Connected in Pain : A Motorcycle Club Romance Trilogy of Crow & Rylynn

by Ryan Michele

  He was a kid, though learning his way through life, and this situation could be anything at this point.

  “Of course. What’s goin’ on?”

  The phone rustled on the other end. “Can we talk about it when I get there?”

  Rubbing my hand down my trimmed beard, I let it go for now. The time to talk would be after the game when I had him face to face and wouldn’t let squirm out of talking to me. “Yeah. How’s school goin’?”

  The line grew quiet for a moment, this telling me he wasn’t doing something he was supposed to and his father wouldn’t be too happy about it. Usually his grades were pretty good, but lately he’d been having a bit of trouble. “Doin’ good.”

  “Except for?”

  He sighed loudly knowing I wouldn’t give up. He knew I let go of what he wanted to talk about earlier, and he wouldn’t press me on this as well. My boy knew how far to push and two things in one conversation was one too many. “Got a D on my last test in math. That shit is frustrating.”

  I could only imagine. He brought his math home one day and asked me a question. I went cross-eyed just looking at the problem. Most of the shit they learned now we did the easy way. Schools now did everything the backward, hard way that took thirty minutes to figure out one problem. If I took thirty minutes to figure out one problem in my life, I’d never fucking sleep. He still needed to keep his grades up or no football and no life. “You gettin’ help?”

  “Yeah. I went to Ms. Airy and she put me with a tutor. I start with her next week.”

  “Her?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. Her.”

  I did not chuckle, knowing exactly what I was doing at that age, fooling around and eventually making him. “Keep your dick in your pants, Greer.”

  “It’s not like I’m gonna do her in the library, Dad.”

  “No, but if she comes over to your mom’s house or mine, keep the fuckin’ door open. Better yet, study at the table. I do not need to be a damn grandpa.”

  With humor in his voice, he said, “Not gonna do that to ya. I always wrap up.” My patience was beginning to unravel.

  “Fuck, boy.” This was on a growl. Greer was sexually active, and that shit didn’t bother me as long as he was careful. It was the having a kid this young that bothered me. His mother and I had a rough go at it, and I didn’t want him to have those challenges. History did not need to repeat itself. That cycle was getting broken come hell or high water. Parents always wanted better for their children. While I couldn’t imagine my life without Greer, it was hard having a baby at seventeen.

  “Not bringin’ home a baby. Chill, Dad.”

  “Chill? Do not tell me to chill, boy.”

  He read my dad tone. “Really, Dad. It’s cool. No kids. Swear it.”

  “Better not be or I’ll tan your ass.” Among other things.

  “Know that. Gotta split and get to practice.”

  “Later, boy.”

  “Later.”

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I let all of that go for now. He’d be over Friday night and we could hammer whatever he had going on out. Now, I needed to get club shit done.

  Walking into the convenient store of the gas station, Brewer, Phoenix and Wrong Way behind me, the clerk, Gus, lifted his head as we walked up. “Mr. Crow, how are you doin’?” He was an older man in his sixties and had been working here for three years. Loyal and trustworthy, two very important things when it came to the club.

  The club owned several businesses. Some of our very lucrative ones were gas stations with convenient stores attached. We had four in the area. Everyone needed gas, food, smokes, snacks and/or booze and came in droves.

  Along with this being a legit money maker, we needed this legal side of the business to cover the other on the not so legal side and be able to make it all work together. And this specific station had a unique purpose, therefore our eyes were on it tight.

  Wrong Way, our numbers man, knew what and how to make it all work creating books that were on point each and every time. According to Uncle Sam, we paid our taxes on time and in full. They had no reason to get in our business because we did everything to the letter of what they needed. We were keeping it that way.

  “Good. You?”

  Gus grinned, leaning a hip against the back counter as he looked to each of my brothers lifting his chin in greeting. It wasn’t a posture of disobedience or hiding something. It was comfortable, like he should have been born in that very space and the way he took care of it, it could be a strong possibility.

