by Ryan Michele
Bound by Vengeance
Ravage MC Bound Series Book 3
Ryan Michele
Bound by Vengeance (Ravage MC Bound Series Book Three) Copyright © Ryan Michele 2017
All Rights Reserved. This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without express written permission from Ryan Michele.
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This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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1st edition published: September 14, 2017
AISN: B072NK1VJ5
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Editing by: C&D Editing
Proofread: Silla Webb
Cover Design by: Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs
Photography by: Wander Aguiar
Models: Jonny James and Desiree Crossmann
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This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All sexually active characters portrayed in this book are eighteen years of age or older. Please do not buy if strong sexual situations, violence and explicit language offends you.
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This is not meant to be an exact depiction of life in a motorcycle club, but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.
Contents
Keep Up to Date
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Ryan Michele
Thank you
Excerpt of In the Red (Devils Due #1) by Chelsea Camaron
Excerpt of Arrested Heart by SM Donaldson
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To you
Thank you for loving the Ravage men and women as much as I do.
Prologue
The gun is steady in my hand, the weight of it not giving me a bit of comfort. The cold of the metal, the unforgiveness of its mold, it matches the way I feel inside. Hardened steel, molded and made by the hands of men, the firearm gives me no fear. It only feeds the burning need for retribution in my soul.
Aiming it at him, thoughts of how I got to this place rush through me. The choices that were stripped, the consequences of actions and life that were altered and changed forever. All of it weighs heavily on me, but my strong shoulders bear it.
Being a warrior is in my blood, carried through me from my parents. Eye for an eye is our motto. They would expect nothing less from me.
The blood pumping through my veins was once a life source. Now, my sole focus and the fury that courses through me is fueled by vengeance with every beat of my heart.
He looks up at me, eyes blank.
“Bye, Ryker.”
Without a second thought or a moment of hesitation, I pull the trigger.
Chapter One
“Oh, Austyn.” Lexa, my former and hopefully current boss, tightly wraps her arms around me, tipping my body from left to right in excitement. Her short, spiked hair pokes me as she leans in.
She’s always stylish, staying with the latest trends and colors. Currently, the tips are a vibrant pink, but will surely change next week.
“Hi, Lexa.”
It’s been three and a half months since I stepped foot into Do or Dye Salon. Truthfully, I didn’t know how Lexa would react to me coming in without any notice. When I left, it was by phone, not wanting to be out in the world, unable to handle people. She was worried, and I knew she cared because she showed it every day I worked here for the past year and a half. Life was hard, and it took me away for a while.
This salon is my third home, right after my parents’ house and the Ravage MC clubhouse. They always say that home is where you hang your hat, but for me, it’s where I have people around me that I care about.
Lexa pulls away, yet still holding on to me as she looks me up and down. Shying away isn’t an option. There are no physical markings anyone can see. It’s what’s on the inside that can be scary. Good thing that is well-hidden.
It’s my secret, my scars. No one can bear the burden but me.
There is a piece of me that started small and dark, but now it has grown to cover every inch of my soul. Seeking equality and vengeance, the woman at the core of who I am is marked, stained, covered in red.
Once life was my oyster, or whatever the fuck the saying is. Once I was carefree. Once I was open to life, love, and anything that came my way. Now I have a fortress around myself. It’s a good thing no one can penetrate those walls. I’ll make damn sure that doesn’t happen.
“Tell me you’re coming back. We’ve had requests for you up and down, and I need you!”
This is music to my ears. Not only do I need to work, I need a paycheck. Life continues, even when you don’t want it to. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way, and money is survival at its finest.
“If you’ll have me.”
Her smile lifts so high I swear her ears move with a wiggle. “Yes! Can you start now? I didn’t put anyone in your chair and haven’t touched a thing.”
This surprises me. Do or Dye Salon is small with only five chairs that are normally filled all the time. It’s only open for a specific few hours, and by appointment only. We take walk-ins, but they understand they could possibly be waiting all day before a spot opens. The place is constantly packed with people wanting a fresh look or a root touch-up. The fact that Lexa kept my spot after the phone call and over the months shows her loyalty and makes me love her even more.
I scrunch my face up. “Maybe I should clean my station first?”
She waves her hand in front of her like she’s shooing away a fly. “Nonsense. I’ve kept it clean. And no one has cut hair there. Once word gets out that you’re back, the place will be hopping!”
