Ravens Ruin MC: The Complete Series Read online

  “Fucking Hurricanes,” I mutter. “If it isn’t one thing it’s another. We can make a decision in a couple of days.”

  “I’ll go wherever I’m needed,” Briar assures me.

  I nod, knowing he’s the best man for the job no matter which area we send him to, especially if it’s the college towns we’ve been so successful with. Lynch has told me more than once that these lower-level dealers don’t want to take distribution from ‘old men.’ His words, not mine.

  We currently have six patched members under the age of twenty-five, and hell if every damn one of them don’t work their asses off for the club. Manic, Riggs, Gator, Dahmer, and I are just as content sitting at the clubhouse, watching TV, drinking beer, and getting our dicks sucked. We laid the groundwork for the organization, and it’s the young guys turn to keep it going.

  “Well,” I begin as I snap the lid back on my tin kit. “Let me know where he lands, and make sure he’s got enough commissary to be successful in there.”

  I’m pissed that he’s stupidly landed himself in this situation, but I’ll be damned if anyone inside gets to kill him for it. That’s my fucking job.

  “Make sure we make some lead calls and have him protected while he’s in,” I tell Riggs as I stand from the sofa.

  “You got it, Prez,” Riggs replies.

  “Keke,” I hiss when the brunette bombshell walks into the room. “I hear you don’t like hairy balls.”

  “I love all balls, Cowboy,” she coos.

  I snort as I reach for her arm. “No matter. You can shave mine before you suck me off.”

  “My pleasure.” The sauciness in her voice would be believable if it weren’t for the goosebumps and rough shudder that runs down her spine.

  “I don’t know if there’s going to be any pleasure for you tonight, doll.”

  “Fingers crossed,” she teases.

  I’ve gained a reputation in the bedroom since Donna died. I no longer hold back my inner asshole. My demons come out to play every single time my cock comes out of my jeans. I like rough sex, and I’ve yet to find a girl who completely enjoys what I do to them. They won’t tell me no. Not one has even whimpered for me to stop.

  “Don’t worry, gorgeous,” I tell her as I lead her out of the room. “I won’t break that arm of yours again.”

  Chapter 10

  September 2014

  The slam of the front door barely registers, but the boom of my son’s voice is out of place. Rolling my head on the back of the leather sofa, my eyes find Lynch as he stands, frustrated, in the middle of the room. People are swarming all around him, either drunk or high and paying him no mind.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he asks as he shakes off a hangaround slut and steps closer. “You guys start my fucking party without me? No one thought maybe Lynch needs a ride from the fucking prison before celebrating his return?”

  “Oh, shit,” Briar says as he stumbles in Lynch’s direction. “You got out today?”

  Confusion draws my son’s brow together. He looks older, tougher than I remember. I didn’t visit him once while he was locked up. You won’t find my ass within ten miles of any fucking prison gates. I’m certain they’d run my name, and I’d end up in a cell with no due process.

  “Seriously?” Lynch circles his arms around the room, gesturing to the hordes of people milling about. “This isn’t for me?”

  “Not everything is about you, big brother,” TJ slurs drunkenly from the couch. He doesn’t even bother to pull his eyes off the girl sucking him off to greet his family.

  “So this is how the club has been since I left?” Anger fills his dark eyes as he finally meets mine.

  “This is what grieving looks like,” I mutter and tilt the half-empty bottle of whiskey to my lips.

  “A lot has happened since you’ve been inside,” Briar says with a slap to his back before he walks away.

  “Who did we lose?” Lynch’s eyes scan the room, trying to identify who’s missing from the core group of guys. Pain is evident in his stare when his head snaps back in my direction. “Where’s Riggs? Gator?”

  “Church!” I yell as I try to get up from the couch. It takes more than one attempt because of the cast on my right leg.

  A few men grumble, but there’s an echo of boots behind me as I crutch into the room. I’m slowly lowering myself to my chair at the head of the table when Lynch, as the last one inside, closes the chapel doors.

