Quiet Chaos : The Chaos Series- Book #2

by Keta Kendric

  Quiet Chaos

  The Chaos Series - Book #2

  Keta Kendric

  Copyright © 2020 by Keta Kendric

  Published by Jessica Watkins Presents

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Synopsis

  1. Mecca

  2. Mecca

  3. Arjen

  Mecca

  4. Mecca

  5. Arjen

  6. Mecca

  7. Mecca

  8. Arjen

  Mecca

  9. Arjen

  10. Mecca

  11. Mecca

  12. Mecca

  13. Mecca

  14. Arjen

  15. Arjen

  16. Mecca

  17. Mecca

  18. Mecca

  19. Arjen

  20. Arjen

  21. Mecca

  22. Arjen

  23. Mecca

  24. Arjen

  25. Mecca

  26. Mecca

  27. Arjen

  28. Mecca

  29. Arjen

  Mecca

  30. Arjen

  31. Arjen

  32. Mecca

  33. Mecca

  Arjen

  34. Mecca

  35. Mecca

  36. Mecca

  37. Mecca

  38. Mecca

  39. Arjen

  40. Khane

  41. Arjen

  Mecca

  42. Mecca

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgement

  Author’s Note

  Other Titles

  Connect with Keta Kendric on Social Media

  Jessica Watkins Presents

  Synopsis

  Mecca: Family. Being a member of the Evans family was a blessing and a curse. By the time I was sixteen, I had committed four murders and had been beaten to within an inch of my life. Yet, I had turned out to be the fighter, the one that had been strong enough to survive in a world of chaos.

  Set to marry into the Vallin family, the arrangement would strengthen an alliance that could benefit our empires…until our worlds collided and sent death chasing my spirit.

  Arjen: ‘Loud.’ It was the call sign I used when it was time to handle business, and it wasn’t because I had a big mouth. As a key member of one of the most notorious crime syndicates in the world, I had more than enough power to have people fall at my feet…until Mecca Evans.

  Mecca was the kind of trouble that flirted with death and made it blush. Was this going to be a marriage of convenience, or had I set myself up with a woman that would rip me to shreds and use the pieces as filler for my casket lining?

  Warning: This is an interracial romance that contains graphic violence, strong sexual content, and is intended for adults. If you are easily offended, squeamish about harsh language, murder, and violence, this is not the book for you. If you don’t like a strong female lead, this is not the book for you.

  Note: This book intersects Beautiful Chaos Book #1 at the wedding. In Beautiful Chaos, you read Arjen’s point of view at the wedding. In Quiet Chaos, you will read Mecca’s point of view at the wedding.

  1

  Mecca

  The hunter had become the hunted. The notion caused a sneaky smile to slide across my lips and my mind to churn with devious intentions. The man who had been following me for the past six hours sat inside his black, Dodge Charger with his neck on a constant swivel, searching unsuccessfully for me.

  The swirl and hum of vehicles zipping by on the busy stretch of intersection we sat on barely registered because my focus was aimed at him. He had exited his car twice in the past thirty minutes searching for my car.

  His engine roared to life when he climbed back into the driver’s seat and prepared to pull away from the curbside of the random hotel I had led him to.

  The dark blue Suburban I sat in was parked behind him. I sat peering from my low crouch in the driver’s seat, observing his every move. He slammed his hand against his steering wheel, his curse words as loud as if I had heard them as he was finally accepting the fact that he’d lost me.

  A noisy growl tore from his car’s revved engine before he drove off and merged into the energetic flow of the Downtown Denver traffic.

  He had officially become my prey.

  I eased into the intersection and prepared to follow him now. A quick call to a few of my men initiated the plan that not only made the hunter lose sight of my car, but allowed me to switch vehicles altogether.

  I trailed him until the high rise hotels started to turn into motels, and the five-star restaurants turned into corner stores. He made a sharp right turn into the driveway of one of the cheap motels off Highland Boulevard. I followed, turning into the parking lot where I presumed he was staying.

  The dump was called, The Downtower. It should have been renamed, the Downtrodden, with its white chapped wood siding and fake brick accents peeling off the walls. The motel was nestled on a street filled on either side with others just as seedy.

  The upper level of the building hung slightly over the bottom and sections of the metal upstairs railings were missing. The buildings structure was formed into a wide open rectangle that encircled the bustling parking lot where the people walking by weren’t afraid to bend and peek into the vehicle at me.

  A tall thick row of hedges provided a privacy wall that blocked the parking lot from the main highway. The stench that was appropriately labeled, fresh hell, had me closing the vehicle’s ventilation ducts to the outside.

