by Ryan Michele
Running an entire MC is a shit-ton of work. Even doing it for years and having it down pat, there comes a time when it could be too much. I kept my mouth shut about it, though, not wanting to overstep my boundaries. When Pops is ready to tell us what’s going on, he will.
Heading toward the bar, I grasp the cold beer sitting on it then join the guys at the table. Blood means nothing to any of us. We are a family of our own choosing. Each one of us couldn’t be more different if we tried. It’s as if we were put together in this clubhouse for a reason.
Take Becs. He’s the vice president and has recently told us that he’d like to step down and let one of the younger guys take his role. That decision is huge and one of the highest topics at our next church. Becs is quiet. Silent but deadly. He’s never up in your face, but one wrong move, and he will tear you down.
Then there’s Rhys. He’s silent, but his face, body—hell, even the air around him—screams “breath my air, and I’ll end you.”
My dad, Cruz, he’s middle road between the two. He has no problem getting in someone’s face, yet he’ll only do it when necessary. His face isn’t scary like Rhys’, but he has his own badass vibe he puts off.
Me, I’m more of a thinker, a planner if you will. I like to look at all the possibilities and facts before coming up with a strategy.
Somehow, all our crazy asses fit together, and we are bound by family.
2
Cooper
Watching from a chair by the fire pit, I bring the beer to my lips and drink. The party boy sits over at the picnic table in the open area of grass next to the clubhouse, head hanging down like he’s deep in thought. I remember being in the exact same position on more than one occasion.
Growing up, I was alone except when other charters of Ravage came and brought their children. We’d have fun, and then they left, creating the same vicious cycle over and over again. Then Deke was born, and all I wanted to do was play with him.
Even though he was an infant, I was ready to play cars or hide and seek—anything. Once he got to an age where he could keep up with me, we were tight like brothers, even though we are technically cousins. It seems like so long ago because so much has changed.
Being so much older than most of my generation of the Ravage MC children, I feel as if I skipped a level now that I’m a brother.
The younger children play, laugh, and run around like crazy, screaming with excitement. They must’ve had too much sugar with all the energy they have, which doesn’t surprise me, considering my grandma, otherwise known as Ma in the club, made enough cake to feed double our family. Not to mention, the cookies and fudge she added because they are Deke’s favorites. She’s always been great about making sure we all have what we need when we need it.
The sun shines bright with a nice breeze. It’s a perfect day to go for a ride after this is over. Judging from Deke’s pissed off attitude as he sits stewing, it’ll be over sooner rather than later. He hasn’t said a word, but I know exactly why he’s pissed. The party’s coming to an end and Pops never called him in. He’s not going to, either.
There were no second thoughts in me joining the club. I had a plan when I turned eighteen—to prospect and earn my cut. No questions asked. Pops and the brothers broke tradition and gave me my leather on my sixteenth birthday.
Normally, one would have to wait until they’re eighteen to start prospecting. Then, in a year or two, if the brothers voted unanimously to let you in, you were in. One “no” vote meant you were out; couldn’t remain a prospect any longer and had zero affiliation with the club. You were gone.
Today is Deke’s sixteenth birthday, and he wanted the cut to bring him into the fold just like I got on mine. Us brothers talked about it in church, and my uncle, GT, Deke’s father, said Deke’s not ready for this. Therefore, Deke has to wait until the time is right for him.
I thought my teen years were a little on the wild side, but Deke’s are a bit over the charts. Not that it’s bad, but Deke needs to learn to reign it in. There’s a time for partying and a time for serious shit.
My mother, Princess, says Deke is worse than GT when he was younger. GT is her brother. My mom said, “That boy is too much like his father. He needs to get his shit together.” Good thing for GT, he did. However, Deke’s not there. Hopefully, he’ll turn it around.
