by Ryan Michele
It had been ten minutes, and Rocco would be shutting down the cameras. I needed to get in there.
Immediately.
“Is there a problem?” I asked softly.
Mr. Finch didn’t look up at me. Instead, he kept typing. Everything was on that account. To be safe, I made sure it was on every account Mark Davidson had just in case he cross-checked another bank. Documents, marriage certificates, living will.
Everything. I made damn sure of it.
“I can see he added your marriage license on here about three years ago. I must’ve missed that.”
“Yes, you did.” I made an exasperated huff giving a small bounce for my girls. He took the bait and looked. “I don’t have a lot of time.” Fake it till you make it. That had always been my motto and got me through a lot of shit. The more confident you sounded about things, the more seriously people would take you. If you put out to the world that you were the shit, they’d think it.
People had a part of their brain that could sense strength and importance. It was also an easy thing to manipulate.
“Sorry about that. Do you have the key?”
Digging inside the bag, I pulled the metal out and held it in one hand, showing it to him as he handed my IDs back.
“Great.” He rose from the desk, came around, opened the door and held out his hand for me to go first. This sigh I had to hold in because it was of relief.
He bought it. Thank Christ.
He led me through the hallway and into the back room. Mr. Finch nodded at a large security guard, who opened the gate with a key. “Right through there, ma’am. Thank you for banking with us. Please let me know if you need anything else.”
A weight lifted off my shoulders when he held his hand out to me, and I shook it.
Fuck, I was good.
Now to get the money and get the fuck out of here.
One down, a million more assholes to go.
3
Wrong Way
“What?” Warden asked. He hadn’t been back to Rebellion in about thirteen months, give or take. He was an open road man, living his life the way he wanted with who he wanted. He tried to go Nomad, but our president, Crow, wouldn’t allow him to. Therefore, he was stuck to our club. Since Warden didn’t push hard on the subject, he was still an active member of the Rebellion Ravage MC. I didn’t get into the whys of it all because it wasn’t my place. Bottom line, when Warden wanted to hit the open road, he did. When Crow wanted his ass back in Rebellion, he came. It worked.
He also found the rat that infiltrated the clubhouse. Warden skinned the man alive. That was his style. It wasn’t enough penance for what Lemon did to the club, if I was given a say, but what was done, well, was done.
Fuck him. Even now it still burned deep to know we got played from the inside. That we trusted someone with all of our accounting and computers who jacked us around and tried to take the Ravage MC out.
“We gotta figure out what we’re gonna do with this place,” Crow, our President said, hands on hips and looking around at the large warehouse. This was Crow—always thinking, always analyzing, and always trying to stay one step ahead.
Ravage acquired this property a few months ago, when Crow’s ex tried to take out our club. That was another unexpected betrayal. None of us could have seen that shit coming from her. The ex had a crew, and they were using this place to hack up expensive, boosted cars and selling the parts. They made a hell of a lot of money. Slinging parts had an appeal because any kind of money was good, and the higher end the car, the more money it brought. Except it came with a huge risk.
All the equipment was still here, but the people were not, and it would take a lot of hands on deck to make that kind of operation work.
It was on a huge property with open fields and trees surrounding them. There used to be a bar, The Purple Pride, near it, but that fucker was blown to bits. Luckily it didn’t take out my brothers or damage this building.
Potential.
I saw all the potential, but I needed to narrow down what would be best. This property needed to find a purpose to make the club money, because in the end, everything needed to make money. Chopping up cars had never been on our radar. Doing that would require a hell of a lot of man-hours. Something we didn’t have.
“What’cha thinkin’?” Brewer, our VP, asked looking around the space. Brewer was even keel and born to be a VP. He had loyalty to Crow, loyalty to Ravage, he understood how to lead, but also when to step in and follow Crow. They balanced each other perfectly. The thing about Ravage, we’re family and we all get a say. That’s why we were all trying to throw ideas around for this place.
This could be anything really. It was out of the way of the town and gave an era of privacy. Whatever we decided it needed to make money. The bottom line had to balance out in our favor, always.
Crow turned around in a wide circle, taking everything in. I had to hand it to the man, he knew his shit, had an eye for business, and had a great head on his shoulders. While I knew he’d come up with something grand, I had one small problem.
“Look, man.” Crow stopped, turning to me. “Choppin’ cars requires a shit load of manpower, and I’ve gotta clean up Lemon’s mess of shit. It’s gonna take me a bit to get everything ironed out. Every business has a weakness right now, and I’ve got to get them secure. Lemon’s gone, but I won’t rest until it’s all reset. The fucker may have shared something with anyone.”
I wasn’t bitching about the situation, just had a lot thrown on my doorstep since Lemon fucked everything up.
I went back and watched the footage of the clubhouse, but Lemon was good. There were several times when the feed went black right where certain things occurred. For instance, when Crow was drugged at the clubhouse. There were five cameras on that room and one minute and twenty-seven seconds of black screen.
