Ravens Ruin MC: The Complete Series

by Marie James

  “Honestly, man.” I cut my eyes back out the window and give him some privacy. I’m not scared of my best friend’s little brother, but he’s volatile on a good day. Going apeshit crazy inside this SUV isn’t on the agenda today.

  “Five miles,” the driver says as we turn down a two-lane blacktop. “The supplies you asked for are in the back.”

  TJ twists in the seat and reaches over the back. Before long, we’re each tucking two handguns into our waistbands. TJ has a knife also, but I don’t feel threatened as he twists it absently, digging the sharp point into the tip of his finger on the opposite hand until a bead of blood pools. He’s calmer once he lifts the digit to his lips.

  The kid is weird as fuck, but I’m glad he’s on our side. His impulsivity and ability to get into trouble when he’s doing things as simple as pumping gas aside, he’s brilliant with his hands. Knives are almost an extension of his body, and I know he’s felt uneasy without having one on him the last couple of hours.

  “This is it?” I lower my head so I can take in the run-down building that looks like it could be knocked over with a strong wind. How it has survived the number of hurricanes and tropical storms that have hit the area in recent years is beyond me.

  “This is the address I was provided,” the driver says.

  I find his eyes in the rearview mirror, itching for a reason to reach over the seat and make him bleed. He isn’t popping off at the mouth though. He looks uneasy, scared even, afraid he’s fucked up somehow. He must be new to this position.

  “This is the right place,” TJ interrupts. “The bikes lined up on the side are a dead giveaway.”

  “We know the plan?” I ask as we shrug on the cuts that were stowed in our duffel bags and climb out of the SUV.

  They both nod. As directed when we hired this service, the driver waits in the vehicle.

  “I sure as fuck hope they cooperate,” TJ mutters as we near the front door. “The jeans are new. I’d prefer not to get blood on them.”

  “I thought your victim’s blood was your favorite accessory,” Ronan says as he reaches for the doorknob.

  TJ snorts, but it falls short when we step inside. Not unlike our own clubhouse, smoke fills the air, music blares around the room, and couples in various stages of sexual deviance pepper the room.

  “Church!” I yell as I walk fully inside.

  Keeping my hands at my back, fingers brushing the two pieces of steel there, I look around, challenging anyone to refuse.

  “Ravens Ruin,” one of the whores says as she pulls herself off of the cock of one of the guys. She licks her lips, pushing her exposed tits out further as she walks toward me.

  “Nice,” TJ mutters, but I’m not fooled. He’s fully focused on what’s going on around us. He’d never let his guard down, no matter the size of this woman’s tits.

  “Dolly,” a guy on the far side of the room spits. He’s in a cut, Dragon and President proudly displayed on his chest. “Take the other girls and go to the house.”

  Dolly stops short, frowning at the command, but she obeys, motioning for the other girls to stand and follow her out of the room.

  “What’s the special occasion?” Dragon asks as he tucks his cock back in his jeans before lighting up a cigarette.

  “We got wind that the Dead-End Demons were rallying an attempt against our club,” I tell him without emotion, even though my blood is boiling at the thought.

  TJ, not as in control of his emotions, growls and takes another step in Dragon’s direction.

  “Bullshit,” Dragon snaps.

  A real man would admit to what he’s done. He would ask for forgiveness, even though he knows there is none to be given. A real man wouldn’t do exactly what this fucking idiot is doing. I pull my gun from my waistband and shoot him between the eyes before he can raise the glock that was tucked beside his leg.

  “Motherfucker!” TJ yells, looking down at the dots of blood staining his new jeans.

  Ronan snickers, and the rest of the men in the room stare at us in disbelief.

  “Thank fuck,” one of the guys mutters as he watches his president’s skin ashen to a sickening gray.

  “Which one of you fuckers is Virus?”

