by Ryan Michele
“I’m not really hungry and I can’t stay too long.”
“Bull. You stay, eat and have some fun. You need to stop hiding out all the time.” She gives a small smirk but doesn’t respond.
“Beer Pong!” Bubbles, Becs ol’ lady, yells out. I roll my eyes slightly.
“What are you eighteen?” Harlow chastises. “Oh shit… What the hell.” She throws her arms up and stumbles over to the cabinet pulling out a stack of red and yellow Solo cups. She fills twelve of them partially full. “You got a ping pong ball woman?”
“Hell if I know!” I say going to find G.T., who is now sitting outside on the deck with his brothers, Cruz, Becs, Dagger, Rhys and Zed, who all smirk when I walk out. G.T. full out smiles, his eyes locking with mine. “Hey babe. You got a ping pong ball.”
“Oh shit. Really Angel?” I shrug.
“Bubbles wanted to play, Harlow went along with it and now I’m out finding a ball.”
“I’ve got balls for ya.” Dagger says to the side and G.T. growls.
“You wanna keep those fucking balls?” He asks Dagger, who busts out laughing. “Come on babe. I’ll get it.”
We are on our second round of beer pong and shit, Harlow must have practiced. She keeps hitting them all and focusing her fury on me. I’ve had several shots of beer, but still holding strong.
I look across the room seeing Blaze and Tug in what looks to be a serious conversation. Blaze’s hands are moving all around in front of her and Tug’s arms are crossed over his chest, in the I-am-man-you-listen, stance. G.T. does it a lot, so I’m very familiar with it.
I try to read their mouths, but to no avail. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol that I’ve consumed. I want to know, but it really is none of my business.
My eyes flash to the hottest man that I know, my man. His eyes catch mine and I can see them dancing. I wink and he smiles, God I love those damn dimples. I feel the strings trying to connect us and pull me to him, but I also know that if I go, he’ll probably end up carrying me through the house to the bedroom. Not that I mind. I just need to take care of all of our guests.
Life sure has a lot of twists and turns in it. Some you expect and others may devastate. I’m not entirely sure how G.T. and I got to this place, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
GT
“Thank fucking God they are gone.” I slam the door behind Rhys and Dagger, they seem to always be the last ones to leave the party. Which is normally fine, but tonight I have an Angel to be inside.
I turn and march straight towards Angel her eyes grow wide and her breath catches. I haven’t been able to keep my damn hands off of her for more than a few minutes since she let me back in. I fucking love being buried inside of her. She’s my drug, my addiction.
I grab her around her waist pulling her to my body and she gasps, her hands flying up to my chest to hold on. I slam my lips to hers, tasting her cherry lip gloss and eat every bit of it off of her lips. She has made me love cherries. She kisses me back and holds steady, her hands thread through my hair and give it a small tug. I growl.
I cup her ass pulling her up and she takes the invitation, wrapping her legs around my body. I carry her straight to the couch falling down on top of her. My hands travel down her body to the hem of her shirt pulling it up quickly and off of her. Our lips take a small reprieve but continue after the obstruction is gone.
I unhook her black lacy bra, tossing it to the floor and knead her tits as she moans in my mouth. I tweak her nipples and roll them with my finger and thumb causing her back to arch off the couch.
Pulling away, I look down at my beautiful girl. She has her smile back. It seemed to have taken a small vacation there for a while, but whatever Dr. Anderson is doing, is working. She is opening back up and showing me the Angel that I love.
I undo her pants and pull them along with her underwear off in one swoop. She moves up to unlatch mine. “No. Stay.” I stand and remove my clothes quickly lying back on top of her.
“I’m gonna fuck you now, babe.” She nods unable to form words from her lips.
“Yes, please.” She whimpers and moans.
I waste no time and slam home, inside of her, stretching that tight pussy as she screams. Her short nails dig into my flesh and I fucking love it. I crave it. I want her to mark me. I want to make her mine.
After our screaming releases, we barely make it to the bed and drift off into a happy, peaceful sleep.
Epilogue
Casey
Two Weeks Later
Bliss. Who’d have thought? I sure didn’t. But it’s amazing how life changes. My arms hold G.T. snug as the roar of his Harley’s engine rumbles between my spread legs. My pussy vibrates as I push it closer into G.T.’s tight ass. The wind whips through my hair as my lid and shades block the bugs from crashing into my eyes. I learned as a child to keep my mouth closed, only to open it when needed. Damn if that brisk wind didn’t give ya a sore throat.
But this is what I love. I love being on the back of my man’s bike feeling the world drift by. Nothing is a blur. Everything is in full vivid color and I eat every second of it up. G.T. surprised me this morning saying he wanted to take me for a ride and I quickly obliged. There is no better place on earth, than where I am at this moment.
My mind drifts to the past few weeks and the rollercoaster that I’ve been on. There have been so many downs, but also ups to try to balance it out. One thing is for certain. I love this man. I love him down to the depths of my soul.
I hold him tighter; his hand leaves the handlebars and squeezes my hand telling me he’s feeling it too. I let everything go, and enjoy the ride.
