Quiet Chaos : The Chaos Series- Book #2

by Keta Kendric

  The man before him now was stripped naked. His bulky body hung heavily from thick iron chains that rained rust and sang a squeaky song with each movement. Biting metal gripped his wrist as he hung swinging listlessly about for our entertainment.

  We had killed them all except the one hanging in front of Arjen in the secret basement prison under my house. Since my house sat in the middle of nowhere, on the peak of a mountain, the basement dipped into a stone cavern of openings and pathways that I had converted into an inescapable prison.

  Arjen was playing human piñata with the last man, using a spiked baseball bat that would have made the character, Negan, from the show, The Walking Dead, proud.

  Except, this man wasn’t spilling candy and confetti, he was spilling blood and fatty tissue. A portion of his stomach protruded where a thin layer of skin was likely all that held in his innards.

  Thick colorful knots had risen all over his body, attempting to compensate and heal damage that was beyond repair. The man’s otherwise olive tone was a swirl of dark gray and an array of darker colors.

  Each harsh blow Arjen delivered, knocked the wind from his lungs and sank him deeper into the wide open arms of death. The gurgling had started two strikes ago, so his internal wounds were taking their toll.

  Each man who faced us, likely wished that they had left our father in that Russian prison, because our warped brains had cooked up horrors that made the king of hell jealous. Aside from an occasional nap and enough food for him to open his eyes, Arjen survived off adrenaline and rage.

  If I’d not seen how fiercely he loved Mecca, I’d have not understood his level of urgency or the state of madness he embraced. We had tortured man after man, but they were all certain that we had captured all of our father’s helpers. It didn’t matter what they said, we’d never stop looking because anyone associated with helping our father in any way had signed their own death certificates.

  The one thing that stopped Arjen from pounding into the man was his ringing phone.

  “Hello,” he answered, his calm tone was in contrast with the brutality he was just unleashing.

  He went quiet, nodding at the person speaking on the other end. With the phone pinned to his ear with one hand, he began stripping from his bloody coveralls with the other.

  “Okay, we’ll be right there.”

  He stared up while ripping out of the bloody plastic. Not giving me a chance to ask, he stated, “Silvia. She needs to see us now.” He took one look at my expression and answered the next question on my face.

  “She wouldn’t tell me over the phone, but she didn’t sound good. Let’s go,” he tossed back, already heading towards the stairs, leaving the half-dead man hanging from the ceiling and the faceless one lying in a pool of blood, shit, and piss.

  What the hell were we about to face now? Had Silvia Cardenas changed her mind about killing us over what had happened to her daughter?

  41

  Arjen

  The multiple levels of guard protection Silvia Cardenas had around the resort she called her home didn’t bother checking our vehicle or taking our weapons like they had before. It was a sign that the matter was one of strong urgency.

  We stormed the front door, causing the poor maid to jump out of our way as we crossed into the living room, no doubt looking like two ravenous hounds that had escaped from hell.

  Silvia stood staring at us, her expressionless face, not giving away a thing. The woman had the ability to stare down the devil without so much as a twitch.

  “Follow me,” she said before she turned and headed down one of the many wings in her house. She pointed at the door of one of the two huge bedrooms on the west wing of the first floor, not bothering to open it before she stepped away and left us standing there.

  Khane and I stood in the hall and watched her walk away with the same empty expression she greeted us with. What were we going to find on the other side of that door?

  After Mecca, Silvia had become a mother figure, in a twisted sort of way. She was who had helped us find the men responsible for breaking our father out of a prison that was supposed to be impenetrable.

  My shaky hand gripped the doorknob, but I found myself unable to turn it. Khane sat his hand on my shoulder, his way of urging me to take the next step. My grip tightened, and I twisted the knob with a quick flick of my wrist.

  The first person my wide gaze landed on was Desiree, her big eyes meeting mine as a huge smile broke out on her face. She sat at Mecca’s bedside, clinging to her limp hand. Khane and I crept up to the bed, our steps light and cautious.

  “She opened her eyes,” Desiree informed us as her eyes immediately flooded with happy tears.

  My eyes closed after the update, and I aimed my head towards the ceiling.

  “God, I know you have no reason to give someone like me anything good in this world, but thank you for my wife. Thank you for letting her open her eyes. Thank you for giving her breath after she couldn’t do it for herself. Please continue to pour your healing strength into her. Amen.”

  Shaky steps put me at her side before Desiree handed her warm soft hand to me. I took a seat on the bed, staring and praying that she would open her eyes again.

  I remained at Mecca’s bedside for three days, refusing to leave her room. I was forced to endure Khane and Desiree ganging up on me to eat something, and take a nap, and get some fresh air.

  When my eyes drifted closed, my awareness tanked, which caused my head to drop at Mecca’s side. Her deep breaths, aided by the machine, mingled with the ones I could hear myself taking. My mind was still processing, and although I could hear myself breathing, I couldn’t shake myself from the slumber I was in.

  Movement!

  Something had moved and bit into my awareness. My eyes flew open before I jerked awake to find the most wonderful gift in the world.

