by Ryan Michele
Branded
Novellas:
Billionaire Romance Series
Stood Up (Coming Soon)
Set Up (Coming Soon)
Picked Up (Coming Soon)
Hung Up (Coming Soon)
Excerpt of Ravage Me (Ravage MC Book 1)
Copyright © 2013 by Ryan Michele
Prologue
This was the life I was born into, and bloodshed somehow always played a prominent part in it. Today, everything was coming to a combustible head. With the gun being held at my temple, all I could think about was him… getting him out of here alive. The bitch had put so much time and energy into coming after me, I knew it was coming. Now she had the most precious thing in my life. I never knew how empty my life was or how love could be so deep that it cuts you like a knife. I would do anything to get him out of here alive. The gunshots began, and my eyes locked with his. I prayed for survival.
Chapter One
Harlow
2 years… 1 month… 5 days…
I had been living the perpetual monotony of my life for exactly two years, one month, and five days. It’s like my life was the epitome of Groundhog’s Day, repeating over and over again, eating away at my soul.
I hated white. I couldn’t stand the fucking color. Everywhere I looked was the same cold, damp, sterility trying to suffocate me, forcing me to give up—to give in. But that wasn’t gonna happen.
For seven hundred and sixty five days of my life, I’ve stared at the solid block walls and cold prison bars, only to be let outside for an hour a day. I knew it was for my own safety, but I missed lying outside in the sun, feeling it melt my skin, and wash everything away. In here, there was no relaxation… ever.
I’m not gonna bitch. I’ve been extremely lucky, and I damn well knew it. Without my Pops’ connections to guards and powerful people on the outside, life in this place could have been a hell of a lot worse. Having my own room has proved to be the best gig because, in there, those bitches couldn’t get to me. They wanted me. I knew it. They all knew who I was and what I represented. Payback hits on me would give them status in their families and I wasn’t willing to give anyone that.
Am I hiding? Hell no. I’d be more than happy to take these bitches on, but not here. The shit these women snuck in when no one was looking was deadly, and my goal was to do my time and get out alive. I knew what these bitches were capable of, and they knew my capabilities, too.
I’ve had my own incidents in here. They were all club related, and getting help from inside made them happen smoothly. It was help that I had to pay for, but I did what needed to be done and didn’t regret a damn thing. I did it for my family.
I may have a pussy, but I ain’t one. I’ve got bigger balls than most guys out there. Even though I’ll never be a member of the club, because it’s not possible, I always hold my head up high. I learned at a very young age that bitches didn’t ever get patched in, and I accepted that, but I’d be damned if I acted like some pussy motorcycle club princess.
Growing up with the Ravage MC’s hasn’t been easy. The life, the world, was different than civilian life and I learned from the best. Ever since I was a baby, my life was the club. Pops has been a patched member since before I was born, and Ma’s always been by his side. Even though I was shielded as much as possible, I’ve seen my share of death, guns, drugs, sex, and blood in my twenty-five years than most people could tolerate. This was my normal. This was my reality. I accepted that a long time ago.
I missed my life, and I’ve always known my place in it. Being the Vice President’s daughter hasn’t given me any idealizations that I’m anything more than exactly that. I never get special privileges because, the bottom line, I’m not, nor will I ever be, a patched member. I’ve earned the respect I received from the brothers by learning what they have taken the time to teach me. I thrived on that and couldn’t wait to get it back.
I was ready to escape this hell-hole and finally go back to my family. Back to a life that was taken away from me for two years, back to right some wrongs. I couldn’t fucking wait.
***
Walking down the long corridor, the sunlight cascaded through the small rectangular window. I began blinking my eyes, getting ready for the adjustment when the door opened. I’ve never liked surprises—they get you killed, quickly. I hoped my outside instincts kicked back in after all this time. It’s the one thing I’ve been afraid of losing. I’ve learned to keep myself sharp inside to stay alive, but being free was a different kind of survival.
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Excerpt of Crossover by Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele
Copyright © Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele 2016
Two motorcycle clubs, two different reasons for being, and one lifestyle find each other together.
– Devil’s Due MC –
Respect is earned, never freely given.
Our road is a path for justice. Nomads always on the open highway, we follow the trail, no matter where it leads, everyone be damned.
– Vipers Creed MC –
Respect is hard earned.
Live by the creed, die by the creed. If you aren’t with us, you’re against us. If you step into our world, your balls better be big and your cock even bigger.
Brothers, bikes, and bitches collide. Respect is everything.
When two clubs cross over into each other’s worlds, only madness, mayhem, vengeance, and heat can possibly ensue.
Chapter One
~Dover~
Tennessee, home motherfucking home. There’s not a damn thing sweet here for me. In fact, I need to stay under the radar while we are here in the first damn place. The pit stop in my hometown is for Rowdy. Every year on his release date, we give him the opportunity to go give the middle finger to the place that took more than his freedom away from him.
The Volunteer State, humph. There is nothing about this town, this state, or the history I have here that has me ready to volunteer for a damn thing other than to get the hell out of Dodge.
