Bound by Ravage

by Ryan Michele

  Buzz is a tech genius and has been with the club for well over twenty years. He taught me how to hack, best places for cameras when doing surveillance, and how to dissect a hard drive to get information. He says he’s not getting any younger and needs to pass on his skills. He has two twin boys, Raiden and Axton. They’re only nine, but I’m sure Buzz has already begun teaching them what he knows. That could be disaster, because the man could hack classified shit. Hopefully his kids don’t cause too much chaos.

  Buzz has a twin brother, Breaker, but his kids are still pretty little.

  “Princess is askin’ for some help down at X. Anyone want the job?” Buzz asks on a chuckle.

  Studio X is a strip club that Ravage owns and my mother runs. Tug’s ol’ lady, Blaze, used to dance there, but now she does the books. There’s tons of history between them, but it’s theirs to tell.

  “Fuck yeah,” Green and Jacks say in unison.

  “I’m down,” Ryker adds.

  “Sure. I’m always down to see some tits and ass.”

  X is a smorgasbord of anything a man could want or need. Blonde, brunette, redheads. Hell, we have one that has purple hair. You name it, X has it.

  Working at X is a huge perk of our job. One that we take advantage of regularly. When I was a teen, I’d bust a nut to go to X. Now, coming and going is a wonderful pleasure.

  “Boys,” Rhys says as we begin to walk out after packaging our last gun. “Try not to fuck them all. It only leads to bad shit.”

  “We’ll try,” Ryker says, waving his hand in the air. I’m ready for the show.

  5

  Bristyl

  The red polish sparkles on my toes as I finish my forced pedicure. Toes, feet in particular, are a thing with me. Women, men—it doesn’t matter. They have shitty looking feet, it grosses me out. It’s not like feet attacked me at some point in my life or anything. It’s just my thing, and why my little toes are pristine.

  Leah, my best friend from high school, plops down on the bed, making me jump.

  “You’re damn lucky I already closed the bottle.” The damage done by nail polish on my purple and black bedspread would be a mess. One I don’t feel like cleaning up or having to buy a new one.

  “Whatever,” she grumbles with a smile. “So, is your dad going to let you go to the rally?”

  Leah has been around for the past five years, and she’s stuck around because I can trust her. Between girls wanting to be my friend to have a shot at my brothers or the guys thinking I’m an easy lay, I lost a lot of faith in people. My dad always says, “You only trust your family.” I consider Leah my family.

  Over the years, she’s had my back on more than one occasion. The best part, she never asks about my brothers or about going to the club. She’s my friend and wants nothing in return, other than friendship back.

  “He’ll probably give me shit about it.” More than shit, actually. Even being twenty-one-years-old, my father treats me as if I’m sixteen. I love him, but it’s getting suffocating. There have been times on and off when I’ve had to be locked down at home because he said he had to keep me safe. I know it involves the club, but long ago, I learned not to ask questions. Club business isn’t my business.

  I have my own place. Well, partially. The small house is right off the main house where I grew up and where my father lives. I have privacy, but I’m shrouded by my father’s protection. I know he’s being careful, but the older I get, the more it weighs on me like lead—that urge to be free and be my own person, not shielded and confined.

  “We have to go. It’ll be so much fun.”

  Leah went with me last year to Burnout Beach, and we did have fun. My brothers only found us a couple of times and scared two guys away, which was annoying. My father didn’t like it one bit. He had two prospects follow us from a distance, but they kept their cool and didn’t intervene much. The fight about having those two men follow me wasn’t pretty, but I had no choice except to suck it up.

  These rallies are … crazy. I’m not even sure if that’s the right word for them. Lots of bikers from all over the country, but mostly southern states, come to Florida for it. It’s built on the premise that they all get together to connect. At least, that’s what my brothers told me. My perspective is that it’s so they can get drunk and screw.

