CAGED: GODS OF CHAOS (BOOK TEN) (Gods of Chaos MC 10) Page 7

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SLADE

  I’d already attempted picking the lock of the door several times, but each time I found anything remotely like a pin or stick in the basement, I tried again.

  That’s what I was doing, crouched down at the top of the stairs, furiously working at the lock with a wooden toothpick I’d found between the cracks of the kitchen cabinet under the sink when it started turning on its own.

  Quickly, I jumped up and took a few steps back down the stairs. Mona appeared as the door swung open, her striking beauty once again catching me off guard. Even with the anger shining from her eyes, she was hot as hell.

  “Hey,” I muttered, turning and walking back down the stairs, slipping the shredded toothpick in the front pocket of my Levi’s.

  “Give it up, Slade,” she said, walking down behind me, Zane following close behind. “You’re not getting out of here until I say you are.”

  I turned and flashed her my most charming grin. It was my secret weapon, to be honest. Panty-dropping, thigh-parting, and heart-fluttering, it rarely failed me. She blinked. My grin grew wider, because I saw her flinch, despite her quick attempt to cover it up by frowning deeper. She walked over to me, bringing her face mere inches from mine. Her voice was a low, sultry song.

  “Try it again, motherfucker. I’ll cut your fucking balls off and feed them to your friend over there.” She gestured to Bullet, standing in the corner with Libby peeking out over his shoulder. I lifted a brow at her impressive bravado and suppressed a laugh.

  She might actually be serious, I thought.

  “Sounds kinky,” I mused. She shook her head.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Why don’t you just let us out and stop this game, Mona?” I asked. “This little fantasy town of yours is never going to really work. You think you can get an entire town of people under your spell?”

  “I do,” she nodded confidently.

  “Well, I admire your courage,” I replied. “But it doesn’t seem very well planned out.”

  She lifted her arm and showed me two handles of Jack dangling from her hands.

  “I thought you might like a drink,” she said. “You look like you could use it. You look rough, Slade.”

  The promise of the booze’s sweet buzz was too alluring to allow me to take offense at her dig on my looks.

  “Is it spiked?” I asked, flashing her a wary look.

  “Touché,” she said, chuckling. “Not this time.”

  I grabbed one of the bottles from her, hoping it was made of glass so I could use it as a weapon, but the light weight of the plastic was immediately apparent. Still, I cracked the top open and brought it to my nose, sniffing it before pressing it to my lips and letting the stinging amber liquid flow into my mouth.

  Mona watched with a half-smile on her pretty face until I lowered the bottle.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “Now, isn’t that better? Just a little bit more tolerable?”

  “Being held prisoner in a fucking cage is not something I’d call tolerable, lady,” I drawled, handing the bottle over to Bullet.

  “It’ll get easier with time,” she said.

  “Says the woman who’s never been locked in a cage,” I replied.

  She stopped, tilting her head, her eyes suddenly haunted.

  “I do know what it’s like,” she said. “And I’m sorry, Slade. I really am. But I don’t see any other way right now. It won’t be forever.”

  Was this a moment of humanity I was witnessing? Were the bottles of whiskey a peace offering?

  Just as suddenly as it appeared, the kindness faded from her eyes, as she closed up again.

  “So don’t fucking try to escape if you value these,” she said, reaching down between my legs, squeezing my balls, thankfully gently, to get her point across. I didn’t flinch. Simply nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact, until she’d removed her hand and turned to go back up the stairs.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I reached down and rubbed my junk protectively.

  I needed to be careful with this woman. The joy that sprang to her eyes every time she threatened me was like a reflection of my soul.

  I knew what people like her were capable of, because I was capable of those things myself. I knew the pleasure that coursed through my veins when I drew blood. The perverse thrill that kept you coming back for more. The addiction to the danger, to the intensity, to the unknown point of no return.

  It was like dangling off the edge of a cliff, just to see how long you could hang there without falling to your death.

  That electric charge left one breathless and yearning for more.

  And with each new sensation, you took it one step further.

  Curiosity killed the cat, and Mona was like a fucking Cheshire just waiting to strike on the mouse she’d cornered.

  And I’d be damned if I was going to be the next fucking dead mouse she feasted on.

  The door closed behind them, the lock sliding into place with a resounding click. I turned to Libby and Bullet.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I growled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BULLET

  Slade’s idea wasn’t anything ground-breaking, but maybe it would work. The plan was for Libby to pretend she was ill in an attempt to distract Mona and Zane long enough to take them down. And if that didn’t work, then if Libby ended up getting out, she would find someway to get us out of here. She’d memorized Grace’s phone number and promised to do her best.

  It was a long shot, we all knew that.

  But it was really all we had at the moment. We knew we’d probably seen the last of Zane and Mona for the night, so we’d all gotten a little too drunk on the whiskey and Slade had passed out an hour ago in the bathtub.

  Libby and I sat on the floor of her bedroom, our backs propped up against the bed, passing the bottle between us, talking quietly, even though a tornado probably wouldn’t have woken up Slade. He’d finished almost an entire bottle by himself.