“It’s not already?” When I came in, three of the five chairs were filled.
“Not nearly enough since you left. Now that you’re back, it’ll be rocking!” She steps away and goes to her computer, typing in some keys. “There, you’re all ready to start. You can do walk-ins until people know you’re back, but let me tell you, it won’t take but a day for the news to get out and the phone to light up. I’m going to have to warn Kari so she can expect the phone and the desk to be backed up.”
This is exactly what I needed.
“I’m sure Emery will come in. She’s been buggin’ the hell out of me to do her hair. I told her I’d do it at my mom’s, but she says it isn’t the same.”
Lexa’s face lights up with glee. If there’s anything she loves, it’s when people talk about her shop and make it known that she’s the best in town.
“Call her up. Get her in here. This is great!”
Great
is right. This endeavor went so much better than I envisioned. I thought she wouldn’t want me back after leaving her high and dry on a whim. Luckily, she still likes me. I wonder, though, how long it’s going to take before she asks me where I was and why I didn’t come to work. That isn’t a conversation I’m looking forward to.
An hour later, the bell over the door rings and Emery, my best friend and cousin, strolls into the place, looking like she’s won the lottery.
She has the most beautiful hair. It’s long, almost down to her butt, straight, and so silky smooth it makes those television commercials for shampoo look like child’s play. She always insists on adding highlights, but I think she’s nuts. Her hair doesn’t need them because she has natural ones that people here would love to have. I do it for her, anyway.
“I’m so excited!” She comes over, giving me a hug before setting her purse down on the small table against the window. The shop is set up a bit strange, but considering the way the building is, there isn’t much of a choice.
When you walk in the front door, there is a small reception desk to the left, then the five stations where the stylists work are to the right. Five black chairs with cabinets and large mirrors on the walls. Next to those are the four sinks for shampooing, and next to that are the hair dryers. On the opposite wall is the bathroom and places to sit and hang coats. It’s long instead of wide. Small, simple.
What I like best about it is it’s painted a vibrant purple on three of the walls and a cream on the other. Lexa has it decorated with stylish paintings. It’s a very comfortable place to work.
“Me too. What do you want to do?”
As Emery plops down in my chair, I drape my leopard print cape over her body and snap it at the nape.
“The usual. I need a trim too. What do you think of layers?”
I grab the brush and begin to glide it down her hair. Needing to put her up some, I then give the chair a pump with my foot to raise her before continuing my task. “If that’s what you want, we can totally do it. You’d be adorable.”
Her eyes narrow. “Adorable? You seriously just used the word adorable with me?”
A chuckle escapes. “Yep. Adorably cute.”
She reaches out and smacks me on the arm playfully. “That’s not funny, missy.”
When we were younger, she’d let me “practice” on her, and I use that term loosely. No matter what I did to her hair—and one time I cut a huge chunk out of it—it was always adorable. It got to the point where she told me, if I used that word again, she wouldn’t allow me to do her hair anymore. So, I moved to the word cute. Then that word got banned.
“Sure it was. Let’s do this.”
“Let’s.”
Being behind the chair, holding the foil in my hand and smelling the lifter in my nostrils, it all feels normal. Right. I’ve missed this. I needed this. My life is getting back on track.
“Have you heard from Micah since you moved back home?” I ask.
Emery moved back to Sumner when her mother was diagnosed with cancer. She’s been going to community college and taking some online classes. Micah, Tug and Blaze’s kid, has been her childhood crush forever. They even went away to the same school.
“Hell no,” she growls, piquing my interest.
I roll her hair in a foil before pressing it to her head, using the metal end of the comb to fold the edges. “What does that mean?”
“He had a girlfriend and decided to bring her with him when he came to see me. Me, I thought it would be just him and me. Got dressed up and all that shit. Anyway, I ended up faking being sick so I could go home.”
“What a dick.”
She looks at me in the mirror, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “She was a brunette and really, really pretty. I probably would have liked her if she wasn’t hanging on Micah’s arm. But whatever. That’s over. He’s there, I’m here, and he doesn’t want anything to do with the club, so I don’t have to worry about him coming home.”
“What if he does come home?” I ask, parting another strand of hair.
“He won’t.” The confidence in her voice has me thinking she may be right. If she’s wrong, it could go really bad really fast.
“Are we still on to get that place together?” she asks, changing the subject as she stares down at her phone, no doubt on social media. The woman does statuses and tweets all day long. If I want to know something, checking her feed will tell me.
