Chaos Read online

Being in love was my dream, having my own family was the end goal, and I sacrificed myself as a person to obtain it. Another woman might’ve overlooked the betrayal just to keep Dean and live the highlife. She might’ve even run to a sperm bank and flipped through a catalog to decide her child’s genetics.

  Not me.

  I somehow found my backbone, stood my ground, and cut ties to the faded dreams that were crumbling before me. It wasn’t easy to throw ten years of my life away. In fact, the breach of trust has scarred me to the point where I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again.

  I don’t really know who I am anymore.

  All I know is I’m ready to live for me and only me.

  I’m ready to be fearless.

  CHAPTER TWO

  They say men are born broken, that life mends them—but, I’m sure the life I live isn’t meant to mend anything. I’ll die as damaged as the day I was born.

  I’ve come to realize I’m nothing but a selfish bastard with nothing left to lose. Everything I touch, love, and cherish inevitably gets destroyed, and those whom I hold responsible for my last loss have become the driving force of my revenge. The only thing I give a fuck about now is leaving my mark. It’s the very reason I left Farmingdale, Long Island.

  Some might call me a pussy for laying low.

  Let them.

  I don’t give a fuck.

  After our parents died five years back, I was forced to become my sister’s guardian. Barely of legal age myself, I had no fucking idea what I was doing at the time, but I wasn’t about to turn my sister over to the state.

  Looking back now, Carrie probably would’ve been better off under someone else’s care. As good as my intentions may have been, it wasn’t enough. I thought sacrificing my future to give her a chance at a better one was the answer. Swearing to protect and provide for Carrie all by myself, I took to the streets where turning a quick buck was easy as fucking pie. Apparently, I had a natural born talent for wheeling and dealing and didn’t know it.

  All too soon I became blinded by money and power, and when I made a name for myself, a powerful gangster took notice. He took me under his wing, molded me into his most valuable bookie, making me his number one earner. Gamblers from Farmingdale all the way to Staten Island placed their bets with me. Most of the time they paid their debts, but when they didn’t—well, they suffered the consequences. They either paid me or found themselves lying in the gutter with a pair of broken kneecaps. Some went home to find their wives tied up and their jewelry gone. Others—well, let’s just say, they weren’t as lucky and leave it at that.

  The job was overly demanding, making it impossible for me to be home much, which left my sister with too much free time on her hands. She fell in with the wrong crowd and began cutting school. Come to find out, instead of getting a degree, she used the tuition money I gave her to feed her habit. Drugs took my sister’s life; drugs she wouldn’t have been able to get her hands on if I’d paid close attention.

  Losing Carrie changed me. It hardened what was left of my heart. It made me wonder if I’d been a better role model and less of a fuck up, maybe she wouldn’t have overdosed. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to identify her body in the county morgue last year.

  I still get this nagging feeling in my gut that won’t go away, thinking her death was an act of foul play. The memory of her lying there—her lips blue, her skin gray—it still fucking haunts me. I wear the guilt of her death like a brand, and so I’ve made it my mission in life to obtain retribution.

  Knowing no one gets a pardon in the mob, and the only way out is in a body bag, I had to find a way to sever ties with the organization. I cut every motherfucker who I felt might’ve had a hand in Carrie’s death out of my life and disappeared like a fucking phantom. Now, I’ve been lying low, hiding in plain sight from the mob as I keep a close eye on them.

  I moved my ass to North Jersey, where no one knows who I truly am. I exchanged my Mercedes for a motorcycle and found the Riders of Chaos. It’s where I’ve spent the last several months lying to the men I call my brothers. I’ve done nothing but scheme and lay down the foundation for my revenge since the day I arrived.

  I left my highly groomed appearance and my thousand-dollar suits behind. I now live in leather, jeans, and heavy boots. I’ve also shaved the sides of my head, and when the urge strikes I take my aggression out at the gym. I can be found lifting weights on a consistent basis. Becoming thick with muscle, isn’t the only physical change to my body. I’ve inked my story to my skin as a reminder of all I’ve seen, everything I’ve lost, and what I plan to do about it.

