Page 1 of Grace's Redemption
One
MASE
Iheard the bass halfway down the street. The traffic of cars came from both sides. Saturday night at the club was always the same, but tonight would be different for me.
I’d be partying with my brothers for the last time.
Before sunrise, I would be out of here. It’s been a long time coming and nothing was going to stand in my way of getting out of this fucked up life.
The club.
I’d been in it since I could walk. When your father was the president you had no choice but be involved. I had no choice, until now.
My plan was to get out, my goal was stay gone forever.
I weaved through the cars and pulled through the gates. I parked my bike in the same place I always parked it. Removed my gloves and my helmet.
“Hey Mess,” I looked over my shoulder.
“Late to your own fucking party.” Red said. All brothers had nicknames. Red, with his fire engine red hair, was the most obvious. My nickname, Mess. I guess it's pretty self explanatory, too.
“Yeah. Yeah.” I shook my head as I climbed off my bike. “How’s this night of debauchery different than any other?”
“We’ll do it with some gusto.” He held out his hand.
I shook it and pulled him in for a hug.
“In your honor.” He said in my ear and chuckled.
I laughed and let him go.
We walked into the clubhouse together. Wall-to-wall people crammed into the main hall. I recognized most of them.
My dad and the older guys of our crew sat in a roped off area to the left playing poker. Tiny stood at the entrance like a bouncer summoning prospects and hot girls depending on what was requested.
I nodded.
He nodded back.
Tiny was a mean motherfucker. He stood six foot six inches and weighed somewhere around three twenty. If his size didn’t intimidate you, the constant snarl on his face would.
“Finally,” I heard my brother's voice, but couldn’t spot him. The dance floor parted like the Red Sea and he walked toward me with two shots in his hand.
Mathieson, or Mattie as we called him, had the same goofy look on his face he had since we were kids. He was my mini me. We could have been identical twins, same dark brown hair, and same deep-set eyes. While I wore my hair closely cropped, his was tousled all over his head. The definition of shaggy bedhead.
He handed me a shot and hugged me to him.
“Last chance to change your mind.” He said in my ear.
I placed a hand on his chest and glared.
“I know. I know.” He held the shot glass in front of him. “You have to do this.”
We clinked glasses and took the shot.
The clear liquid coated the back of my throat. I coughed.
“What the fuck was that?” I looked in the glass for a clue. Judging by the molten hot burning sensation working its way to my gut, it could have been gasoline for all I knew.
