Being his son does not make life easy. It makes itquite the opposite – closer to a nightmare. Always having people watch you like you’re gonna flip out at any moment; turn out just like your dad. That’s what they’re expecting anyway; after all you are half of him, and that's all that matters.
They don’t even give me the time to show them who I really am. I am nothing like my father. I take every stare, every whisper straight to heart.
I started waiting for it to happen. If someone constantly tells you you’re gonna be a screw up you start to believe it. I mean it’s not like I had any other path to take, why not just go down the path everyone had chosen for me.
Be a rebel, a voice in the back of my head whispered.
So I did. I started going to parties, drinking, smoking, taking drugs. I didn’t care anymore. It’s not like I’d be able to get anywhere: not being his son. Everyone knows who he is, so all I’d have to so is say my surname and people would back away.
I use to be a straight ‘A’ student, the ‘nice guy’. Now I’m the guy nobody wants to be near, the guy that everyone whispers about in the school corridors. I’d say it made me lonely but I’m past that. I’m past caring. All I worry about is my next fix, be it drugs or alcohol.
I’ll always be known as David Stanley’s son. Nobody is even bothered what my first name is. Hunter. Hunter Lee Stanley. ‘A strong name’ my father would say, a name worthy enough for a Stanley. He’d drag me to the motorcycle clubs 'meetings, said that he wanted me to continue with the club if anything should happen to him.
The Stanley family was quite well-known in our old neighbourhood – you were either looking up to them or scared of them. But, when dad nearly got caught we had to move and in this neighbourhood everybody looked down of him. He was a nasty piece of work, a waste of space, they would say. He didn’t like that one bit and got his own back on some, with the help of his closest friends.
So, when the community came together to get my dad caught and sent to prison it worked. Now, me and my mum have to make our own way in life – without the help of my dad, who, though he got it the wrong ways, always provided us with the money we needed.
I had a job – a couple of hours after school at a local restaurant, even when my dad was around, so that I could save up for my own car and for university. I bought my car and still had thousands left when dad got put away. I didn’t let mum know how much had, just that I had enough.
I lost all my friends after my dad went to prison and I took over asclub leader, it was weird being seventeen and already having a whole crowd of people to command. I got letters from my dad telling me what to do, in a code he had made just in case something like this happened. I kept my car but favoured riding around on my dad’s Harley, enjoying the rush the speed gave me. I did what I wanted when I wanted, usually alone. But that didn’t bother me, didn’t stop me. I kept going – not caring if it was going to kill me, if I got hurt. I mean, that’s what people expected, right?
What else would you expect from a motorcycle club leaders son?
I’d been living like that for a couple of years when he came along. Kahlo Corrigan. Son of another motorcycle club leader.
That’s when something not even I expected happened.
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