Walk the Line (Kings of Chaos Book 5)

by Shyla Colt

  This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ©Text Copyright 2015, 2017 Shyla Colt

  Cover By Dreams2Media

  Photography by Roseography

  Models Curt & Jade

  Edited for Hot Ink By Elizabeth A. Lance

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Published by Hot Ink Press

  An Imprint of

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing Inc.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  To being fearless, taking chances, and walking on faith.

  Glossary

  Cut—vest worn by Motorcycle Club members

  MC—Motorcycle Club

  Old Lady—Like a wife/ long term girlfriend

  Sweetheart/Sweetie—Girlfriend or someone a biker is dating

  Sweetbutt—Name of a girl who hangs around the club and is always available for sex. Can be the “Property of” one of the members.

  House Mouse—Depending on their temperament they can be given as gifts to an old lady. They are used to clean up and do chores.

  Positions

  President— Leader of the Chapter

  Vice President— Second in charge. Fills in when President isn’t around.

  Sergeant at Arms— Basically the club’s policeman. He enforces club policy and procedures in meetings.

  Enforcers— There to help the Sergeant at Arms do his job. They often stand guard at meetings.

  Secretary— Responsible for the club’s paperwork, including club records.

  Treasurer— The chapter’s money man. He collects club fees, pays bills, etc.

  The Wise One— He often looks after the club’s spiritual needs. He’s often referred to as the “Chaplin”.

  Road Captain— He’s usually in charge of the logistics of the club. IE: Planning routes, fuel stops, etc.

  Asst. Road Captain— Assists the Road Captain.

  Patch Members (Riders)— Members who’ve earned the right to wear the club’s color after paying their dues as a Prospect. They’re also known as Patches or members.

  Nomad— A club member who doesn’t belong to any particular chapter.

  Prospect— Man in training to become a member of a Motorcycle club after a probationary period.

  Playlist

  Walk the Line: Halsey

  I will Never Die: Delta Rae

  Bottom of the River: Delta Rae

  Hurt: Johnny Cash

  Issues: Julia Michaels

  Kelly Clarkson: Stronger

  Mirada Lambert: Another Vice

  Carrie underwood: Church Bells

  Mama’s Broken Heart: Miranda Lambert

  Used to love you: Gwen Stefani

  Baby Don’t Lie: Gwen Stefani

  Guys my Age: Hey Violet

  Confident: Demi Lovato

  Chapter One

  Blanche

  Perfection is the lie we’re force fed from the moment we’re read our first fairytale. It’s a subliminal message that creeps in with every telling. Be you beaten starved, enslaved, or cast out of your family; love will fix everything. If we just hold on long enough some white knight will come out of the woodwork and save us. It’s laughable when I really think about it. As a little girl from a small town, I thought the world was full of wonder and infinite possibilities. I believed every word they spoke to me as I drifted off to sleep. I ate up every line, buying into the notion that love heals all. As if one emotion could ever cover up a multitude of sins.

  I stare down at the thick volume of fairytales in my hand. Bitterness wells up in the back of my throat and my mouth puckers. It’s all bullshit. A pipe dream I can no longer bury my head in the sand and believe in. For my child’s sake. I think of my daughter who’s on the verge of adulthood, watching me for cues to learn what’s acceptable in a relationship.

  The thought of her dealing with this kind of treatment has red hot anger bubbling up inside me like water in a pot on a stove. I toss the leather bound book into the stainless steel garbage can and glance at the clock above the microwave. Three a.m. The numbers mock me. Like font from a horror movie, they provide foreshadowing. Nothing good will come from what is about to follow.

  The exhaustion set in my bones is spilling over into my brain, choking my rational thought, and depleting my sense of self-worth. I’ve been sacrificing so much I don’t like or recognize the reflection I see daily in the mirror. From the expensive designer clothes hand-picked by my personal stylist to the straightened hair, I’m made up of bits and pieces of someone else’s choosing. The lock turns in the front door, and I stand up straight, gathering every last bit of strength I possess. Life has beaten me down. It’s stilled my tongue, crushed my spirit, and warped my personality. I’m fighting for the survival of myself.

  I stand and pull the old flannel robe closer. I dressed for battle in the red and black checkered button up shirt and pajama pant combo Brooks hates so much. It’s my first, but not last act of rebellion. I study the man I’ve been married to for nearly two decades. After fifteen years, he’s still sexy as hell. The salt and pepper in his dark hair makes him seem more distinguished, and he’s kept his frame lean. At six foot two, he still towers over my five feet eleven inches, and the dimple in his left cheek remains adorable. His strong jaw, Roman nose, and deep-set greenish blue eyes are breathtakingly beautiful. Yet, none of these features move me. I’m over his outward beauty.

  As he moves through the living room his eyes widen. “Honey. It’s three in the morning. What are you still doing up?”

  “Your shift ended at midnight, Brooks.”

