Ravens Ruin MC: The Complete Series Page 2

  “We have to get out of here,” Manic yells.

  “I’m not leaving her.”

  “We have to go. Grab Eric and let’s get the fuck out of here.” I shove Manic away when he grabs at my shoulder.

  “Just go.”

  My hand trembles as I swipe hair out of her face. Wet streaks stain her hair and forehead each time I caress her face and head. She’s too far away. She should fit perfectly in the crook of my elbow, just as she has for years. I try not to think about why she’s further away in my arms than she ever has been before, but the evidence is sprayed all around me.

  Closing my eyes, I fight the burn of vomit in my throat and do my best not to focus on the scrape of her open skull against my arm. It’s a losing battle. I heave, turning my head to the side and puke all over the floor.

  “Fucking hell,” an unfamiliar voice says.

  Combat boots, the tops surrounded by loose, black uniform pants, arrive in my line of vision. I shouldn’t be able to recognize the Miami Police Department uniforms with so little to go on, but I’ve been a criminal for a very long time.

  “What the fuck happened here?” another unfamiliar voice asks.

  “They just busted the door down and shot her,” I lie. It’s second nature. Besides, Javi, Juan Carlos, and Alejandro Días are all fucking mine.

  “Sir.” A hand grips my shoulder. “You have to let her go.”

  “Fuck off,” I growl and hold Cristina tighter.

  “Let her go,” the uniform demands.

  His tone has changed. He must’ve noticed the same shit Javi’s eyes darted to when he crashed through the door.

  I cling to my girl until I’m peeled away by several officers and placed in handcuffs.

  “For your safety,” one of the cops assures me as he tightens them until they’re digging into my wrist bones and making my hands grow cold from lack of circulation. Just the thought of blood flow makes my stomach turn again.

  “Can you take me outside?” I’m still on the floor, Cristina’s body at my feet.

  “Don’t want to witness the mess you’ve made?” an officer snaps in my direction. “Can someone make that fucking kid shut up?”

  Looking up, I sneer at the man in an ill-fitting suit as he barks orders. The clothes, in addition to the badge hanging around his neck and the gun holstered at his side, tell me he must be the detective in charge. Thankfully, I don’t recognize him, but I’ve never been involved in a homicide before.

  “Don’t touch my fucking son,” I spit at him.

  He ignores me.

  Of course, he does.

  Why would he help me or provide any comfort in this situation? It’s just another case for him to work. Another dead whore caught up in a battle over drugs and territory.

  “Damn, Miller,” one of the uniformed officers mutters, addressing the detective standing in front of me as he tries to step over the blood pooling around my girl. “Forensics is going to have a hell of a night with this shit.”

  “Take me outside!” I roar when I see someone in a solid, white, plastic jumpsuit lean over my girl’s body.

  “Why?” the detective spits with just as much anger. “More than likely, you’re responsible for this.”

  “It was a home invasion,” I argue, turning my head away and closing my eyes.

  “Home invasion? That’s a very technical term. Most people would call it a break-in.” His tone hints at his intelligence, and how easily he can read what’s going on without taking a step further into the shitty house.

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “Never said you did, but that leather cut and the dope on the table doesn’t lead me to believe you’re living a crime-free life. I’ve got half a dozen other things I can charge you with. I don’t need you for murder.”

  “It’s fucking residue, not a bunch of dope,” I argue.

  “True.” He shrugs. “But that shitty leather vest you’re wearing has been identified in several coke purchases downtown.”

  My mouth snaps shut. Not because I’m afraid of going to jail. Not because I want to save my own ass. The only reason I don’t say another word for the rest of the night when this asshole grills me for hours is because Javi and every man in Miami linked to him will be dead very soon.

  I refuse to give the police an opportunity to get to them first.

  “You sure this is going to work?” Manic asks from the back seat of the borrowed van. He’s behind the driver’s seat, and we all have eyes on my old house.

  “Of course it will,” Riggs answers from right behind me.