Watching it over and over again, I could never find out who exactly drugged Crow. It was either Lemon or his ex, Sophia. Since they are very much dead, that answer may never be found.
The computers all had to be recoded and set up on a new secured server. Not only that, the books needed to be entered into the new system which was a time-consuming endeavor. The video systems all had to be rerouted to the new server. It all had to be handled and extra protections put in place. Computers had always been my thing, I excel at the way they worked.
“Got that. Just want you all to get some thoughts and ideas about this place. One thing we don’t need is pansy ass kids thinkin’ they can come up here and party. That shit we won’t tolerate.”
Did I mention all the new security systems as well? Everything from the clubhouse, the convenient stores, gas stations, the cave and the brothers’ houses had to be updated, rewired, and signals buried.
And I wasn’t done. Nowhere close.
The betrayal from Lemon cut me deeper than I would ever let on. Ravage was everything to me. My job, my position within the club, well Lemon attacked that and exposed our weaknesses—my failures. I won’t fuck shit up again.
Thinking, that I could do. Time, ideas, concepts, I could manage. This club was my life. My chin lifted in answer.
Crow knew the lengths I was going to protect the club. Our shit would be like Fort Knox, trying to get in or out.
Ethan, one of the prospects, had been helping me with it, but not all because he wasn’t patched. After the chaos that happened a few months ago, we decided to wait on the patch in, but it needed to be done so he could help me with everything and not bits and pieces. While I found trust to be a challenge, Ethan has shown his loyalty and drive to the club.
He was smart as hell and good at what he did. He would be a huge asset to the club and fuck, we needed those after Lemon.
Lemon’s betrayal was a blow. One we hadn’t even suspected of taking place. When a man patched into the club, that trust was so great, and it was exactly why he got through our radar. We had loyalty to him and thought he had it for us. It was all a ruse, and Lemon paid the price with his l
ife.
Never again. That shit would never happen again on my watch. Just thinking about it still wound me up inside. Fuck that, and fuck him.
“We could make it a brothel,” Phoenix, one of my brothers said, making me smile.
He was crazy. Certifiably. Man loved playing with knives and was up for anything. His sexual tastes were bold to say the least. The brothel would be his own candy store to pick and choose from.
“We already have the ladies. We sure as shit aren’t gonna set up a full-blown fuck house,” Crow said with a smile on his face, knowing Phoenix like we all did.
“Fuck, even the way we do it, the cops find it, we’re all fucked.”
Phoenix was right about that one. We had a stable of thirty-five women who Tex was in charge of, and we got twenty-five percent of their earnings for our protection. It was all cash and all done through Bear’s ol’ lady, Goldi. She ran the girls. She made sure they kept their business tight without cutting corners. We provided the muscle.
Ravage kept a tight lock on the girls and men we let in. The girls could go with whomever they wanted, but we did checks on them first. It all worked.
Putting together a brothel, in one central location, would be too much heat. One word and the cops would raid. In one fell swoop they would be able to shut down an entire operation for us. While we had some locals on payroll, and my brother, the sheriff, to ignore most of our activities, there was always overturn and federal agents that could come out of anywhere. At least the way we had it right now, the girls met the men where they wanted and it was scattered throughout Rebellion.
One could go down, but not all at the same time.
Phoenix rubbed his hands together. “Wouldn’t that be fuckin’ perfect, though? A one-stop shop!”
Tex hit him upside the head. “I’m not sharin’ a cell with you, brother.”
“Oh come on…”
The two of them bickered, and we all had a good laugh. Yeah. This place needed to be something, and I had to start thinking about what.
One thing it wouldn’t be was Phoenix’s personal fuck house.
“It’s been three weeks since you’ve come to see me,” the voice I knew far too well said into the phone.
“Gram, got shit goin’ on. I’m workin’.” I pulled my boot off, tossing it to the ground, pulled off my sock and repeated the process. Sleeping at the clubhouse was fine, but it was time for me to be in my bed at home. Exhausted wasn’t even half of it.
My body fell to the bed, and I groaned.
“You always have time for your grandma, Reid Beauden Maxwell.”
Shit, she was pissed. Grams always pulled out the full name when she was serious, which wasn’t often for her.
It was true, though. Putting in the long hours, getting all our security up and going was all I’d been doing for months. It was beginning to weigh heavily on my shoulders.
“I’ll come by soon.”
I could hear the smile in her voice. “That’s my boy. See you tomorrow.”
“Later.”
I hung up the phone and tossed it to the bed knowing she wanted me there tomorrow, but it may have to wait a couple of days. I said soon, and I meant soon. I loved my grams, but she didn’t always understand my life. Right now there was too much shit going on. With her, she said tomorrow, and she expected it. She was old, but her mind was still young.
Fatigue made my eyelids burn. Every blink was agony. Too much screen time and not enough downtime.
Lemon was gone, but the lingering anger still nagged at me.
