Chaotic (L.O.R.D.S. #7) — Chapter no 5

FIVE

EV ERETT

Eight years old y father ushers me into the room with his fingers digging intoM my up per arm. He shoves me into a seat and orders, “Stay.”

Where am I going to go? I don’t even have shoes on.

Sometimes I think he talks just to hear his own voice, or maybe he’s trying to convince his friends that he owns me. Not sure why.

Everyone in this room knows he does.

I drop my eyes to my hands resting in my lap and see a piece of fuzz on my night gown. It’s the most I’ve gotten to wear these past few days. It’s high up on my neck and falls to my knees. I might as well be naked, consider ing it’s sheer. You can see right through it.

And it’s re ally itchy. I’d rather be naked.

I start to pick at it when the door opens.

I’m not allowed to speak. I’m to be seen, not heard.

“Hello, darlings,” the woman’s voice calls out. It sounds nice and comforting. Much different from the gruff and commanding ones I’m used to here at home.

Keeping my head down, I peek up at her through my lashes. She’s standing with her back to me, hugging my father in greeting. I’m surprised he gives her the time of day. He hates everyone. Especially me.

She wears a pair of black heels with red bottoms. They’re re ally tall and skinny and come to a point at the end of her toes. I would think that they’re hard to walk in, but she seems to do it flaw lessly.

Turning around, I avert my eyes to my hands quickly, but I know I was too slow when her pointy shoes turn to face me.

p y A hand grips my chin and yanks my head back. Her eyes scan my face, neck, and night gown. “Pretty little thing.” She smiles at me, and I no longer like the sound of her voice. It went from comforting to threatening with one compliment.

“Well, you would know.” One of my father’s friends laughs.

“I sup pose.” She lets go and steps away from me.

Something out of the corner of my eye gets my attention, and I glance to see what it is. I sit up straighter when I see it’s a girl. Like me. That’s new. “Hi,” I whisper, so as not to get the oth ers’ atten‐ tion.

She stands in the corner with her back straight, hands gripping a vibrant red purse. It matches the bottoms of the older woman’s shoes and stands out against her black dress. Her hair is the color of the sun. Bright and big curls. I wish I could do mine like that. It looks so pretty on her.

“Hey,” I whisper, unable to contain the smile on my face. “What’s

your—”

“Everett,” my father snaps.

I slump over, and my pulse races. “Yes, sir?” I ask with my eyes now on the floor.

“Who the fuck are you talk ing to?” he demands.

I frown, looking up at him. All eyes are on mine, and I look to my right to see the girl standing there as still as a statue.

“Well?” he barks, and I jump.

“It’s okay.” The woman walks back to me and gives me a smile that she’s try ing to play off as nice. I’m not buy ing it. I know what the devil looks like, and he’s in the room with us. “Who were you talking to, dear?”

“Uh.” My eyes shoot back to the girl again, and she’s not paying me any attention. I watch to see if her chest moves in her black dress, and I can’t even tell if she’s breathing.

“It’s okay,” the woman assures me. “You may speak.”

I lick my lips nervously. “The…the girl.”

She frowns and looks around the room. “You’re the only girl I see, Everett.”

No. “She’s right there.” I point at her in the corner.

gp “Quit fuck ing around,” my father snaps at me. “You’re wasting our time.”

I rub my sweaty hands on my thighs, causing my night gown to ride up. The woman leans over and pulls it down, fixing it for me. Then she faces my father. “Have you had her tested?” she asks.

“For what?” he barks.

“Schizophre nia,” the woman answers, and I wish I knew what she was talking about. “The poor girl is clearly seeing things.”

I stand on the second-floor balcony of the cathedral, looking down over the pews filled with Lords. All of them in black cloaks and

masks.

It’s a confes sional.

I’m not even sure what the bas tard did to fuck them over, but he’s paying for it.

A woman walks down the center aisle, passing around a glass bowl full of razor blades. They’re going to cut him for his sins.

He must bleed for his betrayal.

The Lords take payment in var ious ways, but it’s al ways the same— your life.

Once they are fin ished, I’ll sew him up and he will be collected.

He’ll be dead to the world, but his heart will still beat. I don’t know where he will end up, nor do I fuck ing care.

Not my problem. I’m just here to do my job.

The woman glances up at me, and I make sure to keep my stare blank, giving nothing away. They can smell fuck ing fear, and I’m not afraid of her. Not anymore.

Those who don’t know about our se cret society wouldn’t know who she re ally is. She’s as evil as they come. Men worship her. Think she’s the most beau tiful creature they’ve ever seen. A goddess. Even my father fell for her, and he hates women.