  “Donna left the TV blaring and the lights on,” I mutter. She has some teeth in the fight, too. “If they’ve been watching the house, they’ll think someone is home.”

  I want vengeance. I need it, but at the same time, I’m not a fool. Facing Javi and his men head-on would have deadly consequences, for me not for them. I know when I’m outgunned, but the sight of Riggs with the barrel of a rifle positioned at the small opening in the side of the van turns my gut. I want to be the man with his finger on the trigger. Riggs, however, has always been the best shot, so it’s a no-brainer that if I want the job done right, he’s the man to do it.

  It’s been a week and a half since my world crumbled at my feet. It took five days for me to post bail. The last two days have been spent in a coke-induced haze, fighting with Manic and my other brothers about what needs to be done.

  Javi didn’t care that I was in jail and unable to comply with his three-day warning. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I don’t have the means to pay him back, but after what he did to my girl, my death or his is the only viable outcome. Juan Carlos was sent mere hours after the three-day cutoff to the hospital. Grim never saw it coming when that Colombian bastard ran his knife from one ear to the other.

  “How is Donna doing?” Manic asks without taking his eyes from the house across the street.

  “As well as expected I guess,” I answer.

  How do you get over something so tragic? I know the images of Cristina, lifeless in my arms, are the only thing I see when I close my eyes. After walking in to find Grim dead in his hospital bed, I imagine it’s on replay in her head as well.

  Even with my skin itching from my last line, I’m still so exhausted. My eyes flutter closed in the passenger seat of the van. The pop of the rifle behind my head doesn’t register the way it should at first. Dreams filled with violence and death have plagued me since seeing the love of my life crumple lifelessly before my eyes days ago. When my coked-up brain realizes what’s going on, I’m scrambling to hit the floorboard.

  Shattered glass rains down on me for what seems like hours, but the sudden silence rings louder than anything I’ve ever heard.

  “You nearly fucked me up,” Riggs complains from the back of the van. “You should’ve stayed back at the motel if you can’t handle this shit.”

  I situate myself back in the passenger seat as Riggs climbs over the console and plops down in the driver’s seat. The idling van gives a sputter and backfires loud enough that I jolt again. My nerves are fucking shot, and some days I wonder if death isn’t a better solution to scraping and fighting to just barely fucking survive.

  “Did you get them?” I mutter as we merge into Miami traffic without a second look behind us.

  “Juan Carlos, Javi, and that ugly fucker with the mole on his face went down,” Riggs answers. “Javi and Juan got headshots, so I know they’re no longer a problem. That ugly guy got two to the chest, and was able to pop off a few shots in our direction before he collapsed. I can’t guarantee he’s dead though.”

  Javi and Juan Carlos were my biggest problems, so I’d call this a win in my book.

  “Let’s go grab Donna and the kid. We need to get the fuck out of Florida before the sun comes up.”

  Chapter 3

  September 1994

  “It can’t be this simple,” Dahmer bitches as he settles down on the ratty couch Donna had delivered from the Goodwill. “They’re
after us.”

  “That’s your paranoia talking.” I don’t even look his way. My eyes stay focused on Donna’s bobbing head as she sucks me off with expert precision. My hand tightens in her hair, tugging it to the side so I can watch my cock slide against her plump lips.

  “It’s been a year and a half,” Riggs reminds my anxious Road Captain. “They aren’t looking for us.”

  “That’s it, baby.” My jaw goes slack as my orgasm rolls like a lazy river down my back.

  I’m grateful for the release. They’re few and far between these days. In my head, I know the coke is keeping me from wanting anything but white powder, but when people question me I blame the loss of Cristina.

  Is it fucked up that Donna and I found comfort in each other after losing the only people we lived for? Maybe, but no one else understands our loss. Donna told me once that Grim would be happy to know that his Old Lady ended up with the Club President, but I could never say the same about Donna. Cristina hated her and the fact that Donna and I messed around all the time before she found her soulmate in Grim.

