Inflame Me

by Ryan Michele

  Holy shit, what have I gotten myself into?

  “FUCK, WE DO not need this shit right now,” Cruz says as he enters the group.

  He’s not fucking wrong. Ravage has too much shit going on for this to happen right now. Right now, as we speak, Buzz, one of the newest brothers, is hacking some computers we got from a guy who was working with a rival club, and he’s not coming up with a whole hell of a lot. We’re still trying to find out who in the fuck is behind all the bullshit that’s happened to Ravage these past weeks. Then I’m sure we pissed a fuck of a lot of high rollers off when we took out the motherfuckers who kidnapped Blaze, Tug’s ol’ lady. Now this.

  “You don’t think I know that shit?” Dagger snarls, going toe to toe with Cruz. “That could be my kid. If she needs protection, we give it.”

  I’m not too sure this whole kid thing has sunken in yet for him, but he’s doing what I would do in this situation—clean it up so she doesn’t feel the pain.

  When she stepped into the clubhouse, it was like a magnetic force made me go to her. I had bitches lining up to fuck me, but no, I moved to her and have no fucking clue why. She’s just a chick like all the rest of them. Fuck ’n’ go—that’s my motto. Always has been, always will be.

  “Stop.” Pops steps into the room, taking everything in. “Dagger, run down,” he orders.

  Dagger, our Sergeant at Arms, complies, his eyes swinging first to the mother on the bed then to Tanner. “Tanner,” he calls to her. I don’t know if he just needs to hear it or what the hell that was.

  “Hi.” She gives a jaunty wave, putting her hand down quickly. Just that small gesture was sexy as hell, and I’m pretty sure she has no fucking clue.

  “That’s Pops. He’s the president around here,” Princess explains to Tanner, who is quietly soaking it all in. “He’s also my blood.” Tanner gasps.

  “Your father?”

  “Yep, but we only call him Pops around here.” Princess turns to Pops and winks.

  “Seems like you got yourself in a mess here, Tanner.” She sits quietly at Pops’ words. “It seems to come with a lot of the women who enter the Ravage family these days.” The last part, he practically growls. “Get Tanner a paper and pen. I need you to write down the address to the man you killed and the address of your apartment.”

  “Why my apartment?” she asks, taking the paper from Princess who got it off the nightstand.

  “It’s where you cleaned up. Blood.”

  I really hope we don’t have to torch the apartment building. That would be way too conspicuous with the flames the mother’s house, too.

  “I …” she starts then shakes her head and writes on the paper, handing it back to Princess when she is done, who gives it to Pops.

  “All right. You stay here with your mom, and we’ll be back.” Pops turns. “Tell your ol’ ladies bye; we’ve got shit to do.” He then walks out of the room.

  I don’t have nor want an ol’ lady. Fuck that shit. I don’t want some woman barking at me this way or that. No fucking way. Regardless, something compels me to turn and look at Tanner. As I do, her face flushes as she sucks in a slight breath. At least I know I affect her. I’ll fuck her, daughter or not. I need to let her heal first, though.

  I lift my chin to her and leave the room.

  GUNNING THE THROTTLE, I fly with my brothers up the interstate, feeling the coolness of the night around me. It’s still pretty dark, but the sun will be rising soon.

  I never feel as free as I do when I’m riding. I’ve been riding legally since I was eighteen and, illegally, a lot earlier. I started fixing up my first Harley when I was sixteen. I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing and no money. I was just a trumped-up street kid who found a scrap of a bike and wanted to fix it up.

  I had nothing, but I wanted for nothing at the same time. I stole food from local grocery stores or at restaurants. For shelter, I would find an abandoned house or take cover under the viaduct by the interstate. If I got sick, I went to the free clinic. I made do.

  What I didn’t have were parents. I never had a father, don’t know who in the fuck he was. My mother, if you can call her that, was into so many drugs she couldn’t stand half the time. Her favorite pass time was smacking me upside the head and telling me what a disappointment I was to her. Got a couple of scars to prove that because she got inventive at times and found things around our shack of a house to use instead of her hand. I was better out there. Sure, it was no roses and sunshine bullshit. It was hard, lethal, and the best fucking education a guy like me could have.

