CHASING SUNSHINE: GODS OF CHAOS MC (BOOK THIRTEEN)

by Honey Palomino

  I had every intention of heading to the grocery store for that drink, figuring I’d get enough food and snacks and wine to hole up for the rest of weekend and finish my good long pity session with a good drinking session, but I decided to go for a little drive along the coast first. The sun was just beginning to set, throwing beams of deep shades of pink and indigo across the waves. The usually beige sand had turned a dark, glassy lavender for its final performance of the night.

  The horizon was scattered with houses clinging to the cliffside. I sighed, trying to let the stress release from my shoulders.

  A neon sign a few blocks away flashed the word ‘BAR’ in bright blue letters and I gave in, pulling into the parking lot and turning off my car as I stared at the door. The lot was only half-full for a Friday night, but it was still a little early. Within thirty minutes, it would be completely dark out and the sun would disappear over the horizon until morning.

  “I’ll just get a bite to eat, and head back home,” I said to my empty car. I was getting very used to talking to myself. Mom’s face smiled up at me, her picture, blazoned on the box of missing person flyers sitting on my car seat, a constant reminder that she was still gone.

  I grabbed a few of them and folded them up, then put them in my pocket and headed inside.

  The dry warmth of an ancient heating system welcomed me, along with the cheery sounds of Springsteen’s Born In the USA and an excessive amount of flashing green Christmas lights strung up behind the bar.

  I sat down at the end of the bar and took a deep breath.

  This was exactly what I needed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  COLT

  Being a God has its perks, that’s for sure.

  I never thought my life would end up this great, but here I am, living the dream. Sure, it took a long time to get here and the journey fucking sucked, but I made it.

  Not only have I become a man that my mama can be proud of, I’m proud of myself. Gone are the mornings where I wake up wondering if I should hate myself.

  Now, my mornings are filled with purpose and fulfillment. Not to say working for the Gods — being a God — isn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  It’s harder than growing up a poor, abused kid.

  It’s harder than prison.

  But damn, if it ain’t worth it.

  And to top it off, I’ve never felt more taken care of in my entire life. Sure, the joint gives you three hots and a cot and even medical care, should you need it, but they sure as hell don’t take care of you.

  The Gods, they pay attention. They watch you, they see you, they fucking listen. If they think you need a break, or you need some support, they’re fucking right there for you in a heartbeat to listen and help.

  Because they all know. They’re in the trenches with you, so they get it. They know how fucking hard it is, the emotional toll it takes to do the work we do.

  So, they rotate us a bit. They give us weekends off, or weeks, if we need it. They insist we take the time to recharge, to recuperate, to regain the emotional fortitude it takes to do this job well.

  Hell, Grace even hired a therapist for us all.

  So, here I am, on a weekend away, because I just got off a particularly painful job. We succeeded in freeing a dozen women who were being held in a warehouse down in Medford. It took a long stretch of infiltrating the ranks of the assholes who’d been holding them prisoner, using them to make dirty money, like they were a fucking commodity, and not actual humans. We couldn’t act right away, so we were exposed to the darkest sides of the entire operation, forced to endure a few days of a painful game of pretend. It wasn’t anything, though, compared to what the women went through.

  In the end, we were successful, but it sure as hell took a toll on all of us that were involved.

  Now that the pricks were safely put away where they’d never hurt another person, I could breathe a little easier and I was thoroughly enjoying the feel of the cold wind coming off the ocean as I made my way up the northern Oregon coast. I’d been winding up the 101 all day and I decided to finally stop for dinner.

  The place I chose seemed to not have a name at all, with just a flashing sign near the road telling me it was a bar. I figured they’d at least have a burger on the menu and it was exactly what I was looking for.

  Someplace dark and quiet and low-key was in order.

  Maybe in my younger years, I’d have sought out a party during my downtime, but now that I’m about to hit thirty-five next June, partying isn’t the type of downtime I usually seek out.

  Something about the passing of time seems to take that urge out of you.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy a good burger and beer, though, and as soon as I stepped through the door, the smell of grilled beef and stale beer hit me with the promise of satisfaction.

  I took a seat at the end of the bar and looked around the place.

  It was everything I wanted it to be. Old and rundown, it was the type of hole-in-the-wall I’d dreamed of owning someday, at least before all the shit went down and I ended up doing a five-piece in the pen.

  I’ll tell you right off the bat, I’m not ashamed — it was murder.

  And it wasn’t exactly self-defense, either.

  I was eighteen, full of piss and vinegar and walking around with a chip on my shoulder the size of Haystack Rock. My old man had run off, which was a good thing, because I was fucking tired of having my ass kicked every time I did something he thought was wrong.

  My mom and my sister were the only people I cared about at that time.

  And I fucking hated my sister’s boyfriend, Jimmy.

  Jimmy the Dick, I called him.

  He cheated and lied and talked to my sister like shit.

  To be honest, I was itching to get a chance to punch him.

  When I came home one afternoon and found him towering over my bleeding sister, well, fuck, I just snapped.

  I guess I blacked out. I don’t remember much after my fingers snaked around his scrawny throat, except the look of utter surprise in his buggy eyes.

