Gang Girl Realities: Part One of My Story As THE Surrey BC Gang Girl No One Knew Existed

Devon J Hall @LoudMouthBrownGirl
And Another Thing…
10 min readDec 16, 2021


In The Movies It’s Glamorous and filled with popped bottles, In Reality it’s Jails, Institutions, and Death

I will warn you this shit is gonna be tough to read, so let’s talk about the realities of sex trafficking and child abuse, and gang life. Because this is the story of how the Surrey BC Wolf Pack was born.

It started the year before I moved to a house in North Delta. I met Jason when I was about fourteen or fifteen years old. He was “the bad boy,” that I was literally warned to stay away from. I didn’t.

He was the first boy to consensually touch me in ways that no person had ever touched me with permission, and I liked it. He was my boyfriend, until he was finished because in those days it was about quantity, not quality.

For exactly six hours I was his girlfriend, and six hours after that, I was just another girl he’d messed around with. But the Wolf Pack? That would endure.

Jason started the Wolf Pack in a garage, now when you look up the phrase “BC Wolf Pack,” you’ll see the words “gang” and “gang culture” and “Red Scorpions” attached, as well as The Hell’s Angels, but the truth couldn’t be further from the reality that the press likes to spin about shit they don’t understand.

I know this because I was in the Wolf Pack, I still am, they are my family, but they aren’t the people that the cops and the press think they are.

The Cops, and the Press think that the Wolf Pack is some super powerful gang that has connections all over BC, that’s a fucking lie. It’s a lie designed to protect the abusers that made us who we are.

It started when I was fifteen or sixteen, the men came into my room and raped me for hours, and when it was over I said “I love you,” to myself, to Jesus, to my family, and then I passed out thinking I was going to die.

There were several grown men involved, and several boys I was forced to share my own bed with, while my mom and brother slept in the next rooms, without ever knowing.

They raped me during the day once, and a neighbor found out when she heard me screaming, they threatened to kill her, they ended up paying her off instead, and she kept her mouth shut.

She watched as I was raped on the front lawn of the house that we shared, (she lived in the basement suite, we lived upstairs,) she said she thought I wanted it. I went upstairs, and they were there, waiting for me, to rape me again.

I had rules:

  1. You talk you die.
  2. You scream you die, and your family dies.
  3. You tell anyone, you die.

It took me twenty years and more years than that really, a panic attack that got me arrested on an airplane, and being hospitalized several times before I started to put the pieces of my past back together. My brain had broken you see, by all the abuse.

Hundreds of people around me knew what was happening, they knew about the Adrenaline Mob, that’s what the men called themselves, they knew about the Wolf Pack — the kids the AM abused, — and they knew about me, but like us, they were too afraid to say anything, so no one did.

Eventually, the Adrenaline Mob moved on, they got higher and higher on their own supply and ended up falling between the cracks, (NO ONE is complaining about the number of them who died or killed themselves I assure you.), but their victims, The Wolf Pack, remained.

Ever strong, we took over a place called The Flamingo, it was a strip club. None of us talked about what happened, but in our own ways we knew, we understood that we couldn’t talk about it, because what the fuck do you say?

“Sorry, my dad and his friends forced me to rape you,” like, how’s that conversation even going? “It’s not your fault, you were a kid too.”

“Like the Crips and the Bloods.”

Jason started the Wolf Pack for kids like us. Kids who had been abused and sexualized too young and didn’t know how to protect themselves. We couldn’t fight back but we could support each other, right?

Over the years Jason fell through the cracks too, drug addiction, homelessness, and extreme poverty took his beautiful smile and his great looks and turned him into something different, something angrier, and hungrier.

Angel is the guy that every girl is supposed to want. Lean and quiet and brooding with a secret obsession for Vampires and damsels in distress, who was always there to wipe my tears, but rarely commented on my behavior. I assume because I can only assume, that the shit we were forced to do as kids stole his voice, just like it did mine, before Loud Mouth Brown Girl.

Michael was the guy I loved, who had a dozen girls at the ready, but rarely understood that all he needed to do to be loved, was be himself. He was the guy everyone was afraid of, and he made sure that they were afraid of him, but in reality, there’s no reason to be. He’s all bark and one-two punches at most. Okay yeah, he can cause damage, but I think he’s changed a lot throughout the years. Jails and the loss of his children have changed him for the better.

He’s credited as the “Leader of the Wolf Pack,” insert snort here. He is not. Never was, and never will be.

Doug is the guy who was with me the last night I was raped, we had enemies we didn’t even know we had because the press, and the cops, kept perpetuating this idea that we were gangsters, that we were a gang. In reality, we were a bunch of kids who had been abused, who had been trained to sell drugs, who had been thrown through the cracks and ignored, who learned to do what we had to to do survive.

For some of us that meant selling drugs, for others, it meant selling our bodies, but when we were together, for brief moments, I felt safe, I felt okay, because Doug was there, until they pulled him out kicking and screaming and demanding that we tell them who the fuck Angel was.

To this day no one really knows who Angel is, largely because Angel is literally a legend. A person who hides in the shadows and controls us all like dancing monkeys, that’s what the people on the street think.

In reality, Angel is a father, a person who's in love with another person, (an annoying pain in the ass without which the world would suffer exponentially.) Each of us was broken by the night that I was gang-raped the last time.

Many of the men who raped me this last time, were men who had raped me when I was a child, so imagine the horror of that bullshit for me, and for the boys who were punished for not isolating me and allowing me to sell my body to keep the secrets of our abusers.