  “Mona was right, he probably needed that,” I said. “I’ve never seen him look so peaceful.”

  Libby laughed, taking a sip of the whiskey we’d managed to save from Slade’s greedy mouth.

  “Tell me about your lives,” she said. “What do you guys actually do?”

  “Well, I used to be your typical biker, honestly. I was with another gang, until everything fell apart when our president was hauled off to prison. The Gods of Chaos took us all in and most of us did really well with them.”

  “Most of us?”

  “Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “One of our guys, Crow, didn’t take it all too well. It was really hard on him. He went off the fucking deep end. Murdering asshole,” I muttered. “He almost fucked things up for all of us.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered.

  “I know, it was bad. But things are so much better now. Or, well, they were before we got locked in here. Ryder and Grace — you’d love them, Libby — they’re amazing people. They’ve spent the last several years building this amazing organization. We’re family, really. The closest I’ve ever come to a real one in a very long time, I’ll tell you that. So, when we get a call, we spring into action. And it’s always something different. A woman who can’t get out of a mess she’s found herself in because she’s involved with a cop or a politician, or some other rich, powerful asshole. Seems like that’s always the case. The powerless against the powerful. Rich against poor. Someone’s always getting taken advantage of. But helping them out of that shit? That’s the best feeling in the world.”

  “How do you help them?”

  “It’s always different. Sometimes, we go undercover. We go to whatever extreme is necessary.”

  “Even violence?”

  “If that’s what it takes,” I nodded.

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” she asked.

  I swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. The truth was that no, I hadn’t, but I’d come damned close. I’d seen people l
ose their lives, even if it wasn’t at my hand. In my mind, that made me complicit. That made the answer to her question what I knew she didn’t really want to hear.

  “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t want to know if she believed me or not. And mainly, I didn’t want her to see the lie in my eyes.

  We sat there for a long time, quietly passing the bottle back and forth between us. We barely knew each other. We had so much of our lives that we could share with one another. But instead of exchanging words, the feelings that were flowing between us spoke volumes.

  Eventually, I turned and looked at her, her eyes meeting mine in a gentle, purposeful collision that I knew I’d never forget. Her soft green eyes were bright and red, both of us intoxicated on much more than the whiskey. With a slow smile, she reached up and touched my cheek.

  “We’ll get out of here,” she said. “And when we do, I hope we still know each other.”

  I nodded, smiling back at her. “I think that can be arranged.”

  “I never thought I’d want to be friends with a biker,” she whispered, giggling. She was so fucking beautiful, my heart soared and that’s when I knew I was fucking ruined. The urge to kiss her overwhelmed me and a million reasons why I shouldn’t sounded off in my head like a choir of chorus-boys.

  She’s drunk…

  She’s in the middle of a totally traumatic situation…

  But those lips, plump and pink, smiling at me, inviting me to devour them as much as her eyes were begging me to do it, were right there…

  Millimeters away…

  Fuck it. I bent my head, the slightest movement, but just enough to allow me to press my lips against hers. The white hot heat of her breath, the sweet scent of whiskey, the drunken mess of feelings all tangled up inside of me — all of it pressed together in that one brush of my lips against hers and exploded into a big ball of fire that gripped my heart in a crushing embrace of lust.

  She leaned her head back, her lips falling apart, allowing me inside, as our kiss deepened, our tongues tangling together, searching, yearning for closeness. My hands shot up, cradling her face as I kissed her passionately, the electricity between us flowing like a lightning storm of desire.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LIBBY

  His kiss was intense and unexpected.

  But oh my god, was it amazing and welcomed.

  He kissed like a man. Like nobody had ever kissed me before. With intention and passion and determination. With purpose.

  He kissed me like he meant it.

  My body was on fire, desire ripping through my veins like a freight train, running over and destroying every cell of doubt and insecurity I’d ever felt, leaving me feeling wanted.

  Desired.

  And when he pulled back, the look in his eyes told me there was even more there.

  “I needed that,” he growled, shaking his head. “In fact, I think I need a lot more.”

  And with that, his lips were back on mine, pressing harder, his tongue searching my mouth with such urgency and hunger, I hadn’t even known kissing like this existed outside of Hollywood movies and the backs of steamy novels.

  Maybe it was that we’d been locked in this room together for way too long.

  Maybe it was the desperation I was feeling about ever getting out alive.

  Most likely, it was the damned whiskey.

  But his lips, his tongue, his breath, his hands — sliding over my skin with the combination of the roughness of his fingertips to the firmness of his touch, left me quivering like a leaf.

  Purposeful, wild and wickedly sensual, his kisses matched the strength of his touch, and I melted in submission. He captured my moans in his mouth, our bodies turning towards one another, his arms pulling me in close.

  This was all so fast.

  Or, was it?

  There had been no exchange of numbers. No flirting. No dating.

  Hell, I didn’t even know his real name.

  Bullet. A random person, thrown at me during the most traumatic moment of my life. And here we were — about to — what?

