Until Mayhem: Happily Ever Alpha World

by Layla Frost

  Table of Contents

  Until Mayhem

  Copyright

  Other Books by Layla Frost

  From the Pervy Mind of the Author…

  Dedicated to…

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Connect with Layla Frost

  Until Mayhem

  Copyright © 2019 by Layla Frost

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Published by Boom Factory Publishing, LLC.

  Layla Frost CONTRIBUTOR to the Original Works was granted permission by Aurora Rose Reynolds, ORIGINAL AUTHOR, to use the copyrighted characters and/ or worlds created by Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Work; all copyright protection to the characters and/ or worlds of Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Works are and shall continue to be retained by Aurora Rose Reynolds. You can find all of Aurora Rose Reynolds Original Works on most major retailers. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Dark Water Covers

  Formatting by CP Smith

  OTHER BOOKS BY LAYLA FROST

  The Hyde Series

  Hyde and Seek

  Best Kase Scenario

  Until Nox: Happily Ever Alpha World

  The Amato Series

  With Us

  The Four

  Styx

  Stoned

  Standalones

  Give In

  FROM THE PERVY MIND OF THE AUTHOR…

  First of all, I’d like to thank Aurora Rose Reynolds for again letting me borrow a couple Maysons. I’ve been reading her Until series since its inception, and never once did I think I’d be in a place where I was combining that world with one of my own. It’s an honor, and I’m still pinching myself at this dream come true.

  I’d also like to thank everyone at Boom Factory Publishing for keeping things organized and running smoothly!

  My betas, ARC readers, bloggers, and authors… You make this rockin’ world go round! Your support and dedication and love is invaluable. I’m so grateful and honored to be a part of something so wonderful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Alexandria H., Jenny R.E., Jamie W., Kimberly B., Sandy D., Kimberly D., and Elizabeth T., thank you so much for helping me name my bikers. It really helped shape their personalities and stories. I appreciate you so much!

  Artistic thanks to Tracie Douglas at Dark Water Covers. You’re a cover goddess, and I’m amazed at the magic you weave with my limited and unhelpful input.

  And my Naughty Cupcakes… How did I get so lucky? This group amazes me, and I’m so grateful to have formed bonds to people I’ve never met in real life but consider my closest friends—my family. I’m so honored and touched every time you share a post that makes you think of me. I’m not sure what it says about me that 99% of those posts are booze, hot guy, taco, or penis related… Actually, I take that back, I do know what it says. It says you think I’m awesome! In all seriousness, I’m so grateful you choose to spend your time hanging around in my group with me. You’re my inspiration and my driving force to write when I’d rather be napping. Which, let’s be honest, is always. I love you all and hope you love all the OTT goodness I packed into Judge and Ophelia’s story for you.

  DEDICATED TO . . .

  The germs and other medical nonsense that tried to slow me down.

  Go fuck yourself.

  OKAY, FINE, THIS BOOK IS ACTUALLY DEDICATED TO:

  Brynne Asher and Sarah Curtis. Without your help and encouragement, those damn setbacks—both physical and mental—may have won. Thank you for being my sounding boards, my therapists, my best friends.

  ARR for sharing her beautiful world, both real and fictional. Thanks for letting me borrow the boom.

  In the words of someone way more eloquent than myself, “Behind every successful woman is a tribe of other successful women who have her back.”

  And also to M…

  Thank you for always treating me like a princess, even when the long hours at the computer mean I resemble a swamp demon. You’re my muse.

  I love you whole bunches.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ___________________________

  PSYCHO

  OPHELIA

  MILK.

  Sugar-free hard candy.

  Scratchers.

  Cat food.

  Repeating my list—though I’d likely still forget something—I added a mental groan to the mix as I pulled into the full parking lot.

  I knew I should’ve stopped last night.

  Saturday mornings were always packed, but the gorgeous spring weather meant even more people were out. I didn’t have time to duck and dodge the crowds of slow walkers and aisle blockers.

  Circling around, I finally found a parking spot at the side of the building. I grabbed my purse and was climbing from my car when roaring engines stole my attention.

  I may have been running short on time, but I still stopped to watch as three motorcycles pulled into spots in the next row. I knew nothing about bikes or bikers beyond what I’d seen on TV, but I did know I liked the way they looked—the bikes and the bikers. My attention turned rapt as one of the men climbed off his with badass gracefulness and removed his helmet.

  Holy.

  Biker.

  Hotness.

