Chaotic Anger: The Seven MC Book 1

by Breck, A. R.

  Chaotic Anger

  The Seven MC Book 1

  A. R. Breck

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. The characters and events in this book are fictious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2020 by A.R. Breck. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Q Design Cover

  Proofreading by Chell Reads

  Created with Vellum

  Content Warning:

  Chaotic Anger contains mature themes that might make some readers uncomfortable. Foul language, criminal activity, drug use, physical and sexual abuse are included in this book. People with triggers should read with caution.

  Contents

  Ivy

  1. Ivy

  2. Ivy

  3. Aziel

  4. Ivy

  5. Ivy

  6. Ivy

  7. Aziel

  8. Ivy

  9. Aziel

  10. Ivy

  11. Aziel

  12. Ivy

  13. Aziel

  14. Ivy

  15. Aziel

  16. Ivy

  17. Ivy

  18. Ivy

  19. Aziel

  20. Aziel

  21. Ivy

  22. Ivy

  23. Aziel

  24. Ivy

  25. Aziel

  26. Ivy

  27. Aziel

  Human Trafficking Hotline

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  “The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places.”

  J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

  Ivy

  2015

  "Are you coming or what? I've been waiting outside for like fifteen minutes." My friend Katie whisper-shouts through the phone.

  "I thought I heard my mom walking down the hall. I needed to be sure. I'll be there in a few." I whisper. I press the red circle on my phone, ending the call and pocketing my phone. My toes curl into the plush carpet as I tiptoe towards the door. I press my ear against the cool, hollow wood and listen for any movement on the other side. Once I'm sure my parents are in their room for the night, I make my way over to the window.

  Glancing back at my bed, I see my pathetic attempt at bunching the pillows under my comforter to make a body look-a-like. In the darkness it might seem realistic, like I’ve turned towards the wall. But if they turned on the light, it wouldn’t even take a second for them to notice my amateur moves at trying to be stealthy.

  My parents trust me wholeheartedly, so leaving to go to the cutest boy in school's house with Katie makes a tiny pit of guilt weigh heavily in my stomach. They would never expect me to sneak out my bedroom window, so why I'm so nervous at the thought of getting caught, I couldn't say. The possibility of one of them opening the door as I have one foot hanging over my windowsill makes my stomach turn. I don't want to see the look of disappointment in their gaze. I don't want to be like Katie, which, I love her to death, but her parents look at her with the distrust I never want to see in my parent's gazes.

  Once I'm certain the coast in clear, I press my palms against the white wood of my windows and slide it up. It'll be an easy escape; the large oak tree hangs perfectly against the side of the house. A large branch extends towards my window, like an arm reaching towards me. Ready to help me make bad decisions.

  Gripping my purse with one hand, I cringe as the button on the back of my jean pocket catches on the windowsill as I slide onto the branch. The metal on metal makes a loud clank. I hold my breath once I'm balanced on the heavy limb, waiting for my parents to bust in with accusatory looks and yank me back in by my ear lobes.

  No such luck.

  After another minute, I reach over and pull the window down with one arm, leaving it open a crack for me to open when I come back in a few hours. Its spring, so the air still has a bite of the winter chill to it, but the promise of summer lingers in the air. Leaving my window open won't be an issue.

  Greg—the hottest kid in school—is having a few people over from our grade. Apparently, according to Katie, they're going to be playing seven minutes in heaven and spin the bottle. I can't deny that I'm hoping Greg and I get picked. Huge butterflies flap in my stomach at the thought. It's been an entire year of lingering glances between the two of us. He hasn't made a move, keeping me on a long leash all year. Katie said he was asking about me and wanted us to be there tonight. Fingers crossed, but if he doesn't make his move tonight, it might be time to call it quits on him. Boys in ninth grade are annoying. More undecisive than the girls, it would seem.

  I roll onto my stomach and wrapping my arms around the heavy branch in a tight hug, I shimmy down the oversized trunk. My hands scrape along the bark, it’s rough edges scraping against my palms. This is less smooth than it seems in the movies.

  Soon I get to the point where I can’t shimmy any longer. I slide over to the lowest branch and dangle like a noodle. I wince as my arms throb in discomfort when they're fully extended, my fingers digging into the rough wood. With my eyes closed, I count to three and let go. Pain zings through the soles of my feet from the impact.

  With a glance around my yard, I spin on my heels and dart from my yard and down the street towards Katie's house. My Ugg boots make it soundless as they pound against the pavement. A light fog covers the air. The temperature fluctuates so dramatically from day to day, it’s like the atmosphere has become bipolar here in Ohio. This winter was mild, with snow not falling until after Christmas and leaving for good by March. The year before we had a foot of snow on Halloween and the last snow fell in April.

  Like I said, bipolar.

