Edge of Chaos

  EDGE OF CHAOS

  Sons of Chaos MC #1

  by Brynn O'Connor

  A Hearts Collective Production

  Copyright © 2013 Hearts Collective

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Thank you all for reading, I'd like to dedicate this book to my boys Diego and Ethan, and to my good friends Dan and Diane. Without them this book would never have been written.

  Other Books by Hearts Collective:

  Broken Strings by Brynn O'Connor

  Fuel To The Fire by Brynn O'Connor

  Faster Harder (Take Me...#1) by Colleen Masters

  Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) by Colleen Masters

  Faster Longer (Take Me...#3) by Colleen Masters

  Damaged But Not Broken (New Adult Rockers) by W.H. Vega

  Wounded But Not Scarred (New Adult Rockers 2) by W.H. Vega

  Falling Harder (New Adult Romance) by W.H. Vega

  Contents

  One - Shootout at the OK Corral

  Two - Back Home

  Three - Hostage

  Four - Suicide Kings Club House

  Five - Running Guns

  Six - Constant Chaos

  Seven - Breakfast at Denny's, Lunch At Lukes

  Eight - Tough Love?

  Nine - The Best Laid Plans

  Ten - Betrayal

  Eleven - Mexican Stand Off Suicide Kings Style

  Twelve - Home Invasion

  Thirteen - My White Knight Dresses in Black

  Fourteen - You Can't Handle The Truth

  Fifteen - Kayla to the Rescue

  Sixteen - Breakdown

  Seventeen - Doctor Feelgood

  Eighteen - The Cold Harsh Reality

  Nineteen - What Luke Does

  Twenty - Blowback

  Twenty-One - Aftermath

  Part One Epilogue

  Part Two Prologue

  Twenty Two - Prelude to the Show

  Twenty Three - Regrets

  Twenty Four - The Show

  Twenty Five - The Sons of Chaos

  Twenty Six - Paying the Gardener

  Twenty Seven - First Blood

  Twenty Eight - The Aftermath

  Twenty Nine - The Hit

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Shootout at the OK Corral

  Kayla Underwood does her level best to sink into the filthy, grimy hardwood floor of the OK Corral, a local watering hole known to be popular with the motorcycle crowd. Never in all of her twenty-six years would she have imagined she’d be pinned down under a hail of gunfire as two rival outlaw biker clubs duke it out.

  At least, she’s safer now. When the shooting started, she'd been sitting at the bar nursing a club soda. There were probably no more than ten other people in the whole establishment when she'd walked in and sat down at the counter. When the first bullet had whizzed by her shattering the mirror in front of her, she'd thought that some angry drunk had thrown a shot glass. Fortunately for her, a quick-thinking patron behind her had pulled her off that stool and down to the floor saving her life.

  Getting to the only safe area within reach meant she’d had to belly crawl over one of the bar’s less fortunate patrons—she'll never forget the gruesome feel of the man’s warm sticky blood as it soaked through her shirt and jeans.

  From her vantage point behind the bar, she has nothing to worry about now but falling glass and the occasional shower of bourbon and vodka from the bottles overhead.

  The noise is as horrendously loud as it is disorienting, and covering her ears seems to do no good at all. She has to fight the impulse to just stand up and run for the door in blind panic. Being pinned down like this, unable to see what's happening, is unbearable. She can hear shouts, but it’s impossible to make out any words above the noise of battle.

  Maybe it’s the constant assault on her ears or just one more bourbon shower that does it for her, but she can't stay crouched behind the bar any longer. Kayla crawls on all fours to the end of the bar and crouches beneath the cash register as she tries to catch her breath through panicked gasps for air.

  During what seems to be a lull in the gunfire, she crawls from around the protection of the bar and comes face to face with a man about her own age. He's incredibly handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with shoulder-length, dark hair, dark brown eyes and a clear complexion. Under normal circumstances she may have mistaken him for a normal guy, had it not been for the black gun in his hand.