  Mecca was squeezing my hand. Her weak grip held mine, as her breathing grew deeper. Her eyes shuttered back and forth under her closed lids as her free hand jerked like life was being breathed back into it.

  Mecca

  A jittery anxiousness was flowing through my body, and the rapid flutters of my eye lids heightened my awareness. Pain and pressure came alive with my emergence of consciousness and had me fighting to move what felt like a mountain sitting on my chest and pinning me down.

  I recalled hearing Desiree’s voice. I remembered the sound of Arjen whispering into my ear. The ghost of his voice had somehow made its way into my memory banks. Was he who was with me now, squeezing my weak hand?

  “That’s it, love. Come back to me.”

  The sound wasn’t distant like it had been for the past, days, weeks, or months. How long had I been out? If I could move my mouth to smile, I would have at the beautiful sound of his voice, so close to my right ear.

  I was shot, that much I knew. I recalled choking on my own blood and getting lost in the quiet as my hearing aid had stopped working. I remember thinking that I had reached my tragic end.

  My next memory was hearing Arjen’s voice before a long period of silence took me back. Desiree’s voice came to me next. She knew that she was my sister. Arjen must have told her.

  Now, I was swimming between some level of consciousness, hearing my husband again, trying to squeeze his hand and peel my eyes open to see his handsome face. The fluttering sensation gave me as much hope as my twitching fingers were feeding me energy.

  “Open those beautiful eyes. Keep squeezing my hand. That’s it. That’s it,” Arjen coached me.

  Finally, like a fresh purifying rain washing away the darkness, the quick flutters gave me a peek at his face. More fluttering and another longer peek. The light pushed at my focus, but I fought it, desperate to see him.

  My dark grave had finally been unearthed as my eyes focused and brushed the light aside to see my husband smiling down at me. He was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

  “Welcome back.”

  The sound of his voice tickled along my skin and caused
my smile to break free. I could feel my lips lifting. I had also regained control of my hands, even my legs as they sluggishly moved under the covers.

  Life. I wasn’t a religious person, but there were times when certain signs and events made you acknowledge that you were but a speck of dust coasting in the wind. My being spared, meant that a divine hand had touched me, the same hand that once saved Arjen from eighty-seven trigger pulls. I was alive, and living proof that even the most devout sinner could be saved.

  “Husband,” I choked out.

  “Wife,” he whispered before his lips grazed my forehead.

  A set of tubes running along my face and into my nose was feeding me oxygen. A quick look showed that I was surrounded by a host of machines. I could see the tubes and wires connected to various parts of me.

  Arjen’s big smile had me grinning despite the trauma going on in my throat. He must have read the torture in my expression because he held a cup of water and straw up to my parched lips.

  He showered me in delicate kisses and caresses, and I was grateful for each one. Although too weak to return his affections, it didn’t stop me from moving my anxious hands and making my rubbery arms flop against him. The joy in the sound of his laughter filled my heart and acted as an extra kick to the medicine easing into me through the intravenous drip.

  “Thank you for coming back to me,” he choked out. His vulnerability was a beautiful addition to our relationship, the sight causing my heart to flutter and me to fall even further in love with him.

  “Do you remember what happened to you?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Your father shot me to spite you,” I murmured. He didn’t have to tell me that he had killed the old devil because I was sure the man didn’t have plans to leave our home alive. I’m sure he was down there in hell right now, giving the devil advice.

  Flashes of the scene crept into my brain. The struggle, the pain, the heart-wrenching sense of knowing I was about to die was the scariest thing I had ever had to face.

  Realizing that I would be leaving Arjen and that I’d never see him again, had caused my soul to ache. It took me hanging over the edge of death to realize that the love we shared wasn’t an exchange of words, but a connection, bound by something we may never fully understand. Fate had landed in my lap, and with this second chance I was given, I wasn’t going to waste a moment with Arjen.

  He had my back like no one ever had. Arjen had help Marshawn take care of a group that came at the Blacks Saints when they assumed my absence meant I was dead. He had even gotten Tash a fully furnished apartment and despite her protest, he had booked her monthly sessions with a therapist.

  The part that really left my mouth hanging open was that my men were actually listening to him, to the point where some had shared with him what I would do in certain situations. The men sharing with Arjen, the-what-would-Mecca-do principle, had led him to convince Brandon to start studying for his GED, General Educational Development, which was something I had planned to demand from him.

  After discovering that I was recovering in Sylvia’s house, she had made herself scarce during the days following my awakening. Arjen informed that she had taken me out of the hospital because she didn’t trust anyone outside of who she knew taking care of my medical needs.

  She usually came around right before I fell asleep. She would drop in for a few minutes of awkward conversation. She had asked me to forgive her for handing me over to Raymond, and I hadn’t given her a reply right away.

  Once Arjen let me know that I had coded twice before they had gotten me to the hospital, and I’d lost so much blood I had to have a transfusion, I relaxed my anger towards her.

  Silvia was the one that had ended up giving me her blood. It was ironic that I had gotten a transfusion the first time I was shot, from Raymond’s blood, and now Silvia’s. The mother and father I knew nothing about had saved me, not once, but twice.

