Ravage MC: Inflame Me Part 4

"The motherf.u.c.ker you killed do that to your mom?" she asks, looking over at the bed where my mom is sleeping without a care in the world.

"Yeah. He was gonna take us both out. I didn't mean to ..." I can't lie, because if I were in that exact situation again, I wouldn't change a thing. I would have killed him. "Never mind. I did mean to. He was hurting her, and I couldn't let him do it anymore." I wait for her disgust or anger at me for taking another human's life. It doesn't come.

"Good," she says, surprising me. "a.s.sholes like that need to be taken out."

I gape at her. I'm pretty sure I've entered a parallel universe. Since when do people talk so nonchalantly about taking another person's life? I don't even know what to say, but I cry out when she touches a spot on my side.

"You peeing blood?" she asks as I catch my breath.

"No," I grit out through my teeth. d.a.m.n, that hurt.

"Good. It's probably just bruised pretty good, but we'll have Doc take a look to make sure. You want something for the pain?"

Lord, do I want something to knock me the h.e.l.l out so I can forget, but I can't, not now. This place is too different, and for my mother's sake, I need to keep my eyes open.

"Just some Ibuprofen would be nice."

"You sure you don't want some of the good stuff? I can make it so you won't feel a thing." She smiles warmly, and I have no doubt from the look on her face that she has an a.r.s.enal of feel-good pills.

"No thanks."

She nods, opening the box she laid on the floor at my feet. Inside are lots of little bottles filled with pills, and at the bottom are all kinds of medical supplies.

"Does this place have hurt people in it a lot?" The words flow out of my mouth. Where the h.e.l.l is my filter?

"You'd be surprised."

I don't really think I want to know at this point. I look to my mother on the bed, the nasty bed with dirty sheets, and I'm sure the pillows are just as filthy. There's no way I can let my mom lie on that.

"I don't mean to be rude," I say as she smirks at me, giving me her full attention. "Is there any way I could get some clean bedding for my mom? That"-I point to the bed-"is just gross."

Princess laughs so hard tears begin rolling down her face, catching the attention of the guys who've been in hushed conversation. "Oh, honey." She turns to Dagger. "Dude, she doesn't even know you yet and can see you as clear as day."

"What the f.u.c.k does that mean?" Dagger glares at Princess, and I can't help the twinge of fear in that stare. Princess doesn't feel it at all as her laughter continues.

"Your sloppy self." She shakes her head, turning to me. "I'll get some new ones." Turning to the door, she yells, "Blaze!" so loud my ears ring.

I few seconds later, the beautiful brunette who was by the entrance earlier strides through the door. "You bellowed?" Her sarcastic tone tells me these two have a pretty good relationship. I'm pretty sure there aren't many people who would talk to the woman in front of me like that.

"Can you get some clean sheets, pillow cases, blankets, the works? Dagger's room is a pit."

When Blaze smiles, it's time for me to catch my breath. That one movement lights up her face to the point beyond beautiful. "No problem. I'd change everything, too."

"Stop giving Dagger s.h.i.t, or I'll turn you over my knee," the guy Dagger called Tug says, smacking Blaze on the a.s.s with a loud thwack.

"Hey! I didn't do anything wrong," she teases, not p.i.s.sed in the least. If anything, her admiring gaze tells me that she's in love with this man, deeply in love.

She kisses him on the cheek and quickly leaves the room.

"Can I get you anything?" Princess asks just as a huge guy with light hair walks in the room. I'm surprised he can get through the door.

"What's going on?" the man questions.

"Hey, babe. Two women got beaten up, one killed a guy. Oh! And this one is Dagger's kid." She points to me as shock hits the man's face. "Cruz, Tanner. Tanner, Cruz, my old man." She winks.

d.a.m.n, she did a fine job finding her a man.

"f.u.c.king h.e.l.l," he says, joining the man huddle, not really acknowledging me.

"So, what happens now?" I ask Princess.

"The boys will leave and take care of the problem. You're gonna need to answer all of their questions and not hold anything back." I nod. I've already told them the story, but I'll answer whatever they've got for me.

Holy s.h.i.t, what have I gotten myself into?

