Ties That Bind: Ruthless Sinner’s MC

by Wilder, L.

  I knew the second I walked out of that jailhouse and found him standing in the parking lot he was pissed. I wasn’t surprised. I’d fucked up once again, and he was the one who’d pick up the pieces so my mother wouldn’t have to.

  Once we were inside his truck, Viper turned to me with a fierce expression. “This shit has got to stop, Clay.”

  “I know.”

  “If you know, then what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Yeah, you’ve been dishing out that same bullshit ever since the night you beat the hell out of that kid, and I’m tired of hearing it,” he growled. “I feel for you, Clay. I really do. I know you’ve had some rough blows, but it’s time for you to make a change ... a real change.”

  I couldn’t argue. He was absolutely right. It was time for me to change, to pull my head out of my ass and get my life back on track, but I had no idea how I was going to make that happen. “I know. I’m trying.”

  “You’re obviously not trying hard enough!” He paused for a moment, and once he’d collected himself, his tone was softer. “I’ve got an old friend ... He’s got a club down in Memphis. I think you should go down and try to prospect for him.”

  “Wait ... what?” From the day he joined the Ruthless Sinners, Viper had dedicated his life to his brothers. Hell, he lived and breathed for them, so I was surprised when he’d suggested I prospect for an MC that wasn’t his. “If I was going to prospect for a club, why wouldn’t I just do it for you and the Sinners?”

  “I considered that, and honestly, I think you’d do well with us.” I could see the sincerity in his eyes. “But there are too many memories here ... too many things holding you back. It’s time for you to get a fresh start, and I think you can accomplish that with Satan’s Fury. Gus is a good man ... runs a tight ship with a good group of men.”

  “So, what are you expecting me to say here?” To say that I was resistant to the idea was putting it lightly. In fact, the entire thing seemed ludicrous to me, and even though Viper was a very powerful man, I wasn’t shy about letting him know exactly how I felt. My words dripped with sarcasm as I continued, “Sure. I’ll pack up my shit and move to fucking Memphis.”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly what I expected you to say,” he said. “Actually, I’m not taking any other answer. I’ve already spoken with Gus, so get yourself prepared because you’re heading out at the end of the week.”

  I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I just swallowed my pride and kept my mouth shut. I thought if I just gave him time to cool down that I could talk him out of it later. I was wrong. Viper wasn’t giving up on the idea. At the end of the week, he showed up at the house, and the anger that lingered so close to the surface started to rise up once again. I was just about to blast him, tell him to go to hell and refuse to leave, but then I noticed the expression on my mother’s face. The concern in her eyes hit me like a ton of bricks. My actions had hurt her, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. So, as Viper requested, I packed my shit and drove to Memphis. As soon as I walked through the clubhouse doors, a strange sensation washed over me. The hostility and heartache that had been weighing on me suddenly seemed to fade into the background.

  At the time, I didn’t know why. I thought it might’ve been because I was so focused on trying not to make an ass of myself in my newfound surroundings, but as the weeks passed, I started to realize it was much more than that.

  I was still thinking about the first time I’d met Gus when Rider, Darcy, and I pulled up at Neil’s. It was about half the size of the Smoking Gun, but that didn’t stop the crowds from rolling in. It was a happening place. There was a stage and lighting for their live bands, a dance floor, and plenty of tables for those who just wanted to sit and drink their beer while listening to some great local talent—including this Brannon Heath guy who Darcy wanted to see. I’d never heard of him, but Darcy was a huge fan, particularly of the latest song he’d written. As soon as we were inside the bar, Darcy led us over to a table close to the stage, and it wasn’t long before one of the waitresses came over to take our drink orders. She was older, maybe in her late forties, and while she tried to hide it, I could tell by the dark circles under her eyes that she’d already had a long night. With a slight smile, she looked down at us and asked, “What can I get you folks tonight?”

  “A round of whatever you have on tap would be great,” Rider answered.

  “You got it.”

  When she turned and headed over to the bar, I took a quick glance around and noticed how everyone in the room seemed to be having a great time. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the stuff I needed to learn about the brothers. I’d never been a stellar student and was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get it all down. The fear of failure was daunting, so much so, I not only missed that the waitress had brought our drinks over, but that the band had already taken their place on the stage. A bright smile crossed Darcy’s face when Heath stepped up to the microphone. “Hey ... there he is. I think they’re about to start.”

  I nodded as I reached for my beer and took a quick sip. As much as I wanted to down the whole damn thing, I knew I couldn’t—not while I was prospecting. There was always a chance that one of the brothers would need me, so like it or not, I had to keep my senses intact. Trying to make the best of it, I leaned back in my seat and listened as the band started to play. After a few songs, I could see why Heath was becoming such a big hit in the city. The guy had a good voice, and his lyrics weren’t so bad either. I could’ve sat there and listened to the band all night, but just as I was really starting to settle in, my burner rang. I reached into my pocket with a nagging suspicion that I was being beckoned by one of the brothers. I looked down at the screen, and just as I thought, it was a message from Riggs. He was having some bike trouble and needed a hand. Knowing I couldn’t keep him waiting, I motioned to Rider, letting him know that I was leaving, and headed out the door. As I got on my bike, I wasn’t feeling aggravated or put out. I knew with each time the brothers called me for help, I was one step closer to becoming a member of Satan’s Fury, and there was nothing I wanted more.

