Ravens Ruin MC: The Complete Series

by Marie James

  THE END

  Epitaph

  “Oh, how your kingdom will fall… When you find that your discarded pawn was the queen all along.”

  ~Erin Van Vuren

  Prologue

  Lynch

  Music surrounds me, mixing, swirling together with the scents of sex, whiskey, and weed. It’s just another Tuesday night at the Ravens Ruin clubhouse. Yet, I find myself without a drink in my hand, without lips wrapped around my cock, staring at the fading quote marking the far wall of the open living room.

  HELL IS EMPTY AND ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE

  William Shakespeare’s words have been there for as long as I can remember, but tonight it’s like I’m seeing everything around me for the first time. I’m not spacing or having some sort of existential crisis. That kind of shit would require a conscience. I wasn’t born with one of those.

  But things changed today.

  Today I took action, and I did something I’ve been threatening for years. My plans for this club have been a long time in the making. I didn’t wake up this morning with any intention to carry through with those plans, but when the opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t back down.

  Things changed today.

  Today I woke up as a cut-wearing member of the Ravens Ruin MC.

  Tonight, I will close my eyes as the President.

  Chapter 1

  Lynch

  The chair at the head of the table doesn’t feel right. My view from here is different than I imagined it would be. I love the rush, the heady feeling of controlling these men at my table, but with it comes immediate exhaustion. Just the idea of leading this club makes me want to take a fucking nap. Even though I know it’s impossible, I feel like my dark hair is turning gray at the roots.

  “We will not discuss what happened yesterday,” I warn. “Ravens Ruin will perform just as it has for decades.”

  Briar is the only man willing to meet my eyes. Even Manic, my father’s Vice President refuses to look my way.

  “I’m giving each and every one of you an out. If you don’t want to continue here, you can pack your shit and leave with no repercussions. Today is the only day that the offer is on the table.”

  Several men shift in their seats. TJ looks up, a devious smile playing on his full lips.

  The scrape of a chair draws my attention, and I watch, without surprise, as Manic stands up.

  “It’s nothing personal, Brother.” Worn, callused hands pick at the VP patch on his cut until he can get enough purchase to pull it from his chest. “I want out.”

  “Pussy,” TJ murmurs from the other end of the table.

  “Enough,” I hiss as I stretch my hand out to take the patch from Manic.

  “Retirement?” I ask looking at the man I’ve considered as close as an uncle for my entire life.

  I didn’t figure he’d stick around after what happened yesterday, but I didn’t expect his retreat to be so sudden and in front of everyone.

  “Something like that,” he mutters.

  “You’re always welcome here,” I assure him.

  His eyes meet mine, and there’s an unspoken understanding. He’s always encouraged me to make things right with this club, to correct all of the things that have gone by the wayside under my father’s command. Sorrowful pride fills his eyes.

  “The club’s in good hands with you, Eric.”

  I immediately dismiss the lump that clogs my throat. There’s no place for any type of emotion other than hatred and anger at the head of this table. I force it down, resolved as I watch Manic pass through the chapel doors for the very last time.

  Five minutes is all it takes for Manic’s VP patch to be joined by the Sergeant-At-Arms, Treasurer, Secretary, Enforcer, and Road Captain patch in my hand. Almost systematically, everyone from my father’s regime walks out, leaving only the guys I’ve brought in over the last handful of years. I didn’t want it this way, but I expected it.

  Their experience and years of service have benefited the club, but their departures are for the best. The last thing I need as the new president is pushback from older members who are bitter about the changes I’m planning to make.

  “Briar,” I say as I hand over the first patch.

  His eyes look down for long moments before he pulls them from the VP patch to look at my brother down the table.

  “Don’t get sappy,” TJ says with assurance. “I’ve got my eyes on that Enforcer patch.”

  I smile, knowing my younger brother wouldn’t ask for anything less.

  “You’re the only one crazy enough for it anyway,” I mutter as I slide the patch down to him.

