Bound by Family (Ravage MC Bound Series Book One)

by Ryan Michele

  Bound By Family

  Ravage MC Bound Series Book One

  Ryan Michele

  Contents

  Keep Up to Date

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Bonus Deke

  Acknowledgments

  Be the First to Know

  About the Author

  Other Books by Ryan Michele

  Excerpt of Ravage Me (Ravage MC Book 1)

  Excerpt of Crossover by Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele

  Excerpt of Tainted Kiss by Terri Anne Browning

  Bound by Family Copyright © Ryan Michele 2017

  All Rights Reserved. This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without express written permission from Ryan Michele.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  1st edition published: March 28, 2017

  Editing by: C&D Editing

  Proofread: Silla Webb

  Cover Design by: Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs

  Photography by: Wander Aguiar

  Models: Jamie Walker and Tiffany Marie

  This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All sexually active characters portrayed in this book are eighteen years of age or older. Please do not buy if strong sexual situations, violence and explicit language offends you.

  This is not meant to be an exact depiction of life in a motorcycle club, but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.

  Want to keep up to date will all my books?

  Join my Newsletter: HERE

  Join my Reader Group: Ryan’s Sultry Sinners

  To my sinners, without you, this story would have never come to life.

  Thank you for helping me find my happy again.

  Love always, Ryan

  Prologue

  This life.

  My life … is Ravage.

  Some say it’s my destiny. Others call this my curse.

  Lucky for me, I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. The man I’ve become is because of a choice—none of that other bullshit. Everyone in life has a choice, a path. What direction you take is up to you.

  For me, I had this moment in my life, a moment when I knew who and what I’d become.

  It wasn’t forced or coerced as the talk has been around this small town. No, the moment that haunts my dreams is what created the man you see today.

  Family.

  From the beginning to the end, family is what you start with and what you end with. I’m bound to it, honored by it, and respected in it.

  Chapter One

  The echo of the hammer hitting bone crackles through the air in the small, dank room. The man’s screams fill the space with pain, anger, and contempt. He doesn’t want us here anymore than we want to be in this dump. Unfortunately for us both, he fucked up and it isn’t an option. No, it’s a necessity.

  Fucking Stu.

  Ravage Motorcycle Club, my family, we run a tight ship, so to speak. There is a code, rules of sorts that must be followed. Fall out of line, there will be punishment. Stu fell out of line.

  Ryker laughs off to the side, pulling me away from my thoughts as I let go of the man’s wrist, hammer still clenched in the other hand. The asshole, Stu, falls to his knees on the dirt floor, holding his broken finger.

  That’s not the only one he’s going to get today for his stupidity.

  He knows better. Everyone in Sumner, Georgia knows better. Hell, make that anyone who has ever heard of Ravage knows better.

  “You’ve got a hell of a blow with that thing,” Ryker calls out. The man is twisted and warped. He does this shit for fun and entertainment. Part of me thinks he gets off on it, but to each their own. Me, I do this shit out of duty and responsibility. Regardless, he’s been by my side for years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  When no response comes from me, Ryker walks up to the man and gives him a savage kick to the gut, making the man curl into a ball to protect himself. Green and Jacks stand off to the side of the small space.

  We brought Stu to one of our outbuildings. It’s more like a rundown shack, but it has what we need to get the job done.

  “I’m thinkin’ we need to take off some piggies,” Ryker eggs on, and a chuckle escapes me. He does have a way with words, saying exactly what he thinks with not an ounce of filter.

  “Give me a shot,” Jacks, another one of my brothers and a friend from high school, says as he holds his hand out to me, waiting for the hammer.

  Handing it to him, I then take a step back and cross my arms. It’s not me being a pussy. It’s me wanting to get this shit done so we can get the fuck out of here.

  “Money,” I bark out to Stu as Ryker gives him another hard kick, this one to his thigh.

  Stu owes our club fifty thousand seven hundred dollars and some change for merchandise he purchased. We gave him a week after the initial payment of fifty grand went smooth. Ravage and Stu have a history, and in that time, this is the first instance when Stu hasn’t paid up in full. It’ll be the last time as well.

  “I-I can have it b-by the weekend,” Stu stammers out as Jacks swings the hammer, hitting Stu in the ankle. Another crunching sound reverberates throughout the room.

  Ryker smirks, coming to stand next to me and giving me a slight bump on the shoulder with his elbow. “Believe this fucker? Weekend?” He shakes his head and spits down at Stu. “Motherfucker, you have twenty-four hours to come up with the cash.”