  He attempts to look stoic, arms crossed over his chest, now covered in tattoos he didn’t have when he left, but as a father, his pain might as well be laid out on the table in front of the entire group because I can see it clear as day.

  “Where are Riggs and Gator?” he asks again once everyone settles as much as they can.

  We’ve been going strong for at least thirty-six hours, drinking, fucking, and doing more drugs than ever before. It’s what happens when a loss hits the club so profoundly. This is the only way we can think to cope with it, to celebrate their lives.

  “Dead,” I respond. The quiver in my voice is just as transparent as his pain.

  “Betrayed the club?”

  My hand meets the wood of the heavy table in anger, but the action barely registers with sound. I could blame the sturdiness and bulk of the wood for not giving me the violent response that I want, but in truth I’m tired. I’m drained. I’m at my wits’ end with always having to be strong and in command. I’ll never tell him, but fuck I’m glad my son is home. It’s about time he steps up and takes some of this burden I’ve been carrying around on my back for far too long.

  “Those men were loyal until their last breaths,” I spit.

  Tension releases its hold on his muscles as he slumps into the empty chair at the other end of the table.

  “Eighteen wheeler lost control last week on the ride back from Worcester,” Manic says. After clearing his throat several times, it still cracks when he begins to speak again. “Pr-Prez took a hard spill and broke his leg, but Riggs and Gator couldn’t get out of the way.”

  “Fuck,” Lynch mutters, rubbing his hand down his face.

  “We had a little memorial for them yesterday when Prez got out of the hospital,” Briar adds. “We’re still going.”

  I never should’ve called this fucking meeting. The longer I sit here, the heavier my eyes grow. I don’t know that I’ll be able to drag myself out of this fucking chair. Every muscle in my body aches, but it’s the searing pain in my chest, the misery of losing two of my closest, loyal friends that makes none of this shit worth it. We should die from old age, a heart attack while fucking some piece of tight pussy, or hell, even a gunfight with the cops. Being sent to Hell on the back of your bike during a quick Sunday ride is like Satan slapping you in the face. We’ve all built up enough bad karma, Riggs and Gator included, that we should all go out in some epic fashion, not bleeding out on the highway because some fucking trucker can’t keep it between the lines.

  “We’re here,” I mutter. “Might as well cover any pressing business.”

  “We can do that tomorrow, Dad,” Lynch grumbles, lifting himself as if he’s been dismissed.

  I’ve heard stories. I know he had more power in prison than the fucking warden most days, but he’s not the one in charge anymore. I’ll knock his ass down a peg or ten if he even thinks he’s going to step in and take over my fucking club. I need him as a soldier, not attempting to sit on the fucking throne.

  “Sit,” I spit. “We’re doing this now.”

  His eyes narrow, and I wait for the defiance he’s known for to spew forth. He must be feeling generous because he settles back in his seat and hands over the floor to me with a quick nod.

  “Manic,” I offer, giving my VP the chance to bring up any outstanding business.

  “Several guys,” Manic begins, focusing his eyes down the table at Briar, “are concerned about our deliveries from Texas.”

  “We’ve always taken delivery in Texas. Move on,” I urge.

  “That fucking
Ebola shit is killing people there,” Briar interjects. “That’s serious shit. We don’t need that mess up here.”

  “It doesn’t affect us,” Manic argues.

  “College students are well aware of what’s going on around them. Each and every damn one of them are little presidential candidates. Up-to-date on all the news and shit. I doubt any would buy drugs from Texas right now,” Briar counters.

  “Our customers don’t know where our dope comes from,” Lynch adds as his eyes find mine. “Unless things have changed since I’ve been gone.”

  “No one knows,” Briar assures my son.

  “Then it shouldn’t be a problem,” Lynch says.

  “Prez,” Briar interrupts again. “Is that a chance you want to take with your own supply?”

  If my head were clearer, I’d shoot the asshole in the face, but the dick has a point.