  Everything’s kind of a blur after that.

  My memories pick up as I woke up in a jail cell, the cold hard slap of reality acquainting itself with my face.

  The rest was history. The jury didn’t think my actions were so heroic. I spent five years in hell, and then, just like that, I was released back onto the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back and two hundred bucks in my pocket.

  At first, I was pissed. At Jimmy, at my sister for allowing that asshole into our lives at all, at myself. And then, I figured, well fuck it. All I had was time. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about killing Jimmy. The fucker deserved it. So, I figured the least I could do was not waste the time I was given.

  I studied my ass off.

  I thought, hell, I’ll be a lawyer. Or a businessman. Maybe a pilot or a scientist. I earned a bachelor’s degree in business behind bars, sure that my life was going to be exactly as I planned while I was in there.

  But once again, life had different plans for me and when I got out, I quickly realized just how ostracized felons are when they get out. Nobody wanted to give me a job, let alone a chance at some white-collar job. They didn’t care that I had a degree. They didn’t care about my can-do attitude, or how firmly I shook their hand — once they found out about my past, they couldn’t even look at me.

  It hurt.

  It was devastating, I’ll be honest.

  Eventually, though, I found the Gentlemen, and I thought I’d finally found a home in a group of ragtag outlaw bikers. And then, just like that, violence brought that shit to a halt, the entire foundation I’d grown to trust crumbling to a big pile of nothing, our little gang disintegrating as our president went into the pen himself.

  When the other brothers decided to join up with the Gods, to play the game an entirely different way — well, I was skeptical, I’ll be honest, but I jumped on the chance anyway.

  What other choice d
id I have, really?

  I’d given up any dreams of going to law school, or owning my own business, or any of that other American dream bullshit that you get force-fed growing up in this country, but I’d found something else in the process of letting all those lies go.

  I’d found family.

  Slowly, I was starting to trust the Gods, and I gotta say, it really felt good to relax for once.

  They may be called the Gods of Chaos but they were the most stable thing I’d ever known.

  I ordered a double cheeseburger and a beer and let the stress of the road melt off my shoulders. Since I was off duty, I’d left my cut back at the clubhouse and it felt kind of nice not to be stared at. Without the black swatch of leather that announced my membership to the world, I was just another dude at the end of the bar.

  Sure, I was proud to be a God, but anonymity felt nice for a change and I relaxed into it, devouring my burger with the intense hunger that I felt.

  I was so engaged with my dinner, that I almost didn’t see the woman at the other end of the bar arrive. Though the back of the bar was lit with an eerie green, the rest of the place was relatively dark. It was hard to see very well, but I could see one thing for sure about her — her eyes were filled with sadness.

  So much so that I couldn’t watch her for long.

  She stared into space, a million miles away, and I couldn’t help but wonder where she was, and what had put that sadness there.

  Sitting in the shadows, her sadness was punctuated by how pretty she was. A girl like that shouldn’t be that sad, I thought. It was a shame.

  But what was I going to do about that? I wondered.

  Absolutely nothing, I answered myself silently, taking a gulp of beer.

  Reminding myself that I was off work, and I had absolutely no responsibility to turn that pretty lady’s frown upside down, I finished my burger and downed my beer, and promptly ordered another one, doing my best to keep my eyes away from the end of the bar.

  But, fuck was she beautiful. She had dark curly hair, like me, but hers was wilder, longer, thicker.

  Being a God makes you hyperaware of your surroundings. I looked deep into most people’s eyes, wondering if there’s a monster hiding there. Or, wondering if there’s a victim in there that needs rescuing.

  I’d learned most of all that anyone could be anything.

  You just never knew what any one person’s story was.

  It made it hard to trust people, you know?

  But it also made it difficult to not make up stories about people. I found myself asking way-too-personal questions, or suspecting innocent bruises on someone’s skin told a deeper story.

  You’re off duty, asshole, I reminded myself once more as I took another drink of my beer.

  Just because I had a family now, it didn’t mean I wasn’t lonely. The lure of spending time with a good woman was always in the back of my mind. I just never really had time. Some of the other Gods had hooked up with a few of the girls we’d saved, but that didn’t happen too often, and it always seemed a little wrong to me. Those women were sad and traumatized, but I guess you can’t ignore love when it happens. And as long as everyone was happy now, then I suppose I approved.

  My eyes trailed back to the girl at the end of the bar, and I watched as she reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. My heart skipped a beat and I clenched my fist around my beer bottle.

  Fuck. Maybe I could at least make her smile for a minute? It didn’t mean I needed to go any further than that.

  “Bartender,” I lifted a hand to get his attention and he walked over with a smile and a nod. “Will you send another round of whatever she’s having over to her?” I asked, gesturing to the other end of the bar.

  “Will do.” He spun around and got to work, setting a drink down in front of her seconds later. She looked up in surprise, and he said a few words to her before she looked over at me. I lifted my bottle with a nod and a smile and she waved a shy thanks before looking away with a faint smile.

  I took a deep breath, feeling a little better and hoping it was enough to keep me from doing anything stupid and invading her space.