  These men have no idea who they’re really dealing with or just how powerful I can be. They don’t know what I’ve seen… what I’ve done, or what these hands are capable of. I still have a few trusted contacts from my old world, but they have no idea where I am. I’m saving them for the final fight.

  Not many twenty-six-year-old men have stared down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell about it. These bikers don’t know the lengths a man like me will go to once he realizes he’s run out of options and has nothing to left to lose.

  The Riders of Chaos MC pride themselves on being one percenters. While they may have no respect for the law, they have a great disdain for drugs. It’s why I chose to hide among them. They’ve made it their mission to keep the streets of Jersey clean and have successfully shut down many deadbeat dealers trying to pollute their territory with blow. All of which makes them the perfect weapon to help me enact my plan to bring justice for Carrie’s death.

  However, if I don’t earn my patch and a seat at their table soon, all my plans will go to shit. In order to seek vengeance on whoever is behind Carrie’s murder, I need to have the club behind me.

  Keeping that in mind, I’ve been learning the politics behind the MC and have been playing by their rules. I’ve done everything they’ve asked without hesitation, proving myself capable of doling out my share of violence and brutality. I’ve been able to fit right in.

  Fortunately, I’ve been able to remain elusive regarding my past, what I’ve done, where I’ve come from, and what I’ve seen. Chaos thinks they have me by the balls.

  Maybe they do, but not for long.

  Patience.

  I’m learning that composure and perseverance are a bitch, and self-restraint is the most important factor in this game of revenge.

  At first, the men were skeptical of my intentions and pressed hard for answers to unlock my past, but they never got anywhere. They didn’t appreciate my silence and I began to think they’d never let me into their circle. Three months after I parked my bike in the Riders territory, my luck changed, and I took advantage of an unexpected opportunity. Without having to give them my past, I was able to get my foot in the door and earn their trust.

  We were shooting pool at a local bar one night when a rival club stormed in. They were after the owner who refused to knuckle under their pressure and let them deal drugs on his property. One thing led to another, and before we knew it, Rush, our prez, was in the line of fire. Everyone was otherwise occupied, beating the living shit out the rest of the gang, but I noticed and seized the fucker in the nick of time, saving Rush’s life.

  Having put my life on the line to save his, earned me the clubs’ respect and their absolute trust. I immediately received my leathers and was labeled a prospect. It was a step in the right direction, but it wasn’t enough to earn me a patch.

  After the bar fight, the old man who we now call Papaw had enough of being vulnerable. His old body was tired of fighting the politics associated with biker gangs. So, in exchange for our protection he offered to sell us the bar cheap. Needing a legit business to keep the cops off his back, Rush jumped on the deal and kept Papaw on the payroll, allowing him to continue to run the joint.

  The past two months the club has been renovating the bar while using the expenses as a front to launder money. Working night and day to get the job done, we’ve spent more time in the large apartment above t
he bar than in our own clubhouse.

  This shithole has become a second home to us, and so here we all are, sitting around, drinking piss warm beer while the club decides how else they can possibly torture me before I get patched in. They get a real kick trying to unnerve me. For the Riders of Chaos, I represent a challenge.

  They want to break me.

  But you can’t break what’s already broken.

  They can continue to try, but they’ll always fail.

  Patience, I remind myself.

  I should’ve had that fucking patch sewn to my leather cut months ago. Anything they’ve asked of me has been done and more. I’ve paid my penance and proved my worth tenfold, but these motherfuckers want to keep playing with me.

  Lowering the warm bottle of brew from my mouth, I set it down on the table and swallow the tail end of my drink. Gritting my teeth, I fist my hands and give them my best poker face as I digest the latest fucking blow.