Later That Night
GT
The blaring noise coming from my phone wakes me from a peaceful sleep. The room is cloaked in darkness with only a small bit of moonlight coming in through a break in the curtain. Letting out a groan, I roll over and peer through squinted eyes to try to read the red digital clock that is burning my pupils. 3:37 AM. What the fuck? This had to be bad. My body falls back to the bed, but is on instant alert, unease and adrenaline begin to pump through me causing my heart to hammer in my chest.
Stretching out my arm to reach for my phone, I try to find it quickly before I wake the beautiful woman draped around me. Grabbing the denim jeans I had dropped on the ground the night before, I dig into the front pocket. I clasp my hand around the plastic device, tug it out and bring it to my face to read the caller. Pops. Shit, this really can’t be good.
“What?” I grumble into the phone and pray it is nothing. Hopeful mom has the flu or Low is having a meltdown about something. Ravage has been through the wringer lately and we are due some down time. Past due.
“Get the fuck here! Cops just left. They fucking raided the clubhouse and destroyed everything!” Pops yells in the other end of the phone.
I move out of bed careful as I can, not to jostle Angel. I shove my legs in each pant leg; the harsh denim material wakes me up even more as Pops words roll around my head. A million questions and finally I focus on one.
“They find anything?” I ask, knowing we have our skeletons we need to keep hidden at Ravage.
“I don’t fucking know. They didn’t arrest anyone, but that doesn’t mean shit.”
Pops is pissed. This is just a never ending cycle lately. We handle one situation just to have another blow up in our faces.
“On my way.” I hang up the phone and jam it back into my pocket. Turning to look at Angel, her eyes are shut, eyelashes fanning across her delicate cheeks. She looks so calm and angelic. I hate waking her, but she needs to know I’m leaving. Leaning down I kiss the top of her head and call out her name softly. With a grumble, she wakes and pouts her cherry lips.
“Baby, I’ve gotta run to the club. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Her eyes flutter open “Okay babe. Love you.”
Kissing me, she drifts back to sleep.
I snatch a cotton shirt off a hanger in the closet, sli
pping it on and stepping out of the dark room into the hallway and shove my feet into my boots. I walk out of our home preparing myself for whatever is going on now.
Jumping on my bike, I rev up the motor, the vibration doing nothing to calm my nerves and thoughts. I just need to get there, get the facts, and help the brother’s make a plan. Pulling back the throttle, I gun it to the clubhouse, the roar of the engine echoing on the deserted streets.
Can’t a man just get a moment of peace?
* * *
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Bound by Family
Prologue
Coooer
This life.
My life … is Ravage.
Some say it’s my destiny. Others call this my curse.
Lucky for me, I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. The man I’ve become is because of a choice—none of that other bullshit. Everyone in life has a choice, a path. What direction you take is up to you.
For me, I had this moment in my life, a moment when I knew who and what I’d become.
It wasn’t forced or coerced as the talk has been around this small town. No, the moment that haunts my dreams is what created the man you see today.
Family.
From the beginning to the end, family is what you start with and what you end with. I’m bound to it, honored by it, and respected in it.
1
Cooper
The echo of the hammer hitting bone crackles through the air in the small, dank room. The man’s screams fill the space with pain, anger, and contempt. He doesn’t want us here anymore than we want to be in this dump. Unfortunately for us both, he fucked up and it isn’t an option. No, it’s a necessity.
Fucking Stu.
Ravage Motorcycle Club, my family, we run a tight ship, so to speak. There is a code, rules of sorts that must be followed. Fall out of line, there will be punishment. Stu fell out of line.
Ryker laughs off to the side, pulling me away from my thoughts as I let go of the man’s wrist, hammer still clenched in the other hand. The asshole, Stu, falls to his knees on the dirt floor, holding his broken finger.
That’s not the only one he’s going to get today for his stupidity.
He knows better. Everyone in Sumner, Georgia knows better. Hell, make that anyone who has ever heard of Ravage knows better.
“You’ve got a hell of a blow with that thing,” Ryker calls out. The man is twisted and warped. He does this shit for fun and entertainment. Part of me thinks he gets off on it, but to each their own. Me, I do this shit out of duty and responsibility. Regardless, he’s been by my side for years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When no response comes from me, Ryker walks up to the man and gives him a savage kick to the gut, making the man curl into a ball to protect himself. Green and Jacks stand off to the side of the small space.
We brought Stu to one of our outbuildings. It’s more like a rundown shack, but it has what we need to get the job done.
“I’m thinkin’ we need to take off some piggies,” Ryker eggs on, and a chuckle escapes me. He does have a way with words, saying exactly what he thinks with not an ounce of filter.
“Give me a shot,” Jacks, another one of my brothers and a friend from high school, says as he holds his hand out to me, waiting for the hammer.
Handing it to him, I then take a step back and cross my arms. It’s not me being a pussy. It’s me wanting to get this shit done so we can get the fuck out of here.
“Money,” I bark out to Stu as Ryker gives him another hard kick, this one to his thigh.
