Until Mayhem: Happily Ever Alpha World Read online

  Except for me.

  My knees skidded painfully against the floor, and I kept slamming to the side, unable to find any ground.

  With no other option, I steadied myself against the wall and tried to slow my breathing.

  And then I screamed my fucking head off, kicking and slamming around for good measure.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ___________________________

  TEMPORARILY RESTRAINED

  JUDGE

  “WHAT THE FUCK you doin’, man?”

  I wish I fuckin’ knew.

  My head had been screwed on crooked since the moment I’d pulled into that damn parking spot opposite of her. I’d clocked her before I’d even ripped my helmet off.

  Never in my damn life had my body reacted faster to anyone. Her blond hair had been pulled into a messy knot with pieces falling around her face. Her leggings had clung to her, showing off the fan-fuckin’-tastic body her oversized tee had failed to hide. She was a tiny thing but had thrown attitude around like she was double my size.

  It made me hard as hell.

  It also pissed me off because, for all I knew, it was an act.

  Nash—a local club owner, greedy fucker, and sack of shit—used his stable of strung-out, expendable women, selling their bodies and souls like currency to get everything he wanted.

  Money.

  Power.

  Cars.

  A big house Nox called his ‘Fortress of Fuckery’.

  Politicians in his back pocket.

  A big chunk of territory to run drugs and guns.

  But none of that was enough. He needed more and was trying to take out the competition to get it. With some of the smaller clubs already out of the way, he’d set his sights on Wicked—a strip joint owned by Nox’s friend and former cellmate.

  Nash had tried poaching the girls and starting shit, but that hadn’t done anything.

  Then he’d gotten Lars’ cousin involved, and that’d ended messy.

  We were almost positive he’d sent someone into Mayhem for intel, and that’d ended ugly.

  After one of his idiot soldiers went after the wrong woman, he’d been trying to play it friendly. He’d sent peace offerings to Wicked—dancers and expensive booze. He’d bought Nox Cuban cigars and top-shelf scotch, but Nox was so off the radar, he hadn’t been able to find an address so had sent it to Wicked instead.

  Then he’d gifted an SUV packed with women, coke, and highly fuckin’ illegal firearms to the Mayhem clubhouse. None of us used, wanted to dip our dick in toxic snatch, or trusted a weapon from him, so we’d returned to sender real fuckin’ fast.

  So I wouldn’t put it past the fucker to send one of his best girls to try to hook me, lure me in, and then drown me while she took notes.

  And any man with eyes would follow her into crashing waves until his lungs burned and he sank into the big, blue nothingness.

  After Haze and Swedes—and the unplanned cargo in the back of the van—hit the road, Jury and I had gathered her shit. Her purse was nothing but the usual receipts, random makeup, and mints, but I’d pocketed her ID and phone to search through when I had more time, leaving the rest in her car. Then we’d headed in the opposite direction of where we’d needed to be.

  Standing on the sidewalk, I double-checked the license.

  Ophelia Jade Kline.

  Seven thirty-three East Clay, apartment 5C, Danvers, Massachusetts.

  Gray eyes.

  Blond hair.

  And twenty-two years old.

  Fuckin’ hell.

  “We can’t just walk in there,” Jury said.

  I smirked and rattled her keys. “That’s exactly what we’re doin’.”

  Ignoring his loud protests and the muttered complaints that followed, I headed into the building, glancing at the labeled mailboxes as I passed.

  Kline, 5C.

  No one said shit to me as I stalked through the lobby to the elevator. Partly because people usually didn’t say jack-shit to me, but also because I walked with confidence. Like I belonged there.

  For a nice place, the security’s shit.

  It wasn’t until the elevator doors were sliding open that Jury had my back.

  “You’re out of your damn mind,” he grumbled, following me in.

  “Yup.”

  I leaned against the wall, careful to keep my head angled away from the camera.

  Jury did the same, asking, “What exactly is your plan?”

  “Get in, search her place.”

  “And if she checks out? You’ll let her go?”

  Never.

  Scowling, I shrugged. “Cross that bridge when we get there.”

  “More like burn it.”