Deke thinks he’s hot shit. At least, that’s how he struts around here. He always has, but as he’s gotten older, it’s gotten worse. I can only imagine what he’s like at school. It’s what led to the decision not to give him his cut early. He needs to get his grades up, according to GT, and his head out of his ass, according to Pops. Being in the club isn’t about status. It’s about honor, loyalty, and having people there who will have your back no matter what. Deke hasn’t realized that yet.
With my hand wrapped around a beer, I make my way over to the table where Deke is and sit on top of it, my steel-toed boots resting on the bench next to Deke.
Deke looks up at me. “What?” His tone is clipped and angry. It surprises me that the kid hasn’t gotten up and hit something yet. His whole body vibrates with tension, like a hum of electricity ready to snake out and bite you at any given moment.
“Calm your shit. Your family did something nice for you. Don’t be an asshole.” I lift the beer to my lips, letting the cold brew cool my body.
The worry for Deke sits hard in my gut. He’s not on the right path. He veered off somewhere, and the where is uncertain at this point.
“Go the fuck away.”
I kick his thigh hard with the toe of my boot, peering down at him though my shades. The disrespectful little shit knows better than to talk to anyone here like that. His line is getting thinner by the moment.
“Watch how you talk. Don’t make me pound your ass on your birthday.”
He shakes his head and looks at his hands on the table, saying nothing. He’s smart; that’s not his problem. It’s his maturity that’s lacking.
Being a brother in Ravage is something you must have a clear head about. It’s not just parties and rides. This is a business, as well. We have to trust each other and have each other’s back at any cost. Deke doesn’t have that reliability yet. Maybe in a couple of years, he’ll find it … or not.
“Deke! Come on, let’s go do something,” my brother, Nox, says from over by the fire pit, making his way to us.
Nox, short for Lennox, is fourteen-years-old, along with his twin sister, Austyn. He has the makings to be in the club, but he’s got some years to go before that’s even an option.
“What?” Deke barks a bit too hard for my liking, but I sit this out and wait. One thing I learned while being with the club is patience … for the most part. Some things trip my trigger, but I can keep myself in check. Fighting my kid brother’s battles when he’s more than capable of it isn’t a reason for me to go off cold-cocked.
Nox and Deke were pretty close growing up. They both got in hot water for different shit they pulled. Stupid kid things that really are a rite of passage. I admit, though, when they got together and stole a car, then spray-painted it with hot pink lettering, that was over the line, being that it was the school’s principal’s car. My parents and Deke’s parents, GT and Angel, blew up all over both their asses. Nox and Deke were on bathroom duty in the clubhouse for four months. That’s a job no one here wants, not ever.
“Let’s go to the lake or something,” Nox says with hope in his eyes.
“I don’t want to go to the damn lake. I’m going to hang out with my friends after I leave here.”
“Can I come?”
“Hell no. You’re fourteen.”
Nox’s shoulders slump just a touch, then rise quickly. One thing I have to say about my little brother is, he may be fourteen, but he holds his own.
“What? Now that you’re sixteen, you’re too good for me?” he charges back, and I try to hold back a smirk.
“Damn right.” Deke looks at me then back at Nox.
Thinking back,
I did the same thing. Once I had the freedom of my own car, Deke and I didn’t hang out like we did before. Maybe that’s where his animosity comes from.
“Don’t be a dickhead,” Nox retaliates. “Just because you didn’t—”
Deke jumps to his feet and punches my brother in the face, knocking him to the ground.
I rise from the picnic table as Deke looms over him, pointing his finger in my brother’s face. “You need to keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Nox rises and wipes the blood from his lip, spitting it on the ground. With fiery anger burning in his eyes, he gives Deke a savage kick to the gut, then a punch to the face. Then Nox says in a low threatening voice, now pointing his finger at Deke, “Remember who you’re dealing with. I may be fourteen, but you putting your hands on me isn’t going to happen.”
Deke rises to his feet as brothers, their ol’ ladies, and the children begin to come over to see what the fuss is about.