  I was born in the home that I currently live in and I know these neighborhoods like the back of my hand. Living in a small town in the center of Ohio, I've grown up playing on these streets. I know each one of these neighbors like family and our neighborhood block parties are one of my favorite times of year.

  Katie lives ten minutes away on foot, so I speed walk, but don't run. The last thing I want is to walk into Greg's house a sweaty, smelly mess.

  I turn the corner, and finally my house is out of sight. This neighborhood is quiet, with large, green sprawling lawns and quaint little ramblers and split-level homes decorating the street. We might not be the wealthiest of neighborhoods around, but every single house in the neighborhood is filled with good people. Perfectly manicured lawns, gardens with small fountains nestled between day lilies and hydrangeas, and kids' toys burst from every yard I walk past.

  When I see headlights light me up from behind, my body tenses in fear of it being my parents. I hop off the street and walk through the grass. I don't even look behind me, I am too much of a chicken shit to see my dad's little white sedan trolling behind me. No one will mind me walking through their grass. Well, except Delores Meyer. She throws a fit whenever someone lets their dog go to the bathroom on her lawn. We forgive her and her eighty-year-old tendencies, choosing to nod in agreement while not promising it won't ever happen again. Shit, a dog needs to go when a dog needs to go.

  The light from behind me grows larger, the glowing white circle of the headlight enveloping my entire body now. The car is obviously getting closer, but I can also hear that it's slowing down. I do a quick peek over my shoulder and see that it is most definitely not my parent's vehicles. I walk up the lawn a little bit more, pretending I’m getting close to home, hoping that they'll pass and be on their way.

  When they don't, th
e bitter taste of regret starts to fill my mouth.

  I never should have left home.

  The car is going too slowly, I can hear the small pebbles and rocks from the road popping underneath the tires. I can hear the faint sound of the breaks squeaking as the car slows further. I can hear my heart stop mid-beat in my chest as realization hits me.

  This is bad. Really bad.

  I quicken my pace, choosing not to look back and keep my focus forward. Katie's house is only a few blocks away. When I hear the car stop, I almost sigh in relief until I hear the door open, and goosebumps erupt on my arms in terror.

  I reach for my phone in my pocket as I speed up into a run. My feet pump as quick as they can, my cushioned Ugg’s suddenly the worst choice of footwear for the evening. I try to unlock my phone, but the shakiness of my hands and the bouncing from running makes me punch in my password—twice—incorrectly.

  Once I’m finally able to unlock my phone, I go to my call history and my thumb presses the connect button as quickly as possible. Tears erupt in my eyes and trail down my cheeks as the phone rings. Just when I hear her annoyed, "Hello?" The phone is slapped from my hand. I watch as it flies onto the grass, the glow from my screen and a tiny picture of Katie in the center making me release a horrified cry.

  A white-turned-gray cloth is pressed up against my face, and my eyes burn from the smell. It only takes moments for the drowsiness to hit me. Within seconds, my limbs fold in on each other as I tumble to the grass in a heap.

  1

  Ivy

  Present

  I jackknife out of bed, sweat trailing along my temples even as shivers rack my spine. Tears slide down my cheeks and my flimsy nightgown sticks to my back like tape. It’s uncomfortable, and I whimper as I peel it away from my skin. My body is bruised and beaten, and the pain is nothing but a reminder that I’m still alive. My body shouldn’t be shocked, really. It’s always in some sort of trauma, but the horrendous aches somehow always make it seem like the first time.

  My dream ended up being a nightmare, and my nightmare is nothing but reality.

  I don’t often dream about the worst day of my life, but on the unfortunate chance that I do, the rest of my day usually ends up being a pile of shit as well.

  My life has been uncertain, teetering between life and death every day since. If I were toe in either direction, I’d tumble straight into the unknown. The thought alone scares me, because the possibility of going into something new terrifies me. I might live in hell now, but I know my hell. I can expect every move and I’ve perfected the game of chess that is my life.

  I don’t think I’d survive learning the rules of a new game. A new hell.

  I swallow down the bile at that thought and slide my legs across the cool sheets, planting them on the limestone floor. The chills don’t go away as the cold from the ground seeps into my feet. If anything, they get worse.

  I hate this place.

  I’m always cold, and you would think that being in Mexico would mean I’m always hot, but that’s not the case. It’s not only the temperature, although it does get cool at night.

  It’s this life.

  Kidnapped at the age of fifteen, it feels like I’ve been living here an eternity. It hasn’t been that long, though.

  Only five years.

  Five years I’ve been living in this compound called La Guarida. I get treated like a prisoner and a queen all mixed in one. Mostly a prisoner. A prisoner that can walk free and explore, but not too far. No going outside the perimeter. I tried that once in my early days here. It ended in broken and busted bones, and my insides felt torn in half.