Stu owes our club fifty thousand seven hundred dollars and some change for merchandise he purchased. We gave him a week after the initial payment of fifty grand went smooth. Ravage and Stu have a history, and in that time, this is the first instance when Stu hasn’t paid up in full. It’ll be the last time as well.
“I-I can have it b-by the weekend,” Stu stammers out as Jacks swings the hammer, hitting Stu in the ankle. Another crunching sound reverberates throughout the room.
Ryker smirks, coming to stand next to me and giving me a slight bump on the shoulder with his elbow. “Believe this fucker? Weekend?” He shakes his head and spits down at Stu. “Motherfucker, you have twenty-four hours to come up with the cash.”
“If we don’t have it by then, you’re done,” I add as Jacks takes another swing.
His cries of fear fill the air.
After an hour of making sure Stu gets the picture by using our fists and hammer, we ride.
Fresh air. The freedom of feeling the elements surround me. The delicate balance of navigating a road or eating asphalt.
It’s the best part of every day.
The ride.
My bike is a beauty. A Heritage Softtail Harley painted black and red—Ravage MC colors. Working on her has been my pastime for years, tuning and cleaning. I take care of her, and she takes care of me. Wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s something about taking garbage and turning it into something you love. That’s my bike. She began as a pile of shit and turned out to be absolutely perfect.
Life ties us down. Materials hold people back. The open road is about freedom. Ravage is freedom. We live to our code, our standards, and we take care of our own.
My mind clears on the open road awaiting me, nothing but blacktop and paint ahead. Riding allows me the peaceful time to think. Sometimes my rides last hours, while others only last minutes. Normally, whenever my mind figures out what it needs to, that’s the time I pull my bike to a stop.
Lately, the Ravage MC has been bringing in some serious money with all the deals that Pops has worked out over the years. Some of them bring more than others, but it’s becoming more difficult to filter the money. Especially with the amount of cash. There’s only so much we can put through the garage and Studio X, the strip club. Even Stu owes us, and when that cash shows up … Well, it’s got to go somewhere.
It’s been working well, but we had to stock pile cash in several of our vaults in the clubhouse basement. Having cash on hand is great in the times we need it, but it will continually increase over time if we keep at this pace. That being said, we need something else to funnel the money.
The thing is, I’ve been around the club my whole life. I prospected in early. Just turning twenty-two, I’ve held my place for four years now. I’m ready to step up anywhere needed. More so, I’m ready to give a fresh mindset and view to the way we do business. It’s all for family.
My Ravage family.
My top idea is a car wash. It’s an all-cash business, unless you let the customers use credit cards, which I would advise against. If we keep it all cash, we could put some of the money through there. I even searched the internet about all the working parts of one of the machines and how much it would take to build and maintain it. Ravage could easily do it, but the downside is all the moving pieces. Sure, we can go and fix the shit, but I want to work smarter, not harder.
There’s a way, and I will damn well find it.
My parents taught me many things. The first and foremost is to be my own man. If that means carving a new path for the Ravage MC, I’m up to the task.
Pulling up to the clubhouse, we park in the lot, all next to each other, turning off the engines and taking off our helmets.
This building is home.
My memory is damn good, which is both a blessing and a curse. My father doesn’t know, but I remember living with my biological mother and seeing stuff as a young child that was flat-out wrong. It’s not that he doesn’t care to know; we just don’t talk about it.
Besides, remembering those times only pisses me off. Seeing men come in and out of the small apartment, going into that woman’s bedroom then coming out a while later. She was always doped up on something. Back then, I thought she just wasn’t feeling well.
When she started hitting me, that was when I knew what fear was. A woman is supposed to love their kid, at least somewhat. Mine didn’t. Not at all.
; The moment my father told that woman—my incubator, as we call her now—I was staying with him, that’s what I consider my rebirth. It was a new start. Not only that, but I had a new mother, as well. One who loved me, took care of me, and put all my needs above anyone else’s, not giving two shits what anyone thought about it.
When I started living, this ugly-as-fuck, cement-blocked building became home. Don’t get me wrong, we had a house, as well, but the clubhouse is where it all started for me.
“How’d it go?” Pops, the president of Ravage MC and my grandfather, asks upon us entering the building as I get chin lifts from the guys.
Pops has been the president since I came to Ravage—at least eighteen years. He’s done a great job building the Ravage Motorcycle Club into very profitable entities. Not only that, after the bullshit that went down when I was a kid, Pops keeps a tight leash on any and all our friends and enemies. One doesn’t do what we do and not have a huge basket of both, but Pops has kept it all in line.
“Ryker got a little too happy, so the guy won’t be having kids, probably ever, but the message was sent. If he doesn’t have it by the weekend, then we’ll take care of it.”
Pops chuckles.
“Hey, the fucker was tryin’ to stand up. If he would’ve stayed down, his nuts wouldn’t have cracked.”
Laughter is heard throughout the clubhouse.
Pops slaps his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. The look he gives me is different, but he says nothing as he walks to one of the tables and has a seat.
I’ve noticed things about him these last few months. The looks that come across his face when he thinks no one is looking, as if he’s tired and the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s true.