  “Stop!” I cried, pulling away, staring at his wet lips, his wild, hungry, confused eyes as he froze, slowly stopping, just as I’d demanded.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered, his husky voice filled with lust.

  “Sorry,” I shook my head, unsure if I was indeed okay or not. I looked around, reminding myself where I was, where we were.

  The disheveled bed we were pressed against, pushed into the corner of the dirty room. The tattered, multi-colored rag rug we were sitting on, the fucking pile of rotting apples in the corner…

  I stood up quickly, wrapping my arms around my chest, my heart thumping loudly.

  “Libby, I’m so sorry,” Bullet whispered, still frozen in place where I’d left him. I glanced down at him, his face contorted in a cocktail of pain and concern and lust, all mixed up in remorse and unmet needs.

  “It’s not you,” I said, shaking my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He sighed in relief, quickly standing and pulling me into his arms.

  “It’s okay,” he said. I leaned into him, his solid warmth as comforting as a warm blanket. “I get it.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” I said.

  “Just stay strong,” he replied, kissing my hair. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly. “We’re going to get out of this.”

  “Tomorrow,” I whispered, remembering our plan.

  “Tomorrow,” he nodded.

  We stood there like that for a long time. His strong arms engulfing me, the lust between us settling into a quiet comfort.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  BULLET

  Libby’s head rested on my shoulder.

  She slept peacefully, and besides the slow and steady rhythm of her breathing, not another sound broke through the air.

  Still sleeping off the booze, Slade was passed out in the bathtub. I’d spent the last hour trying not to move, because Libby looked like an angel sleeping on my shoulder and part of me never wanted her to sleep for hours so she’d stay in my arms.

  The other part of me wanted to wake her up and start all over, kissing her, smelling her, tasting her. She’d woken up a part of me that I’d been avoiding for a long while, and now that she’d unleashed the lust I’d been holding back, now that she’d shown me she wanted it too — although maybe a little slower — it would be even harder for me to control myself.

  And fuck, we had so much time to pass.

  I wondered if this was part of Mona’s plan. Why else would she throw us down here together? She was a fucking maniac, that woman.

  My thoughts turned to our plan for the morning. Eventually, I’d have to rouse Slade, maybe shove his head under a cold faucet first, before we were able to have a chance at successfully executing it.

  So many things could go wrong. But we had to try. All three of us knew the risks. We’d discussed everything yesterday, before Slade had proceeded to get shit faced and left us alone, leading us here, to Libby’s head on my shoulder and my cock still raging hard with no end in sight.

  God, she was so amazing. I barely knew her, I wasn’t fooling myself. But she was so sweet and kind and tender and fucking sexy as hell, that it was impossible not to be attracted to her. I wasn’t fucking dead, you know?

  Now, here I was, locked in a room with a beautiful girl and my drunken partner, hoping for a way out of all this alive so that I could get on with getting to know Libby in the best way possible.

  Yeah, I was a little hopeful about the plan, you could say.

  The sooner we got on with things, the better.

  I wondered about the Gods, about Grace and Ryder, if they were looking for us. They had to be, I figured. We’d been gone way too long at this point. Slade’s wife must be a mess. He was a lucky man. Diana was as sweet and kind as they came, and she clearly adored her husband and son. I envied Slade for that. He had what I’d always wante
d. A family. A loving wife to come home to.

  He had a life.

  I had…a project.

  Seemed to me, I was always trying to fix things, you know? Finding myself in messes that I created myself and then needed to get out of. It was almost like I was addicted to the chaos. I guess that’s why the Gods and Solid Ground were so satisfying to me. Always fixing messes amongst the chaos.

  Chaos creating chaos.

  Peace, true peace, was not something I was too familiar with. Lately, I’d found some stability, but I wouldn’t exactly call that peace, either.

  Times like this? When I should be sitting here with a pretty girl’s head on my shoulder and feeling all kinds of zen?

  That just didn’t happen for me.

  Inside, life was churning around and mixing up my insides something fierce.

  I was sitting still. Still as a rock, in fact, Libby lightly snoring against me.

  But inside, my head was running a million miles a minute and I knew it wouldn’t slow down until I finally fell asleep. Anxiety about our plan was never going to let that happen.

  So, instead of sleep, I sat there and allowed it all to flow through me.

  The racing thoughts, the anxiety that hung on me like a heavy cape, never lifting even for one merciful second, the worry, the dread, and even the lust that I’d never be able to shake with Libby this close to me, I submitted to it all and let it have its way with me.

  My arm rested around Libby’s shoulders and I bent my head to hers, closing my eyes, the thoughts swimming wildly, the anxiety gnawing at the corners of my mind…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  GRACE

  “Any word from Riot?” I asked, as Ryder rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen. I’d called him last night and told him about spotting Mona on the talk show, wearing Slade’s ring and he’d welcomed the lead.

  “Not yet,” he growled. Ryder was pissed. He was worried, but he’d never admit that. He insisted on exuding confidence at all times. That’s why he was my rock. “I’m about to go over to the clubhouse to see him.”