  When the elevator doors slid open, we got off and found her apartment. Pushing aside the obvious car key, I tried another one, but it only went in halfway before getting stuck.

  “Shit.” I gripped the doorknob to yank the key free, but the knob turned, the door swinging open. “What the hell?”

  Jury gave a low whistle and walked in. “Either this chick is Hoarders messy, or she’s got shit luck, and we’re not the first B&E she’s had today.”

  I crouched to inspect the door and frame. There were gashes and missing chunks in the wood. The damage was minimal, but based on her shitty lock, it wouldn’t have taken much to jimmy the thing open.

  Moving before someone saw us and got the wrong—or half-wrong—idea, I pulled my gun from my ankle and followed Jury, closing the door behind me.

  Shit, it’s even worse

  On a regular day, the apartment had probably been nice.

  But it sure as shit hadn’t been a regular day. Every cabinet in the kitchen was open and emptied, the floor and counters covered in food, dishes, and broken glass.

  The living room was worse. Like a damn tornado had gone through, every last book, cushion, pillow, and picture had been thrown around.

  Kicking the mess, I flipped a few of the shattered frames to check out the pictures. Some were of other chicks around her age. There was one of an older couple in front of the Grand Canyon. And there was one of Ophelia with two women at a club or bar. I picked it up for a closer look. Their hair was messy, their cheeks flushed and makeup smudged. She was in the middle, her arms thrown around them as they grinned at the camera.

  I went to toss it aside but looked over my shoulder. With Jury’s focus on the closet, I pulled the picture from the frame and pocketed it.

  Nothing else stood out in the room, so I turned down a short hallway. The bathroom was more of the same aimless destruction. There was only one bedroom, and I was surprised to see it hadn’t been hit as bad. Two of her drawers were pulled open, but the rest looked fine.

  Maybe they got interrupted before they could finish.

  A few steps in, and I changed my tune real fuckin’ fast.

  Her bedroom was the worst of all.

  Because the motherfucker—or motherfuckers—had focused on her underwear.

  Arranged on her bed, bras and panties in an assortment of neon patterns, pretty lace, and sexy straps spelled out one word.

  Boo!

  Only the line of exclamation point wasn’t made of fabric. It was made of something even more intimate.

  And plastic.

  “I gotta admit,” Jury said as he approached, “this doesn’t clear anything up. If she’s working with that asshole, she’d have enemi—whoa.” His eyes must’ve been on the bed because he knocked into me before stopping. “That seems pretty damn personal.”

  It did.

  Shit.

  Bringing my finger to my lips, I went to her closet and positioned myself at the side. I aimed my gun before throwing the door open.

  “I’m sure her clothes are pissin’ themselves,” Jury muttered with a chuckle as I reholstered.

  “Being cautious, dickhead. Shoulda just let you get ganked.”

  “Yeah, that fuckin’ tutu looks murderous.”

  I glanced at the light pink skirt with layers of
thin, poofy fabric. It was ridiculous, but just imagining her in it had my dick jerking. Scanning the hangers, I saw more of the same.

  It was the wardrobe of a woman who liked to look pretty.

  “Still not narrowing anything down,” Jury pointed out.

  No, it wasn’t.

  He walked over and picked a bra up by its strap, letting it dangle. The cream fabric was covered in pretty pink roses and a contrasting swirl of black lace.

  Sweet and sexy.

  Much like its owner.

  Jury dropped the bra to lift a pair of underwear that was more strap than fabric. “Makes me wonder what she was wearing under—”

  “Don’t,” I snarled, snatching the panties out of his hand and tossing them back onto the bed.

  He didn’t speak, but his raised brow said plenty.

  “I just meant don’t touch them. If she’s a hooker, who knows what kinda crotch rot is clinging to them. They could’ve been full granny panties before toxic pussy disintegrated them.”

  It was all a load of bullshit, and my dick knew it.

  “I dunno, they look damn good to me. I can just picture her in this strappy set, puttin’ her exclamation point to good use.” My brother had always been able to read me too damn well, and there was a challenge in his eyes as he reached down. “Wonder if it still smells like—”

  Before he could touch the vibrator, I shoved him to the side. “Don’t wonder. Don’t fuckin’ picture. Get it out of your damn head and go wait in the other room.”

