Inflame Me.

by Ryan Michele.

To all of you who love the Ravage Family just as much as I do.

Dear Reader, While writing the Ravage MC series, I am not only along for the ride with you on this up and down, action-packed adventure, but I also set no plan for the characters; I follow their lead. In doing so, they sometimes take different directions than I originally intended when I started writing.

This being said, Inflame Me begins one day before Consume Me ends. What does this mean? It means the reading order for the books has changed a bit. There will be five main novels with the two novellas coming in at the end of the series. In other words, you get the bonus of Satisfy Me and Rattle Me while the series is going on.

This is the suggested reading order for the Ravage MC series:.

Ravage Me (Ravage MC#1).

Seduce Me (Ravage MC#2).

Consume Me (Ravage MC#3).

Inflame Me (Ravage MC#4).

Captivate Me (Ravage MC#5) (Coming in 2016).

Satisfy Me.

Rattle Me.

I learned a very valuable lesson during this about planning and organization. I hope you understand that, in writing, I must follow where my characters lead, and this is where they went.

Thank you for understanding, Ryan.

Note from the Author.

I know I teased you like crazy at the end of Consume Me with my evilness. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm truly not. It was never my intent to write Rhys's story, but when he started talking and Tanner started screaming, I had to put the words to paper.

I want to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read my books. I appreciate you more than you will ever know. Thank you.

Enjoy and find out who Cameron Wagner is ...

"TANNER?" MY MOTHER'S whispered voice comes across the phone.

My body tenses immediately, going on alert, and the smile adorning my face dies instantly.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I ask, pulling over to the side of the road. I wasn't going to pick up the phone since I was driving, but when my mom's name popped up on the screen, I had to answer. In life, there are certain people you don't put off answering a call from, and my mother is number one for me.

"Baby, I need you to come and get me." Her voice is so m.u.f.fled it's as if she's covering the phone, afraid someone will hear.

"What's going on?" I fear the answer she is going to give me. In the pit of my stomach, I can already hear the words that will escape her lips, and I don't want to hear them. I never want to hear them.

"James has been drinking again."

f.u.c.k me.

The a.s.shole said he was going to AA, claiming he was getting his addiction under control for my mother. Unfortunately, James is a violent drunk, not one who pa.s.ses out or can function on the stuff. He is downright nasty.

The first time I saw marks on my mother and questioned it, she did what she always does: covers for him, makes excuses for him, blames herself for why she's so badly bruised she can't go out of the house for a week.

I told her that, if it ever happened again, I would take her the h.e.l.l out of there and wouldn't give a s.h.i.t if she wanted to come or not. If I had to duct tape her to the car to get her wherever in the h.e.l.l I took her, I would.

"You have got to be kidding me," I snap a little too harshly into the phone. I can visualize my mother flinching at the tone. I dig deep and take a breath, needing to calm myself for her sake. There is no sense in adding to my mother's pain, especially when she called me for help. "I'm on my way. Is he there?"

James is a big man, and when I say big, I mean five-eleven and between two hundred fifty pounds to three hundred. The thing with him, though, is he can move and do it fast. He's been trained for years by the police academy, after all.

"Yes," she m.u.f.fles into the phone, a slight tremor in her words. "He's pa.s.sed out in the living room."

c.r.a.p. Their living room is where their front door is, and from the way their house is set up, even the back door can be seen from there. Getting my mother out might be tricky without waking him, but I'll give it everything I have.

I throw the car into gear and begin the twenty minute drive to her, keeping her on the phone with me. "Gather up what you need, Mom. Throw it in a garbage bag if you have to. Be quiet and move quickly." I pause, pain splitting my heart in two. "Can you move ... quickly?" What if she's hurt to the point that she can't move? Oh, G.o.d.

"I ... I'll try." She groans roughly over the line and sniffs her nose, no doubt crying. I would love to reach through the phone and take away her pain. On to plan B.

"Where are you in the house?" I maneuver the car in and out of traffic, feeling like every precious second away from her is a second too d.a.m.n long.

"Bathroom. I locked the door." A small bit of comfort comes from that, even if the flimsy lock wouldn't keep James away from her if he really wanted in.

"Stay there. Don't come out. When I get there, I'll pack for you, and then we are gone." Where the h.e.l.l are we going to go? I have no clue yet. I do hair for a living, so it's not like I have elaborate exit plans for escaping from a cop who's supposed to love my mother. That's a lie right there.

I knew the first time he put a hand on her that he didn't, but she was too d.a.m.n infatuated with him to listen. I'll do what I always do-figure it out as we go, moment by moment. That's what I do: I fix it.