  What I love about them is the bands and dancing. I could spend the entire time just watching the different bands perform. This year, one of my favorites, Demon’s Wings, is going to be there. My plan is to enjoy their music to the fullest. If I happen to stare at Shane Stevenson with his blue-gray eyes and short, dark hair the entire time, so be it.

  I’m not going to lie. There’s some great eye candy there as well. The women … I could go without seeing all the tits and ass flying around. But it is what it is.

  “I’ll make it work.” I haven’t said a word about the rally to any of my family. My brothers have talked about, but I keep my mouth shut. I do this for one reason and one reason only: if my father doesn’t think I’m going, he can’t have guys watching the entire time. So, I will wait until he’s gone then head out.

  Sneaky, yes. It’s easier that way. He doesn’t have to be the bad guy, and I don’t have to get pissed off at him. Win-win.

  Leah eyes me, smiles, grabs my laptop, and fires it up.

  I chuckle, falling back on the pillows, a puff of air exploding around me. “Let’s see what today brings.”

  “This is funny shit. We couldn’t make it up if we tried.”

  About six months ago, Leah signed up for an internet dating website. She had high hopes of meeting someone, but instead, she gets propositioned with some crazy stuff.

  “Alright. What has love chosen for you today?”

  “Oh shit, there’s like, seven messages.”

  I stare up at the ceiling, her clicking of the keys the only sound in the room. “You’re hot, what do you expect?”

  She is. Long, dark hair, a kickass body, and stunning brown eyes. Why she wants to look for love on a dating site is beyond me. To each their own. I’m here for moral support and the laughs.

  “Oh, my God!” Her hand flies over her mouth, and I sit up instantly, looking at the screen.

  An image stares back at me. It takes me a moment to digest it. A woman is lying on her back, legs up, knees on either side of her face, ass in the air. A man is sitting on top of her, legs spread while reading the paper, both naked. It looks like he’s taking a shit on her.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Apparently, this is the ‘butter churner.’ It’s a sexual position this guy wants to do to me.”

  I burst out laughing, unable to hold it in. It racks my body so hard that I shake uncontrollably. “What! He wants to shit on you and read the paper?”

  She scrolls down through his message. “He says he likes having his women sit like this. His dick inside her, while he sits and either reads the paper or watches television.”

  “Like a damn chair? Don’t they make some kind of blowup doll or something for that?”

  “Hell if I know. Wouldn’t it, like, break a guy’s dick to just sit in that position? I mean, he’d have to, like, push his dick, like, straight down. How is that even comfortable?”

  Laughter bubbles in the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing back. Tears stream from my eyes, and my stomach clenches.

  “How does this relate to a butter churner? Where would that name even come from?”

  Leah hiccups her laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe he likes to circle his hips or move up and down. Oh, my God, this is just nuts.”

  “So, he’s out.”

  “Ya think?”

  I fall back on the bed. “What else did ya get?”

  She clicks around. “A marriage proposal and five date requests. Oh, Lord …”

  “What now?”

  She brings the laptop over to me and sets it on my belly. I read: I want you to whip me and spank me. Make me drink your piss. I’m your slave; you’re my master. This guy d
idn’t send a picture, thank goodness, but his profile picture is so fake.

  “Leah, that guy is a model. I’ve seen him in magazines. There’s no way this is legit. Someone is yanking your chain.”

  She lies down beside me and looks at the picture. “No way.”

  “Lord, the things we do for entertainment. You’re not going on any of those.”

  “I know. It sucks. Where are the good men?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  Bang … Bang.

  My eyes flutter open at the sound. I look around, noting I’m in my small living room, lying on the couch. I must’ve fallen asleep. Naps are my friend, not that I get a lot of them.

  “Bristyl! Open up,” Stone’s voice comes through the door.

  Rolling off the couch with a groan, I move toward the door and open it.

  My brother breezes right in, almost knocking me over in the process. Come on in.

  He enters the kitchen and opens my refrigerator, his head buried inside of it.