  He turned his head to talk with the driver of a large white van, giving me his profile. Dark hair covered his angular jaw—longer than stubble but not quite a beard. The hair on his head was the same dark brown and also appealingly overgrown.

  He moved his arms, and my eyes dropped to check out the art that covered his visible forearms, though I couldn’t make out any details.

  A door slammed and I jumped, nearly falling the rest of the way out of my car. Shaking my head at myself, I closed my door and walked toward the grocery store entrance.

  Fortunately for my eyes—but unfortunate for my schedule—the three bikers and the van driver moved that way, too.

  Nothing wrong with enjoying the scenery while I walk.

  We were almost to the door when the youngest of the men—the one who’d been driving the van—suddenly turned.

  I was tempted to throw myself behind a decorative display so I wasn’t caught staring at his friend. My pride and I breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes aimed over my head as he walked backward, lifting his key fob.

  Learning my lesson, I looked away and feigned intense interest in the displays of seasonal flowers.

  Well, I learned it for half a minute. Because once he turned back around, my focus returned to the other man with him—the heavily tattooed one. I wished I had the skill to st
ealthily take a picture because the girls at work would have a field day seeing them.

  Actually, if I were making wishes, it would be that I was ballsy enough to go right up and ask for a ride on his bike.

  Or a ride on something else.

  Stepping into the store, I grabbed a basket and continued following them. Not creepily—or so I told myself—but because we happened to be going the same direction. When they turned down an aisle I didn’t need—and following them would’ve been straight up stalking—I grudgingly parted ways with the eye candy.

  Speed walking to make up for lost time, I grabbed milk and cat food. I turned down the candy aisle only to see the bikers loading their arms with junk food. My steps slowed to a snail’s crawl so I could peek at them as I passed.

  Well, mostly to peek at him—Tattooed Hottie.

  To be fair, the other three were nothing to scoff at. One was older and looked like the epitome of an old school biker. On the opposite end, the young guy who’d been driving the van looked around my age and was boyishly cute. There was a handsome man who was somehow even more handsome under the usually unflattering fluorescent lights.

  And then there was Tattooed Hottie. From across the parking lot, he’d been… well, hot.

  Up close, he was a broodingly gorgeous man who kinda scared me but mostly thrilled me.

  Seeing his profile next to the handsome one, I was fairly certain they were related.

  And good genes definitely ran in the family.

  After adding too many bags of hard candy to my basket, I took one last appreciative look before going to pay. When I was done, I stopped at the lotto machines.

  I was trying to decide which ones to get when the hairs at the back of my neck stood. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the bikers waiting in line, but none of them were looking my way.

  Holy shit, maybe I have biker senses that tingle.

  Not as useful as turning into Spiderman, but still fun.

  I chose some random scratchers, put them in my bag, and started for my car. Rounding the corner, I dipped my head to look in my purse for my keys when I bumped into someone.

  Hard.

  My back slammed against rough brick, and I braced for my head to knock against the unforgiving building, but it landed on something soft.

  An apology for not paying attention formed, as did outrage at them for not paying attention, either. What came out was a yelped, “Hey, sorry!”

  It took me a moment to realize I hadn’t bounced off someone to hit the wall.

  I’d been pushed.

  And I knew that because the pusher was still standing close.

  Way too close.

  Close enough that I could see the skin near his light brown eyes crinkle. “‘Hey, sorry’? You gotta work on your shit-talk, princess.”

  Tattooed Hottie.

  He was even better looking up close, but when he had me against a wall, I wasn’t about to get lost in his interesting cream soda colored eyes. Or get distracted by the beautiful lines of his angular cheekbones and jaw.

  I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Then I needed to figure out how the hell to end it because his arms were caging me in, and I had no interest in finding out how easily those arms with their cut muscles could break me.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you,” I said with a forced smile, hoping if I acted like it’d been an accident, he’d roll with it and let me go. I tried to shift, but his body followed.

  “You didn’t. I pushed you.”

  “That was rude,” I shot back automatically.

  “Your shit-talk game, princess,” he shook his head, “it’s shit.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll work on it. Why did you push me?” I peeked to the side, hoping to catch the eye of a random shopper, but it was nearly impossible to see around the broad biker. The limited view I had was of one of his friends.

  This isn’t TV or the movies.

  Not all bikers are criminals.

  This one just has… boundary issues.

  He dipped his head into my line of vision. “Why were you following us?”

  Oh, ground, swallow me whole.

  “Wh-what?” I stuttered.