  “I’ll make you proud,” my brother vows.

  “Staying out of prison is all I ask,” I shoot back at him. “Boston.”

  Dark eyes meet my green as my friend looks my way.

  “Prez?”

  “I know you don’t want this shit, but you’re the only one who knows the books as well as I do.” I slide the Treasurer patch down the table. Surprisingly, he seems relieved.

  “Thank you, Brother.”

  Nodding at him, I turn my attention to Hornet. “Should’ve seen this coming.”

  I pass him the Road Captain patch, and he takes it with a quick grin. Hornet is the most organized fucker around. His intolerance of bullshit is exactly what the club needs when they’re on the road.

  “Figured I’d end up with the Secretary patch,” Hornet replies with a quick chuckle.

  “That cluster fuck is for Smalls.” I pass down the patch to my silent friend.

  He grunts in approval as his prosthetic hand reaches out for the small scrap of embroidered fabric.

  Twisting the last patch in my fingers, I can’t help but think of Riggs. My father’s original Sergeant-At-Arms was instrumental in making me the man I am today. Being in prison the day the devil called him home has always been a bitter pill for me. Any man that wears this patch after him isn’t wholly worthy of it.

  Silence falls over the room. Not one man moves in his chair as an unscheduled moment of silence for Riggs settles over us. Some of the men at this table didn’t know him, but some days it’s as if we can all feel his ghost down the long halls or in the basement.

  “Chains,” I rasp.

  “Prez, I don’t think—”

  “You know the expectation of this patch?”

  He nods, his head violently shaking up and down. He will be the fifth man to wear this patch since Ravens Ruin’s inception. The two after Riggs couldn’t perform the duties required, and they met the devil long before nature plucked them from the earth. Fear fills his eyes as I stretch my hand out and place the patch in his palm.

  A shudder washes over him. I’ve heard the guys talking about the curse of the Sergeant-At-Arms patch. The guys in this club are soulless bastards, me included. It’s a requirement to do the things we do and still be able to sleep at night, but superstition has always been a part of the environment I’ve been raised in. I’ve never given it much thought. Worrying about curses and the devil aren’t concerns for me. Why should it be when I’m the most evil person who’s ever stepped through the front door of the Ravens Ruin clubhouse?

  “We lost six guys today. We need to remedy that quickly,” I tell them as each of the newly designated council members pocket their patches. Piper will sew them on their cuts later.

  “We have a couple of hangarounds that have prospect potential,” Briar says with assurance in his voice.

  “Who?” I haven’t paid much attention to the civilians that frequent the club recently. My focus had been on my dad and the bullshit he seemed to stir up by just walking into the room.

  “Ronan and Axe for starters,” Briar says. Several of the men around the table nod their approval.

  “There are a couple of the Disciples of Death members that have shown an interest,” TJ adds.

  My eyes narrow in his direction. The MC from Detroit has helped us on numerous occasions, but I’m not sold on the idea that there is any
one person who would be a good fit for Ravens Ruin. They run a good drug business for the most part, but other than their name, they aren’t as ruthless as they need to be. Second chances aren’t something Ravens Ruin has ever been known for, and I don’t need guys in my club willing to fuck up thinking I’m doling out forgiveness.

  “I’ll keep them in mind,” I tell my brother half-heartedly.

  He merely shrugs at my dismissal. He doesn’t give a shit. So long as he gets to fuck and kill, TJ is a happy man.

  “Let’s get Ronan and Axe up to speed. I want Ronan behind the bar where I can keep an eye on him. I’m not certain I trust the fucker yet,” I grumble.

  “He’s too pretty to be a Raven,” Boston adds.

  An unfamiliar snort comes from Smalls. We all look in his direction, but he stares vacantly as if the sound didn’t come from his throat.

  Ronan is… handsome, I guess. He’s more prep and pretty boy than down and dirty biker, but different fucking strokes and all that.