  “If we don’t have it by then, you’re done,” I add as Jacks takes another swing.

  His cries of fear fill the air.

  After an hour of making sure Stu gets the picture by using our fists and hammer, we ride.

  Fresh air. The freedom of feeling the elements surround me. The delicate balance of navigating a road or eating asphalt.

  It’s the best part of every day.

  The ride.

  My bike is a beauty. A Heritage Softtail Harley painted black and red—Ravage MC colors. Working on her has been my pastime for years, tuning and cleaning. I take care of her, and she takes care of me. Wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s something about taking garbage and turning it into something you love. That’s my bike. She began as a pile of shit and turned out to be absolutely perfect.

  Life ties us down. Materials hold people back. The open road is about freedom. Ravage is freedom. We live to our code, our standards, and we take care of our own.

  My mind clears on the open road awaiting me, nothing but blacktop
and paint ahead. Riding allows me the peaceful time to think. Sometimes my rides last hours, while others only last minutes. Normally, whenever my mind figures out what it needs to, that’s the time I pull my bike to a stop.

  Lately, the Ravage MC has been bringing in some serious money with all the deals that Pops has worked out over the years. Some of them bring more than others, but it’s becoming more difficult to filter the money. Especially with the amount of cash. There’s only so much we can put through the garage and Studio X, the strip club. Even Stu owes us, and when that cash shows up … Well, it’s got to go somewhere.

  It’s been working well, but we had to stock pile cash in several of our vaults in the clubhouse basement. Having cash on hand is great in the times we need it, but it will continually increase over time if we keep at this pace. That being said, we need something else to funnel the money.

  The thing is, I’ve been around the club my whole life. I prospected in early. Just turning twenty-two, I’ve held my place for four years now. I’m ready to step up anywhere needed. More so, I’m ready to give a fresh mindset and view to the way we do business. It’s all for family.

  My Ravage family.

  My top idea is a car wash. It’s an all-cash business, unless you let the customers use credit cards, which I would advise against. If we keep it all cash, we could put some of the money through there. I even searched the internet about all the working parts of one of the machines and how much it would take to build and maintain it. Ravage could easily do it, but the downside is all the moving pieces. Sure, we can go and fix the shit, but I want to work smarter, not harder.

  There’s a way, and I will damn well find it.

  My parents taught me many things. The first and foremost is to be my own man. If that means carving a new path for the Ravage MC, I’m up to the task.

  Pulling up to the clubhouse, we park in the lot, all next to each other, turning off the engines and taking off our helmets.

  This building is home.

  My memory is damn good, which is both a blessing and a curse. My father doesn’t know, but I remember living with my biological mother and seeing stuff as a young child that was flat-out wrong. It’s not that he doesn’t care to know; we just don’t talk about it.

  Besides, remembering those times only pisses me off. Seeing men come in and out of the small apartment, going into that woman’s bedroom then coming out a while later. She was always doped up on something. Back then, I thought she just wasn’t feeling well.

  When she started hitting me, that was when I knew what fear was. A woman is supposed to love their kid, at least somewhat. Mine didn’t. Not at all.

  The moment my father told that woman—my incubator, as we call her now—I was staying with him, that’s what I consider my rebirth. It was a new start. Not only that, but I had a new mother, as well. One who loved me, took care of me, and put all my needs above anyone else’s, not giving two shits what anyone thought about it.

  When I started living, this ugly-as-fuck, cement-blocked building became home. Don’t get me wrong, we had a house, as well, but the clubhouse is where it all started for me.

  “How’d it go?” Pops, the president of Ravage MC and my grandfather, asks upon us entering the building as I get chin lifts from the guys.

  Pops has been the president since I came to Ravage—at least eighteen years. He’s done a great job building the Ravage Motorcycle Club into very profitable entities. Not only that, after the bullshit that went down when I was a kid, Pops keeps a tight leash on any and all our friends and enemies. One doesn’t do what we do and not have a huge basket of both, but Pops has kept it all in line.

  “Ryker got a little too happy, so the guy won’t be having kids, probably ever, but the message was sent. If he doesn’t have it by the weekend, then we’ll take care of it.”

  Pops chuckles.

  “Hey, the fucker was tryin’ to stand up. If he would’ve stayed down, his nuts wouldn’t have cracked.”

  Laughter is heard throughout the clubhouse.

  Pops slaps his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. The look he gives me is different, but he says nothing as he walks to one of the tables and has a seat.

  I’ve noticed things about him these last few months. The looks that come across his face when he thinks no one is looking, as if he’s tired and the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s true.

  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.

  Chapter Two

  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.