I hold up one hand and get chin lifts in response. These two need to work their shit out, and it’s not to a point yet for anyone to step in.
“Screw you!” Deke says, lifting his fist as Nox backs up just out of reach, and Deke loses his footing.
Nox doesn’t attempt to hit him back. Instead, he stands there, watching and waiting. That right there, that simple thing, is why I respect my little brother. He has skill and tact, even at his age. It also shows where Deke is lacking. Sometimes patience will win the war. Deke’s half-cocked and ready to pounce rather than wait his opponent out. That, right there, will get you killed.
“What the fuck is going on here?” My mother comes up behind some of the guys and eyeballs the action just as Deke tries and fails to land another punch. “Told you, you should have practiced more, Deke. You forget; I taught my kids everything they know.”
Shocking the shit out of me, she doesn’t intervene. My mother is notorious for finishing fights, even if she didn’t start them, just for the pure fun of it. She’s something. I’m still trying to figure out what that is. Only thing I do know is she’s a kickass mother who loves her kids hard and has high expectations for us. Not to mention, she lets them be voiced as much as possible.
Nox again does nothing, simply stands alert and ready. “Why do you have to be such a dick?” he asks.
Deke looks around at the crowd, then charges my brother, knocking him to the ground. Fists fly, grunts echo, and blood appears on their skin. Everyone watches. I have no doubt someone is going to jump in there pretty soon.
This teenage quarrel is just a day in the life of one of our family gatherings. Most of the time, it doesn’t get this far, but Deke now has something to prove with Nox’s little throw down. He wants his cut and doesn’t want to be seen as a pussy in front of the guys. This is what happens when you raise a group of strong-willed kids together. There are bound to be disputes.
Each of the two take hits as I see my father and GT stand off to the side, arms crossed as they watch the chaos.
My brother somehow maneuvers Deke to his stomach with him on top. Deke’s arm is extended as Nox holds it down. Deke tries to get free, but my brother holds his own. They’re a pretty even body match, even with the two-year age difference.
“Alright, enough,” my father calls out in that tone that makes everyone around him listen and take notice.
My dad has been with Ravage for years. He met my mother here when she got out of prison. My mom is club through and through, and if that means she had to do time for some shit she wasn’t even guilty of for the club, she would do it again. It’s a long story for a later time.
Nox looks up at our father, nods once, and stands up, moving away from Deke. Deke spits out curse words, no doubt feeling like an ass as he stands up.
Just as he’s about to charge again, he halts at his mother’s voice.
“Deacon Alexander Gavelson!” Angel yells, marching through the grass. GT gives a slight chuckle. “What the hell?”
Deke’s eyes are on my brother, nostrils flaring, the animosity still burning bright. This is definitely not over.
“We’re going home,” Angel announces, walking up to Deke and grabbing his arm. He rips it out of her grasp, and she gives off a gasp as she steps back from the force.
When GT comes up, Deke’s face remains pensive, but the small twitch in his left eye tells me he’s scared shitless. He should be. GT’s a fierce motherfucker, and he sure as hell won’t let anyone disrespect his woman, especially not his own kids.
“Show’s over,” GT tells the crowd then marches Deke to the car they just bought him for his birthday that I doubt very highly he’ll be driving anytime soon.
GT shoves Deke in the passenger seat, slams the door, gets in the driver’s seat, and speeds off.
“Well, hell, that can’t be good. Nox, come with me,” my mother says.
Nox looks at our father, who lifts his chin, and then follows Mom into the clubhouse.
“Never a dull moment.” Ryker clasps me on the shoulder, laughing, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
He patched in with Ravage a couple of years before I did, and we got pretty tight since I joined officially three, almost four, years ago.
“Such is life.” Giving a shrug, I turn toward him. “What’s the plan?”
He inhales then blows out the smoke. “I don’t give a shit. One of the brunettes wants me to meet up with her later, but the bitch is getting too needy, and I need to cut her off.” He’s referring to one of the club mommas who hangs around. Their names all seem to intermingle after a while. Sex with them is release, plain and simple. There’s no emotional attachment, no relationships, or any of that.
