Page 7 of Chaos
I shake my head, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. Everything hurts, but I think it’s just muscle cramps.
The sound of approaching voices makes me tense, and Chaos notices immediately. He shifts position, placing himself between me and the door as four men enter. They're all wearing the same leather vests, declaring them members of the Renegade Kings Motorcycle Club.Cuts, I’m pretty sure the vests are called. One has "VP" patched on his chest, another has "Road Captain," a third has “Sergeant at Arms,” and the fourth has "Treasurer."
Chaos’s reads “President.” Oh my god! I was pulled from the dumpster by the president of the Renegade Kings?
They're all staring at me, and the weight of their attention makes me want to shrink further into the couch cushions.I’ve heard of the Renegade Kings. Of course I have. They’re notorious in Detroit. These are truly dangerous men.
Chaos again crouches in front of me as though I’m a scared child. Hell, I feel like one. "That's Demon." He points to the dark-skinned man. "And that's Fury." The bearded one. "And this is Zeus." A guy with Greek features and intelligent brown eyes. “And that guy over there is Fiend.” He gestures to the man who has remained by the door.
"Found her in the dumpster," Chaos says without turning around. His voice carries absolute authority, and the other men straighten slightly in response.
"Holy shit," the VP breathes, his dark eyes widening as he takes in my appearance. "She looks like she's been through hell."
"She has." Chaos's jaw twitches. "Haven't you, sweetheart?"
Something about his tone, the protective way he's positioned himself, makes the dam burst. All the terror and helplessness I've been holding back comes pouring out in a torrent of broken words.
“T-they killed them," I whisper, then louder, “M-murdered. In cold blood. They shot them both. Right there in the parking lot. I tried to run, but there was a fence. When did they put up a fence? And then one of them started cutting..." I trail off, my stomach lurching at the memory.
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. The men exchange looks that could kill, and suddenly I'm reminded of exactly how vicious these guys truly are.
"You saw what happened?" The VP steps forward, his voice deadly quiet. "You witnessed the murders?"
I nod, tears streaming down my face. "I didn't mean to. I was just trying to go home from work and I took a shortcut and they were there and?—"
"Did they see you?" Chaos interrupts, his hand settling on my knee. "Do they know you were watching?"
The gentle weight of his touch grounds me, but his question makes fresh terror spike through me. "Yes. One of them chased me. He almost caught me, but I kneed him in the balls and got away." I swallow hard. "That's why I was hiding in the…” I flinch. “Dumpster.”
Another round of meaningful looks passes between the men. The guy named Zeus runs a hand through his dark blonde hair and mutters, "Fuck.”
“The cartel will be looking for her," Demon says quietly.
“The cartel?!” I exclaim before I can stop myself.
Those killers were in a cartel? They saw me. They chased me. I witnessed a cartel hit!
"Rowan." Chaos's voice draws my attention back to him. "You need to lay low for a while. Take some time off work, stay somewhere safe."
I shake my head immediately. "I can't miss work. I can't afford to miss a single shift." The desperation in my voice is humiliating, but it's the truth. My grandmother's care facility payment is already late, and if I miss even one shift?—
"I need to go home," I whisper.
"Sweetheart." The endearment stops my rambling. "If those men can identify you, missing a few paychecks will be the least of your problems."
The gentle way he says it somehow makes it more terrifying than if he'd shouted. My hands start shaking again as the full implication hits me. "Where do you live?"
Heat rises to my cheeks. My apartment is barely better than a closet. “Above the laundromat on Elmwood."
"That shithole?" Fiend speaks for the first time. "That place should've been condemned a decade ago."
I look down at my now filthy, disgusting clothes. "It's what I can afford."
I catch the look that passes between Chaos and Fury—a mixture of concern and something that might be pity. Great. Even hardened criminals feel sorry for me.
A heavy silence falls. Then I remember something crucial.
"My backpack," I say suddenly. "When I was running, it got caught on something. The strap broke. Everything spilled out—my phone, keys, wallet..."