  The parking lot was the main meeting grounds for hookers, johns and lot-lizards on the hunt for truckers as dusk settled. Guest freely carried out their nefarious acts of sex and drug exchanges without fear.

  My target had parked a few spaces away from the room I watched him enter on the bottom floor, three doors down from the out-of-service ice machine. I eased into a parking spot four cars away from his and waited two hours before he turned off the lights in his room.

  After another fifteen minute wait for good measure, I eased out of my vehicle and crept closer to his. I needed to find clues as to who he was before I went for his room.

  The weapons and kill-kit I’d found in the trunk of his car was all the proof I needed to know that he had taken lives. As far as I was concerned, his plan was to try and take mine next. Why the hell else would he devote so much time to watching me?

  The first four determined steps I took in the direction of my target’s room came to a halt when a pot-bellied, dirty white T-shirt wearing man stood in my path. The pale bumpy skin of his chin was littered with crumbs and bore smears of whatever he had eaten. He was probably twenty-five, but life, the one he had chosen, had him looking fifty, and he smelled like the inside of someone’s asshole.

  “How much?” he asked, pulling out a wad of crumpled bills from his worn jeans pocket.

  I didn’t have time for this shit, so I pulled the only man I wanted keeping me company, HB, otherwise known as my Glock-17. First name Hell, last name Bound, HB was ready to speak power into his name whenever
he appeared.

  When the tip of HB’s barrel sat aimed at the man’s protruding nose hairs, his hands flew into the air, causing the money to fall to the ground.

  “My stomach turned from the sight and smell of you. You, along with your entire family lineage don’t have enough money. Now step, the fuck, out of my way.”

  He scurried out of my way so fast that his dirty, white tennis shoes with the flapping tongues, scraped against the cracked sidewalk. His heavy breathing sounded behind me as he scrambled to pick up his money. His rapid steps faded before he ducked into his room and slammed the door shut.

  Picking my target’s door lock was easy. The hard part was taking apart the housing of the chain lock without waking up the loud snoring asshole who had been following me.

  Grateful for the three uninterrupted minutes it had taken to complete the task, I eased into the dark room and locked the door behind me. The creak of the door’s closure along with my movements caused the man’s snores to hitch before he flipped over, making the cheap mattress springs squeak.

  The sparse illumination from the bedside digital clock provided the lighting I needed to stroll quickly across the dark room, but my movement heightened more of his awareness. He hopped up with a start, and I froze in front of the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. Was he glaring into the dark to determine if I was real or because he knew I was?

  I made quick work of tossing the lamp shade aside, picking up the thick wooden base, and yanking the plug out of the wall.

  “Who the fuck—”

  I swung the lamp like a bat, unwilling to wait to find out his intentions. The hard lick connected with the side of his head as the force from the impact vibrated up my arm. The hit stunned him, but he managed to roll out of bed, causing me to lose sight of him.

  Like a seasoned stunt woman, I jumped, tucked, and rolled across the springy mattress to reach him before he got to his gun. I swung the lamp base like I was at a golf tournament, sending three solid licks upside his head that lured him to la-la-land.

  Moments later, a low thud from my heels sounded against the dirty, puke-green carpet as I inched closer to the bloody asshole lying at my feet. A glass of cold water to the face had sprung the lock on the stupor he had been in.

  “Why the fuck were you spying on me? Who do you work for?”

  I couldn’t even eat a decent meal in peace without someone casting spying eyes on me, but thankfully, I had discovered this one lurking. He had no idea at the time that he was loitering his ass up on a bullet, because I made it my business to know who was keeping tabs on me.

  The base of the motel’s cheap lamp became the whipping stick I continued to use to beat…his…ass. I pounded into his flesh, not caring where the licks landed as long as they connected.

  His pale skin was now marred with a rainbow of bruises and cuts. The lamp’s cord, torn pieces of the white stained bed sheets, and the man’s belt were used to secure him in place.

  “If I talk, I’m dead,” he managed to push out the words through his cries as his wide anxious eyes followed my every move. Despite his situation, I had caught him looking up my skirt twice. Men... This one was on his death bed but he couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek while I, the personification of death in Versace, stood over him.

  “If you don’t talk, I’ll make your death a long, painful one versus the quick relieving bullet to the head you’ll receive from your people for being a rat. And please, whatever you do, don’t make me raise my voice.”

  My gaze fell to my nails as my foot tapped out the seconds near his bloody quivering lips. “I was thinking of soaking you overnight in a tub of gasoline, high octane, and lighting you on fire just to see how crispy you can get.”

  I lifted my cold, dead I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-your-life eyes and set them on his wide searching gaze. “Your choice. Talk and die in seconds, or die in pain keeping a secret for a group of people who probably don’t give a flying fuck about you.”