  “Axe would be a good addition to the garage,” Hornet says. “I think the kid was born with a wrench in his damn hand.”

  “He’s twenty-one. He’s not a fucking kid,” TJ snaps.

  A round of chuckles fills the room. I’m pretty sure Briar, at twenty-nine, is the oldest guy at the table, and TJ is constantly reminded that he’s the youngest one here. Although he’s done and seen more than almost every other man in this room, he’s still bitter that he’s only twenty. I patched in at thirteen after serving justice for the death of my stepmother after a member betrayal. My father made TJ wait to patch in until he was sixteen. Each one of TJ’s first four kills weren’t sanctioned by the club, and the guy is lucky my dad didn’t issue him a one-way ticket to Hell for the trouble he’s caused over the years. He’s matured slightly in the last two years watching the mayhem my dad caused. He’s invested in this club as much as I am. As fucked up as the path that has been cleared for us is, this is our destiny. We will both embrace it; our father be damned.

  “Anything else?” My eyes roam over every man at the table, watching as each of them shake their heads.

  “What do you want me to do with the cuts?” I follow Boston’s gaze to the pile of leather left by the previous council.

  “Burn ‘em.”

  “Even Manic’s?”

  “Even his,” I say.

  My gavel meets the sturdy table, and chairs immediately scrape over the floor.

  “Let’s get the drinks and pussy flowing,” TJ shouts on the way out of the chapel.

  I follow behind them, even though fatigue fills my bones like a lead weight.

  Chapter 2

  Candi

  “Could you possibly add any more?”

  I smile in the mirror, my hand applying more eyeliner to my top lid.

  “You said these guys like the sultry look.”

  When I’m done, I recap my makeup and look over at my best friend.

  “I said they like the slutty look,” she corrects before turning her attention back to the road as the light turns from red to green.

  “Same thing, right?” Pulling out my lipstick, I add a second application of dark, red tint to my lips before snapping the visor back up.

  She laughs, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “I’m more concerned that you’re in jeans, a unicorn shirt, and ratty tennis shoes,” I grumble as I reposition the strap of my tank top for the hundredth time since we left the hotel we stayed in last night.

  “I’m not the one wanting to fuck a biker,” she responds, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “Are you ever going to tell me about him?” She’s hinted about someone in her past but was adamant that it would never happen, and she’s been reluctant with the details.

  “Never,” she answers and changes the subject. “Who do you have your eye on?”

  “The President of course.” I give her a quick smile as I watch her nose scrunch up.

  “Do you even know anything about the Ravens Ruin MC?”

  I shrug, smacking my painted lips. “Not a fucking thing, but I figure if you’re going to get laid you shoot for the top, right?”

  “Believe me the President of the Ravens Ruin is the last person you should be interested in.” Staring at her as she maneuvers the car around a curve before turning down an almost hidden gravel road, I wait for her to add to her statement. She doesn’t.

  “I’m not looking for love, Mols. I just want to experience some bad boy for once in my life.”

  “You’ll definitely get that with the president. My advice would be to steer clear of him at all costs. He’s a devious bastard.”

  “How do you know so much about them?” I keep my eyes focused outside of the car. I learned long ago that Molly is more likely to talk when she doesn’t feel cornered.

  “Your dad still pushing you to find a decent man and settle down?” And she’s the one always changing the subject also.

  “I haven’t spoken with him in weeks, but per our last conversation.” I drop my voice low in an attempt to imitate my asshole dad’s tone. “Good boys don’t want a girl who wears shorts that short.”

  We both laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Every girl I know wears short shorts, and my dad stepping in at random times in my life with no consistency is the biggest joke of them all.

  “Well the guys you’re about to meet will love the length of your shorts,” she says as she pulls onto another dark road.

  “You told me my vagina was in danger of falling out,” I remind her.

  “And they’d love that even more,” she says as she slows to a stop, rolling down the window to speak with a guy that’s standing on our side of a massive privacy fence.