  “We’ll shift things from the Mexicans to the Dominicans, until the fucking outbreak ends,” I order. I don’t give a shit who dies from whatever may be contaminating the drugs, but Ebola sure isn’t the way I plan to go.

  “Is that possible?” Lynch looks to Manic for an answer.

  My gut clenches, knowing this question would be diverted to Gator if he were here.

  “We have enough in circulation right now, that a couple weeks to restructure imports won’t hit us that hard,” Manic assures him.

  “Are we still gun-running?”

  Shaking my head no, I try to force my eyes to focus on Lynch. They aren’t really cooperating unless he’s somehow managed to morph into two men. Between the alcohol, drugs from the hospital, the drugs I’ve been subbing in when the medical shit doesn’t work, and losing my closest friends, my head is all jacked up. I could probably lie down and sleep for a month, but that isn’t possible.

  “That business wasn’t as lucrative as the other products we’re moving,” Manic fills in for me when I don’t verbally respond. “We started phasing them out about a year ago. We satisfied our last contract a couple weeks ago.”

  “I know our brother’s loss is still fresh, but have their positions been filled?” As a businessman, my son’s question is important, albeit ruthless. Even after a tragedy, the show must go on, but the rawness in my soul hasn’t even begun to scab over, and his unemotional question only serves to irritate an already gaping wound.

  “You looking for a certain patch, motherfucker?” I spit in his direction.

  Riggs was my Sergeant at Arms, and Gator was my Road Captain. He took over the position from Dahmer when the crazy fucker ended up with a broken back after a crash very similar to what happened last week. Riggs and Gator died a quick, and hopefully painless, death. Dahmer suffered for months in pain and anguish before his balls grew big enough to eat the barrel of his gun.

  My anxiety ramps up tenfold when I realize for the very first fucking time, that my entire original crew from Miami is gone, wiped off the face of the Earth, almost systematically. Besides Manic, I’m the only sad motherfucker left.

  The room spins, each fucker at my table turning into nothing but shimmering lights and opaque colors. Is this it? Is this the moment my heart decides it has handled enough coke? Is this the exact second I’m going to be pulled from the Earth?

  “Cristina,” I whisper as my head becomes unsteady on my shoulders.

  “Church dismissed,” a voice says. It sounds like Lynch’s baritone, but I’m not sure of a damn thing right now.

  Chairs scrape over concrete as grumbled voices rise and then fade away. The hard thump of the chapel doors closing is just another sound that bounces around my head.

  “Dad? Are you okay?” A warm hand lands on my shoulder.

  “I-I’m g-glad you’re home,” I slur. So much for being in command. Every man that just left my table has to know this is the beginning of the end. I wouldn’t put it past Lynch to grab a rope and string me up right here and now.

  “Now I know how dire the fucking situation is,” Lynch says with a chuckle. But rather than kicking me while I’m down, he shoves a hand behind my back and forces me to my feet. “Let’s go, old man.”

  I think about bitching about his words, but my mouth isn’t obeying my brain.

  “They’re gone,” I manage as I’m led from the chapel to god knows where.

  “We’ll be fine,” he assures me. “You just need some rest.”

  “Don’t kill me while I sleep,” I murmur as I’m gently placed on softness I don’t think I’ve felt since before he was born.

  “No promises,” he answers with a chuckle.

  I pass out long before he ever leaves the room.

  Chapter 11

  Yesterday

  “This isn’t working,” Lynch grumbles as he looks over my shoulder at the map.

  “Really, motherfucker?” I spit. “You think the second you get released from prison, you can waltz your ass in here and start running the show?”

  My son sighs as he falls into the chair on my right. “Dad, I’ve been out of prison for four damn years. We talked about this last week.”

  Eyes narrowing in his direction, I try to recall just what the hell he’s talking about, but my mind won’t pull anything up.

  Manic leans over and whispers something in his ear. Keeping secrets from me is bad enough, but the concern in Manic’s eyes is enough to make me want to kill them both.

  “Enough!” I rage and slam my hands down on the table. “I’m the fucking President of this club. If you have something to say, then fucking spit it out.”

