bed by my neck and laughed, throwing me back down to the ground.

  Beginning to walk out, he turned toward me. “Get up little bitch, we are going out.”

  After doing some grocery shopping, which consisted of baked beans and bread, we walked up the stairs to our room. The apartment complex we lived in was one big half-way house for the homeless. The outside walls are so badly damaged that the plumbing tubes were falling out of them. Betsy, the landlady, was one scary woman who you do not want chasing you down for rent. You heard gunshots throughout the night, screaming babies and arguing, but this was all I’d ever known because we’d lived there all my life.

  Following closely behind Donald, I was clutching the plastic bags in my hand as we walked up the concrete stairs to our apartment. There were four other rooms on our level and there was only one other woman who lived next door, but someone moved into the room next to us a few weeks ago. I’d never seen him, though. I only knew that he lived there because I saw a bag sitting outside his door with his clothes in it.

  Donald pushed open the door and I followed in behind him. Closing the door with my feet, I placed the plastic bags on the mustard colored yellow kitchen table.

  “Meadow,” his voice slid through my ears like a string of dirty slime. Shivers broke out over my skin, slipping down my spine.

  “Yes?” I answered, letting the soft plastic bag slide off my fingers.

  “Come here, little bitch. Come fix Daddy up.” The bile rose up my throat, clogging my breathing pipe, causing all vocal cords to snap closed.

  “Meadow!” he screamed. “I’m
not going to tell you again!” My heart dropped as a sob slid out of my lips.

  One more time.

  One more time.

  I chanted as my heavy feet slid across the wooden floor of our apartment, taking me to my worst nightmare.

  This was it. After he finished this time, I was going to blow my brains all over his bedroom walls—I was done. The best I could do for now, was rest in that fact.

  Reaching the living room, his rough chuckles sounded from the worn brown sofa, its actual color not brown. It once was white, but all the dirt and vile things that have happened on there has obviously taken its toll. Swallowing down the vomit that was about to surface in my mouth, leaving a sting of nasty tasting syrup on my tonsils, I carried on.

  He took hold of my wrist as I entered the living room, wrapping his hand around it like an animal trapping, and tugging me down onto the sofa. I gave up pleading him to stop a long time ago, I learned over time that he relished in my begging. It only intensified the assault. It was best for me to go to my happy place and now rest in the fact that this was the last time. His dirt stained hands and fingernails slid down my front, gripping roughly onto my bra and tearing it off in one quick movement. I closed my eyes as a single tear trickled down my cheek. He moved his hands down to my front, unbuttoning my loose jeans and pulling them down roughly, yanking my legs in the process. I learned at a young age to never wear a dress. I’ve always lived in jeans and T-shirts. There was no way I was giving him anything to look at. My body convulsed in anger and hurt but most of all, I shielded myself with the numbness you obtain only by being put through the same ordeal numerous times. I’d never been with another man, nor was I ever interested. I can’t imagine the day where I would class sex as a pleasurable act.