Ravens Ruin MC: The Complete Series Page 3

  Her lip trembles as she peers up at me. Fuck she’s beautiful when she cries.

  We’ve had many girls show up at the clubhouse over the years. They come and go, only a few sticking around for longer than six months. Most of them are here for drugs or bragging rights about fucking a biker. Most of them leave strung out, with overused pussies.

  Donna is a totally different animal. Other than smoking weed and drinking an occasional beer, she keeps herself clean. She’s always been gorgeous and a little too perfect for this life. I’d never tell her as much, but I’m grateful that she’s stuck around as long as she has. But, no matter how pretty and together she is, no matter how much time she spends with my son giving him everything I’m not capable of, I won’t let her disrespect me or treat me like some pussy-whipped asshole in front of my men. I may spend more time in her pussy than any of the other girls. I may not kick her out of the bed after I come, but what she just did crossed a line, and she damn well knows it.

  “What did you tell Piper?” I ask as I trace her trembling lips with my cock.

  Does it make me fucked up that getting rough with her gets me harder than most blow jobs do?

  As if from muscle memory, her tongue snakes out to taste the pre-cum dotting the tip.

  “That I’d cut her tits off if she touched you again.” Her smile is devious.

  To anyone outside of the club that hasn’t spent time with her, they might actually believe Donna was capable of something like that. Piper is the newest girl to show up at the clubhouse and offer herself to everyone, so Donna has been able to get her bluff in, but it won’t last long. Soon Piper will be well aware that Donna doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. It makes her jealousy that more tantalizing.

  “That would be a shame,” I tell her as I press forward and force her jaw to hinge all the way open to take my cock. “She’s got really great tits.”

  Her teeth scrape the underside of my cock at my declaration. First instinct is to slap her, but seconds before I strike, my brain reminds me that I like the pain.

  “They’re so much bigger than yours,” I taunt as she reaches for my sack.

  Her eyes glimmer, amazing blue pools surrounded by dark lashes. She’s the opposite of Cristina, and I know deep down that is what has made spending so much time with her bearable. Where Cristina had dark hair and almost black mysterious eyes, Donna has naturally blonde hair and eyes the color of a cloudless sky.

  Forgetting myself, I almost caress her cheek. Just the thought pisses me off. Each and every fucking day Cristina’s memory fades, replaced with images overrun by Donna and Eric.

  I clutch her hair, my soul once again settling at the rough intake of air as I shove down her throat.

  “Piper’s tits are big enough for me to fuck.” My harsh grunt turns into a whimper when Donna twists my sack. The pain is blissful, a painful reminder that making love isn’t what we do. We fuck. She takes what I give her in the bedroom and never complains. She’s always wet for me, so it isn’t like she’s forced. Those types of scenes get her the wettest. Most days, she’s the one guiding my hands around her throat. She wears my bruises like an Olympic Gold Medal hanging around her neck.

  “Stop,” I hiss and pull from her mouth so fast her nails scrape my nuts, and she nearly falls forward. “Get your ass up in the air.”

  She whimpers when I slap her so hard on the ass the sound echoes around the room. I’d think I hurt her for real if she didn’t wiggle her wet cunt in my direction as I sidled up behind her. Her ass cheek is blooming into an angry red welt in the exact shape of my hand. The sight makes my balls stiffen.

  “Jesus, you’re wet,” I praise as I slide into her slick heat. “Nasty fucking slut.”

  Donna moans, pressing back each time I ram forward. When we first got to Massachusetts, I’d wondered if she fucked the other guys with the same enthusiasm. One night, I discovered that Donna is happy no matter whose cock is thrusting inside of her. She’s down with just about anything, including eating pussy and having all of her holes filled at the same time. She’s perfect as clubwhores go, and she gets bonus points for making sure Eric doesn’t burn the clubhouse down.