  I sat there another half hour drinking a couple more.

  “Is there a hotel around here?” I asked the bartender. I’d been riding up the coast chasing the setting sun, but now that it was getting late, a warm bed was sounding like something I should be chasing down instead.

  “Yeah, just about a mile up the road. Should be plenty of rooms left available. Been a ghost town around here this week.”

  “Thanks, man,” I nodded.

  I was just outside of Astoria, which was a big tourist spot in the warmer months, like most of the Oregon coast was, but once the weather turned cold and stormy in the darker months, it cleared out and only the diehard locals remained.

  With the exception of a few crazy fucks like myself, I suppose. Riding a Harley up the 101 in this weather wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but I was used to it. The cold, unforgiving rain, and wet curvy roads kept me alert and on my toes. The slightest mistake could leave me very dead.

  Now that my life had a twinge of purpose, I was very interested in staying alive. I’d been lucky today, though, considering the rain had let up for the day and I was driving on mostly dry pavement. The biting cold was biting extra hard in its place, though.

  Even the protection of my leathers seemed to wane a little in this cold.

  Yeah, a warm bed was just what I needed…

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SAGE

  I had every intention of trying to forget about everything for just a few hours, but the alcohol had other ideas. As soon as I started to feel the warmth of its smooth embrace, the emotions began flowing like I’d lifted a dam.

  I sat at the end of the bar sniffling and weeping as silently as possible, the despair of my situation washing over me in waves. Thank god it was pitch black and nobody noticed, outside of the bartender, who politely and mercifully ignored my weeping mess and the pile of crumpled tissues gathering in front of me, all while bringing me a steady stream of whiskey.

  Or so I thought.

  When he brought over another drink — one that I did not order or need, considering I was already a disaster — and told me it was from the guy at the end of the bar, I realized how pitiful I must look. I looked down at him and tried not to notice how insanely hot he was as I waved a thank you.

  My inner feminist cringed when I thought about what he must think. He probably thought I was sitting there devouring drink after drink because my heart had been broken by some guy.

  I would never have done that. No way, not my style.

  I’m not the type to let some guy get to me like that. The few relationships I’d ended had been more like business transactions. A return of house keys and other belongings, a polite handshake, a terse, awkward goodbye hug — and it was over.

  I was moving on.

  I’d always been independent like that, and maybe that was the problem. I’d been accused of being unfeeling and cold way too many times. I didn’t do it intentionally, I didn’t shut out my boyfriends on purpose, it was just that somehow none of them ever found the key to get into my heart in the first place.

  At this point, though, I was starting to believe the key didn’t exist. Or, maybe my heart didn’t exist. Either way, whatever was going on inside my chest was like a hollow no-man’s-land.

  Which made this sniveling mess I’d become even more shameful and embarrassing. So much for trying to forget about things for a few hours. All I could think about was Mom, and Maddy, and our future and what all this meant for us. The helplessness was overwhelming. The unknown was daunting and filled me with fear.

  And the damned whiskey I’d been drinking all night had betrayed me monstrously.

  Goddammit.

  I stood up from the bar and wobbled to the bathroom, which only confirmed my predicament. I’d driven here, but I certainly couldn’t drive home.

  “Fuck,” I m
uttered, while fumbling with the lock on the bathroom stall. I plopped down on the toilet and rested my head in my hands while I peed.

  “It’s fine, Sage, it’s fine,” I mumbled. “Just order a Lyft…”

  I finished and washed my hands, then stumbled back to the bar. I stared at my half-finished drink and pushed it away in disgust.

  “Thanks,” I said to the bartender as I paid my bill and threw on my coat, struggling with the zipper.

  Could I really be this drunk, I wondered again? Yes, yes, I could.

  “Is it okay if I leave my car in your lot overnight?” I asked the bartender, who had now turned into two identical twins bobbing in front of my eyes.

  “Of course,” they said in unison.

  “Awesome,” I said, slurring a bit. I grabbed my phone and purse and walked outside, ignoring the man at the end of the bar who’d sent me the drink, trying to forget what a pathetic mess I must look like.

  The cold hit me like a slap in the face and I shivered against the wind as I pulled up the Lyft app on my phone. I punched in Mom’s address and waited for it to find me a driver, leaning against the side of the wall as the biting wind blew my hair around my face.

  The phone dinged and I looked down just as the front door of the bar opened next to me.

  Vaguely, I realized it was the man from the end of the bar, towering over me as he walked past. He heads towards a motorcycle parked on the edge of the lot not saying a word to me or even looking my way.

  Just as well, I thought.

  I looked down at my phone and couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  “Forty-five minutes!” I cried. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  How in the hell could the closest driver be that far away? I shook my head, reminding myself that I wasn’t in Portland anymore, where you could get a Lyft or an Uber in a matter of seconds.

  I took a deep breath, eyeing my car parked a few feet away.

  Shit.

  Hating myself for drinking too much, I pushed the button on my phone and ordered the ride. I’d just have to wait. That was the price I’d pay for that last drink. So be it. I certainly couldn’t take a chance of dying and leaving Maddy completely alone.