  The inside was like any other ‘stop ‘n rob’ in that coolers lined the walls with drinks and booze. Shelves filled the space with snacks and anything else someone on the road would need including car shit, oil, plugs stuff like that. It was good size, but it didn’t have hot food because we weren’t hiring for that shit, not needing one more government body in our business. We already had permits for the booze, fuel and smokes, we didn’t need one more thing.

  We had the prerequisite Coke machines and coffee, but other than that, if it wasn’t in a bag on the shelf, it wasn’t in this store.

  Simple. Uncomplicated. Just the way we liked it.

  “Good. Need to talk to Carlo. He in the back?”

  Gus shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t come in today.”

  Gus’ body language didn’t change at my tone, but his eyes gave a small flash when I growled, “He do this shit a lot?”

  Carlo’s ass was supposed to be in this store from seven am to five pm every day except Sunday, no exceptions for holidays. Ravage paid him a shit load of cake for these hours, and him not being here pissed me right the fuck off because from Gus’ tone this was a regular thing that we should’ve known about. Every time we’d come, he’d been here. Right time right place, it seemed.

  The man shrugged at me. “Few times a week.”

  I met Brewer’s eyes silently communicating that Carlo just got scratched on the top of our to-do list today. “Right.” My voice had a bite as I turned to Wrong Way. Smart as fuck, except for the one time that earned his name. “Head back and check the books.” Everything always came down to the numbers.

  He nodded, moving through the aisles.

  “Is there a list of shit that needs fixed?” Phoenix asked Gus who nodded reaching under the counter and pulled out a sheet of paper, holding it out in his hand.

  “It’s not much. Everything’s goin’ pretty smooth for the most part.”

  Phoenix took the paper and began reading it as I asked, “For the most part? What’s not going smooth?”

  Gus shrugged. “Fuckin’ sucks when you have to take a piss and you’re the only one here.”

  A chuckle left me. “You gotta piss?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then why the fuck aren’t you movin’?”

  “Used to holdin’ it.”

  That answer told me exactly how much Carlo was falling down on the job. Gus worked five days a week with Carlo. If he had to control his piss, then this shit had been going on for quite some time.

  “Go,” I ordered as he met my eyes, released them, then took off to the back.

  Turning to Brewer and Phoenix, I demanded, “Get his ass on the phone.”

  Brewer grabbed his cell and started punching in the number as I looked to Phoenix and nodded to the paper. “Is it a lot?”

  “Nah. A few tiles came up in the women’s bathroom, and the Coke machine needs a new hose. It’s workin’ just needs a new one ordered.”

  I nodded to him. “Go check it out and get someone on that shit today. Then go check the basement. A speck of fuckin’ dust is amiss, I want to know about it.”

  “You got it,” he called out, already on the move. The basement to this property was accessible two ways. One through a hatch in the small building out back where we kept the mower, weed eater, and other shit to maintain the place. One would need to move certain boxes and have a very keen eye in order to find it. It was hidden that well. The other was an underground tunnel that at th
e end had a large wooden door where we could drive through to get to the basement.

  It was very intricate. My father planned it all out and had it executed to the letter.

  Since we did business down there, Carlo knew about the space. Not what was in it, but the space, yes. He was a lookout just in case. Therefore, he knew too much.

  Looking to Brewer, his head shook as he pulled down his phone, swiped it and began to press a few buttons, and held it up to his ear. After this he said, “Nothing.”

  “Fucker. You check the place out and make sure it’s good to go. Then help Phoenix. I’m goin’ back to look at the books with Wrong Way.”

  Brewer nodded heading off into the store. Brewer and I grew up together in Ravage. A good, solid man whom I trusted with everything down to the smallest crumb. He was my wing man, always at my back for whatever came our way. We stirred up serious trouble as kids and had minds that thought alike in several aspects. It made us the perfect team to run this club.