  “I am.” A tall man to my left stands, his VP patch on his chest proof that he’s exactly who I’m looking for. “I know you guys aren’t really known for forgiveness, but I can vouch that no man here, other than myself, knew what was going down with Dragon’s plan.”

  “And what exactly was your part?” TJ sneers, his knife twisting in his palm as if full of life itself.

  Virus’s back straightens as he shifts his eyes from me to TJ. He has balls, and that’s one of the prerequisites for consideration of a Ravens Ruin patch.

  “Not much,” Virus answers. “I tried to talk him out of it, but Miller had him seeing dollar signs.”

  “Miller is no longer a problem,” I inform him.

  Dietrich Miller was Zoe’s father. He was also a rejected DEA agent gone rogue, using the Dead-End Demons as the firepower to try to take down our club.

  “We heard,” Virus says. “Dragon’s dreams were crushed.”

  “You’re not concerned your president’s body is getting cold over there?” TJ asks.

  Virus shrugs. “Cartel was going to get to him eventually. He owes more than he could ever pay back. Same for Miller.”

  I don’t know if we’ve hurt or helped our standing with the Colombians, but there’s no going back now.

  “What’s going to happen to us?” another guy across the room asks as I tuck my gun into my jeans at the small of my back.

  “You’ll disband,” I explain.

  I expect arguments, but all I see is relief on the faces of the four guys still sitting around the room.

  In church last week, we discussed absorbing them into our MC, but there isn’t one member here, other than Virus, that benefits us.

  “You need help with that?” TJ points to Dragon’s body as he questions the sitting men.

  “We have a wood chipper out back,” one of the guys mentions.

  TJ nearly squeals in delight. “I’d love to help then.”

  “Virus, a word?” I direct Ronan to help with the body before leading Virus out of the room.

  We have a ton of shit to discuss.

  Chapter 5

  Molly

  “I feel like I’m breaking the fucking law,” I mutter as I check my rearview mirror for the hundredth time since sneaking out of the clubhouse.

  My escape must have gone unnoticed because I’m able to park in front of the small café and climb out of my car in silence. The absence of rumbling motorcycle engines is soothing. Boston is the only member who didn’t go to Florida, and he’s been engrossed in paperwork almost every waking second since I returned home from school. Sneaking out was easier than I’d anticipated.

  Within minutes, I’m inside the café and seated in the corner, regretting having left my cell phone at home because now I have nothing to entertain me other than people watching and organizing the sweetener packets.

  “I should’ve stayed at home,” I mutter to myself as I group the pink, blue, and yellow packets together in a row.

  “Do they actually talk back?”

  My eyes snap up, my mouth readying to tell the jerk off. Like a fish, my lips open and close several times. Stunned is not a reaction I often experience. I’m around good-looking men all the time. The Ravens Ruin clubhouse is constantly filled with handsome devils, but the man standing a few feet away with his hands shoved in the pockets of his well-worn jeans is more than handsome.

  He doesn’t have a knowing smirk painting his full pink lips, and there isn’t a hint of deviousness in his eyes as he waits patiently for me to answer.

  He continues to wait because when my eyes landed on him, I instantly forgot what he asked. I opt to stare at him like a weirdo rather than open my mouth and sound like an idiot.

  “I was over there, alone.” He hitches his thumb over his sh
oulder, indicating where he must have been sitting.

  I don’t bother to peer past him. Looking away seems impossible right now.

  “And you were over here, alone,” he continues. “I just—”

  Pausing, he stares down at me as if begging for a reprieve, hoping I’ll cut in and alleviate him of the awkwardness.

  Perfect teeth dig into his lower lip as his eyes dart from my face to the packets I’m still toying with in my hands.

  “I prefer raw sugar,” he adds when I remain silent. “I bet you’re a pink girl.”

  A small smile forms on his lips, but it’s not creepy. It’s a deviation from what I’m used to back at the clubhouse.

  His eye twitches with what I presume is an attempt to wink.

  Oh shit. He’s flirting with me.