Emery’s phone rings before I can answer, and she holds up her index finger, indicating she wants me to wait. “Hello …? Hello?” She hangs up. “Unknown caller. I’ve been getting a ton of sales calls lately. It’s starting to piss me off. Okay, you were saying?”
“Yep. That’s why the job, babe. Gotta get my funds back in order. Savings is good, but it won’t last forever.”
“Thank Christ. If I have to hear my parents going at it one more time, I’m going to lose my shit. Ever since my mother got the clean bill of health and the cancer is officially gone, they’re like rabbits on crack. I kid you not.” She complains, but deep down, I know she loves that her parents have that kind of relationship. She’s told me many times. I can’t blame her.
From my perspective, living with my folks the past few months, I feel her pain. It’s one of the many reasons I need out of mine. Being there gives me too much time to think. Think about my life and what needs to be done to get it back on track.
“Set up a showing, and we can sign. All my stuff is in storage. We have everything we need there. I have an extra bed, too, if you need it.”
When she shakes her head, I glare at her through the mirror. One thing you don’t do when a woman has lifter and a brush is move your head.
“Sorry.” She stills. “I’m good. I have that under control. You think they’re going to let us?”
I hold the foil and spread on the lightener with a brush, then fold the foil up into a packet, pushing it on her head. “We’re adults.”
Emery bursts out laughing, with me following right behind. “Right. The place has a very secure system, the guy on the phone said. We can have Buzz and Breaker check it out to make sure.”
“That’d be good.”
She calls my name, and I look at her in the mirror.
“Is it safe for you?”
Emotions well at the surface, threatening to come out, but I gather my strength and bury them deep, where they need to stay. “Of course. At least, it is with my Glock.” On a wink, I return to her hair then set her under the dryer to process.
She’s right. My father is Cruz, President of the Ravage MC Motorcycle Club here in Sumner, Georgia. Many fear him, but never me. At least, not yet. He’s strict in what he expects, but I’ve learned he’s fair. He and I are very close. If you looked up daddy’s little girl in the dictionary, my picture would be there. It doesn’t mean he’s going to like me moving out on my own again.
I wash Emery’s hair, cut, and then blow dry it.
“We need a plan.”
You know that old saying, asking forgiveness is easier than asking for permission? Once it’s done, they can’t argue but so much. That’s what part of my plan is, anyway.
Her brow quirks in that way she does when we’re up to something and she’s all in, no matter what it is. That’s what I love about her. She’s always along for the ride.
She’s the kind of friend I could call and she would be ready to hide the body without a single question as to why or whom. That’s more than a friend or a cousin; it’s a sister.
“Hear me out. My father will probably have issues with me having my own place. Even in The Brookshire. I say we keep it to ourselves and sign the lease. Then we can tell both our families before we move, and hopefully they won’t blow a gasket.”
The Brookshire is one of the nicer apartment complexes in Sumner. It has extra security upon entering and exiting the property. It’s not what Ravage could set up, but it’s better than nothing.
“We’re twenty-one and twenty-years-old,” she tells
me, something I already know, and says nothing more.
“Yeah, I know how old I am, Emery. Doesn’t mean they’ll roll with it.” My father is super protective. I get that, but I need my own space. It’s imperative.
“Let’s do it,” she says, rising from the chair.
I snap off the cape as she runs her fingers through her hair, letting it fall down her back.
“I love it. Thank God you’re back!”
Yep. I’m back, in more ways than one.
Chapter Two
“Come eat!” my mother, Princess Cruz, calls from the mouth of the hallway that leads down to my childhood bedroom.
I close the box and tape the top of it. I’ve been going at this all day with my door closed. Now, it’s time to tell them.
I’m nervous, not going to lie, but I’m going to tackle them both at once. I figure that will make things go easier, at least in the long run. The lease is signed, deposit and first month’s rent is down. The place is ours, and I’m ready to get on with my life and my plan.
I make my way to the kitchen, taking in the house on the way. My mom doesn’t do flashy. Everything in her home is very down to earth and casual. The kitchen is large, the cabinets a rustic wooden color. The walls are painted cream, but then she has vibrant prints on one of the walls with pictures of her three kids on the other. The table fits eight people, but it can be expanded out if needed. It’s home, and I’ve always loved it here. It will be a great place to visit. Yes, visit, not stay.
