The Long Walk to Redemption

Chapter 1

12 years later

Standing outside of the house I grew up in, didn't feel like it did when I was younger. There was no fear looking upon the dark, empty windows. The bitter, sadness that was once filled the house here, gone and replaced by a kind of happiness I haven't experienced since my mother's death; toys litter the front lawn and porch. A tire swing hangs in the old oak tree that used to be popular for sneaking in and out of the house.

My father's motorcycle and old, Dodge pickup truck sit in the driveway along with a new car, a Toyota Camry. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought it was another woman that he picked up at the clubhouse during his drunken bender, but he had changed; he had remarried and he was more invested in my brother's lives and his grandchildren's lives.

I grab my duffle bag and walk down the road, out of the subdivision. The liquor store is still open, and I cross the road and head inside. "How can I help you?"

I grab two bottles of whiskey and set them on the counter, "Just these." The older man behind the counter with graying hair and a blue flannel button down just nods before ringing the up and putting them in the bag.

"You look awfully familiar. Do you live around here?" I pull out my wallet and pass him a few bills then take the black, plastic bag from the counter.

"Not for a long time. You have a nice night," I walk outside opening the glass bottle and taking a long swig, before running my thumb along my bottom lip collecting the wasted whiskey from my lips and closing the bottle. My eyes are drawn to a few guys leaning against their motorcycles the patches read Sand Vipers; well here we go.

"What were you doing in that subdivision?" I plaster a smirk on my lips before readjusting my duffle bag.

"It's a free country, isn't it?" I shift all of my weight onto my left leg, slowly shifting into a fighting stance.

"Not when the house you were watching is the Pres' house, in the middle of the night; lurking around like some deranged stalker." The guy speaking is about ten years younger than I am, a trimmed beard and hazel eyes. Then the familiar look of his face causes me to stop for a couple of minutes, I know this kid.

"Little Colton. Go home kid, it's not worth the fight." I walk past the group towards the little motel down the block. "Don't worry, you'll be seeing me soon."

~~~

I sit up a cold sweat coating my body, the nightmares getting worse. At least I didn't scream this time.

I walk into the bathroom, and look at myself in the mirror. My skin littered with scars and tattoos; my body now muscular and toned. I hardly recognize the face staring back at me anymore, the things I've seen and done makes me a monster, but I don't have time to wallow in my own self pity.

Stripping down and climbing into the hot shower, soothing my muscles and the aching of my bones and joints. Standing under the stream feels like an hour but in reality, it's only ten minutes before I climb out and dry off.

I pull on my jeans and long sleeve black t-shirt, and my black and white flannel, before stuffing my feet into my cowboy boots. Running my fingers through my blonde, shoulder length hair while grabbing my keys, wallet, and cellphone before stepping out the door.

As soon as I step out of the door, I spot my brother leaning against his Harley. His eyes meet mine and he raises his hand, a small gesture to get me to come closer willingly. My eyes leave his as I jog down the stairs, I hadn't planned on seeing him yet, not like this.

"Michael, surprise seeing you here. Well not really, I guess Colton told you he saw some strange blonde at the liquor store." His eyes flash with anger, sadness, and relief as he moves forward and wraps his arms around me tightly, we stand there quietly until he clears his throat and steps back to stand in from of me.

"When did you get back?" I chuckle softly.

"Last night, about an hour before your son and a few other club members approached me. Got to say, I wasn't expecting little Colt to join. He was such a delicate kid."

I walk past him to my own Harley that I had gotten out of my storage locker late last night, I mount it slowly before looking back at Michael, "We going to the clubhouse or what? Might as well face the old man sooner than later."

Mike follows my lead and we head out to the club.

~~~

The clubhouse is just how I remember it but not at all how I remember it all at the same time.

The place is still loud, the brothers are all getting drunk or shamelessly messing around with the club whores, but the place feels more like a family than it did before I left. There are pictures scattered across the walls, a few family photos but the one that really catches my attention is a group picture, of my father, his new wife, I'm assuming, and my brothers and their families. They are all smiling and happy, and I'm no where in sight. No photos of me, even from before I left; it's like I never existed.

I swipe a bottle of water from the small refrigerator behind the bar before retreating back into a dark corner booth. A few glances are pointed my way, a couple of the club whores glare at me.

"Hey, you gonna pay for that?" My gaze raises up to meet a pair of electric blue eyes, taking a longer look at her face, I recognize her from the family photo. It's Justin's wife, Amelia.

I lift my shoulders in a halfhearted shrug, "probably not."

"Probably not? What's that supposed to mean? You ain't from around here so you must not know, this is a club you don't want to screw with so I suggest you pay for your water and go back to wherever you came from."

I chuckle absentmindedly as my eyes drift around the bar before settling back on her face, her jaw clenching, and the little vein in her forehead pop out as she attempts to control her temper.

"I'm not going anywhere. I know what this club is like, Milly," her eyes widen, resembling an owl, "That is what they still call you, right Milly?" She slams her hand down on the table before calling over her shoulder for them to get Psycho.

She sits back with a smug expression as a man walks down from the top level, his eyes meet mine before he keeps walking down. "Get your crap together and leave, we don't let trash in our club."

Trash? I stand up from the booth before stalking across the room to the bar, I hop over the counter before grabbing the bat from the shelf.

"Trash, I'll show you trash," mumbling under my breath before swinging the bat into the glass shelves on the wall. Smashing all of the bottles and glasses, before throwing the bat into the crowd that was forming, then hop back onto the bar top, swinging my legs over the ledge and swinging them childishly. "How's that for trash?" I send him my best condescending smile before it drops into a smirk.

Loud footsteps descend the steps and the crowd parts for the old man and the old woman behind him, his hair gray and the wrinkles surround his green eyes that are identical to mine and all of my siblings. The hardened look he once had is gone and softened, the woman behind him is the same, except her hair still has brown streaks that match her eyes. "Here we go."

"What is going on here?" His eyes travel around the room before landing on me, there is no recognition there at first but then there is a doubt that fills his eyes.

I rub the back of my neck, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. "What's up, Pop? Long time no see."

"Brooklyn? Is that really you?" He laughs cheerfully before advancing on me, I hold up a hand to stop him.

"I wouldn't do that," he stops short before nodding his hand in understanding. Looking around the room, he clears his throat before the crowd disperses.

"Can we talk, Brooklyn?"

I place a smirk on my face, guarding myself and the secrets I hold. "Thought you'd never ask?"