"Okay." Her voice comes out weaker than only seconds before, and I fear she may pa.s.s out on me. If he hit her in the head, she could have a concussion. I have to keep her alert, with me.

"Mom, keep your eyes open. Do you hear me?" She mumbles something. "How bad is it?" My heart squeezes. I can't lose my mom. I just can't. She's the only thing I have in this world.

"I don't think he broke anything, but it's not good, Tanner. Really not good."

Rage bubbles up, but I push it down. Now is not the time for it. I have to get my mother out of there, then, and only then, will I let that flow through me.

"Okay. I'll be there soon. Stay with me."

The light ahead is red, and I'm getting p.i.s.sed off at the stupid thing for not changing. Why won't it change? There are no other cars coming down the road. Change! All right, so I'm losing it a bit. I can't! Be strong, Tanner.

I shake my head and begin to tell my mother about the woman who came into the shop today, wanting a huge change with her hair, going from blonde to brunette with pink and red highlights. My mother's breathing is steady, and every once in a while, she'll say something in the phone, acknowledging that's she's listening. I question her often, keeping her as alert and awake as possible.

Finally, I pull up to the one-story, tan house with green shutters and beautiful landscaping around the front with flowers in bloom everywhere. Isn't it amazing something that looks so pretty from the outside is hiding something so dark on the inside? But isn't that how it always is? Judging a book by the cover. As long as it looks good, there's nothing wrong. It's just like people.

Everyone looks at James as an upstanding man, serving and protecting the town of Anglewood, Tennessee. No one would ever suspect he did this to my mother. No one. They would more than likely ostracize my mother for even claiming such a thing.

"Mom, I'm here. I'm coming up," I tell her, hanging up the phone and throwing it into the pa.s.senger seat. I briefly thought to call the police for help, but as quickly as it entered my head, it left. With James's all-American boy status around here, I know they won't do s.h.i.t and will simply turn it around on my mother. Then she would be stuck. I won't allow that. She's out.

I kill the lights before fully getting up the driveway, not wanting to make noise if I don't have to. Lights illuminate the home with only a few of the drapes closed, the living room being one of them. I turn off the engine and get out of the car, only shutting the door enough to turn the dome light off on the inside. I have never really had to do this quiet stealth thing before. Hopefully, I can pull it off.

Peering through the window of the living room, I see James lying on the couch, half on it and half off. His wide mouth is open, and drool is falling out and onto his blue T-shirt that has a huge wet puddle. Gross. I never thought for a moment that he was good-looking, but my mother saw something in him. What, I didn't have a clue. Still don't.

I open the screen door with a slight creak and cringe at the sound, wanting to yell at it to shut the h.e.l.l up yet simply staring at it angrily. Turing the door handle, I find that it's locked. s.h.i.t.

I pull my keys out, holding all the keychains and keys hanging from it to silence them, and then open the door slowly. My eyes stay locked on the man on the couch as I creep through the living room, into the kitchen, and back to my mother's bedroom.

My heart constricts as I look at the room. The lamp on the side table is turned on, but it's crashed on the floor, the shade hanging on to it by a thread. Clothes, blankets, jewelry, papers-well, everything is tossed to the floor, and the mattress is partially exposed. But the kicker is the blood on the sheets. Quite a bit of blood is smeared on the fabric, and it's bright red. s.h.i.t.

I move to the bathroom door, but I don't dare to knock.

"Mom," I whisper softly, holding the door handle, my other hand on the top of the door, and my ear pressed to the door, trying to listen. "Mom, it's me. Open up."

I hear slow movements on the other side of the door along with some m.u.f.fled groans. Then I feel the lock click in my hand, and I turn the handle.

Oh. My. G.o.d.

My entire world stops and tilts on its axis. This isn't a beating. This is so much more than that. Her beautiful face is almost unrecognizable with bruises forming and cuts with blood oozing out of them, falling down her face, into her eyes, and down her cheek. Her long, strawberry blonde hair is matted to her face with the blood. Her clothes, for lack of a better word, are ripped and torn in so many placed it looks like she's wearing tattered rags.

"Mom." I bend down in front of her, not wanting to touch her yet wanting to desperately, just to make sure she's here with me.

I jolt my hand back, clutching it. I can't add to her pain, and nowhere I touch her would help right now.

Tears form in my mother's eyes, but she doesn't shed them. "Baby, get me some clothes, and I'll get dressed while you pack things."

I seriously don't think she could dress herself judging from the way she's holding her arm and the pain etched in her face. She said she didn't think anything was broken, but I'm seriously rethinking that one.