  “It’s official,” Manic says as he tosses a newspaper in my lap mere seconds after I’ve put my dick away.

  “Fuck,” Riggs mutters.

  I stare down at the newspaper. Manic was chattering about the possibility of the assault weapons ban a couple of weeks ago. He was nervous, but I told him not to worry. They don’t ban guns. This is fucking America, and our second amendment rights will always be protected in that regard. Damned if I’m not eating my words.

  “Can I get you another beer?” Donna asks with a coo to her voice that means more than she’s saying. Her words are assistive, a way to please me, but the tone says come to bed and return the favor.

  In my younger days, fucking all night wasn’t a problem. It doesn’t matter that I’m only twenty-five. I imagine I’d feel the exact same if I were sixty. Coke has ruined my sex life, and my dick hates me for it. I nod at her, watching her mouth turn down in a frown.

  Staring down at the newspaper without reading the words, I easily ignore the talking around me. Donna shoves a beer in my hand but doesn’t walk away. She stands, hands on her hips, glaring at me as if I somehow hold answers to questions she’s not brave enough to ask.

  “Momma!” Eric’s voice snaps me back into the present.

  My son toddles over to Donna holding his arms up.

  “I told you he needs to stop calling you that,” I seethe.

  Hearing him say that word to her makes my skin crawl and reminds me of everything I lost.

  “Good luck with that,” Manic mutters as he takes a seat beside me.

  Donna huffs, scoops Eric up in her arms, and walks away without another word.

  “What are we going to do about this?” Manic jabs at the newspaper still sitting on my lap.

  Riggs chuckles before responding. “Clinton’s assault rifle ban doesn’t affect us.”

  “The hell it doesn’t,” Manic counters. “We have a shipment planned for next week. If our guys get busted—”

  “They’ll go to prison,” Dahmer interrupts. “Same as they would a month ago before the ban. Those laws restrict law-abiding citizens, not the dregs of society like us.”

  “We need to get back into powder,” Al adds. “We’re in a prime location for distribution.”

  Our escape from Florida and all things Colombian landed us in Hell, almost literally. Technically, we’re just outside of Purgatory Chasm State Reservation, stuck in a rundown building on the outskirts of Sutton, Massachusetts. With only a handful of sworn officers, the Sutton Police Department hasn’t been an issue as of yet for the Ravens Ruin MC. The quiet residents of Worcester County don’t even blink these days when our bikes roar down their roads.

  “No fucking way,” Manic groans. “Am I the only one who hasn’t forgotten what the hell happened in Miami?”

  I glare at him, using every ounce of my power not to lay him out on the dirty floor.

  “No one has forgotten about Miami,” I snap.

  “Powder isn’t what we need,” Riggs says as his eyes stay on the TV. As usual, the TV is broadcasting the news, and Riggs watches intently as if tonight’s story about OJ Simpson’s pending trial is going to bring a plethora of new information. “Crack is where the money is.”

  “Crack requires cocaine, you idiot. Our coke lines don’t exist anymore,” Al reminds him. As if we need the reminder. Powder is best, but it’s not an option right now. It may never be an option again. We could sell cocaine, but we’d have several middlemen between us to stay alive, and the profit dwindles with each person in the chain.

  I don’t miss Al’s sneer in my direction. Even a year and a half after the loss of Cristina, and his blame in my direction for ruining what he considered a good thing hasn’t waned. I don’t know why the fucker sticks around. He’s the only asshole in this club that doesn’t have a criminal record. He could find work anywhere he went. Brotherhood is the only thing keeping him around, and I question that loyalty every day. As the self-appointed treasurer, he’s the one man that could fuck us in the blink of an eye. Donna keeps a close eye on him when she’s warming his bed in anger after I rebuff her.

  “Heroine,” Gator suggests out of the blue. Watching as he scratches his nose with the only two fingers remaining on his left hand, he rolls his head on the back of the recliner and looks in my direction.

  “Lots of tweakers around,” Riggs adds, shifting gears easily like he’s always been able to.