  He sighs. “You know how it is at the hospital. There’s always paperwork and—”

  “No.”

  He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You don’t get to blame what’s happening on your job anymore. You’re no longer at the bottom of the barrel trying to prove yourself. I know you can get out of there on most nights with no problem when your shift is done. Do you honestly think I’m that stupid? I might be from a small town in Tennessee, but I’m not naïve and my mama sure as hell didn’t raise no fool.”

  “What are you going on about?” he sighs heavily and something in me snaps.

  I slap the kitchen countertop with my palm. “No. you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to treat me like I’m some paranoid wife flying off at the handle over nothing.”

  “You’re out of line and embarrassing yourself
.”

  “Oh hell, naw.” My twang kicks in. You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl. I grab the nearest thing to me and fling it toward him. The mug whizzes through the air, a perfectly aimed missile. I played softball through high school, and it shows. He throws himself out of the way, and it crashes into the far wall.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No, I been crazy, but I’m done with that now.”

  “You need to calm down.”

  I throw my head back and release an evil laugh that would put Cruella Deville to shame.

  “Oh boy, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I’m done pretending I don’t know you’re two-timing me.”

  “Two-timing?”

  “Cheating, knocking boots with someone else, philandering. Is that a better word for you? All roads seem down the same street. You’ve been unfaithful, and we both know it, you slimy snake in the grass.”

  He bows his head and sighs. “I don’t want Whitney to hear this. Can we talk outside?”

  I grind my teeth. “Fine.” I stalk past him to the sliding doors that lead to the deck by the pool. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely unlatch the lock. I step out onto the natural stone deck that leads to the grotto.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t figure things out.”

  “I’m not stupid, Brooks. I turned a blind eye long enough.”

  “Not quite.”

  Pain explodes in my face. Knocked off balance and dazed, I fall back into the pool. The cold water is a shock to my system. It pulls me from my stupor. I struggle to the surface only to be pushed back under. My arms flail as I try to escape the hands holding me down. I sink my nails into his flesh. The pressure lets up for a moment, and I break the surface, take a huge breath filling my screaming lungs with oxygen. He wraps his hands around my neck and forces me back down.

  I slap at his face, digging my thumbs into his eyes as hard as I can. My head grows light, and black spots fill my vision. He screams and releases me. I take off, swimming for my life. Years in the river back home as a kid have made me a fish. I know he can’t catch me. I reach the ladder and climb. My hands and legs are clumsy, and tears obscure my vision. I scream for help as I push my trembling limbs to the limit. I have to get inside before him.

  I can hear him exiting the water as I take the corner around the pool with wet feet. I slid across the stone and nearly lose my balance. Flapping my arms, I manage to stay on my feet. I reach the door and yank it open. I’m nearly inside when he grabs my robe. I scream and rock side to side, desperate to remove the article of clothing clinging to me. It gives, and I hit my knees, hard. He stumbles back, and I spin, close, and lock the door breathing hard. He freezes, but his eyes are full of murder. He kicks at the glass. It cracks as I scramble to the phone and call nine-one-one. He backs away from the patio lighting.

  “Nine-one-one what is your emergency?”

  “My-my. Oh, my God. My husband just tried to kill me.” My voice cracks and the severity of the situation crashes down on me like a brick wall. My husband tried to kill me. How the hell did we go from small town girl makes good with the new doctor doing his residency to this? We had a grand southern style wedding, and he whisked me off to a new life in San Diego. How did this happen?

  “What’s your name?”

  “Blanche, Blanche Birling.

  ***

  The media is ruthless. They take your story and run with it like a starving dog with a T-bone steak. You and your family become cannon fodder. A prominent doctor trying to murder his wife and going on the lamb sells stories. Add a well-to-do family that wants to fight for custody of my teenage daughter, and you have something straight out of a soap opera. Only it’s my life, not a show I can turn off, or a nightmare I can wake up from. The cameras click as I make my way into court. I can’t believe his parents are taking me through this.

  I’ve dedicated my entire life to my family. Hell, I wanted more children. It was Brooks who said no. At forty, I’m a pro at this Mom thing, and Whitney is nearly out of high school and ready to leave the nest. I have six months to fight this before she goes off to college. It’s not about wanting to see her because I’m keeping them away. This is about appearances and pettiness.

  Brooks has been dragged through the mud. His dirty laundry is being aired, and they want me to suffer for it. My sunglasses shield me from the bright flashes, and the thick shell I’ve grown keeps me from tuning into the questions being thrown my way. I pay my lawyer good money to take care of that. I sold the house. I couldn’t stay there after what happened, and they’d frozen Brooks assets, to help flush him out. I could’ve told them it was useless.