  “You heard me. Why were you tailing us?”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “You were, and you’re shit at it. Clocked you staring when we got here. Since you seemed interested earlier, I got a permit to carry—nice and legal. You called the cops, I’m good to show them.”

  My brows lowered. “Why would I call the cops?”

  He smirked, but it wasn’t with amusement. There was a bitter edge to it. “You’d be surprised how many people call the cops on us for simply living.”

  My chest tightened with apprehension that bordered on fear as the rest of what he’d said sank in. “I didn’t see any gun.”

  He studied my face, but rather than looking assured, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “Why were you following us?”

  “I wasn’t,” I said again, which was a half-truth but whatever.

  “Someone send you?”

  “Me? Who? Why?”

  “You, because you’re fuck-all hot and could easily wrap a man around your little finger with just the fantasy of you wrapping those fuckable lips around their dick. Who, I dunno, that’s why I’m askin’. And the why depends on that who.”

  I stored the first part away to think about at a much later time, from the safety of my own home and far, far away from Tattooed Hottie. Right then, I focused on the only parts that mattered.

  “I wasn’t sent by anyone for any reason,” I insisted. “I need to go.”

  “Someone expecting you?”

  “Yes.”

  I’d thought my answer was a smart way to make it known someone would notice me running late if he kept me there longer, but quickly realized I was wrong when his already brooding glare intensified.

  “Who?” he bit out.

  “None of your business,” I snapped back.

  “It is if you’re following us for them.”

  I nearly laughed at the absurd mental image. “Trust me, I’m not. Now move before I scream.”

  A twisted smile curled his lips. “Oh, princess, I hope you do.”

  My trickle of fear turned into a raging river. I had my pride, but I also had a strong sense of self-preservation. My ego wasn’t worth them thinking I was some shady spy.

  “I thought you were hot,” I admitted quickly. “That’s why I was watching you.”

  His head jerked back a little and his sinister smile shifted into a cocky smirk. “You think I’m hot?”

  My self-preservation vanished with a poof just as fast as it’d shown itself because I shrugged and muttered, “I thought you all were hot. Past tense.”

  Jaw clenched, he gritted out, “Nah, princess, your eyes were on me—only me.”

  Before I could stick my foot further into my mouth, one of the other men spoke. “N…” he started before pausing. “He texted. We gotta hit the road.”

  The man continued staring at me, his eyes slowly scanning my face.

  “Didja hear me?” whoever asked.

  Scary Tattooed Hottie just lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

  Some of my fear eased, but I wouldn’t let my guard down until I was in my car and the bikers were gone from my rearview mirror.

  After a long tense moment, someone cleared their throat. “What about the girl?”

  Another silent moment stretched before Tattooed Hottie stood upright and took a step away.

  I locked my knees to stop from slumping in relief, but my reprieve was short-lived.

  “Could be tellin’ the truth. Or could be playin’ us with lies from that fuckin’ mouth. Until we know…” Tattooed Hottie paused and looked me dead in the eye. “She’s mine.”

  Before I had time to respond, his shoulder went to my belly and lifted, literally and figuratively flipping my world upside down. My groceries and—really unfortunately—my purse clattered t
o the ground.

  It took a moment to catch the breath his hard shoulder had knocked from me, but as soon as I had it, I used it. “Let me down! Help! Let me down, you crazy bastard!”

  In the few strides he took, I kicked and screamed and hit. I even tried to bite, but none of it did any good.

  My equilibrium was jarred further when he tossed me, but as soon as I got my bearings enough to know which way was up, I scrambled toward the rear doors of the van just as they slammed shut. That didn’t stop me from clawing and kicking at them. “You’re out of your mind! There’re cameras everywhere in the damn parking lot. Let me go!”

  My eyes darted around, but I couldn’t see anything. There were no windows and the cab was completely walled off, not offering even a hint of sunlight. I felt around for a handle, a weapon, bobby pin… anything. Empty handed, I stood and felt around the roof, hoping for an escape hatch or sunroof or something.

  But once again, nothing.

  This is a prank.

  A prank gone way, way too far.

  That flicker of hope was snuffed out when the engine roared to life, followed by the near-deafening roar of motorcycles.

  And then we were moving—the acceleration and my shaking legs working together to drop me on my already sore ass.

  In the darkness, the image of the man’s burning gaze replayed in my mind, his words echoing over and over.

  ‘She’s mine.’

  He’s not Scary Tattooed Hottie.

  He’s fuckin’ Psycho Tattooed Asshole.

  I tried to crawl toward the front where the seats were, feeling again for anything, but the back of the van was totally empty.