  Kayla freezes, unsure if the man is also trying to escape, or if he's part of the ambush. He looks back over his shoulder, then back at her. With his free hand, he motions for her to get behind the bar again. In shock and detached from the fact that she could be shot dead at any moment, Kayla instead pushes forward. The stranger quickly crawls to block her as she tries to go around him. He looks her in the eye and yells something but the words don't register past the ringing in her ears.

  She opens her mouth to object—and then it happens. Suddenly his face vanishes in a deep red spray of blood, brain, and bits of white bone. Kayla is stunned, unable to move, unable to process what has just happened. Then the taste of blood on her tongue causes her stomach to rebel violently.

  She has no idea how long she stays there retching before she realizes the gunfire has ended again and someone is kneeling down at her side.

  “Are you hurt?” A man asks.

  Kayla straightens up and sits back on her heels to take stock of her own body. She seems fine. She looks around at the bullet-riddled bar, and at the paramedic kneeling next to her, it appears she's the only survivor. Thankfully, he has the good sense to put a white sheet over the young man lying dead next to her. Her stomach churns at the sight of the bloodstained shroud. She can’t bear to be inside the bar any longer, she has to get out, now.

  Kayla starts to stand and strong arms help her up. The smell of smoke hanging in the air and the stench of blood violates her nose. She has to get some fresh air before the dry heaves return. She allows the paramedic to help her outside and over to a waiting ambulance. With his help, she sits down on the back bumper of the rescue vehicle.

  “Are you sure you’re alright, Ma’am?” He asks again.

  She can barely hear him. “Sure, I’m fine, I think. Just got a little sick back there, that’s all. I could use a drink if you’ve got some water.”

  He disappears in the back of his vehicle for a moment and returns with a bottle of water. Kayla accepts it gratefully and takes a mouthful of the cold liquid. She rinses her mouth with the first couple of sips and finishes the bottle in no time; even though the foul taste of blood and vomit still hangs on her tongue and back of her throat.

  "Are you sure you're okay ma'am?" The paramedic asks, looking sincerely concerned.

  "Yeah, I'm fine." She assures him. "Are there any other survivors?"

  "I don't think so, but my partner's inside looking for anyone who might be still breathing."

  His radio crackles and Kayla hears something unintelligible rumble out of the speaker. The paramedic turns around and answers back.

  "I'm gonna go check something out, my partner may have found something, can I leave you here for a moment?" He asks.

  "Sure."

  The paramedic grabs his kit and jogs into the bar once again. Kayla decides to make a break for her car before the police arrive and she’s cornered and asked a million questions. Not that she has anything against the cops, but she needs to get cleaned up and rest before her next 12-hour shift at Highland Hospital.
/>
  Besides, she really didn’t see a thing.

  Chapter Two

  Back home…

  Hot water does wonders for her body and soul as it sluices over her skin. For the first ten minutes, Kayla just stands there under the spray, eyes closed, as she relishes in the cleansing power of the hot water. After she finishes up in the bathroom, she throws on a pair of jeans and a tank top. She’ll change into her scrubs at work, where she'll spend the next 12 hours working as a Physician's Assistant in the hospital’s Emergency Department.

  The moment she walks through the doors, she knows something’s up. She and her co-workers always do their best to keep the mood light around the ER. Laughter, as they say, is the best medicine, but tonight the place feels like a morgue.

  On her way to the doctor’s lounge, she takes a pretty good look around. It appears that every trauma room and almost all the exam rooms are occupied. Kayla loves nights like this; when the hospital has more patients than resources to handle them. When her back's against the wall and she's flying by the seat of her pants, 12 hours goes by pretty fast.

  As Kayla hurries out of the lounge, after having changed into her scrubs as quickly as possible, she collides with Doctor Vanderwaldt who happens to be the attending tonight.

  “Kayla, thank God you’re here. I just left a knife wound in T-2. I think he’s from that incident at the bar across town. He’s handcuffed to the table for good reason, so don’t let him sweet talk you out of them. I’ll be back to check on him later.”