Don’t get me wrong, I respect them, but I have yet to find one who I want to change that outlook for. I’m not looking for anything more than to get off. As soon as one of them thinks there’ll be more, she’s out.
“I’m ridin’ for a while.”
Ryker crosses his arms, tattoos splaying. He gets closer then opens his mouth, baring his teeth while moving his head back and forth.
I step back. “What the fuck are you doin’?”
He chuckles. “Checkin’ my teeth. Those mirrored shades you wear are perfect for it.”
“Asshole. You just wish you could pull this shit off.”
“Nah, I’m hot enough.”
I laugh. Ryker is definitely comic relief.
“Coop?” I hear my sister call as she walks up to us. Her eyes are on Ryker, though, and not me.
Austyn’s had a thing for Ryker for years now, and I wish she’d get the hell over it. He’s about nine or ten years older than her, so it’s not happening. Hell, even if they were close in age, it still wouldn’t happen. I love Ryker, but that shit’s not cool with me.
“Yeah?” I ask.
She sweeps her long, dark hair behind her ear, her big blue eyes coming to me. I fully admit she’s pretty, and I’ve seen more than one guy stop and pay her attention, but no fucking way.
“Dad wants to see you,” she tells me before glancing back over at Ryker.
“Hey, little one.” He ruffles her hair.
Her fists clench and shoulders tense. “Hey,” she growls before stomping off, running her hand through her hair.
I just shake my head and move into the clubhouse. Either Ryker is blind or is damn good at ignoring it. Either way, I’m good with the way he’s playing it.
When darkness fills my vision, I remove my sunglasses, hanging them on the front of my shirt.
My mom sits next to Nox, and I hear, “Make sure to bend the wrist back,” as I walk by. Only our mother would teach better maneuvers after a fight while she’s patching up a bloody lip and chin.
My dad sits at the bar, beer in hand as I walk up to him. “What’s up?” I sidle up on the barstool next to him. Riley, who’s prospecting, hands me a beer, and I take a heavy pull.
“Your mom and I are going away this weekend. Need you to watch over the twins.”
The bottle stills on its way to my lips. “
You’re shitting me.” His raised brow tells me he’s not. I love the little shits, but that doesn’t mean I want to babysit them. “They’re fourteen; can’t you just leave them home alone?”
“Only need you Sunday morning until we get back. Ma’s going to stay over at the house Friday night, Saturday during the day, and Saturday night. Need you to take over when she leaves.”
“Again, can’t you leave them home alone?”
He turns his whole body toward me. “No, I can’t fuckin’ leave them home alone.” Dad just went into the danger zone with his words. I know I need to back up a bit. I don’t want to, but that’s what family does.
“Fine. What time do I need to be there?”
“Nine”—his eyes don’t leave mine—“in the fuckin’ morning. I don’t give a shit if you don’t sleep Saturday night; your ass better be in my house Sunday at nine.”
Great. Just fucking great.
3
Bristyl
Frustration hits me in the gut as my eyes sweep all the figures on the spreadsheet then to the little adding machine, pulling out the roll of paper and looking at them again. The numbers aren’t adding up. I did them four damn times and got four different answers.
“Bristyl, what’s goin’ on?” my father, Regg, asks from the doorway of the office.
I rub my hands over my face, letting out a groan. He’s stoic like he often is. My father is a rock of solid strength for me, for my brothers, and for his motorcycle club, Sinister Sons.
“Same old shit. Trying to get everything to iron out.” Even keeping the laundromats and storage units separate, sometimes people write out of the wrong checkbook, and I have to figure it out.
The “people” I’m referring to are my brothers. I have three older ones who are a pain in my ass. Literally. They do this all the fucking time, along with not giving me their receipts. I’m over it. A woman can only take so much.