It’s all a lie.

I’ve seen their ver sion of hell, and although I survived, a part of me died as well. I’ve never been tied to the altar for a confes sional, but I’ve been an offer ing to some. They take and take until there is nothing left for you to give. Then they call you cyn ical and unappre‐ cia tive.

They strip you naked, tie you down, and fill you with drugs. “It’s what’s best for you,” they say. “You vowed your life to them.” The fuck I did. I never had a choice.

The Lord screams into his gag as blood pours from his freshly cut skin. He’s also pissed himself. They act so tough until payment is

due. Then they’re all the same.

Pathetic.

I’ve been there. I thought it would help. It didn’t. They don’t care.

Bodily fluids won’t stop them from getting what they want.

My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see who is calling me. FUCK FACE. I hit ignore and pocket it. I’ll call him back later.

After everyone clears out, I make my way down to the altar. The Lord strapped to it and I are the only two here in the cathedral.

I softly hum a lullaby while the man lies tied down, spread eagle and naked, to the Lords’ altar. The sounds of the double doors squeaking alert me that the bastard’s ride has arrived.

My back is to the doors as I dunk the sponge into the bowl of water to start cleaning the man off. He’s bleeding from shallow cuts. His peers took it easy on him, if you ask me. I’ve seen much worse.

He screams into the gag se cured in his mouth by the leather har‐ ness wrapped around his head. The man’s eyes go from mine to be‐ hind me to whoever has come to collect him. He’s going to hell.

That’s where all of us will end up. It’s what we deserve. A life full of sin isn’t re warded.

I con tinue to hum over his mumbled pleas as I feel eyes on me from behind. Heat rushes up my legs and over my back, and my face flushes at the butterflies that flutter in my stomach. My voice grows louder to drown whoever it is out, and I sing the words of “Hush, Little Baby.”

I take my time cleaning the Lord, try ing to look unfazed when I re‐ ally want to run. My heart pounds and my pulse is racing. I’m never affected like this. I drop the sponge into the bucket and feel the wa‐ ter splash my fishnet-covered legs.

Taking a deep breath, I turn around to face whoever is here for the Lord. My breath gets caught in my lungs at who I see. Not one, but two Lords.

Spade broth ers. And both of them have seen me naked.

A mo ment of panic makes me tremble. Are they here for me? Do they know what I do? That I’m betraying the Lords?

No. They can’t. If they were here for me, they would have gone unnoticed and taken me from my bed in the middle of the night, not shown up here. They’re here for him—the Lord who has been cut open like a fish by their peers.

I place my attention on the one I see as less threatening. “A little help, please?” I hold out my left hand to Kashton Landon Pierce to see how he re acts.Does he re member me?

Probably not. That was a long time ago.

He gets up and walks over to the Lords’ altar. His eyes are on mine, and it takes everything in me not to look away and show him that one night with him changed my life.

Taking my hand, he helps me get up onto the altar where I straddle the man’s waist. “Hand me that basket.” I point at a wicker basket on the floor next to the stairs.

Breathe, Eve. He’s just a man. Like all the oth ers who only want one thing—my body.

Kashton picks it up for me and places it next to the Lord’s head. He steps back, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, and watches me closely.

I’m sweat ing, and the blood rushes in my ears. My hands are fuck‐ ing shaking. I haven’t felt like this in years.

I undo the buckle to the man’s gag, ripping it from his mouth and tossing it to the floor, allowing him to scream. Let him have the fo‐ cus of their attention for a second.

“You fuck ing crazy bitch!” He yanks on the ropes and tries to buck me off, but I hold steady, my thighs tightening to se cure my position while digging into the basket.

I se cure duct tape over his mouth, making sure to wrap it com‐ pletely around his head several times before I lean over and tear it with my teeth.

Then I pull out my trusty little hand held blowtorch and place the flame against the tape while his muffled screams fill the large space.

“That should keep it in place.” I smile as if I’m proud of myself and tap the side of his face. “Those who spill secrets will be silenced.” It’s a Lords motto.

We’ve all got some thing to hide, and I will take several se crets to my grave.

I go to move, and Kashton gets my attention as he rushes over to me. I allow him to grab my waist and help me down off the altar. I mumble athank you before walk ing around the altar and facing the other Lord. I meet his intense stare before I look over my shoulder at Kashton as well. “He’s ready for you.” I give them a chilling smile, attempting not to panic.

The man’s screams grow louder, and he fights the rope harder. I look down at him, still smiling, and touch his cheek as he tries to pull away from me.

“Nice work,” Haidyn states, looking over the hack job I did stitching the Lord up.