  “I don’t want to deal with fucking tweakers,” I argue.

  “We can sell LSD or X,” Gator proposes without missing a beat after my rejection.

  Letting my eyes wander to Manic, I notice he doesn’t immediately dismiss the idea.

  “Pleasure drugs?” Riggs asks, his eyes finally leaving the TV to fully join in on the conversation.

  “If we expand our pot business out a hundred miles or so, we can get in on the business in Boston. Eventually, we can spread out farther,” Al adds. All of the guys nod in his direction. Since he’s the one handling the money, they trust him to suggest endeavors that will monetarily benefit the club.

  “So you’re suggesting selling more weed?” Al’s head is shaking before I even finish my question.

  “I’m saying we use the lines we have now with the goal of obtaining a further reach. We’ll just add LSD and ecstasy to the menu. If we start small at the local colleges, we’ll be turning a profit in no time.” Al’s words ring true, and we need something to stay afloat.

  “College students love to cut loose on holidays, after finals, and honestly, any other damn day of the week,” Riggs says with a quick smile. “They’re the next generation of hippies. Wanting to experience what their parents did in the sixties will be an easy sell.”

  “We can talk about it all damn day,” I murmur. “But that doesn’t get us any closer to getting our hands on enough to support the club.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gator says with a sly grin. “I know a guy.”

  Famous last words.

  Chapter 4

  October 1995

  As it turns out, getting into the X game was easier than any of us expected. Just over a year later, we’ve somehow managed to keep our hold on gun sales and become the go-to group for all party drugs. We have a smaller group of guys testing the markets in Chicago and Detroit. News from the test groups the last couple of weeks have been positive. Seems everyone loves to get high. Business is booming, and I couldn’t be prouder of where my club is heading.

  Money and security cure a lot of things.

  Consequently, so does time.

  Cristina’s memory brings more smiles than coke binges these days. Eric is almost five and fascinated with all things motorcycles and guns. I grin over at my little guy huddled in the corner as he takes a screwdriver and hammer to the new Big Wheel he got last week.

  “That looks great,” I tell Piper just before biting a chunk of her ass that’s exposed by her cut-off shorts.


  “You think?” Her blue eyes turn in my direction as her paintbrush sweeps her bottom lip. It’s reminiscent of the way she teased my cock last night before riding me into oblivion.

  “Want to take a break?” Her head shakes even as my hand skates up her leg to the warm apex of her thigh.

  “I better finish this,” she answers without looking at me.

  As she turns back to the wall she’s painting with my favorite quote, I turn my gaze in the direction that just held her attention.

  Donna smirks from across the room. Normally, her jealousy and whatever conversation she had with Piper after I climbed out of her bed this morning would piss me off, but my dick is hard and not very particular. If Donna wants to stake a claim on me, she sure as hell better be willing to pick up the slack.

  “Something amusing you?” I ask her as I close the distance between us.

  “Look, Daddy,” Eric says animatedly as I pass by him.

  “That’s awesome, son,” I cajole as I keep my eyes on the prize.

  “It would mean more to him if you actually looked at him when you spoke,” Donna complains.

  Eric still calls her mom, even though I remind him frequently that his mother is dead.

  “I’m a busy man,” I remind Donna, my eyes never moving from her lips and the images in my head I want to become a reality.

  “There’s no greater joy than raising a child,” she snips. It’s a jab in just the right place, a reminder that since we left Florida, she has been the one tending to my son.

  “I tell you thanks while you’re sucking me off,” I sneer as my hand fists a handful of her hair. I drag her down the hall to my room and don’t let go until she’s crumpled on the floor at my feet.

  “Why do you do that?” she asks with a whimper as her hand gingerly reaches for her sore scalp.

  “Why do you act like a complete cunt in front of my brothers?” Unzipping my jeans, I reach into them to yank my cock out. “You live here for free. The only thing I ask is that you help out with Eric. If you don’t want to do that, you can fucking leave.”