  His hard breaths released his rancid stench against my toes as he lay there, shaking, bleeding, and thinking.

  “What the fuck is there to think about? You’re dying either way. Stop wasting my time and tell me what I need to know. Who’s keeping tabs on me?”

  Silence.

  The sound of laughing hookers and their john’s slamming doors and running in and out of rooms made its way into our unscheduled party. Thankfully, I had a way of tuning out the noise by pouring my concentration into pulling an answer from the worthless sack of shit at my feet.

  There was no doubt in my mind, even though I had managed to sneak into his room, overtake him, and tie him up by each limb, the man still underestimated me because I was a woman.

  The act of getting him into the compromising position had taken a lot of effort and determination on my part, but I was not one to shy away when faced with a hard task. I wasn’t arrogant enough to fight him hand-to-hand either, so clubbing him upside the head with the wooden base of the lamp was an easy choice. If not for the information I wanted from him, he would have already been dead.

  He peered at me with both curiosity and an anxious glint in his eyes, hinting that my actions surprised him more than they scared him. A relaxing breath did nothing to calm my heightened urge to put an end to the useless bastard. I stepped closer to him, wincing as one of my heels sank into another wet spot on the stained carpet.

  His arms were spread wide, each tied to the metal legs of the bedframe. He was laid out on the floor, butt ass naked, his pudgy body not offering much of a view. Each of his spread legs were tied to the old-fashioned thick wood entertainment center that was bolted to the wall. The scent of mildew and pine oil permeated the room, mixing with his body odor.

  The sexy, black peep-toe stilettos on my feet left my toes vulnerable to the funk his body was constantly producing. When I finally decided to send a foot over one of his open legs, the sight of my foot being so close to his taint, caused my gag reflex to twitch. His shriveled-up dick sat jiggling atop his balls as he begged me to untie him.

  I placed the ball of my foot against the soft layer of fat on one of his stomachs, the lower one, as the point of my heel hovered above his dick.

  “Unless you want to know how it feels to have your dick pierced by a four-inch heel, you’d better start talking.”

  My tone rang low and calm, but with each passing moment, more of my patience was eaten away.

  Silence.

  The grip I had on my forehead tightened before my eyes fell close. In my line of work, you needed to have eyes, not only behind your head, but pointed at every angle. When someone was keeping tabs on me, I needed to know who and why before the shit came back to kill my ass.

  I stood on that motherfucker, allowing my weight to press down as my heel rammed into his dick. The extreme pressure I applied didn’t produce a sound, but the damage vibrated up my leg as he yelled like a pig stuck in shit and bucked like a wild stallion.

  At least a nut was crushed as his flesh did a mushy slide under the weight of my heel. There was no doubt that I was giving him a gift as his dick would likely swell to twice its size. He continued to thrash hard to get the pressure off his dick. His frantic movements caused the entertainment center he was tied to, to rock as I hopped on one leg to keep my balance.

  His high-pitched screams vibrated through the dirty room, likely shaking dust from the dingy drapes. In the kind of dive he was renting, his screams and yells would translate into a hooker giving her john the time of his life.

  Curious to see the damage I had done, I lifted my foot. There wasn’t much blood, but one more of those would render his ding and berries out of commission for good.

  “Who…the…fuck…do…you…work…for?” I asked. “Why were you watching me?”

  “The Cardenas Cartel,” he forced out. “I was ordered to keep an eye on you, Mecca Evans, with specific instructions not to engage unless they ordered it.”

  The fuck?

  The Cardenas Cartel suppli
ed our coke. Why would they be watching me? I had never given them a reason to suspect me of any wrongdoing unless my uncle, Raymond Evans, with his double-crossing ass, had done some shady shit that caused them to cast watchful eyes on me.

  “I know their crest. You’re not marked.”

  I lifted my foot, aiming it back at his dick to get him going again.

  “I’m a part of a crew of independent contractors for hire.”

  The teasing huff I released was followed by me shaking my head at him.

  “In other words, you’re disposable. They don’t give a shit if you die.”

  I paced, thinking about how to approach what I believed was another sticky situation left by my uncle. I cast a lingering glare at the man, before I turned, preparing to walk away.

  “Wait, don’t leave me like this!” he yelled.

  A devious smirk appeared on my face at his assumption but was swept away when a glance down at the heel I used to crush his dick made me want to puke.

  “You’ve cost me a pair of $2000 heels, you dirty dick fucker.”

  After only a few steps away, I paused, closed my eyes, and let my mind go into what I called, the quiet. Sound eased away and the chaos that swirled inside like a tornado rose to the surface. In the quiet, evil waited. It flooded my mind with its biting grip and squeezed my sense of remorse into dust.