WRECKED: GODS OF CHAOS MC, BOOK FOUR (15 page)

I knew better than to let anyone stick around that knew what had happened to me if I wanted to keep it under wraps. Even my closest friends didn’t know about it.

Those two fucking girls.
They’d been sold to me for a purpose and I’d used them for that purpose. They had a fucking job to do, that was all. To please me. Instead, they waited till I was sleeping and lit my bed on fire, like a couple of tiny little demons. They’d completely ruined my face in the process.

Vanessa’s dad gave it back to me.

He did a wonderful job, for sure. A tremendous job.

But there was no way I could let him live to tell the tale afterwards. He must have known this - he was a very intelligent man, after all. I’d sent two of my men to his house to kill him, but he managed to fight back. He was stronger and much more courageous than I’d given him credit for, but he must have been expecting them. They died when he set the house on fire or planted bombs around it, creating an explosion that rocked the entire city.

His cleverness had surprised me, though. He faked his own death - and Vanessa’s too - and tried to vanish.

But he was way too slow. He had good intentions, though, I couldn’t blame him for trying. Changing Vanessa’s face so she could have a new life was a bold move. He’d even had new identities created for the both of them. I’d found them in an envelope inside the hotel room that he’d turned into a makeshift operating room. They almost got away.

But I didn’t let that happen.

I took Vanessa as my own and never looked back. She was devastated, of course, but who wouldn’t be upon learning her father had died? Pile on the fact that she looked like an entirely different person now and I could see why she’d turned into such a miserable bitch.

But my god - her face was fucking flawless.

He’d done his best work on her. Her face was a masterpiece - she’d healed perfectly and beautifully.

She was like my perfect little untouched Madonna. Sure, I couldn’t get my dick hard around her because she was way too old for my taste - I mean, really - seventeen? Seriously? I liked my girls a lot younger than that. And she certainly didn’t get any younger, either. She grew older, turning into a bitchy, complaining, whiney pain in my ass over the years. There was nothing sexy about that. But she served her purpose when I needed her.

It’s not like I could parade a young girl around as my wife when I required one. So, while it was a little unconventional, and I got tired of her quickly, she served a purpose in my life, so I kept her around.

I didn’t give a shit how she felt about the situation, but why should I? As far as I was concerned, she should be thankful I let her live. If it wasn’t for me, she’d have been dumped in a cold, unmarked grave on the side of a dirt road somewhere.

As far as I was concerned, she owed me her life.

And, if I’m being honest, I kinda got off on the fact that no man’s hands had touched her pretty face but mine. When she told me she was a virgin, it only added to her perfection. Like I said - my perfect untouched Madonna. So, maybe I had a bit of a Madonna/Whore complex, but so what?

We all have our vices, right?

I had lots of them. In fact, you could say I collected things that most people considered forbidden. Young girls, exotic wildlife that I kept on my island, illegal guns. I liked having things I wasn’t supposed to. My collection of exotic fish was almost more exciting to me than anything else I possessed. My huge tank of red-bellied piranhas not only got my rocks off because they were so illegal, but also because they served a very distinct purpose - when all else failed, they were the most convincing things ever. It was remarkable how the most resistant people would turn around when faced with the concept of becoming the piranha’s next meal. They were my most valuable possession. In fact, I’d become slightly obsessed with them over the years - feeding them was one of my greatest pleasures. They’d eat anything at all, and I mostly fed them raw meat, but they’d been known to enjoy a treat of a live, fresh kitten or two as well.

“Look, you fucking idiot - call Sheriff Stevens, see if you can get him to retrieve the surveillance videos from the surrounding businesses of the doctor’s office. Go to the doctor’s office and shake down whoever you find there until they tell you who they were working with to get her out of there. I’ll call a few friends that have met her and make sure they keep their eyes open for her. She could be hiding in plain sight. Can you handle that or do I need to get someone else to do your fucking job, you incompetent asshole?”

“No, boss, I’m on it,” he said, sulking as he walked out.

“Don’t fucking come back here until you have some information for me!” I called to his back. The door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the house, the quiet falling over me like a stifling blanket.