  “Sure, Stone, eat whatever you’d like. Drink whatever you’d like.”

  “Shut it,” he says back, pulling out a small bit of a sandwich I didn’t eat a few days ago and chomping on it.

  A smile plays on my lips, remembering I should have thrown it away because I dropped the sandwich on the ground. Serves him right.

  “You bellowed?” I ask, resting my hip on the side counter.

  My kitchen is small. It has the necessities—fridge, stove, sink, and microwave—but it’s about the size of a postage stamp. My father redid the countertops and put in new cabinets about three years ago, and I’ve kept it in really good shape. My cooking skill suck, so it’s golden for me.

  “We got a run. We’ll be gone for a few days,” he tells me.

  I shrug. “And?” This isn’t something new. My father and several of the guys go out on runs all the time. I don’t know what they do on them, and I don’t want to know. As long as they come home in one piece, that’s all I give a shit about.

  “Most of us are going, including Hunter, Racer, Dad and me.”

  This does come as a bit of a shock. Usually, one or two of my brothers stay behind. Someone is always at the clubhouse or garage when I’m there for work. It’s a bit unusual, but it’s their club and how they run it. I can’t say it doesn’t give me a twinge of anxiety, though, and I’m not sure why. The air in the club has been different these past few weeks, and I wish I knew the reason. It must just be me.

  “Okay …?” I draw out, waiting for more of this puzzle to come together.

  He shoves the sandwich into his mouth, then grabs a soda I didn’t see him pull out, popping the top and taking a swig. He’s tall, go figure. Unlike the rest of us, Stone has dark hair, almost black. He wears it long on the top and shaved on the sides. He has a slight beard and hazel eyes. They aren’t blue or green, but both. When I was younger, I used to hope I could have his eyes. Then reality kicked in.

  “You’re on storage and laundromat duty.”

  “Stone, I got this. I do it every day.”

  “But one of us goes and fixes whatever’s wrong. You either need to call in one of our people or take a prospect with you if something happens.”

  “Got it.”

  No way in hell I’m calling a prospect to go with me to fix something. Normal things that happen are the bill validator jams up or someone can’t get a machine to work. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Yes, it’s nice to call one of my brothers and have them do it, but I’m more than capable. Needing a babysitter is not on my agenda.

  “Just try not to burn it down.”

  I hit him on his shoulder. “I only burned a trailer, and it wasn’t my fault!” I charge back with a smile in my tone. “That old thing needed to go, anyway.”

  “Bristyl, you can’t burn a man’s camper on storage unit property. At least take it out in the back field.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” I really didn’t. Its propane tank had a leak, and I didn’t know.

  I had just tried starting to smoke. I lit a cigarette and boom. Luckily, I wasn’t hurt. Thrown back and hit my head, but not hurt. That was also the last smoke I put between my lips.

  “Mean to or not, no fires.”

  “No fires,” I repeat. “I got this, Stone. You don’t need to worry.”

  He steps closer and wraps his arm around me before pulling me to him. I inhale the leather, smoke, and spice that is my brother. The scent is a comfort. His lips touch the top of my head, adding to that warm feeling.

  “I’ll always worry about you … until I take my fuckin’ dying breath.”

  I squeeze him a little bit harder. “I know, but you gotta let me loose a bit.”

  “Never.” He gives me another kiss then steps back. “Alright, you need anything, you can call us. We won’t be able to come back, though. We’ll be home in two days.”

  “Yes, kemosabe.”

  “Smartass,” he grumbles, going toward the door. Gotta love my brother. “And, Bristyl, stay aware,” he warns before stepping through and taking off.

  The warning isn’t unusual, but the way he said it is. Stay aware seems like there’s an actual threat, but no one has said anything.

  It must be in my head.

  6

  Cooper

  The wind in my hair and heat on my skin is freeing. It’s life. Being on a bike, not surrounded by metal, is like floating on air. The high from riding is something I hope never dies. Riding with my club, my family, it’s unexplainable. A brother flanking me to the front, the side, and the rear, we move as if we are one. And we are. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for any of these men, and them for me.