  “Got it, Mike.”

  Holy shit someone else survived? Kayla thinks to herself as she trots down the hallway, stethoscope swinging from her neck.

  She pushes the double doors open, a comment forming on her lips when she's frozen mid-stride. The man on the table is no ordinary man. He’s lying on the table nude to the waist. His clothes are strewn about the base of the trauma table. Someone has made an attempt to cover his privates with a thin sheet. Kayla can't help but think to herself that even with a layer of sweat and blood covering much of his skin, this man looks like a god.

  He has a mop of long, unruly, black hair that just touches his shoulders and parts naturally down the middle. His radiant green eyes are framed by long, thick, black eyelashes and thick, dark eyebrows. His features are so striking that she can’t take her eyes off him. His face is beautifully symmetrical with a strong jawline and accented by a week’s growth of facial hair.

  Suddenly, she realizes she’s been staring and blushes bright red.

  “That’s a good look on you, Doc,” he says with a twinkle in his green eyes.

  “Do you know what doesn’t look good on you?” Kayla replies, tapping his handcuffs with a well- manicured finger.

  “Hey, I didn’t break any laws. I think they’re just afraid of me.”

  “Really, so you don't know anything about that shootout?”

  With a mischievous look in his eyes, he changes tactics. “Look, Doc, I really gotta drain the dragon here, so if you could help a fella out…,” he trails off, glancing meaningfully at his handcuffs.

  “Sorry, not going to happen. And before we do that, you’re going to need some sewing up.”

  “That can wait. My eyes are starting to turn yellow, Doc; I really gotta go,” he pleads.

  Kayla steps closer to him, leans down and looks into his eyes. “No, they’re still green. You can wait.”

  “Oh, come on, Doc—"

  “Alright fine, but you’re gonna have to do it right here with a urinal.”

  “Sure thing, Doc.”

  Kayla picks up the phone on the wall of the ER and dials four digits. When someone answers, she makes her request.

  “Hey Cheryl, I’ve got a male patient in T-2 who needs assistance with a urinal.”

  Kayla turns back to her patient. “Help’s on the way. By the way, what’s your name?”

  “Luke,” he replies. “Luke Madsen.”

  Just then, a male orderly walks in carrying a fresh urinal. Luke protests the instant he sees him.

  “Oh, hell no, Doc. You really gonna make me pee while a dude holds my dong?”

  “Is that what it is now, Luke, ‘cause a minute ago it was your dragon? What’s the reason for the downgrade?”

  “Man, I can’t go with him touching me down there.”

  “Really?” Kayla replies with a grin. “You know, it’s been my experience that when men can’t go, it’s because they’ve got an erection. Are you trying to tell me something, Luke?”

  “Hell, no. Just gimme that thing, I don’t need anyone’s help.”

  “I don’t think so,” Kayla replies. “I’m not going to stand here while you piss all over the place. Let—.”

  “Fine!” Luke says with an explosive sigh.

  Kayla steps back to the side while Mark, the orderly, helps Luke take care of business. She can’t help herself, though. The moment both men are distracted, Kayla’s eyes sweep over Luke’s near naked form. Her heart begins to pound as her eyes slide over his smooth muscular chest and down to his well- muscled abs. She lets her eyes wander over the side of his leg and butt, and right at the perfect time, Mark removes the urinal leaving her patient exposed.

  An almost silent gasp escapes her lips as she sees a dark shock of black hair around the base of his shaft and then the sheet falls back in place covering him up once again. It takes effort this time to pull her eyes away from Luke’s perfect form. She looks down at the floor until Mark exits the room, urinal in hand.

  “Enjoying yourself, Doc?”

  “I’m not your doc,” Kayla replies. “I’m a physician’s assistant.”

  “So…you gonna stitch me up or not?”