  Since I was given a second chance at something as important as life, I saw no reason why I couldn’t give her a second chance as well. I forgave her, but we had a long road of healing ahead of us.

  Was I going to be able to find enough room in my heart to have a relationship with her?

  42

  Mecca

  Three more weeks of rest and recovery, and I was strong enough to stand and walk on my own, but Arjen was like a big looming hawk, fussing over every little thing I did. Desiree wasn’t any better, running around like my limbs were chopped off.

  When she and Arjen attempted to spoon feed me, it was where I drew the damn line and put them out of my room. Khane was the only one I had allowed in until I started missing Arjen a day later.

  After weeks of being caged inside of Silvia’s palace of a house, I was finally set free to explore. Arjen had an early birthday present he wanted to give me, and we had ended up scaling the side of a mountain until we reached Khane’s house where he claimed the gift was temporarily located.

  My jaw hit the floor of the car at the sight of the modern-day replica of an old-fashioned castle. The draw bridge was all that was missing. The steep drop-offs surrounding the place weren’t water, but it could have acted as the moat. Desiree probably lost her mind at the first sight of this place because it was something that she would die to explore and paint.

  “Dayem,” I murmured when I took the first few steps inside. The gothic theme was something straight from the medieval period. Desiree stepped towards me with, of all things, an apron on that said, “Chef in Training.”

  The sight lifted my eyebrows as she had flour or something on one of her cheeks. Our embrace was soft and soothing. The knowledge that we were sisters always squeezed my heart tighter when we were around each other.

  The house’s interior retook my attention when we separated, and I took another leisurely look around until Khane greeted us, bumping chests with Arjen and placing a tender kiss on my cheek that I didn’t expect. What was my sister doing to the man?

  A serious side-eye was cast in his direction before my gaze turned to meet hers.

  “This house is amazing,” I said, allowing my curious gaze to roam while taking a slow stroll through the living room. The rest of the group chatted in hushed murmurs, no doubt talking about the surprise Arjen had for me.

  “Now I understand why Desiree is truly here,” I stated before returning to the couch, eyeing Khane.

  “No matter what she tells you, I’m sure she married you for your house.”

  Her playful tap caught me in the arm as I attempted, but failed to dodge it. We enjoyed a round of small talk and Desiree’s tasty crab bites with a glass of white wine.

  Her excitement spilled out and warmed me as she announced that Arjen and me were her and Khane’s first official guests. We were also the first to sample something that he had taught her to cook.

  Other than Arjen, the outside view of Khane and Desiree’s relationship was one of the most beautiful things I had seen since my return to the living. After she discarded her apron and returned from the kitchen, she casually walked past him on the couch, bumping his knee on purpose before she took her seat.

  She angled her body so that she was scraping it against his side as he and Arjen were talking about a boring financial matter that I had long stopped listening to. It still boggled my mind that men with their reputations were as beastly in the business arena as they were in the true jobs they had been groomed to do.

  However, Khane and Des had captured my attention. It was like observing a kitten flirt with a tiger. A third of one of her tasty crab bites that her resourceful-for-a-killer husband had taught her to make, was being shoved into my mouth. As soon as she was seated comfortably, her head fell against his shoulder before she turned and kissed the spot, her head had been.

  I bit into my wide smile before shaking my head. She was a goner, so far in love with the man she was displaying public displays of affection, something she had never done.

  Khane was no better. Although he was in the middle of a sentence, his ha
nd covered her thigh, squeezed, and remained there, letting her know that he was acknowledging whatever was being transferred between them.

  Was this how I was with Arjen? Eugh. I had never been an affectionate woman, but I couldn’t deny that Arjen had a way of taming me. I was still trying to figure out how he had accomplished it.

  My lips twisted over my smile when I saw where Arjen’s hand was on my leg. He squeezed it at that moment like he had an idea, or even knew, what I was thinking.

  When my head fell against his shoulder, I jerked it up, realizing I was as gone on Arjen as Des was on Khane. We had finally found men that loved and appreciated us like we had hoped for. I couldn’t speak for my sister, but I was also getting the best sex I’d ever had, as often as I wanted it.

  Arjen was reluctant to touch me too soon after I had returned from the brink of death, but the last three days were dedicated to our sexual reunion.

  Silvia was reluctant to let me discharge myself from the makeshift hospital she had turned a wing of her house into, but after she had walked in on me and Arjen fucking, she knew without a doubt that I was well enough to go home.

  Now that the pleasantries were done, Khane led us towards his kitchen, but made a sharp turn into a hall leading to a broom closet. Once he sprang the door open, for the third time that evening, my mouth fell open.

  Arjen had a death grip on my hand, afraid to let me walk on my own although he had fucked the shit out of me hours ago. He led me down the stairs of a modern-day dungeon. What in the kinky hell did Khane have going on in this house with my sister?

  When the clouds of the mystery of the dark dungeon stairs faded, we were cast into the light of a deeper mystery. Was that some sort of torture table? My face grew tight as I continued to walk while everyone else, who knew the place, stopped.