Born to Ride_A Clubhouse Collection

chapter 7 ~ Ryder

Max was crying, sobs wracking his little body when Tiny walked in on him and demanded he shut up. He taunted Max, telling him it was his fault that Marianne had left, which only made him cry harder. This just angered Tiny even more. He swore he would finally kill both boys to be rid of them. With his fist, he hit Max with such force that the little boy’s body flew across the room and lay there like a broken ragdoll. His head had crashed against the wall with a thud. Ryder shivered, his blood running cold.

Tiny turned to Ryder and growled, his eyes, feral with hatred, nearly popping out of his head. Fear gripped the boy and he froze. Was he next?

“Make him shut the f*ck up before I rip his f*cking head off.” Froth at the corners of his mouth turned Tiny into a raging monster.

Before Ryder could react, the giant of a man stormed down on the lifeless body of his brother. He would probably snap Max in half with his bare hands.

Ryder couldn’t allow him to hurt his baby brother. Max was all he had left in the world.

He tripped Tiny. He simply stuck out his foot as the beast of a man stormed past him toward Max.

With a heavy thud Tiny landed on the floor, screaming bloody murder as he slid toward Ryder on his stomach and grabbed his ankles. Panic flooded Ryder’s body, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest. Their survival was at stake. Max’s and his.

Adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream, giving Ryder a burst of strength. He didn’t hesitate. Pulling the Swiss knife he had hidden in his pocket, he jabbed the giant man in the throat as he went tumbling down on top of him. Tiny’s eyes went wide and he made strange gurgling sounds.

Tiny wrapped both hands around his throat, but nothing stopped the blood from seeping through his thick fingers. Ryder watched as the giant’s eyes glazed over, and on exhaling a heavy breath, he went completely still.

Ryder had never seen so much blood, other than in movies. Marianne had always told the boys that it was just tomato sauce and that it wasn’t real. The blood pouring from the madman’s thick neck definitely didn’t look, or smell, anything like ketchup.

It was then Ryder knew: Marianne had lied about everything.

He already knew she’d lied about Santa, but he pretended he didn’t know any better, for Max’s sake. Now he’d discovered his mother had lied about ketchup being used in the movies. That could only mean one thing; it meant she had to be lying about loving them. Max and him.

That day was the last time he saw Max as a child. Ryder was taken to juvenile court and placed in a detention centre for criminal behaviour. He’d killed a man, possibly his own father, with the pocket knife Marianne had given him two months back for his eleventh birthday.

Unintentionally, Ryder had stabbed Tiny in the jugular. The thick vein had protruded angrily—the small knife found it’s target with ease.

Ryder could have handled everything, even being called a coldblooded murderer, if only his mom had come back to help him.

But Marianne never came. It was as if she had wiped her hands off Ryder and Max.

And now he, Ryder Knox, had blood on his hands.