Page 2 of Bound by Family
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.