  “What are you doing?” I snap. The cool spring air rushes in the window, and I regret not having brought a light jacket.

  My pulse pounds in my ears as the leather vest wearing guy bends down to look inside of the car. His bright blue eyes and well-trimmed beard are the last things I expect to see standing outside of a notorious motorcycle club. He doesn’t even come close to the scarred, dirty-bearded men I anticipate meeting tonight.

  “Hey, Pete,” Mols says as he smiles in her direction.

  “Princess,” he responds.

  My friend grumbles as he turns his attention in my direction. “Who do we have here?”

  “This is Z—”

  I clear my throat, reminding her of our agreement.

  “This is Candi,” she corrects, “My friend from school.”

  “Hey, Sugar,” he purrs almost too seductively.

  Jesus, he’s potent. Now I fully understand why so many of the girls from school wanted to come here. He’s not intimidating at all, oozing sex and charm. I wasn’t exactly on board with bedding some filthy biker but was resigned to it. I can’t be the only one who has a sex bucket list. Fucking a biker has always been in my top five. Sometimes it hits number one, depending on how much of an ass my father is being. He hates bikers, and I’ve always liked off-limit things.

  “Let us in, Pete,” Mols says breaking the spell between us.

  My teeth sink into my bottom lips as I mentally begin to map out my night. Figuring how to get back out here to this guy is top on my list.

  “No one told me you’d be here tonight, Princess.” Pete stands to his full height, and all I can see through Mol's open window are his jean-clad crotch and muscular upper legs.

  Impressive.

  “Open the fucking gate, Pete,” she hisses.

  Pete grumbles something about spoiled brats, but the gate, on some type of mechanical slide, pulls back.

  “He has potential,” I tell Mols as she drives through the gate before it closes again behind us.

  “Have some class, Candi. You want to fuck a biker, not a prospect.”

  “He’s cute,” I mutter. “And I have no fucking clue what a prospect is.”

  I said I always wanted to fuck a biker, not that I have any clue about them. SOA and some show I watch
ed on Netflix are the only frames of reference I have, and there’s no way that clubs like SAMCRO exist because those types of people go to jail.

  “They’re all cute. Stick close to me tonight until you’re comfortable venturing off on your own.”

  A large building looms in front of us as we drive closer and park the car. Chills race down my spine as we leave the car and walk toward the entrance. There are people everywhere. Laughing, arguing, and the scent of alcohol combined with the musky scent of sex fills the thick air around us.

  If I thought my state of dress was going to be risqué for the Ravens Ruin clubhouse, I was wrong. I’ve only walked past one girl that actually had a shirt on. That chick, in particular, had her top up around her neck as two guys playfully fought over who was going to suck on her tits.

  “There’s enough to go around, boys,” the chick coos before looking over at us and winking in our direction.

  “Hey, Vixen,” Mols says as she passes the trio of people.

  “Hey, Princess,” Vixen answers before turning her attention back to her dual suitors.

  I grab my friend’s arm just as she pushes open the front door to the huge, rectangular building. I spin her around until she’s facing me.

  “When you told me you’d been here before, you made it sound like you’d only been once or twice.” I narrow my eyes at her. “The way these people talk to you tells a different story.”

  “You made your own assumptions. I grew—”

  “Molly!”

  We both turn at the interruption, watching as a gorgeous man with dark-blond hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen outside of a magazine cover walks toward us.

  “I thought bikers were ugly,” I mutter as the Adonis wraps my friend in a hug.

  “He is ugly,” Molly says as she pushes him away and swats at his chest.

  “I’m the hottest guy here,” the gorgeous guy says as he releases my friend and trails his eyes up my body. “Who do we have here?”

  “Gross,” Molly sputters on a laugh. “This is my good friend Z—Candi.”

  “Bet you taste like sugar.” His warm lips meet the back of my hand, his hair sweeping down like a curtain.