I can only hope for the sake of everything I already fucked up between us that Gretchen doesn’t find out I’m around. I’m a selfish bastard, an asshole, a prick, and for some fucked up reason, that woman can’t let me go. The history we share needs to be in the past. I’m no good for her and haven’t been since the day we met when we were seventeen.
Loyalty, I will give her that. It runs thick in her veins, but I need more than she can give me. It’s why I had to hit the road with Rowdy years ago. It’s why we met up with X, Judge, and Deacon, all riding the open highway together before Trapper landed on our doorstep, sliced up in front of us.
Loyalty, we have it to each other. It’s a lifestyle I won’t bring Gretchen into. I took enough away from her. It’s time I give her back her freedom since mine won’t come until my past is settled. I don’t need to drag her down with me.
That’s what the six of us have in common. We aren’t dragging each other down. Nope, we are all living our own personal hells together. You can’t drag anyone deeper than we already are. We do it together. If anyone wants out at any time, they can go. Until then, we go from town to town, following one lead after another, trying to serve justice that previously wasn’t given.
Chapter Two
~Deacon~
The gravel crunches under my feet. I fucking hate Tennessee. That’s bullshit.
I hate everywhere.
It’s five a.m. on a hot, humid day. The atmospheric pressure of a storm rolling in has my lungs burning for clean air and my joints aching for me to slow down.
Press on, Frogman. I push harder.
My days as a Navy SEAL are behind me. After being trained to be part of a team, an integral piece of something greater, there are pieces of my past I can never leave behind. Running clears my mind, though. The physical exertion of pushing harder and harder reminds me I’m alive, and in the end, it’s a daily habit I simply can’t break.
The
gray sky opens up, and drops pelt down on my face in rapid succession. Pin prickles hit my skin like shards of metal cutting me.
I relish the pain.
My thighs burn, and my knees are in agony from every pound of my feet on the pavement beneath me. My sweat rolls down in thick beads, mixing with the water and leaving a salty mixture on my skin and lips
Thunder rolls in the air around me and lightning flashes overhead as the salt of my sweat mixes with the water and burns the insides of my eyes. My body reacts by blinking rapidly as I power on.
. I want to wipe my eyes, but I resist, fighting to see clearly.
Isn’t that what we all do? Fight to see things clearly?
My dick gets hard. I get off on the pain. I get off on pushing myself harder and harder, higher and higher. No relief. No rest. Push on.
I hear the rhythm of someone running ahead of me. From the softer sounds of their shoes, it’s a female or a male much lighter than me. At six-foot-eleven and a solid two hundred and sixty pounds, I am muscle, mass, and not fucking afraid of one damn thing.
The thunder booms, the lightning flashes, and I hear the scream of a woman.
Ahead of me, I see the flash of neon pink as I watch her steps stop. Coming up on her, I feel the tension of her anxiety radiating into the space around us.
“You should get inside,” I say to her, my breathing ragged from my run.
She is frozen in place as yet more thunder crashes loudly around us. She shakes her head back and forth wildly, and her braid whips around, smacking her in the face. The park we are running through has a small shelter with a single picnic table off to our right. Taking the fearful pixie by the hand, I guide her to the space to at least get out of the elements.
She trembles as her body gets out of the pelting rain. Instinctively, I rub my hands up and down her arms as I feel her break out in goose bumps.
“The app said this morning would be clear,” she blurts out and then strains her neck back to look up at me. “You’re tall.”
I say nothing. What is there to say? I am tall, and I’m pretty sure the app on my phone didn’t call for rain this morning, either. Regardless, I felt it in the air before I ever made it this far from the dive we have been crashing in.
Rain, wind, sleet, snow, or a fucking tornado, if I don’t get up and run first thing, it’s like I can’t function. My mind goes places it doesn’t need to.
“My name is Constance. You can, um … call me Connie. My friends do,” the tiny woman in my arms says, bringing me out from my dark thoughts.
“Deacon.” I give her nothing more.
“Deacon, huh? Were your parents big on church?” She laughs to herself. I don’t know why she finds my name funny.
“Road name, not my real name. As for church and God, we have an understanding. Not really your business.”
“Broody,” she whispers, taking a step back and looking around me at the storm raging on. “It’s kinda hot.” She twists her hands together nervously, starting to whisper to herself as if I’m not even standing a mere three feet away. “Hot man … all wet. My God, this is like out of one of the books I read. Go for it, Connie. Take a chance. Live a little. It’s not like you haven’t had a one-night stand before.” She smacks herself in the forehead. “You’re an idiot. Just do it.”
Turning my back on her, I make my way to the edge of the covering, ready to take off and finish my run. I don’t like nervous people. I don’t like nervous energy. I need to get the blood pumping hard in my veins again. I need the release of pushing my body to its limits. What I don’t need is batshit crazy, even if it would take the ache out of my balls.
Boom, crack, crash. We hear the thunder clap and then the crack of an old pine tree before we both stand in awe as we watch it fall.
As it crashes onto the roof of the shelter, I feel two small hands reach out to grab me just as she screams in reaction to the pine needles flying everywhere and the branches settling around us, cocooning us in this space.
“Please don’t leave me. When the storm passes, I’ll be okay, but I’ve never liked storms.”
