CHAOS (Beneath The Secrets Book 1)

Why do I keep finding myself sitting down the street from her house? I can’t stop thinking about her.

Seeing her at the restaurant yesterday nearly did me in. Getting that intoxicating scent of strawberries nearly drove me wild.

She’s fighting it, too. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in her touch. That lingering palm still burns into my skin.

There’s a fire in me that’s getting harder to keep at bay.

But how do I show up on her doorstep without revealing I’ve been watching her?

My thumb twitches as I rotate my rings around my fingers.

I’m always the first one to jump into a situation, running at the front of the pack, jumping the bell in the ring.

Yet, here I sit.

Frozen.

“Kai? What the fuck should I do?” I wish he was here. He always had some deep answer to every problem.

The low growl of engines grows from behind me.

Three big Harleys rumble past me and stop in front of her house.

It has me sitting up a little straighter in my seat.

They’re all wearing backwards baseball hats and I can’t see them clearly from this angle.

One of the smaller guys jumps off and saunters up to the door.

Brody.

Again?

My knuckles pop as I squeeze my fists. He doesn’t take a hint, does he?

As soon as the door opens, it’s flung shut.

His arm raises as he beats on it. I can hear him swearing at her from here.

When he turns back and gestures for his two companions to join him, I see red.

My engine roars to life and I nail the gas, leaping me forward.

Tires squeal, and my car fishtails until it gains traction and guns straight for them.

Both of the leather vested men jump backwards, falling to the ground as I slam on the brakes.

My Bentley hasn’t stopped moving before I’m leaping out and barreling towards Brody.

He’s my brother, but now he’s no better than dirt to me.

His eyes only have a split second to widen before my ringed fist finds his jaw, knocking his head backwards, followed by his body.

Another punch lands to his ribs before he hits the sidewalk.

I grab up his shirt, lifting his shoulders so his nose is only inches from mine.

“I thought I told you to never fucking speak to her again? Did you think I’d forget?” My next hit lands on his cheekbone. I can feel it splinter from the force.

His hands fly up, trying to block my blows, but he’s no boxer.

Heavy footsteps distract me just long enough to see the two goons cutting around my still running car and heading for me.

I drop Brody like the piece of garbage he is and come up swinging.

The first catches the full force into his nose and blood sprays all over his chest. My fingers claw into the jacket of the next, tearing the fabric off in a chunk before my knee slams into the soft meat of his belly.

He doubles over with a grunt, falling to his knees while the other still whimpers, holding his nose.

Brody groans and rolls onto his stomach. “You’re gonna pay for this, brother. This isn’t your business.”

“When you fucked with Sofia, you made it my business. She’s mine.”

Is she?

At least, as far as he’s concerned, she is.

“Why the hell do you care about her? You don’t even know her!” Brody coughs out.

I step forward, towering over him with a smirk.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I know her really well. In fact, I have since the night of your wedding.”

His dark curls plaster to his forehead as he shakes his head, his face paling as he realizes what I mean.

“You motherfucker.” He spits out as he pushes himself up to his knees.

Before he can launch himself at me, I forcefully kick him in the chest, knocking him back down and stamping my foot on his throat.

“I think you mean, wife-fucker.”

His nostrils flare as he claws at my calf, and I laugh. Pathetic.

“I won’t let you hurt her again. Brother.” I spit out the last word. “Now, get out of here and don’t come back, or else next time, you won’t be getting back up.”

I release my hold on his neck, kicking up dust into his face.

Brody pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. Blood runs down his face, and one eye is already swelling shut.

He tugs his vest tighter over his chest and helps his buddy to his feet.

Their bikes spit up gravel as they rally away.

My hand is sore where I hit him, so I flex my fingers to work out some of the pain. That’s when I notice the other is still clenched around the tattered piece of clothing.

A scythe.

Fuck.

Reapers.

I drop the patch on Mikhail’s desk. The beast of a Russian stands with his back to me, his massive hands gripped behind his broad back.

“I may have fucked up, boss.” Leaning back in the stuffed leather chair, I wait to see just how bad it is.

He faces the window in silence. The slick edges of his black hair catching the glimmer of the Vegas Strip lights below.

His jaw moves in silence beneath the thick fabric of the balaclava that covers his lower face.

He’s the only person I’ve ever met that makes me feel nervous to be around.

“Did you kill him?” The deep rumble of his voice fills his penthouse office.

“No, but I wanted to. He was trying to attack my girl.” I should have hit them all a dozen more times.

His face turns and one of his dark eyes stares through me. “You? Have a girl?”

I shrug. “I dunno, boss. She’s special. Maybe.”

He strides from the window and his broad palms grip the back of his chair. “So, she doesn’t know she’s your girl? Is it worth starting a new war over?” He leans over and picks up the scrap of clothing and rubs it slowly between his thick finger and thumb.

His muscles flex under his snug suit as he sits. “They’ve been getting too brave lately. When I was a boy, my uncle would tell us of the Baba Yaga, who would feast upon troublesome children to make the others behave.”

He tosses the patch to me. “Perhaps it is time to teach them some manners.”