  Releasing a slow and controlled breath, I force my head back into the game, and remind myself this is the last thing I’ll have to do before they take a vote on my patch. Considering the challenge, I decide it’s a small price to pay to officially live and breathe Chaos.

  That don’t mean their fucking stint isn’t grating on my nerves.

  Because it fucking does.

  “Blade…” Rush says, drawing my attention back to him.

  As I wait for the prez to elaborate on what’s expected of me, I silently study the man. The shadows around his dark eyes show the wear and tear of a rough life, but his irises, those dark brown irises, they exude silent power.

  A warning.

  Don’t fuck with me.

  He’s a scary motherfucker, and often I wonder if he was born without a heart. Clearly, you don’t cross this man and live to tell about it. Of course, those same rules applied to the men I once associated myself with—yet here I am staring at the Devil, waiting for him to wreak havoc on me.

  “You need to bag the bitch as well,” Rush says as he reaches for the online ad they printed out. Sliding the paper across the table, he narrows his eyes and waits for me take a look at the ad. Glancing down at the image, my breath catches and not in a good way. The bitch looks as if she’d destroy the shock system on my ride within the first mile.

  Now, I’m not one to give a fuck about weight—hell, I like a little meat on my women. A man needs to grab on to something when a bitch is riding his cock and bones ain’t it. But, fuck, this one’s got a mole the size of my left nut on her face and I’m sure she could make a ponytail from the hairs growing from it.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I growl, losing my cool. Laughter erupts around me and I lift my eyes from the repulsive image. Glaring defiantly at Rush, I shove the paper back at him. “I need to what?” I sneer.

  “Fuck her,” Brick, the vice president of our club clarifies from across the table.

  Whipping my head to the side, I stare at him in disbelief.

  He can’t be serious.

  All these motherfuckers must be pulling my chain.

  “And how the fuck will you know whether I did, or didn’t?”

  “Take a picture,” Saber responds with a devious grin. “Or better yet, record the whole fucking thing.”

  I feel like I’m in a tennis match as I twist in my chair to get a better look at our sergeant at arms to see if he’s full of shit, or if he means it.

  “This is a fucking joke,” I growl, angry at all these assholes. Seconds away from losing my shit, I draw in a ragged breath as Rush’s dark eyes twinkle with mischief. The bastard is enjoying the show, and is probably itching for me to explode.

  Not one to take shit from anyone, it takes every bit of fucking self-control I can muster to refrain from knocking their teeth down their throats.

  Bag the bitch.

  Get the fuck outta here.

  My body shudders at the thought. Fucking hell, even my balls have shriveled to the size of peas.

  Shit.

  Rush places the paper back under my nose and adds, “Better start studying for your homework assignment, Blade.” I want to cold-cock the son of a bitch for his patronizing tone.

  Trying to keep myself from wrapping my hands around his throat and squeezing the life out of him, I snatch the paper from him and start reading the rest of the ad, including what’s required of me. My eyes move from line to line and the laughter surrounding me begins to fade. As I reach the end of the list it becomes clear these motherfuckers went to great lengths to fuck with me. Judging by their smug expressions, I’d say they had themselves a grand fucking time scheming to pull this shit together too.

  When I’m done reading, I lift my chin and sweep my gaze over every man gathered around the table. My eyes connect with Brick’s and hold. His shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. The asshole.

  “You’re fucking serious,” I mutter.

  “Looks like we finally figured out how to get a rise out of him, Brick,” Saber exclaims with a chuckle.

  Brick’s dark green eyes bore into mine as he calmly takes a swig from his bottle just before he hands me another piece of paper. Glancing at it, I notice it’s the responding ad they sent on my fucking behalf.

  I make it through the first line before my vision blurs and all I see is red. Blood red. Fucking crimson. Anger rushes through my veins and my nostrils flare as I grind my teeth and try to rein myself in.

  Failing, I slam my fists against the table and shout, “You fucking gave her my personal information?”