"f.u.c.k, WE DO not need this s.h.i.t right now," Cruz says as he enters the group.

He's not f.u.c.king wrong. Ravage has too much s.h.i.t going on for this to happen right now. Right now, as we speak, Buzz, one of the newest brothers, is hacking some computers we got from a guy who was working with a rival club, and he's not coming up with a whole h.e.l.l of a lot. We're still trying to find out who in the f.u.c.k is behind all the bulls.h.i.t that's happened to Ravage these past weeks. Then I'm sure we p.i.s.sed a f.u.c.k of a lot of high rollers off when we took out the motherf.u.c.kers who kidnapped Blaze, Tug's ol' lady. Now this.

"You don't think I know that s.h.i.t?" Dagger snarls, going toe to toe with Cruz. "That could be my kid. If she needs protection, we give it."

I'm not too sure this whole kid thing has sunken in yet for him, but he's doing what I would do in this situation-clean it up so she doesn't feel the pain.

When she stepped into the clubhouse, it was like a magnetic force made me go to her. I had b.i.t.c.hes lining up to f.u.c.k me, but no, I moved to her and have no f.u.c.king clue why. She's just a chick like all the rest of them. f.u.c.k 'n' go-that's my motto. Always has been, always will be.

"Stop." Pops steps into the room, taking everything in. "Dagger, run down," he orders.

Dagger, our Sergeant at Arms, complies, his eyes swinging first to the mother on the bed then to Tanner. "Tanner," he calls to her. I don't know if he just needs to hear it or what the h.e.l.l that was.

"Hi." She gives a jaunty wave, putting her hand down quickly. Just that small gesture was s.e.xy as h.e.l.l, and I'm pretty sure she has no f.u.c.king clue.

"That's Pops. He's the president around here," Princess explains to Tanner, who is quietly soaking it all in. "He's also my blood." Tanner gasps.

"Your father?"

"Yep, but we only call him Pops around here." Princess turns to Pops and winks.

"Seems like you got yourself in a mess here, Tanner." She sits quietly at Pops' words. "It seems to come with a lot of the women who enter the Ravage family these days." The last part, he practically growls. "Get Tanner a paper and pen. I need you to write down the address to the man you killed and the address of your apartment."

"Why my apartment?" she asks, taking the paper from Princess who got it off the nightstand.

"It's where you cleaned up. Blood."

I really hope we don't have to torch the apartment building. That would be way too conspicuous with the flames the mother's house, too.

"I ..." she starts then shakes her head and writes on the paper, handing it back to Princess when she is done, who gives it to Pops.

"All right. You stay here with your mom, and we'll be back." Pops turns. "Tell your ol' ladies bye; we've got s.h.i.t to do." He then walks out of the room.

I don't have nor want an ol' lady. f.u.c.k that s.h.i.t. I don't want some woman barking at me this way or that. No f.u.c.king way. Regardless, something compels me to turn and look at Tanner. As I do, her face flushes as she sucks in a slight breath. At least I know I affect her. I'll f.u.c.k her, daughter or not. I need to let her heal first, though.

I lift my chin to her and leave the room.

GUNNING THE THROTTLE, I fly with my brothers up the interstate, feeling the coolness of the night around me. It's still pretty dark, but the sun will be rising soon.

I never feel as free as I do when I'm riding. I've been riding legally since I was eighteen and, illegally, a lot earlier. I started fixing up my first Harley when I was sixteen. I didn't have a f.u.c.king clue what I was doing and no money. I was just a trumped-up street kid who found a sc.r.a.p of a bike and wanted to fix it up.

I had nothing, but I wanted for nothing at the same time. I stole food from local grocery stores or at restaurants. For shelter, I would find an abandoned house or take cover under the viaduct by the interstate. If I got sick, I went to the free clinic. I made do.

What I didn't have were parents. I never had a father, don't know who in the f.u.c.k he was. My mother, if you can call her that, was into so many drugs she couldn't stand half the time. Her favorite pa.s.s time was smacking me upside the head and telling me what a disappointment I was to her. Got a couple of scars to prove that because she got inventive at times and found things around our shack of a house to use instead of her hand. I was better out there. Sure, it was no roses and sunshine bulls.h.i.t. It was hard, lethal, and the best f.u.c.king education a guy like me could have.