I hated silence. I much preferred to have people around me or be out doing things. Sitting around waiting just made me uncomfortable.

I pulled out my cell phone, pulled up a picture of Vanessa’s perfect untouched face, and texted to it my close circle of friends with a message:

“I’m having a hard time getting in touch with my wife, Vanessa. Can you keep an eye for her while you’re out, please? Let me know if you see her - thanks!”

I hit the send button and leaned back into the couch. She’d turn up soon. Unfortunately, when she did, I was going to have to kill her. It’d be such a shame to destroy that face, but it had to be done.

Nobody crosses me and gets away with it.

Nobody.

Not even my wife.

Vanessa

I watched with amusement as this group of big burly tattooed bikers grumbled and complained, their low voices a chorus of disgruntled growls.

“I can’t believe I have to fucking cut my beard!” Riot said, his voice a combination of disbelief and dismay.

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” Wreck said. “How does cutting off our hair and beards make things better?”

“Randolph’s friends are the richest, most elite businessmen and politicians in the Pacific Northwest. This part of the country may be casual, but they ain’t that fuckin’ casual!” Ryder said. “Randolph made sure to mention that we be as cleaned up as possible and throwing that greasy, tangled mane back into a ponytail ain’t gonna cut it!”

“I guess we gotta cover up the tats, too, huh?” Slade asked.

“Yep, we gotta fit in,” Ryder said. “We’re all gonna wear suits, too!”

They erupted in protest and Lacey and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“It ain’t natural to wear no monkey suit, goddammit!” Doc yelled. “Why can’t we wear our fucking jeans?”

“I haven’t worn a suit since I went to my dad’s funeral,” Slade said. “And even then, I didn’t wear a fucking tie.”

“Well, you’re wearing one this time! Come on, you guys, where’s your sense of adventure?” Grace asked.

“Adventure to us is rubber on asphalt at a hundred miles an hour!” Riot roared.

“Well, look,” Grace said, her expression turning serious. “When you signed up to work for Solid Ground, you vowed to do whatever was necessary to get the job done, right? Cleaning your asses up is necessary. We’re gonna measure those beefy ass shoulders and I’ll buy all the suits tomorrow. In the meantime, you’re all getting makeovers. So, no more bitchin’, you got it?”

Her sternness quieted their complaints but the looks on their faces didn’t change one bit. They looked like she’d just told them they had to walk through flames or something.

I got it, though. They were attached to their identities. To them, their exteriors matched their interiors. They went hand in hand together.

I’d felt the same way, especially after my mother died. I was a part of her - she created me and I looked exactly like her. When she died, it was all I had left. To my dismay, after a few years her face began to fade away from my memories and she became more and more of a vague image in my mind until all I had left of her was a few pictures and my own face. All those pictures were destroyed. Having my face taken away was the biggest blow of all.

So, yeah, I got it. I felt for them. Lucky for them, though, their hair would grow back and so would the beards. After the party, they could let their freak flags fly again, roll up their sleeves and return to their much loved and much lived in identities.

They were lucky in that way.

But still, their resistance and uncomfortableness was amusing.

“What am I supposed to do about this fucking scar?” Wreck snarled.

“Wreck, I am an expert when it comes to makeup!” Lacey exclaimed, clapping her hands together. She was having the most fun of anyone. “I’ve spent so much time experimenting. I can cover it up! Let’s practice!”

“I’m not fuckin’ wearing makeup!” he protested.

“You’ll do whatever it fucking takes, Wreck!” Ryder warned, shooting daggers his way.

“Unfuckingbelievable!” Doc said, shaking his head. “Well, Lacey, do your best with this mop of mine. This whole thing is just gonna be like putting lipstick on a whole stable of pigs, though.”

“You’ll be surprised, Doc,” Lacey replied. “I can work magic with these hands!”

“Oink, oink,” Doc replied, shaking his head.

Grace and I caught each other’s eye and she winked at me. If this all wasn’t so funny, I might feel a little bad making them go through all of it. But Grace was right. This wasn’t about us - it wasn’t about me, it wasn’t about the Gods and their excessive body hair and questionable hygiene.