“Practice makes perfect.” I grab the pleats of my black skirt and curtsy. I look at Kashton and wink at him. Fuck, I’m trembling, but try ing my best to play it off. Reaching up, I tap the side of the tied- down Lord’s face and say, “If you’re lucky, I’ll come visit you in hell.”

With that, I walk across the cathedral and out the side door into the hallway.

Rushing into the office, I close the door behind me and take a deep

breath, finally able to breathe.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This can’t be happening. The past al ways catches up with you. If I’ve learned anything from the Lords, it’s that we’re all on borrowed time.

I lock the door and rush over to the desk, picking up my cell with trembling hands. I call the number that I ignored earlier. He’s the only one who could be connected to the two Lords who are on the other side of the door.

“Eve?” he an swers im mediately. “Everything okay? I called you—”

“Kashton and Haidyn just showed up at the cathedral,” I explain, falling into the chair with my eyes on the office door, waiting for one

of them to kick it down.

“Why?” he asks.

“To pick up a Lord.” He doesn’t say anything about that. “Did you send them?” I demand. Maybe that’s why he was calling me earlier.

To give me a heads-up.

“No. Of course not.” There’s a long pause. “Did either one say any‐ thing to you?”

“No.” I sigh. Thank God. “But I have a feeling one of them will be

back.”

KASHTON Twelve years old I step off the ele vator and shiver. It’s al ways so cold down here. I hate being cold.

Moans and whimpers hit my ears, but I’m used to that. It scares me when it’s quiet. That’s when your mind makes you think you hear things that don’t exist.

Walk ing past the pits, I look around to make sure my father isn’t down here. He’s usu ally in his office at this time of day.

Coming up to the first cell on the right, I stop and sit down, cross‐ ing my legs. I look through the bars to see the woman lying on her side. Her back is to me, and she’s curled up in a ball. She has to be freezing. I tried to give her my jacket last week, but she re fused it.

Said I needed it more than her.

There’s one old dingy light bulb that gives the room a little light. It has four concrete walls. They’re all covered with white lines—four run up and down, and then a fifth one is diago nal through the cen‐ ter.

“I brought you some thing to eat,” I whisper, placing the plate next to me. I pick up the cookie and squeeze it between the bars, hold ing

it in my hand. “Are you hungry?”

She doesn’t move or answer.

I look around ner vously, making sure my father or the other broth‐ ers aren’t down here. My dad will be fu rious if he catches me. And the others will definitely tell on me.

y I tap my free hand on the cold concrete floor, trying to get her at‐ tention, and she groans, shifting. “Kashton?” she whispers.

I smile. “Yeah. It’s me. Are you hungry?”

She rolls over be fore she sits up. Her hands go to her face, and she pushes her matted hair back. I notice that she has a new bruise on her cheek. It wasn’t there when I visited her two nights ago.

“What happened?” I ask, frowning.

She gives me a small smile, scoot ing closer to the door. The metal bars are close together so I have to bring her things that can fit be‐ tween them. “What did you bring me?” she asks, ignor ing my ques‐ tion. She never answers.

“Choco late chip cookie,” I say, holding it out to her.

She takes it in her frail hands and brings it to her cracked lips. Tak‐ ing a small bite, she nods. “Mmm. It’s good.”

I drop my head and whisper, “It’s all I could get.”

“It’s perfect, Kashton,” she assures me.

Looking up, I give her a smile, and she takes another nib ble. “I tried to get you some milk, but there wasn’t any.” I’m not sure how I’d be able to get her a glass through the bars, but I’d try for her.

“Why aren’t you at school?” she asks me.

I shrug, not want ing to tell her the truth. I got sent home yes terday for starting a fight. My father was irritated about spend ing two days with me rather than the fact that I hit a kid. “It’s closed today,” I lie, and she frowns. How does she even know what day it is? She has no windows. No clock. No sense of time.

“You should get going.” She be gins to pull away.

I wrap my fin gers around the cool metal bars, not wanting her to go. “But —”

“Leave, Kashton,” she interrupts me. “Be fore you get in trouble for being down here.”

Not wanting to upset her, I let go and get to my knees. “I’ll come

visit you to morrow,” I prom ise her.

“I don’t think—”

“What in the fuck are you doing?” a voice yells.

I jump to my feet and turn to see my father standing in the hall‐ way, hands on his hips, glaring at me. I take a step back. “Dad—”

yp g gp “Leave him alone,” she says from the cell.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps at her and then stomps toward me. He grabs my upper arm and begins to drag me away.

“Please…no.” I reach out for the bars, but he’s too fast, and I get nothing but air. “She’s hungry,” I tell him. “I brought her a cookie.”

