Sins of the Father (Ravens Ruin MC 1)

“Thank you, Brother.”

Nodding at him, I turn my attention to Hornet. “Should’ve seen this coming.”

I pass him the Road Captain patch, and he takes it with a quick grin. Hornet is the most organized fucker around. His intolerance of bullshit is exactly what the club needs when they’re on the road.

“Figured I’d end up with the Secretary patch,” Hornet replies with a quick chuckle.

“That cluster fuck is for Smalls.” I pass down the patch to my silent friend.

He grunts in approval as his prosthetic hand reaches out for the small scrap of embroidered fabric.

Twisting the last patch in my fingers, I can’t help but think of Riggs. My father’s original Sergeant-At-Arms was instrumental in making me the man I am today. Being in prison the day the devil called him home has always been a bitter pill for me. Any man that wears this patch after him isn’t wholly worthy of it.

Silence falls over the room. Not one man moves in his chair as an unscheduled moment of silence for Riggs settles over us. Some of the men at this table didn’t know him, but some days it’s as if we can all feel his ghost down the long halls or in the basement.

“Chains,” I rasp.

“Prez, I don’t think—”

“You know the expectation of this patch?”

He nods, his head violently shaking up and down. He will be the fifth man to wear this patch since Ravens Ruin’s inception. The two after Riggs couldn’t perform the duties required, and they met the devil long before nature plucked them from the earth. Fear fills his eyes as I stretch my hand out and place the patch in his palm.

A shudder washes over him. I’ve heard the guys talking about the curse of the Sergeant-At-Arms patch. The guys in this club are soulless bastards, me included. It’s a requirement to do the things we do and still be able to sleep at night, but superstition has always been a part of the environment I’ve been raised in. I’ve never given it much thought. Worrying about curses and the devil aren’t concerns for me. Why should it be when I’m the most evil person who’s ever stepped through the front door of the Ravens Ruin clubhouse?

“We lost six guys today. We need to remedy that quickly,” I tell them as each of the newly designated council members pocket their patches. Piper will sew them on their cuts later.

“We have a couple of hangarounds that have prospect potential,” Briar says with assurance in his voice.

“Who?” I haven’t paid much attention to the civilians that frequent the club recently. My focus had been on my dad and the bullshit he seemed to stir up by just walking into the room.

“Ronan and Axe for starters,” Briar says. Several of the men around the table nod their approval.

“There are a couple of the Disciples of Death members that have shown an interest,” TJ adds.

My eyes narrow in his direction. The MC from Detroit has helped us on numerous occasions, but I’m not sold on the idea that there is any one person who would be a good fit for Ravens Ruin. They run a good drug business for the most part, but other than their name, they aren’t as ruthless as they need to be. Second chances aren’t something Ravens Ruin has ever been known for, and I don’t need guys in my club willing to fuck up thinking I’m doling out forgiveness.

“I’ll keep them in mind,” I tell my brother half-heartedly.

He merely shrugs at my dismissal. He doesn’t give a shit. So long as he gets to fuck and kill, TJ is a happy man.

“Let’s get Ronan and Axe up to speed. I want Ronan behind the bar where I can keep an eye on him. I’m not certain I trust the fucker yet,” I grumble.

“He’s too pretty to be a Raven,” Boston adds.

An unfamiliar snort comes from Smalls. We all look in his direction, but he stares vacantly as if the sound didn’t come from his throat.

Ronan is… handsome, I guess. He’s more prep and pretty boy than down and dirty biker, but different fucking strokes and all that.

“Axe would be a good addition to the garage,” Hornet says. “I think the kid was born with a wrench in his damn hand.”

“He’s twenty-one. He’s not a fucking kid,” TJ snaps.

A round of chuckles fills the room. I’m pretty sure Briar, at twenty-nine, is the oldest guy at the table, and TJ is constantly reminded that he’s the youngest one here. Although he’s done and seen more than almost every other man in this room, he’s still bitter that he’s only twenty. I patched in at thirteen after serving justice for the death of my stepmother after a member betrayal. My father made TJ wait to patch in until he was sixteen. Each one of TJ’s first four kills weren’t sanctioned by the club, and the guy is lucky my dad didn’t issue him a one-way ticket to Hell for the trouble he’s caused over the years. He’s matured slightly in the last two years watching the mayhem my dad caused. He’s invested in this club as much as I am. As fucked up as the path that has been cleared for us is, this is our destiny. We will both embrace it; our father be damned.