  Without him staring at my tits or licking his lips, I almost don’t recognize it.

  “Blue actually,” I say holding up one of the packets.

  “How old are you?” he blurts.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Pink tints his cheeks as his throat works on a heavy swallow.

  Three slow blinks and one head turn to look around the nearly empty café later, he leans in a little closer before he speaks. “I’m trying to figure out if I’m a pervert or not.”

  He whispers pervert so low, I see him speak the word rather than actually hear it leave his lips.

  “That escalated quickly,” I tease, leaning back in the chair and letting my eyes rake over his full frame.

  “I’m old enough to vote,” I finally answer when he begins to rock back and forth on his heels.

  His smile deepens further. “Old enough to drink?”

  It’s my turn to wink at him, only I do it with assurance. “Age wouldn’t stop me from doing that.”

  “May I?” He points down at the chair on the other side of my table.

  “Please,” I tell him with a genuine smile.

  I’m an excellent judge of character, so I’m pretty sure this man is just awkwardly shy because he doesn’t seem to be throwing game in my direction. If he is, he’s horrible at it.

  Sutton, Massachusetts isn’t a very big town, and even though I don’t know many people, a lot of them I recognize from just living here all my life. This man, however, I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. I don’t imagine I’d forget his quick smile, sandy-brown hair, and dark eyes had I seen them before.

  “Do you live around here?” His hands rest on the table in front of him, fingers twining together as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.

  “Yep.” His eyes seem to sparkle with my aloofness.

  But, what could I tell him? He doesn’t look like the kind of guy that would be impressed to know that I live off of an isolated section of Purgatory Road at a compound controlled by a biker club.

  “Do you work nearby?”

  Work. What a concept. He’s attracted to me. He’s made that clear by asking my age, but would unemployment be a turn off for him?

  “I’m actually looking for a job,” I say instead.

  I’m not, but he doesn’t need to know that I’m taken care of regardless of if I ever get a legitimate job in my life. Suddenly, I’m smacked in the chest with unease.

  I don’t want my brothers telling me what to do or who I can spend my life with, but I cling to them, using them as a safety net for everything. The only way to gain independence is to begin doing things on my own.

  The guy across from me grins, watching unknowingly, as I have an existential crisis.

  “I think I can help you.”

  My eyebrows meet my hairline before narrowing in suspicion.

  I lean forward, snarl ready. “If you make some creepy comment about sucking you off or fucking you for some quick cash, I will castrate you with a butter knife.”

  His eyes widen comically as his hands shoot up near his ears. “What? No! I wouldn’t—that’s not—”

  His head just shakes back and forth, and I instantly feel terrible, realizing very quickly that wasn’t the direction he was going at all. Growing up in the clubhouse has seriously distorted my view of men’s expectations.

  “Well, okay,” I say and sit back.

  His eyes are like saucers, darting between me and the table with an elderly couple as they begin gathering their things to leave. I wonder if he’s concerned they heard what I said and are leaving to get away from my brand of crazy.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Quinn,” the guy across from me says, nodding at the couple as they pass by.

  “Dr. Andrews,” the man says before he wraps his arm around his wife’s back and ushers her out of the café.

  “Look,” I whisper, leaning in closer even though the waitress is now the only other person besides us in the dining room. “I’m sorry for the outburst. I’m not used to anyone approaching me without—” I wave my hand between us, indicating our prior conversation. I’m not just going to spit it out, but if the man is a doctor, he should be able to infer my direction.

  “People only approach you for sex?” He does that low whisper thing again on the last word, and I can’t help but smile.

  He’s older, possibly late twenties, if I had to guess, and that’s only from noticing the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes when he smiles. Briar has the same ones.

  I shake my head, ridding it of any thought of that man.

  “I’m not a hooker,” I state flatly.

  His smile widens at the frustration in my voice. “I’m not a pimp.”

  I can’t help the chuckle that escapes my lips. What a strange day.