  Heading back to the small office, Wrong Way was sitting in the chair behind the desk, head down reading the files. I sat my ass in the chair in front of the desk lacing my fingers. “What’s the verdict?”

  He lifted his head. “The fuckin’ verdict is I’m gonna put a fuckin’ bullet in Carlo’s head.”

  I leaned forward elbows to knees. “Talk to me.”

  He turned around the binder, and I peered down at it. The numbers danced over the paper falling into different boxes and categories. The outgoing numbers were flush with the incoming. That shit wasn’t right.

  “What the fuck?” I asked Wrong Way.

  “That’s what I want to know. These fuckers weren’t like this last month. We had a healthy handle on it. I’m takin’ this shit back to the clubhouse so I can compare it with our books.”

  We kept two sets of books on each of our properties. One the government saw, the other only we did, and that one stayed at the clubhouse in the locked room behind my office. But Wrong Way was super efficient and had binders on each property with both sets of books for the past three years.

  Before that Leaf ran the books, and those were a clusterfuck. My old man loved the way he did them. I did not and got him out of that job as soon as I took over the gavel. Unfortunately, Leaf passed away a year ago. The diabetes caught up with him.

  “Right. I want to know every damn thing that’s wrong down to the last fuckin’ penny.”

  “Have a feelin’ we’ll be takin’ that out of Carlo’s ass. You get ahold of him?”

  I shook my head in the negative. “Nope, but we leave here, he’s the first stop. You go ahead to the clubhouse and get this shit organized. Brewer, Phoenix, and I’ll take care of him.”

  “You got it, boss.” Wrong Way picked up all the papers for the binder that were turned in all different ways, Carlo sucked at organization, and we walked back out into the store. Gus was back at the register talking to Brewer and Phoenix as I walked up to them. Gus knew nothing of the basement, and it would stay that way.

  “We’ll get this shit handled.” My knuckles rapped once on the glass top where the register lay.

  “Got it. I’ll be here,” Gus replied. He was a good man. Happy at least someone working in this joint was.

  Fuck, I was gonna rip Carlo’s throat out.

  People did not fuck with what was mine. This business was Ravage, and I was Ravage. Therefore, fuck with one, fuck with all, and God save you when that happened. He thought he could pull some sneaky shit… that wasn’t going to fucking fly.

  Moving out to our bikes, I asked Phoenix, “You get those things handled?”

  He reached for his helmet snapping it on under his chin as he swung his leg over his bike. “Yep. Jimmy and Ethan are comin’ to fix shit. Basement looks untouched. Opened a few random crates, numbers were spot on.”

  Jimmy and Ethan were prospects in the club, meaning they weren’t patched members, but were working on becoming one. That decision would be a vote with all the brothers in tow and it must be unanimous for anyone to enter.

  We were cautious on what jobs they could do, not wanting them to get into the heavy shit until we really knew they were in for the long haul.

  Jimmy was our brother Rooster’s responsibility. While Ethan was Wrong Way's.

  Each prospect had a handler, which was a patched member of the club. The handler’s responsibility was to teach their prospect how things worked in the club. If a prospect fucked up, it was on the handler’s ass too. It kept everything in line.

  The prospects were learning the ropes and earning their keep. Those two had been solid for the past nine months and proved they could handle fixing up broken shit without their handler present.

  “Get Tex, Hornet, and Rooster here to do a full count.” Phoenix nodded and made the calls.

  After he was done, I called, “Let’s roll. Carlo’s house.”

  On a nod, we all three fired up our bikes and took off. The president always took the lead. Brewer on the left and Phoenix on the right at my back as different scenarios of this situation ran through my head. It could be a thousand things.

  Carlo was a moron, which was a given at this point. He was stealing from Ravage. Or his mouth was open about what we had going on downstairs. Any of it would end his life.