  At fourteen, I knew shit about the streets. I was a puny, wimpy-ass kid named Denny Lorant who knew it would be better out there on my own than with a mother who bounced us around from place to place because she had nothing. I tried cleaning her ass up even with the shit she gave me, I did. Nothing worked with her, so I got out.

  I fought a lot, got beat down a lot. I had a shit load of bones broken in my body, but with each one, I learned. I sucked in every bit of information I could and grew, not just in size, but in brains. Then, as I got older, I became the one who gave the beat downs. I was the one others feared, and I fucking loved it. It’s how I got the name Rhys, because I rise above all. Some chick I knew back then came up with the spelling, and it just stuck.

  When I started fixing up my first Harley, I was a flat-out sixteen-year-old punk, and I’m surprised shit happened the way it did. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. Not knowing what the fuck I was doing and only hanging around with guys who worked on cars, I started going to local garages and asking them for their help in exchange for my work in their shop, cleaning whatever the hell they wanted me to. I had the fucking door slammed in my face too many times to count.

  When I came to Banner Automotive, I figured the same thing would happen: door, slam. To my surprise, it didn’t. Pops introduced me to Bam who was a wiz at fixing shit. Then I was introduced to the Ravage MC, and the rest is history.

  I never had a moment when I envisioned my future. Fuck no. I was lucky to survive a night out there on the streets, sleeping with one eye open all the fucking time. I never thought I would have any sort of family, but that one stop at sixteen opened my world to Ravage.

  We follow Pops through a back alley and stop our bikes, killing the engines. The house is about three blocks down the way. The houses are lined up, stacked too fucking close to one another. Everyone in this fucking area will hear our bikes, so we need to play this shit cool.

  It’s about five a.m. on a Thursday morning; therefore, I’m sure most of these assholes will be getting up soon to head to work, which means nothing can look out of place.

  “Rhys.” I lift my chin to Pops, acknowledging his words. “You and Tug walk to the house and scope shit out. Come back and give us info. Then we plan.” I nod as does Tug. “We’re heading over to the park we passed in town. Tuck your bikes under the brush then get back to us.”

  We follow Pops’s instructions to the T and head down the alley.

  I pull a smoke out of my pocket and light it up. Nerves? What the fuck are those? I lost that shit when I went out on the streets. Fear? Nope, not there, either. This is actually fucking fun.

  “This one,” Tug says, pointing to the tan house with green shutters. The entire place looks like the Brady Bunch—totally family-oriented.

  I clip the end of my smoke with my fingers and put the butt in my pocket. No evidence gets left behind, nothing. I then slip on my black leather gloves, watching Tug do the same, and pull out my Glock from the back of my pants. We left our rags locked on the bikes, not wanting anything identifying. This is nowhere close to being a friendly meeting.

  We creep up to the back door. Dried blood is covering the handle. Fuck. These women know shit for hiding stuff. My thoughts flick to Tanner. No, there is no fucking way she knows this life. She’s just too … fucking everything. I shake my head, focusing on my task.

  Looking into the window, I see blood-coated footprints all over the entry
way. At least they were smart enough to go out the back. Turning the handle, it opens freely, so they didn’t even bother to lock the fucking door. I bite back my curse as I turn the handle and step inside the door with Tug at my back. It’s been a good twelve hours, so the stench of death assaults my nostrils. Good. The fucker deserved to die.

  I step around the small alcove in the kitchen where the dead motherfucker is lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. He’s a fat motherfucker. What the hell did they feed him? Well respected cop, my fucking ass. More like paid mint for all the fucking food in town. Asshole.

  Blood is caked throughout the entire room. I can see by the marks exactly where Tanner and Mearna were in the room. We do a quick search of the house and find no one there, and it looks like no one else has been in the space. I do find his cell, but he doesn’t have any missed calls, so hopefully no one is looking for his ass yet.

  I pick up my own cell, punching in Pops’ number. “Clear. Gone. Need anything?”

