Page 2 of Feeding Hope
I’d seen some of those rugby players, and they were ugly bastards! I was glad Aaron was protected because my brother was pretty. Jared and Christian walked in, discussing something, and stopped when they picked up on the tension.
“Jar-jar!” Peyton yelled and flung herself at him. Jared caught our eight-year-old sister and flung Peyton into the air before catching her. Peyton grinned and snuggled in. While Aaron was my favourite after Tony, Jared was Peyton’s.
“Hey, kid,” Jared said, another sibling with an English accent. Mama Phoe had five children born in England: our eldest brother, Micah, aka Fanatic; our oldest sister, Jodie; then Christian, Jared, and Aaron. Dante and Peyton were born in South Dakota, and the rest of us were adopted from various other states. We were a real mixed-up family.
“Is Cody home?” I asked, and Jared shook his head.
“Bro has a date,” he teased, and I glowered.
“Not with that silly bitch…”
“Eddie!” Dad rebuked as he entered. I perked up. Dad winked, and I wriggled happily. Dad was better. Much better. I didn’t understand everything that had happened, but Dad had been really ill. So sick that Mama Phoe had taken him somewhere for help. They came back with some women bikers, and they had caught my interest.
Nun, one of the sisters, had been pretty nice. She’d answered loads of my questions about the Royal Harlots and what it was like being in a female MC. Nun’s answers had given me ideas for the future. I certainly knew plenty of girls! That wasn’t today’s problem, though. First, I had to find a way to maim Dante so he couldn’t speak anymore.
“What are you plotting?” Dad asked, leaning down and whispering in my ear.
“How to maim Dante and escape jail time.”
Dad roared with laughter and kissed my cheek. I grinned. Dad understood I meant it, but also knew I wouldn’t go too far… supposedly. Dante was getting on my last nerve.
Dante and I were a clash of personalities and intellect – as in I had it and Dante didn’t!
“Mom will be down soon, she said to start,” Dad announced as he pulled a chair out. The younger children got up. It was the rule in our house: the youngest ate first, then in age order, until the adults, with Mama Phoe and Dad last. Mama Phoe had a horror of kids going hungry, and I’d heard the stories of the evil man she believed she’d been married to. Unlike most of my siblings, I also knew the asshole was dead, and Mama Phoe had killed him.
Mama Phoe and Dad had talked about him when I was younger. I’d shamelessly eavesdropped. I was the kid who had to know everything, and it bugged the hell out of me if I didn’t. Nobody understood how many secrets I held; they’d be shocked if they realised. But as Mama Phoe always said, with knowledge comes power. I’d never blackmail anyone with what I knew, but it gave me a boost if it ever came to a fight.
Something hit me on the cheek, and I whipped my head around. Had Dante thrown something?
“Dante!” Dad snapped out, and Dante grinned, totally unrepentant.
Glancing down, I spotted a piece of carrot. Tonight’s meal was pot roast.
“Do it again!” I snarled. Dad shot me a warning look, but hell no, I wasn’t backing down.
Jared reached out and smacked Dante on the back of his head. “Not tonight, shithead. I already told you, Mum isn’t feeling right.”
Dante screwed up his face. “Eddie deserves it.”
“No!” Jared snapped, and Dante glared. “I’m not Dad, and Iwillbeat your ass!”
Dante subsided, and we began eating. I’d just taken a bite of potato when something wet hit my cheek again. As I looked down, a piece of broccoli slid onto my lap. I didn’t hesitate and picked it up, dipping it in gravy before throwing it back at Dante.
“No!” Dante yelled, shoving his chair backwards and looking down at his tee. “This is my favourite! You’re such a bitch!”
“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” I retorted.
“Sit down, both of you!” Dad snapped, but Dante wasn’t listening, and I wasn’t taking his shit sitting down. Dante threw a handful of peas, and I retaliated. Before anyone could breathe, food was flying as Dante, and I erupted into full-out war. Our siblings ducked while the older ones tried to stop us. Dad bellowed, but Dante and I weren’t paying attention. We began dragging bowls and plates towards us and throwing the food inside.
Finally, I leapt onto the table, scrabbled across it, and grabbed Dante around the neck and shoved his face into his plate.
“God, I hate you!” I hissed.
Dante lashed out as Aaron seized me. “Christ almighty!”
“At least I wasn’t rejected and a pity story!” Dante spat.
Everyone froze. Dante’s words had been incredibly cruel. Several of our siblings gasped.
