Ravage Me
Ravage Me
Copyright © 2014 by Ryan Michele
Editor:
Chelsea Kuhel (
http://www.madisonseidler.com
)
Editor:
Laura Hampton (
https://www.facebook.com/editingforyou
)
Cover Artist:
Melissa Gill at MG Book Covers (
http://salon.io/mgbookcovers
)
Formatting:
Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats (
https://www.facebook.com/FictionalFormats
)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
To my mom—Thank you.
This was the life I was born into, and bloodshed somehow always played a prominent part in it. Today, everything was coming to a combustible head. With the gun being held at my temple, all I could think about was
him
… getting him out of here alive. The bitch had put so much time and energy into coming after me, I knew it was coming. Now she had the most precious thing in my life. I never knew how empty my life was or how love could be so deep that it cuts you like a knife. I would do anything to get him out of here alive. The gunshots began, and my eyes locked with his. I prayed for survival.
2 years… 1 month… 5 days…
I had been living the perpetual monotony of my life for exactly two years, one month, and five days. It’s like my life was the epitome of Groundhog’s Day, repeating over and over again, eating away at my soul.
I hated white. I couldn’t stand the fucking color. Everywhere I looked was the same cold, damp, sterility trying to suffocate me, forcing me to give up—to give in. But that wasn’t gonna happen.
For seven hundred and sixty five days of my life, I’ve stared at the solid block walls and cold prison bars, only to be let outside for an hour a day. I knew it was for my own safety, but I missed lying outside in the sun, feeling it melt my skin, and wash everything away. In here, there was no relaxation… ever.
I’m not gonna bitch. I’ve been extremely lucky, and I damn well knew it. Without my Pops’ connections to guards and powerful people on the outside, life in this place could have been a hell of a lot worse. Having my own room has proved to be the best gig because, in there, those bitches couldn’t get to me. They wanted me. I knew it. They all knew who I was and what I represented. Payback hits on me would give them status in their families and I wasn’t willing to give anyone that.
Am I hiding? Hell no. I’d be more than happy to take these bitches on, but not here. The shit these women snuck in when no one was looking was deadly, and my goal was to do my time and get out alive. I knew what these bitches were capable of, and they knew my capabilities, too.
I’ve had my own incidents in here. They were all club related, and getting help from inside made them happen smoothly. It was help that I had to pay for, but I did what needed to be done and didn’t regret a damn thing. I did it for my family.
I may have a pussy, but I ain’t one. I’ve got bigger balls than most guys out there. Even though I’ll never be a member of the club, because it’s not possible, I always hold my head up high. I learned at a very young age that bitches didn’t ever get patched in, and I accepted that, but I’d be damned if I acted like some pussy motorcycle club princess.
Growing up with the Ravage MC’s hasn’t been easy. The life, the world, was different than civilian life and I learned from the best. Ever since I was a baby, my life was the club. Pops has been a patched member since before I was born, and Ma’s always been by his side. Even though I was shielded as much as possible, I’ve seen my share of death, guns, drugs, sex, and blood in my twenty-five years than most people could tolerate. This was my normal. This was my reality. I accepted that a long time ago.
I missed my life, and I’ve always known my place in it. Being the Vice President’s daughter hasn’t given me any idealizations that I’m anything more than exactly that. I never get special privileges because, the bottom line, I’m not, nor will I ever be, a patched member. I’ve earned the respect I received from the brothers by learning what they have taken the time to teach me. I thrived on that and couldn’t wait to get it back.
I was ready to escape this hell-hole and finally go back to my family. Back to a life that was taken away from me for two years, back to right some wrongs. I couldn’t fucking wait.
Walking down the long corridor, the sunlight cascaded through the small rectangular window. I began blinking my eyes, getting ready for the adjustment when the door opened. I’ve never liked surprises—they get you killed, quickly. I hoped my outside instincts kicked back in after all this time. It’s the one thing I’ve been afraid of losing. I’ve learned to keep myself sharp inside to stay alive, but being free was a different kind of survival.
“Here.” The cold tone of the guard, something I’ll never miss, ordered me forward. Some of these assholes were utterly worthless individuals who preyed on women daily. Luckily, I’ve only had two encounters with said assholes. When I broke the first one’s nose, he decided I wasn’t worth the hassle. It got me locked in solitary for a few days and a few bruises, but I actually liked it there. I was left alone. I thought about doing it again, maybe get an extended stay, but my mind always reverted to survival, and getting the hell out of here the easiest way possible.
The other, I’ve tried to block out of my head. As soon as my feet step outside this door, I would forget what he did, and not a single soul would ever know.
I watched as the guard’s hand extended from his body, holding a clear plastic bag. Reaching for it, not much was inside. The clothes I was wearing when I got in this hell-hole were ripped when I didn’t move as quickly as the officer said, so only a few items remained. Inside the bag was the cross necklace I wore that night, my ID, and a few dollars in cash. The cash actually surprised me; I was sure that would have disappeared by now with all the crooked-ass people inside.
“Gavelson!” I didn’t want to turn toward the voice, not with the exit so close. But I knew they still owned me until I stepped out that door. Until then, I needed to mind myself.
“Yes, sir,” I said, slowly turning around to see the warden coming closer. His stocky build with his oversized stomach hanging over his uniform pants was nothing to get wet about, but he proved a good ally while I was inside. Warden Dunn was on Pops’s payroll and set me up with my nice surroundings. He even passed certain things along from Pops during my stay. So I respected him as much as a person could while locked up. Did I trust him? No. The moment you trusted someone in here, you ended up dead.
Looking directly into my eyes, I saw a splash of concern come across his as he tilted his head slowly to the side. His voice reminded me of a whiny teenager, even though he was nowhere near his teenage years. His voice sounded raspy as if he was going through
the change
all over again. “You don’t come back here, girl.”
“I’ll do my best,” I answered, immediately knowing there were never any guarantees in this life, and your word was your only bond. If you didn’t have that, you had nothing. I wasn’t about to make him a promise; I didn’t know for sure I could keep. I would definitely do my damnedest never to step foot in here again, though.
“Take care, Princess,” the warden whispered while patting my shoulder gently. My blood boiled when I turned to walk back towards the door. I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove to everyone that I was no damn princess, but that name kept following me around like shit stuck to my shoe. Many women in my world would love that title. To me, though, it represented weakness. I couldn’t afford to be associated with weakness.