Claimed by The Beast (LGBT Bikers)

11 // Good Boy

"As I said before, I do what I'm told without asking questions," Finn replies, dryly. "Whatever the Pres needs from me, I do it. Could range from keeping an eye out on his girl when she's away from the clubhouse to helping dispose of a body..." Finn pauses to laugh at the horrified expression on Everett's face. "I wear many titles around here."

"I shouldn't have asked," Everett grumbles. "Now the image of you doing that will be stuck in my head for the rest of the day."

"Don't try to act all grossed out now," Finn remarks. "All the fucked up shit I've done is kid's play compared to someone like Knox, and you sleep next to him every night. Surely he's told you his story by now."

"Yeah, actually. We stayed up late last night watching movies and talking, and he told me everything," Everett says. "What about you? How'd you end up joining a motorcycle club?"

Finn places his phone down, making eye contact with Everett while leaning back in his seat. "Take a wild guess."

"I don't know. You kind of look like the type who does crazy shit whenever you get bored," Everett says. He grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet and then takes a seat at the table, studying Finn. "Are you the type or not?"

"I am." Finn smiles, but it only lasts a second. "That isn't why I wanted to become one of The Fallen Angels, though. Not sure what all Knox has told you about me, but I'd be dead if it wasn't for him."

"How did he help you?" Everett asks, genuinely curious.

"He didn't help me. He saved me," Finn corrects. "My parents weren't ready to be parents when they had me, so I entered the system at a very young age. I wasn't cute and cuddly like some of the other kids; I was rough around the edges and had a shitty attitude. By the time I turned sixteen, I knew that was the end of the road for me. No one was going to adopt me. So, I ran away with my best friend. We lived on the streets for years after that."

"Doing what?" Everett asks.

"Anything we wanted," Finn says.

Fully engrossed in the story, Everett takes a sip of his drink before munching on his chips. "How did you guys, um... you know, make a living?"

"We made money slinging dope for a local dealer," Finn answers. "This went on for a couple of months, then one day, my friend suggested we try the shit. One thing led to another, and we ended up getting hooked on the product we were meant to sell. Fucking drugs almost killed my ass."

"But Knox found you in time?" Everett suggests, putting the picture together.

"Yeah." Finn nods. "Apparently, the territory my friend and I had been selling in belonged to The Fallen Angels. After they took out my boss' supplier, they took out my boss, and then came after us dealers. By that time, I was using more than I was selling. The day The Fallen Angels ran into our trap house was the same day my friend had overdosed and died. I was out of my fucking mind with grief. I begged The Fallen Angels to shoot me dead. But they didn't. Knox, for whatever reason, convinced Pres to give me and a few others a second chance, those of us who weren't too far gone—stop selling and get clean, or get the fuck out of town and never come back."

"I'm guessing you chose the former," Everett says.

Finn nods again. "They wouldn't kill me, and I had nowhere else to go, so getting clean was my only option. Knox was ordered to drive us all to a nearby rehab. The Fallen Angels paid for everything."

"Damn." Everett looks visibly shocked. "That was mighty nice of them."

"It was." Finn laughs. "After I completed the program, I immediately sought them out. No one had ever cared for me like that before, and I wanted to be part of their group because of it. I wanted to be part of their family. So, I started out as a hangaround at the clubhouse. Knox took me under his wing because he saw something in me, then I later moved up to a prospect, and eventually, I became a patched member. The rest is history."