  Brooks comes from old Money. Cattle Ranchers, Lawyers, and Doctors line his family tree. I’m sure there are numerous offshore accounts they’ll never get their hands on. We move into the courthouse, and I swear it’s like entering a tomb. The marble, rabid reporters, vicious lawyer, and the possibility of losing what means the most to me turn a building with great bones any other day, into a foreboding destination. I smooth my tailored black Anne Klein suit down and keep my gaze fixed on the shoulder blades of the person in front of me.

  I can’t lose my baby girl. She’s the one thing that’s kept me going through all this insanity. I can’t fall apart and be there for her. A Daddy’s girl, she’s had her world shattered. The man she’d held in such high esteem has plummeted from his pedestal, and it was a long fall down that cracked him open like Humpty Dumpty. There’s nothing in the world Brooks could do to set things right.

  We were in the public eye. Things had gotten so bad at her school, I took her out and homeschooled her for the rest of the remaining spring semester with tutors. She was excelling, throwing herself into schooling and filling out college applications. Things between us are rocky. She doesn’t blame me, but I’m the only parent around, so I get the brunt of it all. I’m sad to be losing her, but I know leaving for college will be good for her. I sink down into the seat beside my lawyer and wait for the games to begin.

  I bite the inside of my cheek as Connie, and James Birling sit across from me. The judge’s chamber brings us closer than we have been in months. Her bleach blonde hair falls around a heavily made-up oval-shaped face. James Birling has donated a lot of money to the fountain of youth to keep her from showing her seventy-two years of life. Her shoulders shake as she dramatically sobs into a handkerchief.

  “Don’t let her rattle you, Blanche. They’re all smoke and mirrors over there.”

  I nod my head. He didn’t have to waste his breath. I know exactly how fake they are. I was fine as a wife as long as I stayed in my place, agreed with everything Brooks said and kept up with the image he wanted to project. I know they’d tried to pair him with one of their friend’s daughters originally, and I could never shake the feeling that they blamed me for ruining their plan. Elizabeth Watkins made me uncomfortable every single time we ran into her at family events or out in public.

  She had this look of adoration that bordered on obsession when she peered up at Brooks. He ate it up and called me insecure for being bothered by her presence. He was probably screwing her behind my back too. Why not add her to the harem of women who were coming out of the walls? Emails, phone conversations, and interviews for the attention seekers were all geared toward my husband’s wandering penis. I’d been tested within an inch of my life, but the negative results did nothing to lessen my embarrassment. Tongues were wagging all over town about how I couldn’t satisfy my husband. Never mind his leap off the deep end. I hate the backward thinking that goes on.

  I sit back as James and Connie spin their sob story and grip the arms of my chair. I can’t tell if the judge is buying it or not. My concern is whether or not he’s on their payroll. I hold my breath as my lawyer launches into a rebuttal.

  “Your honor, with all due respect to Mr. and Mrs. Birling. I believe their grief
over what’s happened is clouding their judgment. My client is an excellent mother, and the last thing Whitney needs is to be taken away from her remaining parent and the new stable environment they’ve created. My client does not want to keep Whitney away from her grandparents. She’s open to them spending time together, but she won’t push her daughter to do anything she’s uncomfortable with. Whitney will be eighteen in less than three months. If it’s in her best interest to take some time for herself, why would my client force her to do otherwise? I have a write up from Mrs. Teller, her psychologist, giving her expert opinion on this subject.”

  He hands over a sealed envelope. I lean forward as he slices the top with a letter opener. The seconds stretch as he reads through the paperwork. All the weeks have led up to this one moment.

  “I believe he’s right Mr. and Mrs. Birling. I think the last thing this young woman needs is another move. She stays with her parent. We’ll set up a visitation schedule for you until she reaches of age.”

  I slap the chair and slump back in my seat. Now I can truly begin to rebuild from the rubble that my life has become.

  ***

  I pour a healthy dollop of whiskey into my tumbler and add enough cola to make me feel better about the fact that I’m drinking before noon. My daughter has switched schools three times since she finished her last semester at home. She needs normalcy and space. Staying inside the four walls was agonizing for us both. It felt like Brooks had won. Despite his fugitive status, we were the ones being persecuted. Stuck virtually in hiding to escape extreme scrutiny, we felt trapped. In the end, we made the decision to slowly return to regular life.

  After four months of apartment hoping on month to month leases, we’ve settled into a rental close to the school she’ll finish out her high school career at, under an alias. I snicker. I went from a million dollar home to a two bed, two bath condo rental.

  It’s pitiful. I know what a failure the in-laws think I am, but the low profile is the only way to escape the media hounding us. They dogged our every step seeking an exclusive interview and photos of the poor family torn apart. I sneer as I think of the way they’ve painted me. The poor pitiful wife. I take another sip. I spend the majority of my time pretending to be okay for Whitney. Then she leaves, and I’m left alone with my demons. I have nothing to show for the past six years other than a beautiful, intelligent, and well-adjusted daughter. Unfortunately, you can’t list that on a resume, and given everything that’s gone down, well-adjusted might be pushing it.