  We’ve been riding for the past four hours with a few stops along the way. Now we are almost at our first destination—a meeting with a client who wants us to transport for him.

  Normally, Ravage is up for anything, but this time, it’s coke. We don’t deal in coke. Never have. That shit is fierce. Weed, we’re good with. But since most states have legalized it and people can grow the shit in their basement, that leaves little to transport. We kept to guns because they are lucrative and in demand.

  Coke is in demand, too, but something we just haven’t done. The guy, Tommy Bean, wants a sit down, and we voted to do it at church. Pops thought it would be good to keep relations because we do supply Tommy with guns. Rhys has some issues, not giving a flying fuck about biker relations. He says he’s not a fucking PR person.

  He’s right, but times are changing. Our word is and always has been our bond. Now we’ve expanded so much that we need to keep everyone on point. Knowledge is power, and we need to know exactly what Tommy wants to do with his product and where he wants it to go. The main goal in this meeting is to get information and smooth shit over when we decline.

  While I’m all for keeping everyone on an even keel, I’m there with Rhys. If they come at us and don’t back down, we’ll do what we have to do to extinguish it.

  I’m not dealing with anyone trying to get us to do anything. We are Ravage—we do what we want, when we want. If we have to take out the whole crew, so be it. It’ll be in Tommy’s best interest to remember that.

  Pops leads the pack, with Becs, Dagger, GT, Rhys, my father, Tug, Breaker, and Buzz right behind him. Dagger has been with the club since my great-grandfather Striker was around. He’s a burly man with long hair he braids down his back and always has a red, white, and blue bandana around his head. The stories of him back in the day paint him as a man who played with a lot of pussy. Now, his ol’ lady, Mearna, would gut him, and he knows it.

  Tug is another brother who joined back when Buzz and Breaker did. His ol’ lady, Blaze, used to strip at X, but now works side by side with my mother.

  After them are Green, Ryker, Derek, Jacks, and myself.

  We are one. Pops turns his bike, we all do. We are a pack. A family. We follow each move Pops makes, keeping our eyes open to everything around us. Observation is key, and knowing our surroundings at all times is
a must.

  Back in the day, we’d have someone staying back at the clubhouse to take care of the women and children. Now, Ravage doesn’t have any threats or reason for such protection. That doesn’t mean we left them alone. Four prospects are at the clubhouse, just in case.

  We follow Pops into the parking lot of a place called Schooners Bar, off the main highway. I take note of the five bikes in the parking lot, three trucks, and two cars. There’s wide open space around the blue tinted block building; therefore, no surprises.

  Tug and Buzz break off, and Ryker follows them. They’re going around the building to make sure it’s secure. We may not have a threat, but we take our safety very seriously.

  Surprisingly, none of the ol’ ladies wanted to come with us on this trip. It shocked me because my mother is always up for an adventure, but she said she had shit to deal with at X.

  Pops parks his bike, and we follow suit, making a row of steel machines in front of the bar. I reach around my back and make sure my gun is holstered. Even with conceal and carry, it’s not smart for a man with a cut on his back to be found with a gun, but I refuse to be without. The metal has been checked and is totally clean, just in case.

  “Let’s do this. Florida is calling,” Pops says after Rhys gives him the all-clear, strolling into the place. He’s as confident as ever, but the small twitch in his cheek is leading me more to my conclusion that he’s about done.

  The inside is dark, so I remove my shades to see clearly. It’s a typical dive bar that looks like it should have been shut down years ago, but somehow, they keep it afloat. There’s a large bar to the left, and a wide-open space to the right. There are two doors. One has a window and looks like it leads to the kitchen area. The other door, I assume, is a bathroom. I’ve learned never to assume. Find out facts. Facts, you can deal with. Assumptions, you can’t.