  “It was a requirement. But all in all, I think we did pretty good, wouldn’t you say, Brick?” one of the men quips.

  Another spineless prick.

  “Yep,” Brick replies, “seems like the bitch liked the answers we came up with, so much so, she accepted the offer.” He pauses for effect, and judging by the smirk on his lips he’s enjoying every minute of my suffering. “I think it helped that we made you out to be a fucking Greek god.”

  “Bunch of Jackasses,” I grunt.

  Brick’s grin falters as he turns toward Rush, jamming his thumb in my direction. “I just realized we won’t be there when Blade has to explain he ain’t no law-abiding CEO who only likes to ride on the weekends as a hobby.”

  “You told her I was a businessman!” I’m exasperated with their stupidity, waving my hand down the length of my body. “Because that shit is believable.” Sarcasm drips from every word as I contemplate flipping the one-hundred-pound oak table and telling them all to go fuck themselves with an enema.

  “Man, you seen her picture. We could dress you in a fucking clown suit and that bitch would happily dry hump your fucking leg,” Spinner snickers, clutching his stomach with full on laughter.

  “Jesus… fuck,” I mumble. Frustrated, I peel the baseball hat off my head and swipe a hand over my head. Reaching into my leather cut, I pull out a pack of smokes. I need a fucking joint right now, but nicotine will have to do.

  “So, what’s it going to be, Blade? How bad do you want to ride with Chaos?” Rush taunts. I can see the challenge exuding from his eyes, it’s palpable.

  Glancing down, I draw in a deep breath and catch sight of the tattoo I had inked to my forearm in memory of Carrie. Closing my eyes, I’m slammed with a flashback. Her lifeless body, tagged and lying on a cold, steel slab in the county morgue.

  Blue lips.

  Gray skin.

  A beautiful, young life taken too soon.

  The decision is made. I look up at Rush, fixing him with a determined glare, one full of resolve that matches the tone of my voice.

  “Oh, I will ride with Chaos,” I bite out. Our eyes remain locked on each other in a silent battle filled with heated determination. With a quick jerk of my chin, I add, “Bring it on, bitches.”

  I almost want to laugh at the poor bastard’s expression. I can see he thinks he’s won; he believes he’s playing a game with me.

  He doesn’t know Chaos is just another pawn in my game.

  He doesn’t
know I play to win.

  CHAPTER THREE

  My ex-husband controlled everything, from where I went to deciding which clothes I wore. At first, I thought it was endearing, that he cared enough to take such an interest in me and my activities. I didn’t realize his actions were borderline obsessive, and naively, I thought his controlling personality full of jurisdictions were endearments of affection. It wasn’t long before the chokehold he had on me finally began to smother me. Constantly being cross-examined by a man who’s supposed to be your equal can take a toll on a person, and at times, I became so frustrated by the questions, I’d lock myself in the bathroom, turn the shower on, and scream into the palms of my hands. Every year that passed, Dean became even more relentless in his demands. I suppose that should’ve raised a red flag for me, but love is blind and sadly, living that way had become my way of life.

  Like any doting and dedicated wife, I tolerated his abuse. I made excuses and ignored the truth. After all, I took vows, right? For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part? Too bad I didn’t realize my independence and self-worth wound up being casualties of our marriage. Looking back, I’m not sure if he ever loved me as a person, or if he was in love with the idea of having a trophy wife who was compliant and bent to his every will.

  Years continued to pass and I started to take notice of other relationships surrounding me. I watched my friends enjoy their freedoms without any arguments from their significant others. They dressed as they wished, did as they pleased, and lived their life without restriction. A slow burning fire started to rage inside of me as I realized the injustice my husband served me and I began to long for my own independence.

  On occasion, I tested the waters and defied Dean’s authority. However, each time I did, I paid a price. Like a scorned child, he punished me and kept me a prisoner in my own house. His methods of penalizing me only served to backfire on him, because in turn, I started to become more defiant in my quest for independence.