  No sooner do my nuts seize and my orgasm grips me does my bedroom door swing open and slap against the wall. I shudder and jerk, not bothering to look over my shoulder until my skin begins to cool.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Donna mutters as her body gives out and she slides flat on the bed. “I could’ve come one more time.”

  “Later, babe.” I smack her ass before moving back off the bed. I tug up my jeans and turn to face the prospect standing in my doorway with his eyes downcast.

  “We’ve got a problem, Prez,” he mutters.

  “How big of a problem?” I ask as I lift the zipper on my Levi’s.

  “Al got picked up yesterday.”

  My blood runs cold. “Before or after he made the drop?”

  “Before,” the prospect says as he takes a step back.

  “And my guns?” I already know the answer.

  “Police have ‘em.”

  He doesn’t move fast enough. Although he was anticipating my fist, he’s only capable of moving a few inches before my knuckles crash against his cheek.

  He drops like the pussy he is to the floor, and I merely step over him to find my second in command.

  Of all the damn people to get picked up, Al is the very last person I trust with our secrets, and one of the few men under me that has enough knowledge to land me in prison for the rest of my life. Or worse the death penalty.

  Massachusetts abolished the death penalty over ten years ago. Believe me, it was one of the reasons we chose the state to begin with, but Florida has an express lane for the act. Not taking into account everything that happened before I lost Cristina, being involved in the three deaths outside my old house in Miami is enough to earn a free ride to the electric chair.

  Chapter 5

  September 2001

  “Shut the fuck up!” I roar as Riggs turns up the volume on the TV.

  Donna woke me up earlier than usual this morning with the news of planes being flown into the Twin Towers in New York. A plane is confirmed down in Pennsylvania, and another flew into the fucking Pentagon. Information is limited, but Middle Eastern terrorists are suspected by many news agencies.

  “I bet it’s those same fuckers from ’93,” Manic hisses as they show the second plane fly into the tower again.

  The video has been on a loop all fucking day, and no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes closed I can’t get the images out of my head from eight years ago. It’s almost a bad omen for another attack to take place. The last time we were sitting in front of the TV watching something like this, Javi and his band of sadistic assholes came in and tore my world apart.

  “Inconsiderate bastards,” I mutter as another news anchor narrates a slow-motion account of other people’s tragedy.

  “They’ve grounded all flights,” Al says with a shake of his head.

  Al did a nickel in Cedar Junction and never opened his mouth about what we were doing here at the clubhouse. A second look at the books after he went down proved his worth, and I had to accept that my distrust in him had to do more with my deep-seated anger that he was fucking Donna, than any club indiscretion on his part.

  That was the last time I even mentally chose a woman over one of my brothers. I’m not willing to make any woman here my old lady, so that makes them fair game, Donna included.

  “The guy from Texas will be on the next available flight,” Al amends when I glare at him.

  Our party drugs are selling like crazy, but cocaine has made another comeback. Not getting back into powder wasn’t an option with the demand around here. When the Colombians took a huge hit a couple of years ago, Mexico was standing in the wings ready to take over, and the grudges from the Días family no longer mattered.

  “We aren’t going to get shit through the airports,” Manic warns. “He’s going to have to mule it the old-
fashioned way.”

  “I doubt our guy is going to shove drugs up his ass,” Gator says. “Plus the order is too big to fit up one ass.”

  Riggs smacks him in the back of the head, but at least it keeps me from having to do it. It’s always fifty-fifty with Gator. Either genius is going to come from his lips or complete idiocy. Looks like he’s riding the dummy train today.

  “He’s already across the border,” Riggs says. “He’ll just have to drive it in.”

  “Does that work with our schedule?” People may not know this, but managing a club that manages several smaller MCs and an ass-ton of street dealers is hard fucking work. The drugs are the only things that make our business illegitimate. We’d be forced to use many of the same processes, procedures, and means of accountability if we were selling office supplies instead of H, X, and coke.