It was about saving those girls from being abused by Royce any longer than necessary.

So, we spent the evening together, listening to music, drinking and laughing as Lacey went to work cutting hair, shaving beards and experimenting on their faces to try to cover up the countless scars on their beat up faces.

They certainly had lived a colorful life. Each scar had a story, and they took turns telling us about them as we all watched Lacey’s magic unfold.

“I got this one from a snakebite,” Slade said, pointing to an indention on his cheek. “That fucker that took Evie, Diana’s sister, had so many snakes in his house, it was insane.”

“How could we forget that?” Ryder asked. “We thought you’d finally fucking gone crazy dancing around with those fucking serpents.”

“I had to save my girl,” Slade said, shrugging. “At least I have a cool story to tell our son,” he winked.

“How’d you get this one on your hand, Wreck?” Lacey asked, pointing to a pink, wrinkled scar on his left hand. His eyes darkened with seriousness before he replied.

“I guess you could say I tried to run through fire,” he muttered. “It was a long, long time ago.”

My heart skipped a beat as I watched him. I didn’t know if he was referring to the night my house exploded, but I’d always wondered what that night was like for him. He’d only just dropped me off a few minutes before. I’d never forget that night, as long as I lived. As soon as I said goodnight to Jesse and walked in the front door of my house, my entire life changed.

“Daddy, I’m home!” I hollered. “Do you have company? Who’s here?”

I rounded the kitchen and stopped cold. My father was standing over two dead bodies that were lying on our kitchen floor. I screamed, but he rushed over and shoved his hand over my mouth to quiet me.

“Don’t scream, Frankie!” he insisted. I nodded, my heart filled with fear and confusion. He removed his hand slowly from my mouth.

“I’ll explain everything, babe, but there’s no time right now. I promise I’ll answer all your questions, but right now, we gotta go.”

“Go where?” I asked, my eyes glued to the two men lying on the floor.

“I’ll explain later. I promise, just do as I tell you.”

“But Daddy!” I cried.

“No, just listen. Take off your clothes!”

“What?” I screamed.

“Shh!” he said, shoving a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in my hands. “Change into this.”

“Daddy!” I exclaimed.

“Fuck, Frankie - just do it!” he screamed, anger flashing in his eyes. “Now! There’s no time!”

I jumped into action, peeling off my clothes and changing into the jeans and shirt he’d given me. To my horror, he began dressing the smaller man on the floor in my discarded clothes.

“What are you doing!” I screamed again.

“Shut up!” he said. I watched in silence, terror gripping my heart as I watched him take off his own clothes and pull them onto the other dead guy’s body. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the kitchen counter and pulled them on.

“Daddy, I don’t understand —,” I began again, my mind spinning.

“Of course you don’t! I’ll explain later,” he said, as he collected a red gas container from the corner of the kitchen. I watched in disbelief as he tipped it and began trailing gas all over the house.

“No, Daddy!” I said, my voice frantic with fear. “What is wrong with you!?”

“Go to the back of the house,” he said. “Get in your Mom’s Lexus. It’s waiting in the alley behind the house, the keys are in the ignition.”

“Mom’s car? But we haven’t driven that since she died!” I cried.

“None of this fucking matters now, Frankie! You have to listen to me - just go! Start the car and wait for me! Now!”

“But - but what about —,” I began again.

“GO!” he roared, his eyes wild with panic.

I’d never ever seen my father like this. He was the epitome of cool, calm and collected. It was like I was looking at another man entirely. But he was my father. Outside of Jesse, he was the one man I trusted more than anyone on Earth. Trusting him was all I had.

I ran out the back door, past my mother’s rose garden, past the pool house, my heart beating so hard I thought it would burst from my chest. Mom’s Lexus was waiting right where he said it would be, the headlights illuminating the dark, empty alley. I opened the door and slid behind the wheel, sinking into the lush leather seats my mother had loved so much. She’d adored this car. She’d adored it so much, it was impossibly painful for my father and I to be in it after she’d died, because all we could see was her face every time we looked at it and it smelled just like her beloved Chanel No. 5. Selling it was out of the question, as well, so it stayed covered up in the back of the garage all this time.