  Laughing, he didn’t leave, but he did back up. “Right, you’re just a germaphobe all of a sudden.”

  I flipped him off as a soft melody chimed from somewhere close. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from my pocket.

  I pulled out the phone I’d grabbed from Ophelia’s purse to see two texts. “No password. Who the hell doesn’t have a code on their phone?”

  “Someone with nothing to hide?” He thought for a moment before adding, “Or someone with a controlling pimp, who only uses it to schedule Johns.”

  Scowling, I opened the messages.

  Megan: Hey, you’re on the schedule 4 2day.

  Megan: U OK?

  Shit.

  I scrolled through to get an idea of how Ophelia usually texted. There weren’t many messages, just a few about switching shifts. I stopped when I saw one from a month before.

  Megan: Sorry, I know it’s your night off, but Mr. Henderson is asking 4 U. He’s refusing to C NE other girl.

  Ophelia: He saw Gigi last time.

  Megan: Apparently she did something he didn’t like. Said it has 2 B U. Sorry.

  Ophelia: No problem, I’ll get changed and leave here in fifteen.

  Unfamiliar jealousy and anger burned in me like road rash.

  Maybe Jury was right about the Johns.

  Scrolling back down, I typed up a message using her unabbreviated style.

  Ophelia: I’m sorry, I’m sick. I think food poisoning. Was trying to call, but I kept having to put the phone down. I haven’t been able to leave the bathroom.

  Megan: Poor thing. I’ll take U off 4 2day and 2morrow. Let me know if U need longer.

  Thank Christ it was that easy.

  Ophelia: Thanks. I’ll be in touch.

  I scrolled through the other messages quickly, but there was nothing that stood out one way or the other. Talk about schedules, nights out, TV show recommendations, the usual gossip shit.

  Pulling a bag off the top shelf, I tossed it on the bed.

  “What’re you doin’?”

  “Maybe she was trailing us. Maybe she wasn’t, and this shit is nothin’ but coincidence. Either way, she’s staying with me until we figure it out. I’m not letting her run back to Nash or whatever shit,” I gestured around us, “is happening here.”

  Crossing his arms, he asked, “And that’s it? You’re just a good Samaritan tryin’ to keep her safe?” At my curt nod, he smiled. “Good, then I’ll have her stay with me. My place is private.”

  “Fuckin’ try it,” I snarled.

  He shook his head. “Seriously, man, what the hell is happening here? I’m not askin’ as your Mayhem brother, I’m askin’ as your actual brother. I get being cautious with all the shit swirling around, but kidnapping is pushing the line, even for you. I’ve got your back, but I need to know what the hell is goin’ on in you head. Because this isn’t just about watching our back or hers.”

  Scrubbing my palm down my face, I admitted, “I don’t fuckin’ know. Saw her as soon as we pulled in, and it was like… boom. Something just fuckin’ hit me. Then she was trailing us, and with everything going on, I don’t know who to trust.”

  When Jury remained quiet, I turned to pack some clothes—starting with that damn poofy skirt.

  He broke his silence—and showed he had my back—by jerking his head toward the bed and asking, “Want me to pack any of this?”

  “Nah, I’ll stop for new stuff after seeing Nox.”

  “You voluntarily going shopping?”

  “She’s not gonna wanna wear that after she finds out what happened.”

  He raised a brow. “But you think she’ll wear underwear from the asshole who kidnapped her?”

  “Temporarily restrained.”

  “Yeah, see how well that calms her shit-fit.”

  “And if she wants to go without wearing any, that’s fuckin’ fine by me. But I’m bettin’ she’ll take the new stuff over the shit some fucker touched.”

  “Or did more to,” Jury threw in with a grimace.

  “Bag it all up and fuckin’ burn it.” Fisting so hard my knuckles went white, I fought the urge to do more damage to the place.

  Jury’s eyes dropped to my fists, but he wisely didn’t say shit as he left the room.