Instead of arguing, because G.o.d knows how much time we have until James wakes up downstairs, I nod, unable to form words. I then get her some baggy clothes, hoping like h.e.l.l they won't hurt too badly.

Everything from that second on is a flurry of activity on my part. I grab two bags from the shelf in her closet and begin hastily throwing in my mother's things, grabbing shirts, pants, shoes, and everything in-between.

Opening the dressers, I continue with the packing. Well, it's not really packing, more like swiping the entire drawer and stuffing, but whatever. I toss my mother clothes in hopes that she will be able to get them on her, but if she hasn't by the time I'm done, I'll help her.

It takes me less than five minutes to pack up everything of my mother's that I can see and enter the bathroom. She's sitting on the toilet seat with a towel blotting away the blood on her face.

"Mom, once I get you out of here, I'll get you cleaned up." I kneel down before her and slip on her tennis shoes, tying them quickly as her body trembles. I have to get her out of here before whatever control she has erupts. "I have two bags packed. Is there anything else you need?"

Her eyes lift to mine, tears pooling in the green depths of them. Please don't cry. If she does, I'm afraid whatever strength I have will dissipate, and I will follow.

What child wants to see their mother hurt? Not me. Tears would do me in.

"There's a box. I hid it in the corner of the closet. You need to peel back the carpet from the right corner and pull up the plank that is beneath it. Inside is a shoe box. I need you to get it and my purse, but that is in the kitchen, so we can get it on the way out." Even though her voice is strangled with pain, I can sense the strength within my mother in her words. G.o.d, I love her.

"Stay here," I order, moving quickly back to the closet and doing exactly what my mother said. I yank the yellow box out, which has a bit of weight to it, but I don't have time to look. Instead, I grab another bag, one that has my mother's gym clothes in it and throw the box inside.

I pile all the bags by the doorway, and then it hits me. Can she walk out of here, or am I going to have to carry her? There's no way I can carry the bags and her. h.e.l.l, I can probably barely carry her. Double s.h.i.t.

Mom listened, staying right where I left her in the bathroom. Her eyes meet mine, sorrow blooming in them. Enough of this.

My adrenaline pumps through my veins, and as it courses, all I can think of is getting her out of here now.

"Can you walk?" I move to the side of her body where her arm doesn't look like it's hanging on and help her rise to her feet as she inhales quick pants. Talk about a tough woman. I'm not sure I would be able to be this strong after what she has endured. It's another thing I've always admired about my mother.

"Yeah," she says weakly, taking a step before her knees buckle a bit.

I hold her weight as she regains some of her balance and is able to walk a few more feet. After a bit, she's doing much better about getting her legs moving.

I grab the bags, hoisting them over my shoulder and picking up one in my hand. Mom stays by me as we walk slowly through the house.

Entering the kitchen, I spot my mother's purse on the counter. "I'm going to get it, so I want you to lean against the chair for a minute."

My mother nods at my whisper.

I glance at the couch to find he's gone.

James is gone.

Panic spreads through my veins like wildfire as I search around frantically. I grab my mother's purse and fling it around my neck. "Back," I whisper as I meet my mother halfway from the chair she was holding.

"You f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h!" James's angry growl comes from behind me as he yanks my ponytail and tosses me across the room like I weigh nothing.

As I crash to the tile, the wind momentarily gets knocked out of me. I look up to see him slap my mother across her face before she plummets to the ground in a boneless heap.

"Get up!" he screams at her, kicking her hard in the ribs.

a.s.shole.

I get up-my whole intimidating five-foot-four self-drop my mom's bags, and stalk toward them. He senses me coming and turns around, moving lightning fast and striking me across the face. I fly through the air as pain sears my lip and cheek. The metallic taste of blood seeps into my mouth, and I lick it. Luckily, I didn't hit anything on the way down from his horrible punch.

James begins to really punch and kick my mother as tears stream down her face.

"Leave her alone!" I scream, getting his attention.

"What? She's a f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h. You, on the other hand, would be nice to have." As a devilish gleam shines brightly in his eye, I get the feeling he's not talking about using me as a punching bag.

He lands one more blow to my mother then begins to stalk my way. I look around the kitchen for something, anything to use to make him go away. I have no doubt that, if he gets me down to the floor, it's going to be over for me, for my mother. There's no way I can fight off his bulk, but I refuse to give up.

Continuing to scan the room, I move backward as he continues to come toward me.

"Don't run. This will be fun. I promise you'll enjoy it." His smarmy a.s.s actually licks his lips, and bile comes up my throat, burning the back of it. No way in h.e.l.l.

I eye the knives in their tidy, little, wooden block holder on the counter and make my way toward them, keeping one eye on James.