  “We think—” Lynch begins before TJ interrupts.

  “Your brain is fried from all of the fucking coke,” my youngest says without a hint of emotion on his face. “You can’t remember shit, and if we left you to run this damn club, we'd be dead within a week.”

  “You little—” I don’t even attempt to stand, praying the anger in my voice is enough to get my point across.

  “We’re just concerned for your health,” Lynch says as he glares at his brother.

  “We never should’ve patched you in, you fucking ungrateful asshole,” I seethe in TJ’s direction. “You need to remember your place.”

  “I was patched in because I do ten times the work than you in this fucking club,” TJ says, still no emotion in his voice.

  I remember when that little shit would tremble in fear whenever I walked into the room. I can’t recall the exact moment I lost his respect.

  “I don’t need a little boy telling me how to run my club.”

  “I’m fucking twenty,” my youngest boy says.

  Blinking, I just glare at him before my head shakes in disbelief.

  “This is the shit I’m talking about.” TJ points in my direction as he addresses his brother. “He hasn’t made a lucid decision in fucking years.”

  TJ snaps his mouth shut when Lynch holds his hand up. I also have no damn clue when those little shits started working together, rather than beating the shit out of each other. Shaking my head doesn’t clear the constant haze I’ve been in for as long as I can remember. Rubbing my hands over my face and beard doesn’t do the trick either.

  “We think it’s time you pass the gavel,” Lynch says calmly as if he hadn’t just suggested ripping my kingdom out from under my feet.

  Manic winces, but doesn’t say a damn word in my defense.

  “You traitorous bastard,” I mutter to my best friend. “You’re okay with these idiot kids running what we built into the ground?”

  “Honestly, Cowboy,” Manic says with a sigh as he leans back in his chair. “I’m ready to fucking retire.”

  “If you want my patch, you’ll have to rip it from my dead fucking body.” Lynch merely nods, as if he’s accepting my challenge.

  The chapel doors open, and as in slow motion, I turn my head to see who has the balls to interrupt church.

  Briar sticks his head in, and it is only then that I realize he’s been missing from the table this whole time.

  “She’s here,” Briar tells Lynch.
>
  “Send her in,” Lynch commands.

  My jaw unhinges, dropping to the damn table when the love of my life walks in.

  “Cristina,” I mouth as the ghost approaches my son.

  Oh, God. How I’ve dreamed of this moment. I’ve searched for her in every coke-induced hallucination. Every drop of whiskey over the last two and a half decades has been spent searching for her memory.

  They embrace and my anger shoots to an all-time high. How fucking dare she wrap her arms around him first.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I finally manage as each one of the guys shakes hands with my love. It’s as if I’m invisible.

  “So this is the famous Cowboy?” my angel asks as she steps closer and holds out her hand for mine.

  “How easily you forget me.” She smiles down at me when my lips meet the back of her hand. “I’ve thought about you every day since Miami.”

  She looks over her shoulder at Lynch, confusion drawing her brow together.

  “This is Frances Jiménez, Dad,” Lynch says.

  My head is shaking before the entire sentence leaves his mouth. I know exactly who she is. She’s everything to me. If I have her, I don’t even need the fucking club.

  “You play dirty, son.” I don’t pull my eyes from Cristina. “The club is yours. I know exactly how I’ll be spending my time until I die.”

  It’s all true. My cock, the very one that hasn’t shown an ounce of interest in any woman for quite some time is thickening in my jeans, growing harder with each and every damn second her hand is in mine.

  “Cowboy?” I don’t have time for the concern in Manic’s voice as I stand on wobbly legs.

  “Come with me, baby. I’ve learned a few tricks since the last time we were together.”

  “Dad? No, that’s not going to happen.” Lynch reaches out to break our connection, and I swear if I had a gun, I’d blow his fucking head off. The growl that releases from low in my gut doesn’t seem to deter him.

  “It’s okay, Eric,” my angel coos. “The president of the Ravens Ruin MC has always been on my bucket list.”