  “It’ll set us back,” Riggs informs me. “But we don’t have another option. There’s no way TSA isn’t checking bags. Plastic wrapped kilos are going to be a huge red flag. We can’t guarantee we won’t lose it between Texas and here, but it’s less of a risk than trying to fly commercial.”

  “He’ll ask for a high payout,” Al grumbles, always concerned about the bottom line.

  “If my dope makes it here safe and sound, he’ll have earned it.” My phone begins to ring just as I finish my sentence.

  God, I love cell phones. They’re much better than those damn beepers that get lost in the blink of an eye. Flipping open the phone, I press it to my ear.

  “What?” I demand when the call connects.

  Static and crackling fill my head until I’m forced to pull the Motorola away. The only time a call doesn’t connect around here is when they’re calling from the basement.

  Looking up, my eyes meet Manic’s. This is the call we’ve been waiting on. Much like a normal business, there are always people who think it’s wise to take what doesn’t belong to them, to profit off of the hard work of others rather than working diligently until they get a promotion, and in turn, a bigger piece of the pie. I hate liars, but more than that I hate people who betray me.

  Standing, I know that both Manic and Riggs are right behind me. Things have changed drastically since we left Miami. In eight short years, the Ravens Ruin MC has flourished and with that comes the responsibility of running the club with an iron fist.

  Deviousness has always been part of my life. It comes with the territory when you’re raised on the wrong side of the tracks by a mother that would rather kick you than make you something to eat. I was weak for years until I grew a spine, until I was willing to demand respect from those that work with and under me. Tonight will be no different.

  “Eric,” I spit as I walk toward the back door in the kitchen. “Come with me.”

  “Cowboy, please don’t.” Donna grabs my arm as I walk past.

  “Finish feeding the kids, babe. This won’t take long.”

  I give her a look of warning that she knows all too well before tilting my head in Eric’s direction.

  I leave Donna alone with our one-year-old daughter and three-year-old son. Eric is getting older and has taken to club business with a fascination that thrills me. At ten, he’s already proficient in helping Al with the books, and the kid can roll a joint like he’s been doing it since he was born.

  “I don’t want you to say a word down here,” I warn him.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  “Sure this is a good idea?” Manic whispers as my hand reaches for the outside entry to the basement.

  The tone of his voice is one hundred percent unsure without a hint of insubordination. We all know what’s going to happen down here. The sooner my oldest son knows every aspect of the business, the sooner he can begin to understand the expectations I have for him, the expectations the club and the world will have for him as the heir to the kingdom.

  “He’s old enough,” I say and swing the door open before descending the stairs into the darkness. “Sit right there.”

  Eric collapses on the bottom step of the wooden stairs as directed and gapes in shock at the man taped and gagged in the middle of the dimly lit room.

  “He give you much trouble?” I ask Dahmer as I circle the low-level dealer who has been supporting his own habits out of my dope. His face is bruised, lip split, and blood is pooling on his shoulder from a wound hidden somewhere in his hairline.

  I get the irony. I seriously do. I get that this piece of shit was me eight years ago. I’m fully aware just how hypocritical I am for the things that will happen in this room. The only difference between Javi and I is that I’m not going to punish someone else for his crimes. I’m not going to kill the love of his life or go after his mother. I’m not going to send my men after his children. He’s broken the rules. Rules he was well aware of the consequences for long before he signed on to distribute my product.

  “Please,” is the first thing Rick sputters when I rip the gag out of his mouth. “It won’t ever happen again.”

  “I know,” I agree.

  “I’m addicted. I can’t help it. I’ll go to drug treatment,” he barters. “I’ll get clean. I swear it.”

  “You’ll never use my drugs again.”

  He nods violently, agreeing to a decision he doesn’t understand. “I promise.”

  “You promised you’d abide by the rules,” I remind him.

  “I made a mistake,” he confesses.

  “Eric, what happens to people who make mistakes?” I don’t even look over my shoulder at my son.