  “No. Come to us,” he says cautiously. Sure, we use burner phones, but you never know who is listening.

  I have to say, I disagree with Pops here. I think we should just set the place on fire now and get the fuck out of town before everyone wakes up and gets going for the day. Instead, he wants to plan. I’ve never been much of a planner; I’m more of a doer.

  “Now and out,” I tell him, hoping he understands what I’m saying.

  “Clean?” He returns, wanting to know if we can do it cleanly or if it would leave a bigger mess.

  “Looks that way,” I respond. The sooner we get this shit handled, the quicker we can get the fuck out of here.

  “Do it,” he orders.

  There are not many men in this world I take orders from, but my president is one of them. Some of the brothers, possibly. Everyone else can kiss my ass. I’m relieved he sees things my way.

  “On it.” I click the phone off.

  Tug is studying me intently, waiting for my lead. He’s only been a full member of the Ravage MC for a short time, but he’s a very quick learner and a man I’m happy to have at my back.

  “Basement. Let’s do the water heater. It’s gas.”

  We head to the basement and blow out the pilot light of the water heater. Tug and I loosen the pipes, allowing more gas to flow through the room.

  “Done,” I tell him as we rush upstairs.

  We check the windows, making sure all of them are closed. They are. We then move to the kitchen where Tug grabs a pot out of the cabinet, filling it halfway with water before setting it on the stove. He cranks the gas stove on high as we watch the fire come to life.

  “It’ll take an hour or two. Then it’ll blow,” Tug says.

  “Then let’s get the fuck out of here.” The whole premises has natural gas rising, and since we shut the door to the basement, it will take a little longer to reach the fire, but by then, it will be so concentrated that … BOOM! The entire house will explode first then catch on fire.

  We head to our bikes and make our way to the park.

  “Done?” Pops asks as we pull up.

  “Filling with gas right now. It will blow in a couple of hours.”

  “How bad?” Dagger asks.

  “The girls know shit about covering up a crime scene. I can only image what the fucking apartment will look like when we get there.” I shake my head, pulling off my gloves. “We may need to blow the place there, too, if it looks like what we just saw.”

  “We can’t torch it, too obvious,” Pops says. “You, Dagger, GT, and Becs go over to Tanner’s place and see what the hell it looks like. Then we go from there,” Pops orders, grabbing the back of his neck. “I swear to Christ, you fuckers and your women are going to be the death of me.”

  I can see where he’s coming from. First, it was Princess and the bitch who stole her and Cruz’s kid. Then, Casey, who’s GT’s ol’ lady, when she got kidnapped. After that was Blaze who was on the run from two dickheads who raped her repeatedly. Bitches around here bring too much shit. It’s why I don’t get fucking involved with them—too much fucking trouble.

  “Fine,” I say as we head off to Tanner’s place.

  It’s not what I expected at all after being in the newer, cookie-cutter home of her mother’s. Tanner’s place is two stories with four apartments in it. As we walk up the dilapidated steps to the second floor, I wonder how much she fucking pays for this shit hole of a place. I mean, fuck, the damn boards on the stairs are falling through; not to mention, the railing is wobbly as hell.

  Dagger pulls out Tanner’s keys and opens the door. I flip on the light, and the boys follow.

  “What the fuck!” Dagger growls loudly, and I have to agree with him. The place is small, two fucking rooms small, but the size isn’t what gets us. It’s the cracks in the walls and the celling that is falling down with buckets underneath it to catch the water when it rains. Mold is growing on one of the walls by the kitchen sink, but despite those things, the place is immaculate. Tanner obviously takes a shit load of pride in her space, and I feel her on that shit.

  I remember my first place. I was fucking ecstatic to have a fucking bed and shower. I would have dealt with all this shit, too. But why is she? I can’t help the curiosity.

  Dagger pushes through the space, each growl louder than the last. If I had a kid, no way in hell would I want them living like this.

  “Brother,” he says to me with a lost look in his eyes.

  I slap his shoulder. “We’ll get it figured out.”