“She’ll eat when I say she can,” he growls.

“Don’t you fuck ing touch him,” she shouts. “I mean it, don’t you—”

“I’ll be back for you.” He cuts her off, shoving me into the ele vator.

I wrap my arms around myself and press my back into the wall as the door closes on us. My father huffs before turn ing to face me. “I told you to quit coming down here unless I tell you to.”

Looking away from him, I stare at the floor. I just want to help her.

She’s all alone. I know what that feels like, and I hate it. I want her to know that she has me.

“Kashton?” he barks. “Do you fuck ing hear me, son? I’m tired of you disobey ing me.” Giving me his back, he checks his watch and huffs.

I slump against the wall, try ing not to cry. I hate him so much be‐ cause of what he does to her. I’m all she has, and I promised her that I’d take care of her. No matter what.

I sit with my McLaren Senna turned off, back in the dark corner parking lot of the cathedral, hid den under some trees. Haidyn and I took the Lord back to Carnage, strung him up, re moved his brand, and threw him in a cage. Then with out a word, Haidyn went to his room to be with his latest fuck, and I went to mine.

I’m fighting with my broth ers. Haidyn has been MIA, apparently fuck ing his therapist. Then he pops up with her after some one breaks into the place he’s been staying at. I don’t think he plans on keeping her at Carnage. He’s going to go back into hiding.

I took a shower, put on clean clothes, and found myself driv ing back to the cathedral. Six years I’ve been looking for my girl, and she’s right here.

Has she been in front of me all this time? Something tells me no.

There’s no way she would have been this close and I missed it.

I sit up when she exits the front double doors. She’s still dressed in her fishnet tights, pleated black miniskirt, and tank top. Her hair re‐

mains up in a messy bun. Fuck, she’s stun ning. More so than I re‐ member.

There’s only one other car—a blacked-out M4. I could put a tracker on it, but I’m more of a hands-on type of man. I want to see first‐ hand where she goes. What she does. Who she sees.

After popping her trunk, she tosses a black duffel bag into it, then falls into the driver’s seat. I stay parked until she pulls out onto the road, giving her a head start.

Eve knew it was me and pre tended I hadn’t seen her naked. Like I didn’t get her off that night on theIsabella. Was it because she didn’t want Haidyn to know we have a past, or was it because she didn’t re member it? No. I refuse to believe she doesn’t re member me. She had been drinking, but she wasn’t drunk by any means.

It’s late, so there aren’t many cars on the wind ing two-lane road. I make sure to stay far back enough to go unseen while following her.

My car isn’t the most inconspic u ous.

Twenty minutes later, she pulls up to a gated community, and I pull over to the side with my lights off until she enters. After a second, I follow and make my way through the neighborhood.

My first thought is that it took too long for the gate to close behind her. Anyone could be waiting, watching, and slide right in.

The second is that the community seems nice, with a golf course and pool house. Houses sit on at least two-acre lots. People who live here aren’t up this late at night. They’re home by six, have din ner by eight, and are in bed by nine thirty.

I catch sight of the back of her car before the garage door shuts.

Once again, I come to a stop and look over the house. It’s a large one-story with a fenced-in yard and four-car garage.

The thought of walk ing up to her door and knocking enters my mind, but I don’t. In stead, something across the street catches my attention, and I smile to myself.

Just an other sign that it’s meant to be.

I’ve always prided myself on my patience. A Lord is nothing with out it. It’s part of the reason they make us go three years with out pussy.

To push us. To see just how much re straint we have.

It’s to weed out the weak.

I’m a lot of things, but weak isn’t one of them.

My father would disagree, but he was wrong about a lot of things.

He was evil and determined to make me into another ver sion of him. My main goal in life was not to let him succeed. But life had dif‐ ferent plans for me. No matter how much you try to change, some‐ times you’ve seen too much.

I look out the window wall. I’m going to have to invest in some thick drapes. Black this bitch out. My childhood home was in a neighborhood, and the neighbors were so fuck ing nosy. My father was rarely ever home, but when he was, I heard the ru mors and watched them drive by slowly to see which whore he had at his house on the nights his car was in the drive way. The nights that he wasn’t home, they’d knock on the door to see if I was okay, knowing I was home alone. I got good at lying at such a young age.

“Thank you for being able to meet us on such short notice,” Amber says to the real estate agent.

“Of course.” He beams at her. “It just came on the market a few weeks ago. Lots of buzz on the street. This gated community has its own hundred-acre lake and private school. It’s so safe that most children walk. The Willing ton spans three thousand acres.”

“Honey, do you want to look around?” Amber asks me.