At fourteen, I knew s.h.i.t about the streets. I was a puny, wimpy-a.s.s kid named Denny Lorant who knew it would be better out there on my own than with a mother who bounced us around from place to place because she had nothing. I tried cleaning her a.s.s up even with the s.h.i.t she gave me, I did. Nothing worked with her, so I got out.

I fought a lot, got beat down a lot. I had a s.h.i.t load of bones broken in my body, but with each one, I learned. I sucked in every bit of information I could and grew, not just in size, but in brains. Then, as I got older, I became the one who gave the beat downs. I was the one others feared, and I f.u.c.king loved it. It's how I got the name Rhys, because I rise above all. Some chick I knew back then came up with the spelling, and it just stuck.

When I started fixing up my first Harley, I was a flat-out sixteen-year-old punk, and I'm surprised s.h.i.t happened the way it did. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. Not knowing what the f.u.c.k I was doing and only hanging around with guys who worked on cars, I started going to local garages and asking them for their help in exchange for my work in their shop, cleaning whatever the h.e.l.l they wanted me to. I had the f.u.c.king door slammed in my face too many times to count.

When I came to Banner Automotive, I figured the same thing would happen: door, slam. To my surprise, it didn't. Pops introduced me to Bam who was a wiz at fixing s.h.i.t. Then I was introduced to the Ravage MC, and the rest is history.

I never had a moment when I envisioned my future. f.u.c.k no. I was lucky to survive a night out there on the streets, sleeping with one eye open all the f.u.c.king time. I never thought I would have any sort of family, but that one stop at sixteen opened my world to Ravage.

We follow Pops through a back alley and stop our bikes, killing the engines. The house is about three blocks down the way. The houses are lined up, stacked too f.u.c.king close to one another. Everyone in this f.u.c.king area will hear our bikes, so we need to play this s.h.i.t cool.

It's about five a.m. on a Thursday morning; therefore, I'm sure most of these a.s.sholes will be getting up soon to head to work, which means nothing can look out of place.

"Rhys." I lift my chin to Pops, acknowledging his words. "You and Tug walk to the house and scope s.h.i.t out. Come back and give us info. Then we plan." I nod as does Tug. "We're heading over to the park we pa.s.sed in town. Tuck your bikes under the brush then get back to us."

We follow Pops's instructions to the T and head down the alley.

I pull a smoke out of my pocket and light it up. Nerves? What the f.u.c.k are those? I lost that s.h.i.t when I went out on the streets. Fear? Nope, not there, either. This is actually f.u.c.king fun.

"This one," Tug says, pointing to the tan house with green shutters. The entire place looks like the Brady Bunch-totally family-oriented.

I clip the end of my smoke with my fingers and put the b.u.t.t in my pocket. No evidence gets left behind, nothing. I then slip on my black leather gloves, watching Tug do the same, and pull out my Glock from the back of my pants. We left our rags locked on the bikes, not wanting anything identifying. This is nowhere close to being a friendly meeting.

We creep up to the back door. Dried blood is covering the handle. f.u.c.k. These women know s.h.i.t for hiding stuff. My thoughts flick to Tanner. No, there is no f.u.c.king way she knows this life. She's just too ... f.u.c.king everything. I shake my head, focusing on my task.

Looking into the window, I see blood-coated footprints all over the entryway. At least they were smart enough to go out the back. Turning the handle, it opens freely, so they didn't even bother to lock the f.u.c.king door. I bite back my curse as I turn the handle and step inside the door with Tug at my back. It's been a good twelve hours, so the stench of death a.s.saults my nostrils. Good. The f.u.c.ker deserved to die.

I step around the small alcove in the kitchen where the dead motherf.u.c.ker is lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. He's a fat motherf.u.c.ker. What the h.e.l.l did they feed him? Well respected cop, my f.u.c.king a.s.s. More like paid mint for all the f.u.c.king food in town. a.s.shole.

Blood is caked throughout the entire room. I can see by the marks exactly where Tanner and Mearna were in the room. We do a quick search of the house and find no one there, and it looks like no one else has been in the s.p.a.ce. I do find his cell, but he doesn't have any missed calls, so hopefully no one is looking for his a.s.s yet.

