Read Online Taming Crow (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club) by Paula Marinaro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paula Marinaro
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always volunteered to help with cafeteria cleanup. If the lunch ladies or custodian saw him slip an uneaten piece of fruit, cereal bar or cheese stick from the lunch trays into his backpack, they never said anything.
The pickings from the lost and found bin kept them clothed. Full into the throes of addiction his mother was skinny enough to wear the clothes of middle school girls. But no one at the reservation school was much better off than they were, so there wasn’t much lost to choose from.
Fully awake, Crow could hear the low voices and the groans of the squeaky mattress springs filter through the paper-thin walls. Over the years since his Shiwóyé died the young boy had heard other things too, but he had learned to block those out. However, in the still of the hot night, the sounds that came from his mother's room seemed louder and more frightening than ever before.
When the string of profanities was interrupted by the sound of a hard slap, Crow scrambled quickly to a dark corner. The young boy brought his knees up to his chest and made himself as small as he could. It was just a few short seconds after that that Crow saw a pair of legs covered with dirty jeans darken his doorway.
“Fuck. What we got here?” The drunken man stumbled hard and unsteadily towards Crow. “Squaw's got herself a little brave, has she? Damn. I thought we'd killed all of you off. Well, your whore mama just passed out before I could squirt my load. Open your mouth there, Tonto, and take a suck out of the Great White Hope.” The drunk’s filthy hands fished for the limp dick inside of his pants.
Crow sat crouched and tensed on his haunches. He had known it would be only a matter of time before one of his mother's johns came knocking at his door. The young boy felt a moment of panic when he realized the small sharp paring knife that he kept under his pillow was gone. Searching frantically Crow reached for the only thing he could find—the ballpoint pen that he kept by his bed for doing his homework.
Through his alcohol-induced haze, the intruder had somehow managed to jerk himself into an erection. Now the staggering drunk jangled his loose, pink balls in Crow's face.
When the man made a move to shove his balls into Crow's hand, Crow let out a warrior cry and with the desperate strength of a hunted animal he stabbed the pen right through the wrinkled, soft sac. When the man fell forward with a howl, Crow was on him. All the hate and resentment and fear that had built up in the twelve-year-old boy's heart broke wide open.
Crow rained kicks on the guy’s nuts long after he had passed out from the booze and the pain, until there was nothing left between his legs but a mass of purple bleeding pulp.
Then Crow grabbed the unconscious guy's legs and dragged him out of the trailer and across the dirt road. Under the star-filled sky, the boy rolled the body into the deep ditch that lay just beyond the Tamarisk tree. Crow checked to see if the guy was breathing before he left and found that he was. Good. One less thing on his conscience.
Crow knew then that he was going to have to leave. He was going to have to set out on his own before the addiction and the sadness and the desperation that had destroyed his mother seeped into his bones. He knew he had to leave before it killed him the way it was killing her.
So he went back into the trailer and by the light of the full moon packed his few meager belongings. Crow left three apples, four sticks of cheese and six breakfast bars on the dirty kitchen table. He knew it wasn't much, but it was all he had. Then he went into his mother's room and covered her half naked body with the thin blanket. He placed a kiss on her hair as she lay snoring and whispered goodbye. Then he closed the door on the life that had been no life at all and moved on.
Chapter 10
Crow spat out the nail that he had placed in the corner of his mouth and jumped off the aluminum folding ladder. He grabbed the ringing cell
The pickings from the lost and found bin kept them clothed. Full into the throes of addiction his mother was skinny enough to wear the clothes of middle school girls. But no one at the reservation school was much better off than they were, so there wasn’t much lost to choose from.
Fully awake, Crow could hear the low voices and the groans of the squeaky mattress springs filter through the paper-thin walls. Over the years since his Shiwóyé died the young boy had heard other things too, but he had learned to block those out. However, in the still of the hot night, the sounds that came from his mother's room seemed louder and more frightening than ever before.
When the string of profanities was interrupted by the sound of a hard slap, Crow scrambled quickly to a dark corner. The young boy brought his knees up to his chest and made himself as small as he could. It was just a few short seconds after that that Crow saw a pair of legs covered with dirty jeans darken his doorway.
“Fuck. What we got here?” The drunken man stumbled hard and unsteadily towards Crow. “Squaw's got herself a little brave, has she? Damn. I thought we'd killed all of you off. Well, your whore mama just passed out before I could squirt my load. Open your mouth there, Tonto, and take a suck out of the Great White Hope.” The drunk’s filthy hands fished for the limp dick inside of his pants.
Crow sat crouched and tensed on his haunches. He had known it would be only a matter of time before one of his mother's johns came knocking at his door. The young boy felt a moment of panic when he realized the small sharp paring knife that he kept under his pillow was gone. Searching frantically Crow reached for the only thing he could find—the ballpoint pen that he kept by his bed for doing his homework.
Through his alcohol-induced haze, the intruder had somehow managed to jerk himself into an erection. Now the staggering drunk jangled his loose, pink balls in Crow's face.
When the man made a move to shove his balls into Crow's hand, Crow let out a warrior cry and with the desperate strength of a hunted animal he stabbed the pen right through the wrinkled, soft sac. When the man fell forward with a howl, Crow was on him. All the hate and resentment and fear that had built up in the twelve-year-old boy's heart broke wide open.
Crow rained kicks on the guy’s nuts long after he had passed out from the booze and the pain, until there was nothing left between his legs but a mass of purple bleeding pulp.
Then Crow grabbed the unconscious guy's legs and dragged him out of the trailer and across the dirt road. Under the star-filled sky, the boy rolled the body into the deep ditch that lay just beyond the Tamarisk tree. Crow checked to see if the guy was breathing before he left and found that he was. Good. One less thing on his conscience.
Crow knew then that he was going to have to leave. He was going to have to set out on his own before the addiction and the sadness and the desperation that had destroyed his mother seeped into his bones. He knew he had to leave before it killed him the way it was killing her.
So he went back into the trailer and by the light of the full moon packed his few meager belongings. Crow left three apples, four sticks of cheese and six breakfast bars on the dirty kitchen table. He knew it wasn't much, but it was all he had. Then he went into his mother's room and covered her half naked body with the thin blanket. He placed a kiss on her hair as she lay snoring and whispered goodbye. Then he closed the door on the life that had been no life at all and moved on.
Chapter 10
Crow spat out the nail that he had placed in the corner of his mouth and jumped off the aluminum folding ladder. He grabbed the ringing cell
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