On a sigh, I move to the picnic table and sit on the tabletop, bending my knees to rest my feet on the bench. With my elbows on my knees, I try to let the time pass.
I’m an ass, but I’m not a bona fide dickhead. She’s scared; I won’t leave her. I just won’t give her a ton of attention. This will pass, and then we will both be on our way. Only, then the dark-haired woman comes to stand in front of me.
“What do you do, Deacon?” she asks me as if she’s trying for small talk.
“I don’t do chatter,” I huff out.
I watch her lips tick as if she’s fighting back a smile. She fans herself as if she’s hot, but the rain has cooled the air around us. Then her breathing changes, and I watch the dramatic rise and fall of her pert breasts in her sports bra as she looks at me with a distinct desire.
She bites her lip in an erotic way. “What do you do?”
Oh, honey, do you even realize what you’re starting here?
“I fuck, I fight, and I ride my bike, not necessarily in that order,” I give her honestly.
She taps her finger on her lip as if she’s contemplating something. There is a new confidence to her that has my cock hardening in curiosity, wondering if she will be so full of herself when I’m balls fucking deep.
“Well, we have nothing but time, and I could use a way to burn a few more calories.” She gives me a wink.
“You wanna fuck”—I point at my chest—“me?”
She nods, reaching into her exercise belt to pull out a condom.
Rage fills me at the thought that this is some warped setup. Who runs with a condom unless they have something planned or they are a man with a wallet?
Trust no one outside of your team. It’s the lesson I learned during my time served.
As I stand and then climb down from the bench, Connie never steps back, causing me to rub the length of her body on my way to settling in front of her.
I wrap my hands firmly around her neck.
For a moment, she holds her breath.
I tighten my grip and then lean toward her ear. “Breathe.”
She lets out a loud exhale before I tighten my grip around her throat.
“Who are you?” I growl as my fury builds.
“Connie. Constance Jones.” She reaches up to wrap her tiny hands around my thick wrists, unable to complete the circle from her thumb to her forefinger. “Wh-why?” she stammers.
“Who sent you for me?”
She fights to shake her head. Then something flashes as her pupils dilate. I read it as anger. No, it’s not that. It’s a challenge. She’s turned on. I can tell by the way her chest rises and falls in a rhythmic way that isn’t in fear, but desire. She licks her lips, the fire there.
“Why can a man fuck anyone, but a girl goes after something she likes and it’s a setup?” She tries to break free.
“You wanna fuck?” I ask, releasing her.
“Look, I just got out of a long-term fuck of a mess that was once called a relationship. I’m trying,” she draws out the word, “to move on in a way that is healthy and carries no long-term attachments. I don’t want to know your name, big boy; I just want to know what you feel like inside of me. I want to forget the storm inside my head and the storm around us for, like, five minutes, okay? I thought you could handle that. Maybe I was wrong,” she smarts off, the desire only growing between us.
I was wrong. My paranoia that everyone is against me is getting the best of me. She’s cute enough: tiny, tight body, and definitely warm and wet to sink into. And the fight inside her, the burn to go after something she wants … Well, I can’t deny it’s hot as fuck.
“No attachments? You wanna fuck right here, right now?” I double-check the pulse on the situation.
“I did, but why the freak-out?”
When I press my body to hers, she steps back and back again until her spine hits a post holding up the sh
elter.
“We fuck. We don’t talk.” It’s the truth, too. I want nothing more from her than a release; she should expect the same. We aren’t here for small talk. She didn’t want to be left alone, so I stayed. She offered, so I’m accepting.
I grunt, reaching down to scoop her up from under her knees. Her arms wrap around my neck as I let her feel my hard cock against her core. Any anger between us dissipates as desire takes over.
Looking down, I see Connie’s nipples poking through the wet fabric of her sports bra. She wiggles her hips, seeking friction as I drop my head to her neck and bite.
“You want this?” I give her one last opportunity to back out.
She twists her back, making her hips pop out and putting us even closer together as she tries to use her thighs to squeeze me to her.
Letting go of her knees, I set her down and take a step back. With my hand down my running shorts, I stroke myself to get harder. The storm rages on around us as the storm builds inside me and between us.
“Take your bottoms off,” I command, and the little woman in front of me doesn’t hesitate to kick off her running shoes and tight-ass spandex shorts. Then she unclips her workout belt, dropping it to the ground then tossing the condom at me.
Ripping the foil with my teeth, I slide my own shorts down enough to free my beast and cover it with the rubber.
Connie bites her lip and, on a hiss, backs up. I stalk forward and scoop her up, wrapping her legs high around my hips as I surge forward with my cock to dive into her tight, wet heat.
She squeals as we fight to fit together. My cock is too wide and long to slide all the way in at once. With every movement, though, I make a little more headway.
With her back to the post, I pound into her at a relentless pace. She moans and claws at me, trying to slow me down.
Bending my head down, I take her breast into my mouth with her bra on and bite down, making sure she feels it through the fabric. Then I trace her chest and collarbone with my tongue. Her taste is a mixture of the salt in her sweat and the clean morning rain. I lap up the moisture as I hit her neck then suck hard at the juncture of her shoulder.