I turn and smile at her over my shoulder. “You go ahead.”

She slides her arm through the crook of the re altor’s and drags him out of the living room with a bounce in her step, leaving me alone.

The sight of the matte-black BMW M4 has me fo cusing my atten‐ tion back out the windows. It turns into the drive way across the street, idling for a few minutes before the brake lights turn off and the driver’s side door opens. A blonde steps out, dressed in a pair of black high heels. They accentu ate her long legs that are wrapped in black latex, sitting high on her thin waist and show casing her plump ass. A black tube top is wrapped around her large breasts.

Her hair is up in a high ponytail, highlighting her tan shoulders and fragile neck, with a pair of de signer shades cover ing her face. Her lips are the color of blood, and they make my cock hard. I can’t wait

to have them wrapped around my dick until I pull out and come all over her face.

She’s got an iced coffee in one hand and her large YSL purse in the other. I check my watch to see it’s seven thirty in the morning. Pretty late—or early—to just be getting home. Which tells me she was out all night.

The way she’s dressed makes me think she just spent the night at Kink—a members-only BDSM club—but there isn’t one located here in Pennsylvania. The thought of another man tying her up and whip‐ ping her makes me as red as her lips.

So that begs the question, where the fuck has she been all night?

If she was with a man, I hope he knows that’s the last woman he’ll ever fuck. The mo ment I find out who he is, he’s dead. I refuse to share my girl with anyone else. I’ve waited six years to find her, and the Lords placed her in my hands.

I had to move fast, since she saw me a couple of days ago at the cathedral. I can’t give her the luxury of time to run from me again.

I’m not going to let her slip away. Six years is too long.

I al most fell over when I saw her there, washing the unlucky bas‐ tard. She knew it was me. I don’t look the same as I did back at Bar rington. I’ve put on more mus cle and am covered in ink, and my mind is even darker than it was. But she knew who I was. I heard it in the way her breathing picked up and by the way her skin broke out in goose bumps when I touched her. If Haidyn hadn’t been with me, I would have said some thing, but I kept my mouth shut because now I know she’s here.

She looks a little different now than she did then, too. Her breasts are bigger; she’s put on some weight. She was so tiny and frail-look‐ ing then. She’s still on the smaller side but looks health ier. This time when her green eyes met mine, they looked brighter. More confi‐ dent.

“Miss Everett Sinclair.” The real es tate agent speaks, com ing to stand next to me while watching my fu ture wife enter her home through the front door. “I sold her that house.” He turns and smiles proudly at me. “She’s lovely.” His face falls. “No kids that I know of.

She was single when she purchased that house. I showed her nu‐

merous locations and lots. She looked for three months until she found what she wanted.”

I would nor mally tell some one rambling to shut the fuck up, but he’s giving me information that I won’t be able to find anywhere

else. “Single, huh?”

“Yes. But she did have a daddy.”

I turn to face him. “What do you mean bydaddy?”

“You know…” He wiggles his eye brows.

“No. I don’t.” I cross my tatted arms over my chest. What an odd thing to tell me, but again, it’s some thing I’ll need to know. I’m also not surprised after our first en counter. She’s moved up from a man try ing to rape her on a yacht to having some bastard buy her a six- thousand-square-foot house.

“She, uh”—he lowers his voice—“I showed her the house. She called him and told him she wanted it. And he purchased it for her.

Wire transfer.”

“Who was he?” This is interesting.

He shrugs. “No name was ever given. Everything was done in hers.”

He winks at me like some secret guy code for “she’s a whore who sucks dick good enough for some pathetic mar ried man to buy her a house where he can fuck her whenever he wants.”

Or maybe that’s just my jealousy talking and think ing the worst. Six years is a long time. A lot can happen in that amount of time. But it doesn’t matter if she’s married. He’s dead. If she has a boyfriend, he’s dead. If she has a sugar daddy, he’s dead.

My angel will rely on me for everything.

“I love it,” Amber shouts, enter ing the living room once more, inter‐

rupting our conver sation.

“We’ll take it,” I tell the man.

He smiles, looking at Amber as she jumps up and down with her tits bouncing to the point they’re about to fall out of her top.

They begin to talk about inte rior dec o rators in the area, and I place my attention back on the house across the street.

My girl exits the front door, locking it behind her. She’s changed into a short-sleeved crop top, yoga pants, and tennis shoes. Her hair is

up in a messy bun, and her shades still cover half her face, but her red lips are gone.

She pauses with her hand on the door handle of her car, but

doesn’t look up. She can feel me.

I smile to myself.

Hello, angel. It’s been too long.

Yanking her door open, she falls inside, starts it up, and backs out before driving away.