  I moved to the dresser, tossing some more into the duffel.

  When Jury returned, I grabbed the garbage bag, deciding I didn’t want him touching her stuff, even if she wouldn’t be wearing any of it again. Shoving it all in, I said, “I’m not gonna torch it—yet. Nox has some connections with the PD. I’ll see what he says after I fill him in.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jury freeze, his head snapping to look at me. “You’re tellin’ Nox about this?”

  “Yeah.”

  He’ll find out anyway—he always does.

  “All of this?”

  “Yeah,” I repeated.

  “That crazy bastard is gonna lose his shit.”

  He had a point.

  Or he would’ve a year before.

  I shrugged. “You forget he’s got a pregnant wife he’s gone stupid for… and all the strings he pulled to get her in his bed and keep her there.”

  Due to some shitty—but damn opportune—circumstances, Nox had moved his pretty wife into his apartment within ten minutes of meeting her. And when things had turned seriously fuckin’ shitty for her, he pulled his head out of his ass and went to make sure she returned where she belonged—with him.

  A week later, they’d been engaged, and a few months after that, she’d been knocked up.

  “But that didn’t include kidnapping,” Jury shot back.

  “Temporarily restrained. And he would’ve done it, had it come to that.”

  He paused for a second before nodding. “True.”

  “I’ll lay it out for him, see what he says. Not saying it’ll sway me, but I’ll listen.” Zipping up the duffle, I hefted it onto my shoulder. “Did you find the cat?”

  He shook his head. “No cat.”

  “Fuck, hopefully they just let it out and not some sick shit.”

  “No, there’s no sign of a cat. No food, bowl, litter box. Nothin’.”

  “Why’d she buy cat food?”

  “Dunno. Boyfriend has one?”

  The road rash burn of jealousy ate at me.

  My face must’ve shown it because Jury started chuckling. “Man, whatever has your balls in a vice, I hope it keeps up. This is the most entertainment I’ve had in months.”


  Walking from the room, I flipped him off over my shoulder.

  But, if my balls in a vice meant Ophelia was still with me, I hoped it kept up, too.

  _______________

  “Are you fookin’ thick?” Nox asked, lighting a cigar.

  “You’re quitting,” one of his men, Beck, reminded him, snatching it from his mouth and dropping it into a glass of water.

  Nox shrugged, pulling another one from his pocket and lighting it. “That was before this fookin’ bastard strolled in here and casually announced he’d kidnapped a poor lass ‘cause he’s off his fookin’ nut.”

  Jury and I had been working with Nox in some capacity since we were all in high school. One of our buddies had run with him, boosting prescription meds for people who hadn’t been able to afford them. When they’d had big shipments that needed more hands, Jury and I had helped.

  A lot of years and bullshit later, he still called us when needed and we did the same.

  After our meeting with everyone to go over the next couple of team jobs, Nox, Beck, Jury, and I had gone to his office where I’d told him about Ophelia.

  He hadn’t shot me or thrown something at me, so it’d gone better than expected.

  “Temporarily restrained,” I corrected. “And she might not be so innocent. It’s pretty fuckin’ coincidental that she was tailing us the same day her place got hit. But it makes sense if she’s working for Nash.”

  Arms crossed, Beck muttered, “Still doesn’t mean you throw her in the back of the damn van.”

  “That’s impressive. You’ve got the man who gets wood from fire fookin’ judging your dating technique.” Nox took a long drag of his cigar before scowling and dumping it into the glass with the other one. He pulled a few loose ones from his pocket and grabbed a wooden box, tossing them to Beck.

  “Gus put her foot down?” Jury asked, referring to Nox’s wife.

  Nox shook his head, grinning. “She misses the smell, but my baby’s in her, breathing in what she does. Not to mention, I’ll be fookin’ damned if I do shit that’s gonna kill me and take me away from her even a day earlier. It’s time to quit.”

  Some men might say that kind of thinking made Nox pussy whipped.

  Those men would have to have a death wish to say it to his face.

  He wouldn’t deny he was whipped, but he was still a crazy bastard and insulting him would take massive balls.