I pick up my own cell, punching in Pops' number. "Clear. Gone. Need anything?"

"No. Come to us," he says cautiously. Sure, we use burner phones, but you never know who is listening.

I have to say, I disagree with Pops here. I think we should just set the place on fire now and get the f.u.c.k out of town before everyone wakes up and gets going for the day. Instead, he wants to plan. I've never been much of a planner; I'm more of a doer.

"Now and out," I tell him, hoping he understands what I'm saying.

"Clean?" He returns, wanting to know if we can do it cleanly or if it would leave a bigger mess.

"Looks that way," I respond. The sooner we get this s.h.i.t handled, the quicker we can get the f.u.c.k out of here.

"Do it," he orders.

There are not many men in this world I take orders from, but my president is one of them. Some of the brothers, possibly. Everyone else can kiss my a.s.s. I'm relieved he sees things my way.

"On it." I click the phone off.

Tug is studying me intently, waiting for my lead. He's only been a full member of the Ravage MC for a short time, but he's a very quick learner and a man I'm happy to have at my back.

"Bas.e.m.e.nt. Let's do the water heater. It's gas."

We head to the bas.e.m.e.nt and blow out the pilot light of the water heater. Tug and I loosen the pipes, allowing more gas to flow through the room.

"Done," I tell him as we rush upstairs.

We check the windows, making sure all of them are closed. They are. We then move to the kitchen where Tug grabs a pot out of the cabinet, filling it halfway with water before setting it on the stove. He cranks the gas stove on high as we watch the fire come to life.

"It'll take an hour or two. Then it'll blow," Tug says.

"Then let's get the f.u.c.k out of here." The whole premises has natural gas rising, and since we shut the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt, it will take a little longer to reach the fire, but by then, it will be so concentrated that ... BOOM! The entire house will explode first then catch on fire.

We head to our bikes and make our way to the park.

"Done?" Pops asks as we pull up.

"Filling with gas right now. It will blow in a couple of hours."

"How bad?" Dagger asks.

"The girls know s.h.i.t about covering up a crime scene. I can only image what the f.u.c.king apartment will look like when we get there." I shake my head, pulling off my gloves. "We may need to blow the place there, too, if it looks like what we just saw."

"We can't torch it, too obvious," Pops says. "You, Dagger, GT, and Becs go over to Tanner's place and see what the h.e.l.l it looks like. Then we go from there," Pops orders, grabbing the back of his neck. "I swear to Christ, you f.u.c.kers and your women are going to be the death of me."

I can see where he's coming from. First, it was Princess and the b.i.t.c.h who stole her and Cruz's kid. Then, Casey, who's GT's ol' lady, when she got kidnapped. After that was Blaze who was on the run from two d.i.c.kheads who raped her repeatedly. b.i.t.c.hes around here bring too much s.h.i.t. It's why I don't get f.u.c.king involved with them-too much f.u.c.king trouble.

"Fine," I say as we head off to Tanner's place.

It's not what I expected at all after being in the newer, cookie-cutter home of her mother's. Tanner's place is two stories with four apartments in it. As we walk up the dilapidated steps to the second floor, I wonder how much she f.u.c.king pays for this s.h.i.t hole of a place. I mean, f.u.c.k, the d.a.m.n boards on the stairs are falling through; not to mention, the railing is wobbly as h.e.l.l.

Dagger pulls out Tanner's keys and opens the door. I flip on the light, and the boys follow.

"What the f.u.c.k!" Dagger growls loudly, and I have to agree with him. The place is small, two f.u.c.king rooms small, but the size isn't what gets us. It's the cracks in the walls and the celling that is falling down with buckets underneath it to catch the water when it rains. Mold is growing on one of the walls by the kitchen sink, but despite those things, the place is immaculate. Tanner obviously takes a s.h.i.t load of pride in her s.p.a.ce, and I feel her on that s.h.i.t.

I remember my first place. I was f.u.c.king ecstatic to have a f.u.c.king bed and shower. I would have dealt with all this s.h.i.t, too. But why is she? I can't help the curiosity.