Renegade Sons Motorcycle Club
“Never Forget and Never Forgive”
The Renegade Sons Motorcycle club was founded by Charles “Gun” Jones, Clyde “Digger” Bell, and Kenneth “Killer” Thompson on Mach 23, 1973.
The three brothers by choice were all members of the 42nd Infantry division out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky, also known as the Renegade Sons. Each man had done at least two tours in Vietnam, each believing they fought for something bigger than their self. A fact they were all proud of.
After returning home from Vietnam, the three men realized that they fought and bled for a cause that many of their country men did not believe in. They realized that they had watched their fellow soldiers, their brothers, die in vain. Even though the men were scattered across the United States, their anger at the situation led them back together. That same anger led them to establish the Renegade Sons.
Part One
The Beginning
Prologue
Jenna
I stare at the ceiling while Timmons pounds into me. I bite down hard on my lip, so hard I can taste blood. He slams in one more time and grunts loudly into my ear before rolling onto his side. He lays there for a moment, breathing loudly, then climbs from the bed.
I can hear him getting dressed, but I never take my eyes off the ceiling. I just lay there and count. I usually make it to around thirty before he leaves the room. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…. He’s pulling on his jeans. Thirteen Mississippi, fourteen Mississippi… I hear the swish of his shirt. Twenty Mississippi, twenty-one Mississippi, twenty-two… There’s the shuffle of his boots. Twenty-eight Mississippi… Finally, the door opens and he walks out.
As soon as I hear the click of the lock, I roll off the bed and run to the trashcan. I barely make it there before the bile comes spewing out. When I’m done, I crawl back to the bed and pull myself onto it. Once there, I curl up into a ball and pray that God will send someone to save me today. I’m still praying when sleep takes over my body.
“Get the fuck up!” Timmons shouts, waking me from my nightmare filled sleep. He reaches down and grabs me, pulling me from the bed by my hair. I land hard on the floor, causing pain to ricochet through my already aching body. I slowly push myself up onto my knees and do my best to look at him through my swollen eyes.
“Get the fuck off the floor and follow me,” he says after giving me a swift kick to the ribs.
I rush to get up, doing my best to ignore the pain. I walk behind him, every step causing a stabbing sensation to shoot up my side. He finally stops when we reach the middle of the common room. He takes a seat next to my dad and pulls me into his lap. “Jenna, your Dad has something he needs to talk to you about.”
I don’t respond, just simply nod my head. I learned during my first night with Timmons that things go better if I just keep my mouth shut. Being quiet doesn’t keep him from hurting me, but this way I can’t say something to make him mad. When he’s mad, his beatings turn brutal.#p#分页标题#e#
Dad leans towards us, putting his hands flat against the table. “Timmons and I have been talking. He seems to think it’s time someone took hold of your reins. After that shit you pulled coming in here after your mom died, I’ve decided he’s right.”
I close my eyes, hoping he doesn’t see the anger flashing through them. Scene? What scene? All I did was come to the club house to tell him that Mom was dead. Yes, I was crying and screaming, but who wouldn’t be after they just found their mother OD’d on the kitchen floor?
“Do you understand what I’m saying to you, girl?”
I look back to my father and shake my head. I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything that has happened to me over the last few weeks. How a father could allow his own daughter to be raped and beaten by a monster like Timmons, I will never understand.
“What I’m telling you is that Timmons is claiming you. You’re his old lady now. There’s nothing you can do to change it. Best start listening to him if you don’t want to be hurt,” he states matter of fact.
Hurt? Can he not see the bruises covering my body? What about the dried blood that stains the disgusting nighty Timmons makes me wear? “But I’m only sixteen,” I whisper out, even though I know I should keep my mouth shut.