  “Fuck!” he booms. “I didn’t even know I had a fucking kid, and she’s living like this?” As he begins to pace, I look at the other guys, hoping this shit doesn’t go south, and Dagger can control his shit. “How could Mearna let her live like this?” His fists clench. He is about two seconds from punching a fucking wall.

  I move up into his space, getting in his face. Dagger and I have been friends for two decades, and if anyone can handle him, it’s me. “One thing at a time, brother. Let’s get this shit cleaned up.” Even though I see no blood, which surprises the fuck out of me, we still need to douse it in hydrogen peroxide just in case. “Then we get back and find out. No sense in losing your shit when you don’t have all the facts. Got me?”

  His nostrils flair, and I prepare myself for the bull that is Dagger. I might as well be wearing a fucking red shirt by the way he’s looking at me.

  “Snap out of it,” I roar, and his eyes blink. Fucking hell. “Let’s get this shit done,” I order, seeming to be only one who still has a brain at the moment. The longer we’re here, the more likely it is that someone will see us.

  “Fuck me. Let’s do this shit.”

  I look over to GT, who is Pops’ kid and Princess’s brother. He carried in the bags of peroxide from his saddlebags.

  “Bathroom, kitchen,” he says, heading off to wipe shit down. They say bleach kills everything, but that’s not the case when it comes to blood. The only shit that makes blood untraceable is the good, old hydrogen peroxide you get in the drug store. Works every fucking time.

  I move around the space. Tanner has pictures hanging on the cracked walls and a whole dresser lined with them. There are a few of just her and others of her and her mother. I see none with any friends, which seems a bit odd.

  “Done yet?” I call out as Becs pulls his handy-dandy light out of his pocket. It’s one of those the cops use to find traces of blood at crime scenes. He’s always been excellent at it. We used to joke all the time that he would go cop on us. He’s got a knack, and for us, it works like magic.

  “Yep, we’re good,” GT calls out of the small bedroom.

  “Let’s go,” Becs says, putting the things back in his pocket. Thank Christ.

  “She kept it pretty well contained to the bathroom, and GT doused it. There was a spot on the bedroom floor, but nowhere else, not even the kitchen,” Becs reports.

  Tanner is smarter than I gave her credit for, or she’s just a serious neat freak. Whatever. I’m ready to
go home.

  When we pull back up to the park, Pops sits there with a shit-eating grin on his face and Cruz and Breaker at his side.

  “Done. Let’s go.”

  I look over in the direction of the asshole’s house and see smoke billowing up to the sky. Then I turn over my bike, and we head out.

  At least that’s one less fucking thing I have to deal with.

  MY PHONE BUZZES, and I pull it out of my jeans, seeing Sandra’s name on the screen. Fucking hell. A while back, this bitch went to the cops, saying she saw drugs being sold inside the clubhouse. The cops came out with a warrant on her word and completely trashed the place, destroying almost everything inside, looking for the drugs. They found nothing, but they left us with a torn up mess. I went to Sandra and persuaded her to recant her story. Yeah, I fucked her to do so, but whatever. She went back to the police station and did just that, recanted. When she did, the cops were so pissed they nailed her and threw her ass in jail for lying. She called me to bail her fucking ass out, but that shit wasn’t happening. I’ve avoided her like the fucking plague since.

  She must be out now since she’s calling from her cell. I hit ignore on the screen and stuff it back in my pocket. She’s called a half dozen times from jail, and if she keeps this shit up, I’ll go over to her place and take her out tonight. It’s on the to-do list, just not top priority. She’s a fucking liability, and we can’t afford to have those around here.

  I GRAB THE wrench before adjusting the carburetor on my bike. I went to my place after getting back last night, but noticed my bike wasn’t sounding right. The first thing I did upon getting to the clubhouse was park my baby in the garage and start working. I thought about coming directly here after the trip, but with as much as Tanner crossed my mind on the drive back, I thought I would go home and get her off my mind. Too bad it didn’t fucking work.

  “Hey,” is said softly above me, and I look up to see the most angelic face staring back down at me. Sure, there are bruises and cuts, but none of that shit diminishes her beauty.