  “That’s good to know.” I drop the blue packet of sweetener on the table and stretch my arm in his direction. “I’m Molly.”

  “Owen,” he returns as his hand meets mine. He doesn’t drop it immediately, holding it a few seconds longer than what I’d consider normal for a casual introduction. I find myself enjoying the calluses on his fingers against the soft skin of my own palm.

  “So, you’re a doctor?” He releases my hand, the pink once again filling his cheeks.

  “An animal doctor,” he specifies. “A veterinarian.”

  “Does that embarrass you?” He looks confused. “You blushed when I asked.”

  His fingers immediately run over his cheeks. “Most women aren’t very impressed when I explain my love for helping animals.”

  “Really? That’s absurd. I love animals.” His grin widens at my declaration. “Of course, I never had a pet growing up. My dad always said there were enough animals around already.”

  “So, you have a ranch?”

  I’m puzzled for a second until I realize what I’ve said. “Something like that.”

  I don’t know if Owen would be impressed with my MC life. Most men I meet are already in the clubhouse, looking for the women, drugs, and partying that they hear about in diluted rumors around town. If I’m going to do things on my own, I have to keep that part of my life separate from everything else.

  “Tell me about this job,” I say, steering the conversation away from me and back to him.

  “I think you’re gorgeous,” he sputters, rather than going into detail about an employment opportunity.

  His hands rake over the top of his hair.

  “I’m not particularly good with people,” he explains. “I think that’s why vet medicine suits me. I just wanted you to know before we talk about the receptionist job at my clinic that I find you very attractive.”

  My lips roll between my teeth to keep a chuckle from slipping out.

  “That’s why I came over to talk with you,” he clarifies as if his reason for approaching me wasn’t obvious in less than thirty seconds.

  “Are you saying I’m only asking to be sexually harassed if I take the receptionist job?”

  His throat clears, but he doesn’t immediately deny my question.

  “I may ask you out on a date.”

  This man is absolutely adorable, a contrast to what I’m used to at home.

  “I ma
y say yes,” I tease.

  “I think you’d be perfect for the job.”

  “Was that the interview?” His grin widens. I could watch his mouth all day. “You’re hiring me, pretty much sight-unseen because you want to ask me out?”

  He takes a moment to look offended. It’s a charming look on him. “I need a receptionist, and you need a job. It’s like this meeting was fate.”

  “You walked over here to flirt with me, Dr. Owen, not offer me a job. Are you allowed to flirt with me if I’m your employee?” I play up the teasing tone in my voice because I want more flirting. I want to spend more time in his company. Talking to a man without him staring at my chest is a new experience for me, and being able to grin and flirt back without a brooding vice president drilling holes in the side of my head with his eyes is a nice change of pace, too.

  “Call me Owen when we’re alone,” he insists. “Dr. Andrews in the office, of course.”

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I remain quiet, giving him a simple nod in agreement.

  “The job is simple. You’ll be answering the phone, scheduling appointments, checking patients in, and if you can, helping a little in the back.”

  I shake my head instantly. “I’m not good with blood.”

  It’s the absolute truth, even though I’m the only daughter of a very vengeful father. Maybe his penchant for hurting people at the drop of a hat is what makes my stomach turn at just the thought of someone or something bleeding.

  “I meant more like cleaning kennels and calming scared animals.”

  “That I can do,” I agree.

  “If you want, you can start tomorrow.” Owen reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a business card. “Do you happen to have scrubs?”

  “No.” I shake my head with a quick laugh. “Why would I have scrubs?”

  Xena has a naughty nurse costume she wore for Halloween last year, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be impressed with me showing up for my first day on the job with my tits and ass hanging out.

  “There’s a great shop in Worcester that won’t bleed you dry.” He jots down something on the back of the card with the pen left by the waitress earlier. He hands me the card with the clinic’s address on the front. “I put my cell phone number and the name of the medical supply shop on the back.”