  I’ll never make that mistake again.

  I was initially taken with the intent of being sold at one of their popular auctions. I was treated like a dog, much like they do all their recruits. They break and beat them until they are nothing but a pile of bones, emaciate them until they can barely move. They enjoy watching the recruits struggle to survive, arching their backs in agony and begging for relief from their overwhelming pain.

  Only the strong survive, they say.

  The weak ones die and get thrown into the wild. The skittish but savage starving coyotes will get to them. Any remnants are buried within the dessert sand over time and no one asks any questions.

  Once you get through the first test of being sold, you’re filled with food until the color blooms back into your skin. They allow you to flourish and become healthy once again.

  Then they whip you into a docile cat and make sure you know that you will submit, on every level.

  If you disobey, well, what I said before about being thrown into the wild, rings true here, as well. They like to toss you out like the trash they believe you to be.

  If you survive this test, you make it to auction.

  I made it to that test, dolled up like a beauty queen, and set up on stage where a bunch of leery, creepy men from all over the world pay an obnoxious amount of money for you to become their slave.

  The word turns my stomach into fire.

  I’ve seen too many girls who could’ve been great friends turned into slaves and shipped away to different countries never to be seen again.

  As I stood up on the stage and felt the heated gaze of the men sitting before me, the numbers started to raise on my bids. The thousands turned into hundreds of thousands, and a light sheen of sweat appeared on my skin. My legs hummed with the need to flee, but the knowledge and warnings of the punishments that would be bestowed upon me kept my knees locked beneath my shimmery dress. Just as an overwhelmed dizziness filled my head, the lights cut out. A dark figure emerged from the back right corner of the room with a cloud of smoke from the cigar pitched between his lips swirling around him like a bad aura. I could tell before he fully stepped out of the shadows that this man was powerful. More powerful than any of the other millionaires and billionaires in the room.

  As he walked to the stage, his dark features screwed into an inquisitive look. He lifted his arm, and with his hand poised to grab mine, I could tell my life was about to change forever.

  The ballroom and everyone in it were dead silent, only the sound of crickets and the occasional clink of glasses from the kitchen interrupting this life-changing moment.

  This man, much older than my fifteen-year-old self, looked at me with a lust I’ve never seen before. He was handsome, but handsome in a way that was too experienced for me. His perfectly styled black hair was gelled in a tight wave away from his face. His dark suit was perfectly pressed to his tall, muscular body. He had dark eyes that told me he was a much bigger monster than I could ever believe. His skin was dark, giving away his Hispanic lineage and leading me to believe he spends a lot of time outdoors in the Mexico sun.

  This man is dangerous. I might have been a little intrigued, but not enough for me to want to go to him.

  When he cocked an eyebrow at me, his still poised hand lingering midair, I started to see the spark of anger in his gaze. He didn’t like waiting, apparently.

  With a shaky hand, I placed my dainty fingers in his strong, rough palm, and off we went. He swept me past the rows of shocked and disgruntled individuals, and it seems that’s the moment I signed my life away on the dotted line.

  I’ll never again be Ivy Davis. Instead, I’ll forever be his.

  Santiago. Jefe.

  I didn’t know who he was at first, only having heard his name in passing between the workers. When I saw him, though, I should have known. The power he exudes as he stands there. He barks orders without having to open his mouth. The way he holds himself as he walks, like the floor beneath him should be gold and crystals molded to hold his two feet. He holds control over everyone in this place. In La Guarida.

  Once I was claimed by Santiago, my lifestyle went from being a sex-trafficked recruit to being his prisoner. Some guards moved me into a little cottage, a tiny little house only steps away from his majestic mansion. My little abode held a bedroom and a bathroom. No kitchen, no living room. It was more li
ke a hut compared to Santiago’s place.

  His mansion was a large stone home with large columns holding the front of the structure. The stark white house was nearly startling with how much it stood out compared to the buildings that surrounded it. It held numerous windows and oversized terraces that extended from each second story window. It looked to be too much at first, but as I begun to realize the extravagant life Santiago lived, I realized the house fit him perfectly, all the way down to the perfectly manicured palm trees that were strategically placed in his front yard.

  From the day that Santiago bought me, the following days would all pass by and be depressingly the same. I wistfully prayed that rescue was coming for me, but as the days passed, my pleading crumbled into dust and got lost in the desert. I just hoped I didn’t end up being as lost as dreams became.

  2

  Ivy

  Past

  The crisp white sheets feel cool against my skin as I rouse from sleep. For a moment, I forget where I am. But then I look outside the small window and see the palm tree in the distance, I once again realize I’m no longer in Ohio. Maybe tapping my heels together three times would wake me up from this horrid dream. I tap my heels together, anyway, rolling my eyes even as I do so.