THAT’S what the Wolf Pack is, it’s a group of people who were victims of childhood sex trafficking, that the police call gangsters, that the press leaps upon because we sound dangerous and sexy, instead of being what we really are.

Fucking broken by childhood abuse.

When I started Loud Mouth Brown Girl, Justin sent me a Facebook message to remind me that he was in charge — Justin is the man who organized the party that I was raped at, he’s the one that told everyone I was a rat.

A crime punishable by death in the streets.

It’s so easy to destroy the life of a woman that the world thinks is “gang-affiliated,” in the police files they write that bullshit down as if it means something. If you’re poor, and Black, chances are you probably know someone who is in a gang, that’s enough to have you deemed “affiliated,” even though you probably aren’t.

Brandon was the DJ, one of the funniest fucking people I know. We put on a show that night, that last night was awful all around, but Brandon and I put on a show. We had ten minutes alone when they closed the door behind him thinking he was going to rape me.

We yelled we screamed, I laughed a lot to prove I wasn’t afraid, he beat me soundly, and when he walked out of the room, I know he felt as disgusted as I did, but at least we were alive.

Twice that night they tried to convince me that Angel raped me, that Angel was in the room with me.

One moment Angel was tall and lean, and the next he was short and stocky, neither man who raped me was Angel, because I know what they didn’t know, the real Angel was already dead.

He’d died a few years earlier in another gang war — or the same fucking gang war, this shit never seems to end.

His name was Jonathon Bacon, he was the brother of the infamous Jamie and Jarrod Bacon, a boy I’d never even met, a boy we called Angel because he died so young, because he was a reminder of where we were headed if we weren’t careful.

Brandon — the boy who beat me so that we could put on a show for the man who set me up to be raped, and makes it look like I was a rat, to protect the fact that HE was the rat — Brandon had 3 fucking jobs. He wasn’t selling dope, he was trying to raise his daughter.

None of us knew the Bacon brothers, they were in prison by the time that we were old enough to party, or you know…dead, but that doesn’t change the fact that the Press is so stuck up their own ass they’ll say anything to sell papers.

“Bruce Davis and Michael Ross, the leaders of the Wolf Pack,” bullshit. If that’s bullshit, (and it absolutely is,) then so is the idea that the Wolf Pack is a gang, but literally, no one in the world will give a flying fuck that that’s true.

The Red Scorpion’s “One of the most dangerously prolific drug groups in the world is attached forever to the name Jamey Bacon.” Why? Because the Press and the police say so. That’s a lie too.

Do I know Jamie? No, I’ve never spoken to the man, but I also know that Red Scorpion is a symbol, not for a vicious violent gang, for a man who consistently and constantly stings himself, while pretending he wants to survive.

Red Scorpion is a 1988 American action film starring Dolph Lundgren and directed by Joseph Zito. Lundgren appears as a Soviet special forces operative sent to assassinate an anti-communist rebel leader in Africa, only to side with the rebels. It was produced by lobbyist Jack Abramoff and controversially filmed in South West Africa with the support of apartheid-era South Africa. The film was released in the United States on April 21, 1989. It is the first installment in the Red Scorpion film series.”

It’s his favorite fucking film.

Do you know how I know this? Because the man that “I” love, John, not Bacon but Terrell, was a huge fan of John Dillinger, it’s my favorite film, PUBLIC enemies.

There’s a reason I capitalize the word PUBLIC and not enemies.

We — the Wolf Pack — I mean, are public enemies, because that’s what the cops and the press want you to believe, but it’s a load of bullshit. Jamie isn’t a fucking Red God Damned Scorpion, and neither is Jarrod, they are fucking Wolves.

We call ourselves Wolves because we’re a pack and we protect each other, no matter the cost, even if it means letting a woman get raped by cops just too fucking prove that these same men were men who raped me when I was a child so that they could control a group of kids who would sell their bodies, and their drugs so that we could make our abusers, some of whom ARE STILL COPS TO THIS DAY, can make money off of us.

Keith — he sells weed because a cop is making him do it. I know this because I saw the fear in his eyes when we sat down at Surrey Central and he said “I need fucking help and I don’t know where to turn.” I figured out the truth of it all the night I was gang raped and a cop came into the room to tell me he was a cop….who then proceeded to let me get raped for several hours, while he recorded it.

The reality is that the cops will use the press every fucking time, because the press are gullible and will eat up every god damned dramatic line of bullshit the way that victims of abuse snort cocaine thinking that the white powder will make their problems go away.

None of us are gangsters and very few of us are murderers, but that’s what the press believes because that’s what they’ve been told. They haven’t been told about Josh — the transit cop who raped me, for hours, while his friends sat outside the room laughing because “Angel’s piece of ass was getting what she deserved,” even though they had NO fucking clue that Angel had been died for like seven years already.

MY Angel, the man who is a father? That’s his actual fucking name, his legal name, but here’s the thing about real life gangsters. They feed on rumors and bullshit because they want the drama, they want the movie, they want the story of their lives.

One of my favorite films of all time is Legend with Tom Hardy, everyone thinks it’s because he’s sexy and he plays two totally different characters at the same time.

It’s actually because of the character Francis, but for the fact that I’m alive to tell MY story MY way, I’m just like her. I fell in love, and I got burned because a guy hated that he was still selling dope on the streets, because the cops he was working for, wanted information about me.

And why was I important?

That’s part two.

Devon J Hall, Loud Mouth Brown Girl



Devon J Hall @LoudMouthBrownGirl
And Another Thing…

4 Time Self-Published and Published Author, Devon J Hall brings honest relatable content to you weekly