  “They die,” he answers without so much as a waver in his voice.

  Riggs chuckles on the other side of the room as pride fills my chest.

  “Cowboy?” Manic asks, nervousness still in his voice.

  Holding my hand in the air is the only thing it takes to make him shut up. If that fucker wasn’t my best friend, I’d sit his ass in this damn chair. His ass better be glad his mother is someone I love more than my own. She’s the only reason he hasn’t been buried in the woods. Helping me see the light and different angles in the business is one thing, telling me how to raise my own fucking son is another.

  “You’re going to kill me in front of your kid?” Seems Rick has found his sack. I smile down at him, inwardly praising him for accepting what’s going to happen and facing it like a man. “You’re more fucked up than everyone says.”

  I grin wider, taking the insult as praise.

  “If I’m so fucked up, why the hell did you think you’d come out on the winning side if you stole my product?”

  His mouth snaps shut like he’s taken an upper-cut to the jaw.

  “Answer me,” I demand, squeezing his face in my hand and forcing his eyes up to mine.

  “I-I didn’t think you’d notice.”

  That answer is as honest as they come. By this point, most of the guys who end up in the basement are back to babbling, swearing loyalty, and pissing themselves.

  “I noticed,” I say as I reach into the waistband of my jeans.

  “Cover your ears,” I hear Riggs tell Eric with humor in his voice.

  As proud as I was when Eric answered my question with such conviction earlier, it all faded away when he vomited on the floor after I pulled the trigger.

  “Even your mother would be disappointed,” I tell my son as I step over the mess he made at his feet. “Get the body out of here and make sure the kid cleans this room from top to bottom.”

  Thank fuck I have two sons because I’m not so sure my oldest is going to hack it in this life.

  Chapter 6

  December 2004

  “What’s the body count?” Riggs asks as he walks into the room and falls onto the sofa beside Eric.

  “CNN is reporting hundreds of thousands,” Eric answers without pulling his eyes from the TV.

  The kid is like a walking news station. He knows a little about everything going on in the world, despite the fact that he’s never even left the state of Massachusetts.

  “Crazy shit,” Riggs adds with
a sigh.

  Three days ago a massive earthquake in the Indian Ocean created tsunamis all over the area. Indonesia was damn near wiped off the map.

  “It’s like all we’re doing is living from one fucking tragedy to the next,” I mutter, not looking up from Space Invaders on my mobile phone.

  “It’s a diversion,” Gator adds. “The government's way of doing sneaky shit while we’re all focused on something else.”

  “Right,” Riggs snorts. “The president created a horrific natural disaster, killing hundreds of thousands of people so they can drop a couple unnoticed nukes on the Middle East.”

  “There’s probably more truth to that than you want to think,” Eric says. “Not that Bush actually created the earthquake that set all of this shit into motion, but I have no doubt that they’re using the diversion to further progress with the war.”

  It’s only then that my eyes pull up from my phone. He’s always saying shit like that, and I don’t know whether I should be proud with how his young mind works, or if it makes him a pussy. He’s more intelligent than he should be for a thirteen-year-old boy who hasn’t seen the inside of a school in over five years. Education was never important to my family growing up, and I don’t see any use in the formality of it now. Eric needs to know numbers, how to measure dope accurately, and how to hold others accountable for their actions, all things he has excelled at.

  Even if he hadn’t proved himself a savant in the business, leaving him in school after he mentioned club business in third grade which prompted a child welfare investigation wasn’t an option. The last damn thing I need is social services up my ass because my kids can’t keep their fucking mouths shut in public.

  Eric distrusts people more than I do, and that’s saying something. The clubhouse was in an uproar earlier this year when the 9/11 Commission Report hit the news. Gator loves to argue the conspiracy theories with my son, and Riggs, as a former Marine, wants to side with his country no matter what’s proven differently by others. It has made for a very interesting couple of months.