  He lived in a lower to middle class home on the east side of Rebellion. For as much money as we paid him, he could afford better. That was if he didn’t have to pay child support and alimony to his ex-wife. Since he did, this place was the best he could do. Not that it was bad, but it was far from luxury.

  The ranch-style home was clean cut and well put together. Two houses down from it was not. A total dump with the front door barely hanging on and weeds everywhere. You could tell just from looking who gave a shit and who didn’t. Carlo did, but he obviously didn’t give one about his job since his Honda Civic was parked in the small carport off to the left of the house.

  At least he was home, making it worth the ride over here. We pulled into the drive, getting looks from some of the neighbors that were sitting out on their porches. It amazed me how many people on this street weren’t at work, instead lounging around and getting in others business. Neighborhood watch my ass. More like nosey fuckers.

  This meant the three of us kept our eyes moving around us the entire time, not allowing ourselves to be any kind of target. While no one looked like a threat, it could change in the blink of an eye. All it took was one asshole with a bur up their ass. One shot.

  While we ruled the town of Rebellion, that didn’t mean everyone liked us. Some thought we were what was wrong with our town. Yet, no one ever had the balls to take us on, hell even talk to us. Instead, it was gossip and hearsay behind our backs that we made sure to bring to the light and shut down immediately.

  Diligence was just a precaution we took everywhere we went.

  Phoenix was the first to knock, putting three healthy raps on the screened storm door. We watched as a car drove slowly down the road obviously taking us in.

  “Problem?” I asked Brewer about the car.

  “Not yet,” he responded as the car moved away.

  Nothing at the door.

  Phoenix knocked again, this time on the wooden door with his fist making the pounds louder rattling the door, while Brewer went off to the side to see if he could look in the window. He shook his head negative making it back to us. Carlo was locked up tight, but never too tight. There was always a way.

  Still nothing.

  With a nod to Phoenix, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his kit with Brewer and I blocking his view from the surrounding homes. Within seconds, he popped the lock moving first into the house with me behind him and Brewer behind me. Phoenix even made a big production of putting his arms up to silently ‘greet’ Carlo giving the neighbors a good show. Nut. Smart, but still a nut.

  There was no one in the walkway or living room. The place was a bit musty and needed the air turned up or the windows opened.

  High-pitche
d moans came from down the hall, though, and that was where we headed. A woman getting fucked. That sound we’d know anywhere. “Fuckin’ dick,” Phoenix said, moving down the hallway to the noises.

  The door was closed, but Phoenix took his boot to it causing it to fly open and crash against the wall, shit flinging off it and crashing to the floor.

  Ass in the air, Carlo was pounding into a sexy hot Hispanic woman, back arched and face wrapped in pleasure.

  Upon the crash, he flew off the bed, going to his nightstand and grabbing a gun then pointing it in our direction. Phoenix, Brewer, and I pulled our weapons immediately, and the woman on the bed screeched like a fucking banshee grabbing the sheet and pulling it over her naked body.

  “Fuck, guys,” Carlo said, lowering the weapon and setting it on his dresser, but we did not. No one pulled guns out on us, unless they knew damn well that they’d better be ready for a bullet to come at them.

  “Quiet your bitch down,” I ordered as the woman continued the noises, pissing me off. Who the fuck wanted to hear a woman carrying on screaming with no end in sight. Not me that was for sure. She obviously was oblivious to this side of Carlo’s world. That was her problem and if she made herself a club problem, we’d really shut her ass up.

  “Cool it,” Carlo ordered, staring her down.

  “What’s going on?” She panted, crawling up the bed to the headboard and pulling herself in a ball, the sheet wrapped tight around her.

  “Nothin’,” Carlos responded and reached for a pair of sweatpants, slipped them on and covered his junk. He’d be lucky I didn’t shoot his dick off at this point. We certainly didn’t need his seed spreading if he couldn’t keep his shit tight. “Can we go into the living room so my woman can dress?” he asked.