  Landry

  There were those girls in high school who’d always seemed to have it all—the ones with the perfect figure, perfect hair, and flawless skin. They could eat anything they wanted to without gaining a single pound, and for whatever reason, everyone on the planet seemed to absolutely adore them. Yeah, I hadn’t been one of those girls. I was five-foot-ten and wore a size twelve, so I was far from little. My hair had been a curly, frizzy mess, and my complexion a total nightmare. It wasn’t that I hadn’t attempted to make myself look better, I did. I used all the hair mousses and gels, doctored my breakouts, and had tried every fad diet known to man. It didn’t matter though. There’d been nothing I could do to make myself stand out in the crowd—at least, not while Mom was around.

  My mother had been the vice principal of my high school, and a complete knockout. There wasn’t a guy around who hadn’t noticed her great curves, especially when she’d been wearing one of her tight pencil skirts—and to make matters worse, the guys who I’d so desperately hoped would notice me were constantly telling me how hot they thought my mom was. It’d been soul crushing. No matter how hard I had tried, I was forever hidden in her shadow. If that wasn’t enough, I also had to contend with my brother and his enormous popularity. Jacob was not only a big guy—six-seven and two hundred and eighty pounds—he’d also been a star athlete. He played football, basketball, and baseball, and he played them well. Everyone in town had thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread, including my parents, and my only claim to fame had been the fact that I was his sister.

  I’d hoped things would change after I graduated and went off to college. They hadn’t. I never could shake those inferior feelings from my childhood. I’d gotten my degree without ever taking any
real risks, figuring I wouldn’t get rejected or hurt if I didn’t put myself out there. As I ventured out into the real world, I never felt like I had any idea of who I really was or what I wanted out of life, but that all changed when I got my first job as a social worker. I’d finally found something I excelled at—my something—my niche.

  The work was challenging, and at times, I worried if I had what it took to deal with such hard demands, but I never gave up. I was determined to do my job and help the families I was working with to the best of my ability, and after just a few weeks, my supervisor started to take notice. Recognition wasn’t something I was used to, but I liked it. I liked it a lot. It gave me the drive I needed to push through when times got tough—like the day I was first assigned to the Strayhorn case.

  The cases I handled were always different. Some families were poor. Some were wealthy. Some had homes that were in complete shambles, while others lived in almost mansions. There wasn’t a set of criteria that marked the people in my case files, so I tried to always expect the unexpected. I kept that in mind as I pulled up to the Strayhorn home. It was a pitiful sight. The paint was cracked and peeling, and there were boards covering several of the windows. As I got out of my car and started up the walkway, I became concerned when I noticed the boards on the front porch were severely warped making me fear that I might fall through the wooden planks. Doing my best to watch my footing, I made my way up to the door and knocked.

  Moments later it opened, and my heart melted when I saw her—Fiona, the youngest of the Strayhorn children. Dark corkscrew ringlets framed her angelic face, and along with the sweetest little smile, she had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. It looked like she was about to speak when a pained grimace crossed her face. She brought her hand up to her mouth, covering it as she started to cough. It sounded terrible, almost strangling her as she tried to catch her breath, making me wonder if the poor thing had pneumonia. When she finally caught her breath, I knelt down to her eye level and said, “Hi there, sweetheart. My name is Landry Dawson. I’ve come to check in on you and your brothers and sisters.”

  A worried expression crossed her face as she turned and looked over her shoulder, nervously checking to see if anyone was behind her. I knew it wasn’t the first time someone had come to pay them a visit. I’d read over their records, and over the past eight months, there had been several calls and four DHS home visits. After several moments, she turned her attention back to me. When she didn’t speak, I gave her a little push. “Is your mom around?”

  “No.” She tugged at the hem of her dingy t-shirt. “She’s at work.”

  Her sweet little voice made me want to scoop her up in my arms and hold her as if she were my own. “What about your dad? Is he here?”

  She shook her head. “No. Just my brudder, Jo-sif.”

  “Oh, okay.” When I read over their file, there was no mention of either parent having a job. In fact, it showed that neither of them had worked in months. They were not only on unemployment but were also receiving food stamps. This wasn’t an uncommon practice in the city, and I held no judgements in regards to their working situation as long as they were using the funds to provide for their family. I wasn’t so sure that was happening, especially after reading about Joseph. On numerous accounts, he’d been caught stealing food from a nearby grocery store. Most thirteen-year-old boys would be trying to lift cigarettes instead of food, but after seeing his home and the sickly state of his youngest sister, I’d surmise that he’d grabbed what he could because he and his siblings were hungry. “Do you think you could go get Joseph? I’d really like to talk to him.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Leaving the door wide open, she turned and ran towards the center of the house. I stood up, then leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the inside. While the furniture was sparse, it seemed fairly clean—at least from what I could see of it. I was tempted to step inside but stayed put when I heard Fiona shout, “Jo-sif! A lady’s here!”

  “What?” he shouted in return.

  “A lady’s at da door!”

  “Okay.” I heard footsteps approaching, and just as he was about to reach the door, I heard him whisper to her, “Who is it?”

  I tried to listen to her response, but it was muffled under another round of coughing. It was then that I realized Fiona wasn’t the only one who was sick in the house. My concern was rising by the second, and when Joseph finally appeared at the door, it only grew higher. While adorably cute like his sister, he was very underweight, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He tried to put on a brave front, but I could hear the fear in his voice as he asked, “Can I help you with something?”