  Kayla looks up, a snide remark frozen on her lips. Be professional Kayla, she reminds herself. Luke has managed to pull the sheet completely off him and he’s just lying there naked as a jaybird. At first, she is just too stunned to move. She wants to do the professional thing and avert her eyes, but she knows she just can’t not look; so she ogles for a moment. And as if on cue, his amazingly sexy manhood comes to its rock hard life as if it can feel her gaze sweeping over it. This time Kayla really does gasp. A man’s cock isn’t always the most beautiful part of his anatomy but on Luke, oh what a thing of beauty.

  She walks over to the trauma table, suture kit in hand and determined to be professional. As she approached, her eyes rake over his broad shoulders, amazing biceps, and muscular forearms. He has strong hands and perfect veins, long fingers and trimmed nails covered in that persistent mechanic's grime that never seems to wash away.

  Here’s a guy who knows how to get dirty, she thinks.

  His right arm is covered in an array of interlocking tattoos that cover him like a second skin. He has the typical female names, probably ex-girlfriends, and various Celtic symbols and seemingly random designs. The only tattoo on his left arm marks him as an Army Ranger. Below the ranger tattoo, Kayla notices a series of hash marks drawn neatly down the inside of his bicep, forming two rows. At first glance it seems to be easily over 100 marks.

  The right side of his chest is mostly covered by a motorcycle with flames shooting out of its pipes. The flames extend down his side and to his hip. The guy is the living canvas of an amazing artist somewhere. Kayla’s eyes follow the flames and suddenly they drift back to his engorged cock.

  Quickly, she grabs the sheet and throws it over his godlike form.

  “Oh, come on, Doc, just when I was about to crack that icy exterior of yours…”

  Kayla walks over to the table and places her suture kit on the stand next to his right hip. This won’t be his first scar, she notices what looks to be a bullet wound in his left upper shoulder and another just beneath his right collar bone. That one could have been deadly. His chest has several crisscrossed knife scars, as well. He's obviously survived a lot more serious wounds than the one he has now. Kayla doesn't even want to begin to imagine the horrors this guy's seen.

  As she begins the suture procedure, she asks him abou
t his experiences as a Ranger to take her mind off her close proximity to his other attributes.

  “So…were you in Iraq or something? That is a Ranger tattoo, right?”

  “Yes and no…I was an Army Ranger but I did three tours in Afghanistan, never been to Iraq. I got special permission to go in the military when I was 17. After my first two-year enlistment, I re-enlisted and went to Ranger school. Then I just kinda got addicted to all the training so I got my sniper, my special forces, and my sapper tab.”

  “Holy crap! How old are you?”

  “Don’t you have my- Ouch!”

  “Sorry. Sure, I have your chart right here and I can read it, or I can ask questions to distract you from the pain as I stitch you up.”

  “Wait a second. I’ve just told you I'm basically Rambo, you see all my scars, and you’re worried that your tiny little needle might hurt me?”

  “Well, you did say ‘ow’.”

  “It was surprise. I was surprised, not hurt. Are we done yet?”

  "What's a sapper?" Kayla asks, furrowing her brow.

  "We blow shit up." He says quietly.

  She pauses, letting her eyes roam over his chest, then up to his face and back down to her suture work. He’s right, of course. He is like superman and he’s in her clutches. There's something incredibly intriguing about this man. If she lets this one go, she’ll never get to talk to him again. She feels the slight pang of lost opportunity as she ties the suture knot and cuts the thread.

  “I’m finished,” she announces.

  “Thank you,” he says coarsely. Rolls over, and then catches himself. His left wrist is still cuffed to the table.

  She sees his back for the first time. Her mouth falls open in shock! He’s got this huge tattoo of a head like the Johnny Depp Mad Hatter character in Tim Burton’s version of Alice in Wonderland. The most shocking part is that the character is holding a nine millimeter handgun, the barrel is in his mouth, and his finger is on the trigger. The banner over the head of the Mad Hatter reads Suicide Kings. The banner underneath the art simply says Oakland. What the hell?