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There are weak men men who run and hide when life slaps them in the ass. There are three different types of men in this world. Overall, he looked tai lor made from The Man Cookbook. His head was shaved, only a fuzz of blonde hair showing and his forearms were heavily tattooed with different depictions of elaborate dragons. His forehead was wide, his jaw, strong and square. He was tall and tan, his arms and legs were thickly muscled and his waist was trim. I looked up and my eyes widened in delight. I swiveled around and met with a pair of denim-clad legs, the knees worn clean through. So there I was shaking my butt and singing Summertime way, way out of tune waiting in line for stale potato chips in the Ricker's Island family visiting room when I heard, A particular favorite of mine was Summertime by Janis Joplin. Unlike most children my age who were listening to New Kids on The Block or Debbie Gibson, I was listening to the music played around the club. Two people were in line ahead of me so I did what I always did when I was bored, I started singing. I took my Uncle Joe's money and skipped off to the snack machines.
#Undying by madeline sheehan full#
To a five-year-old biker brat, an MC full of surrogate big brothers and daddies is the equivalent to a normal child being able to celebrate Christmas every day. Most times, I didn't really care since all the boys loved me and gave me lots of hugs and let me ride on their shoulders and bought me presents all the time. At the club everyone was always "having a word", words I wasn't allowed to hear. "Eva honey, why don't you go get somethin' from the snack machines so daddy and I can have a word." When you are young, your parents are your entire world. "Proud of you baby girl," My father said, his eyes shining. “How old baby?” My father asked, laughing. "Do you know how old third graders are, daddy?" Seeing this grin and not wanting to lose it, I kept going. Frederick's, she says even through I'm only in kindergarten I can spell as good as a third grader!" "I won the spelling bee, daddy! My teacher, Mrs. "Baby girl," He said gruffly, "Tell daddy 'bout the spellin' bee."Įxcitement battled my tears and won.
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I didn't know at the time but my big strong, rough and tough father was trying not to cry. "Daddy," I whispered, trying so hard not to cry. Uncle Joe slid into the chair beside me and put his arm around me, pulling my chair close to his. My sneaker-clad feet didn't reach the floor and my chin barely cleared the table. "Eva," He said softly, smiling down at me as I climbed into an uncomfortable plastic chair. He was hindered slightly by the handcuffs around his wrists and ankles, looped together by a chain, and the prison guard standing behind him who shoved him back down. Many men would have crumbled under the responsibility of a newborn baby, especially a biker, a biker who couldn't handle more than a few weeks without needing the open road.Īside from going to prison every once in awhile, my father was a good dad and I’d never wanted for a thing.ĭressed in an orange jumpsuit, his long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail at his nape, Preacher spotted us immediately and jumped up. My mother, Deborah “Darling” Reynolds, had split a few weeks after I was born. Since my father was my only parent, my Uncle Joe and Aunt Sylvia had been given temporary custody of me.
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I was holding my Uncle “One eyed” Joe's hand as we walked through Riker's family visiting room. M y father's shortcomings, the constant crime and the club lifestyle weren’t strange to me, it was all I knew. His way with words and his killer smile made him friends everywhere he went and considering he'd been riding since he'd still been in my grandmother's womb, when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. People who c ould get things done quietly. People who didn’t run in his circle, people who were off the grid. He had government connections and ties to the mafias but what made him his most dangerous and most feared was his many connections to average everyday people.
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My father was a powerful and dangerous man who ruled over all Silver Demon's worldwide and was highly respected but mostly feared by other MC's.
#Undying by madeline sheehan code#
The Silver Demon's MC was a notorious group of criminals who lived by the code of the road and gave modern society and all it entailed a great big fuck you. It was not the first time my father had been in prison and it wouldn't be the last. My father, Damon Fox or "Preacher", the President of the infamous "Silver Demon's" motorcycle club -mother chapter- in East Village, New York City, was doing a five-year stint for aggravated assault and battery with a deadly weapon. I was five years old when I met Deuce, he was twenty-three, and it was visiting day at Riker's Island.