Betrayal was like an acid burn. It bubbled and settled, not to be washed away.
We got too comfortable. I got too comfortable. That wouldn’t happen again.
Ever.
Before the truth came out about Lemon, I let shit slip. I let my club down.
I did not let people down. Not ever again.
* * *
“This thing … called love…” my father sang from the front seat of his Chevy Impala. His exaggerated movements and lip curl were copied from the king himself. Elvis. My father loved the man and would not for the life of us stop singing in the car, no matter how much we complained.
“Seriously?” I asked then punched my brother in the seat next to me. There was no other reason but being bored.
“What the hell?” he barked, punching me right back. Kenny was two years older than me and a pain in my ass. He could do no wrong. Ever.
Grades—A’s. Sports—every single one he could do. Behavior—perfect, always.
Me. I always did wrong. It was part of my charm. A charm that my parents did not appreciate in the slightest.
“Nothin’. Just bored.”
“Knock it off,” my mother chimed from the passenger seat, turning around to look at us, giving us the mom glare. You know that one that makes you stop and take notice … yeah, that one. “We only have another thirty minutes then we’ll be there.”
Thirty minutes more in this car just might kill me. Loved my family, but being stuck in a car for four hours, going on five, was too much. Add in my father drove so slow, cars were passing us.
My dad’s cousin lived up north, and we were heading there to see him.
The only thing I was looking forward to was something in the snow. Snowboarding or hell, even sledding. Supposedly they have a hell of a lot of snow, and in Alabama, we don’t get that often. Therefore, I was going to take serious advantage of it.
At nine, of course, it would be a priority.
“What the…” my father yelled as the car started to skid across the road. My father was turning the wheel, trying to get it under control. He wasn’t turning with the fishtail. He wasn’t going to get the traction back.
He’d taught both my brother and I this, wanting us to have experience.
Panic filled me. The fear took a tight hold on my body, but my mind was in overdrive. I unbuckled my belt and reached up to help dad get control of the car. Kenny tried to pull me back, and we started wrestling.
* * *
I was too late. That day I lost my mother and father because of ice. Black ice, they called it up north. You couldn’t see it, but it was there waiting to take its next victims.
There were only two survivors, my brother and myself.
The only reason I thought we survived was because we had unlatched our belts and were thrown from the car before it went into the icy water that the small bridge was taking us over. The screams from my throat still haunted me. I had never known what it was to be helpless until that day. I came too after the car was already submerged.
My brother was floating in the water, and I took the plunge into the river, swimming with everything I had in me. The water was so cold, but I didn’t care.
By the time I got to him and flipped him over, there was another truck on the side of the bridge. A tall man jumped out and helped me get my brother to the shore. Kenny wasn’t breathing, and the man started CPR.
Mom and Dad … I couldn’t save them. Even going back into the icy water and trying to find the car, I couldn’t. It was too dark, and I had to come up for air. Every time I came up gasping, it was just more time I was losing with my parents.
I shouldn’t have survived the accident, but I was grateful my brother did.
That feeling, though, of being helpless and not being able to help those around me felt as though I was a failure.
Now, I wouldn’t ever fail the people I cared about again.
I refused to let down my club. Lemon got me this time, but no one would get that second chance.
4
Hayden
The sleek metal was weighted in my hand as I flipped it open, revealing the blade inside. It was always with me, in the front pocket of my jeans.
It was the one constant in my life. It sounded weird that an inanimate object would be a constant, but it was the truth and had been the only thing I could count on for more years than I cared to admit.
Knife in my left hand, my focus went to the carv
ed wood in front of me. A smile came to my lips. In front of me was an ass. Literally a carved out drawing of a person bent over and their ass up in the air. The actual target was the asshole.
Years this had been here, and each and every time laughter wanted to bubble out of me. Rocco said, You need a better target. At the time, the only thing I had was a paper silhouette cut out and tacked to a board.
It worked just as good as anything else, except since it had been used so much, there wasn’t much left of it. The entire thing became a joke, then one day Rocco showed up at my house carrying an ass.
* * *
“Here ya go!” he cheered as I burst out laughing, looking at the carved piece of wood.
“You could’ve at least made it a guy.”
Rocco chuckled. “Fuck no. Gives me something to look at.”
* * *
Over the years, I made it a goal to chip away at the vagina, and it paid off because it was now gone. Rocco didn’t like it, but it was mine, and I didn’t give a fuck. No woman who liked dick wanted to stare at a va-ja-ja all the damn time.
Arm back I steadied myself, exhaling and letting my sole focus be the target. Or asshole. Whatever you wanted to call it.
Using my arm and wrist, I geared up, and the metal knife flew out of my hand and landed directly in the asshole with a piercing sound.
As much as I loved the target, it was time to find something else. While I was able to get rid of the girl bits, the asshole was pretty much gone as well. It had sentimental value, though, and I’d have to figure out what to do with it. No way could I throw it away. Maybe shellac it and make a table.