REMEMBER ME: GODS OF CHAOS MC

by Palomino, Honey

  REMEMBER ME

  GODS OF CHAOS MC

  By Honey Palomino

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ryder

  We’re not called the Gods of Chaos for nothing.

  The glare of the streetlights hit the chrome on my bike as I turned off the freeway and onto the unpaved road that led to my clubhouse. Dirt flew up on both sides of my thick tires. My headlight cast shadows of the tall, towering pine trees of the Tillamook Forest across the road; the only thing lighting my way through the heavy darkness of the woods. Five curvy miles later, I was separated from all civilization, and the familiar peacefulness washed over me.

  I was home. I was right where I belonged. I might have outgrown all the partying a little over the years, but it was all I had ever known. That life out there? Away from the clubhouse? I didn’t belong there. I never had, and I never would.

  As I roared up to the rundown cabin, the never-ending party was at its peak. Deafeningly loud music poured from the open doors and windows, and a glowing amber light spilled onto the dirty bikes parked out front. Each person that trailed in and out of the door had a drink in their hand and most had a smile on their face. The women all had a wiggle in their step, as they sashayed past leather-clad, drunken hell-raisers, flirtatiously batting their eyes and swinging their voluptuous hips.

  The sun had set, and just like it did every night, the wildness began seeping out into the darkness at the God of Chaos MC Clubhouse like a slithering, evil snake.

  In the corner of the parking lot, a circle had formed around Riot and Slade, two of the Gods. They were in their usual fighting stance, playing a game they both seemed to enjoy immensely, for whatever perverted reason. Both shirtless, their dirty jeans and boots were the only protection that stood between their flesh and the ground, or each other’s fists.

  Slade was bleeding through his grin, while Riot danced around him, trying to get another hit in before Slade knocked him out. Slade always won. I didn’t bother to keep watching, because it always played out the same way. Slade would knock him out, then pick him up and take him inside and pour whiskey down his throat till he shook it off and they laughed about it into the early morning hours. They were both more than a little crazy, but I loved them.

  Near the window to the right of the front door, I saw Zander, my VP. His old lady, Valerie, was on her knees, servicing him with a vigor that almost made me envious. I laughed when he caught my eye and winked at me as I pulled off my helmet and parked my bike. He gave me a thumbs up as I strode past him, shaking my head with a smile as he buried his hands in his old lady’s black curls and looked up at the shining stars sprinkled in the sky above us.

  The sound of breaking glass and a string of words that would have made a sailor blush echoed out the window on the other side of the front door.

  As I approached the door, I ducked just in time to miss the flying beer bottle that escaped from the doorway, followed by Thorn, our prospect, - one hand gripping his girlfriend’s Tiff’s ass, and the other outstretched and reaching for a wall to steady them both on. His hand missed by two inches, and they both tumbled to the ground in front of me, their tongues still firmly tangled together.

  I stepped over them, picked up the surprisingly still intact beer bottle, and headed towards the bar to find a fresh one for myself.

  This place was hardly what any normal person would consider peaceful. But that was just it. It wasn’t normal.

  And my brothers here? The outliers? The fringe of society? The partiers? The survivors? They weren’t normal, either.

  All we knew was chaos. The only way we knew how to live was on the edge.

  We were born in it. We were raised in it.

  It defines our very existence in this world.

  Hell, every day we continue to create it, just by being alive.

  We’re the Gods of Chaos.

  And we love every fucking chaotic second of it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Grace

  Do you ever wish you could change the channel on your past? Give yourself a whole new identity, and lay down the unfortunate baggage you were assigned to carry into your future?

  You do your best to leave it behind, but the memories stay with you. Indelible. Unforgettable. Unforgivable.

  The best thing you can do is carry on and figure out how to cope when the memories sneak up on you unexpectedly. I should know. I’ve tried everything to forget. I’ve turned my back on the places, the people, the pain. But it’s always there. Lingering, like a disease.

  You can’t pick where you came from.

  But, eventually, when you get old enough, you can choose where you’re headed.

  And that’s what I did. As soon as I could, I left all the dysfunction of my family behind, and I ran towards my future.

  Unfortunately, it stays with you, and you quickly learn you can’t forget it, no matter how much you try. If I couldn't forget, as much as I wanted to, I could use the past and everything I survived to make a new life of my own, and hopefully save some others in the process.

  My name is Grace. Grace Evans. I used to be Grace Faith Taylor. But I escaped that life, and changed my name. Unlike a lot of people with similar histories, I was able to get out alive.

  The key to surviving was simply leaving. As long as I wasn’t around my family, I was safe. It was the opposite of how it was supposed to be. I didn’t have a normal home.

  Now that I was out, now that I was an adult, I set out to turn it around.

  I survived hell, and I knew there were others still living in it, and a lot of them had it even worse than what I went through.

  My goal became to get them all out, one by one, if that’s what it took. No matter how long, or how hard or dangerous it became, it was worth it if I saved just one girl from one more day of suffering.

  I grew up, I told my story, and I put my abusers away. The trial was torture, but I got what I wanted. Ten years each. I did my best to put it all behind me after that.

  I changed my name to give myself a little distance, a little autonomy.

  Then, I worked my ass off until I got into the exact position I needed to be in to do what I had decided I was put here on this Earth to do.

  Stop the madness. Stop the abuse of women and children by predatory monsters that wanted only to use them up and spit them out. To do so, I became a monster myself. A one woman army fighting day and night, living and breathing my mission until I was the mission.

  There was no personal life. There was just my life. And all the others I planned on saving along the way.

  I was determined to let nothing get in my way, and so far, nothing had.

  Not until now. Now, I had a problem. An obstacle.

  And it was standing over me, watching the blood stream out of my mouth with a joy so evil that it was oozing from him. The thick, heavy strike of his leather boot on my ribs pushed me back six inches in the dirt and my eyes began to blur as the flesh around them began to swell from the impact from his fists moments ago.

  One by one, the stars in the sky disappeared, as did his voice, and I lay there motionless, staring into the immense blackness as it engulfed me completely.

  From far away, I could hear his evil laughter echoing in my mind until it slowly morphed into a loud, overwhelming vibration that rang throughout my entire body. The trees towering over me, the rocks that lay on the ground beside my lifeless body - the very sky itself - began to vibrate violently and for so long that I finally melted into it, drifting off with the sensation, becoming one with the shaking, until all the pain was gone and I slept the most peaceful sleep I had ever slept in my entire life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ryder

  I awoke to the
sounds of crickets chirping outside my window, and a tongue twirling warmly around the shaft of my hard cock. Groaning, I reached down and sank my fingers into Cherry’s copper curls and sank my cock deeper into her skillful mouth. Tiff’s perky breasts pressed into my side as she squirmed against me, her soft body wrapping itself around me in the darkness.

  After hours of sinking myself into both of them after returning to the clubhouse, I had drifted off to sleep. But, as usual, the girls were insatiable, only allowing me a brief time to rest before they were begging for more. And by begging, I mean taking. Asleep or not, you’d be hard-pressed to find any man that could resist the hardening of his cock in the presence of these two.

  They knew exactly what I liked, and how I liked it. They also knew what I didn’t like. And that was the most important skill of all.

  I was all business. Don’t get me wrong, I was more than happy to get serious between the sheets, or against the wall, or up against a tree in the middle of the woods, but once it was over, I had no time for messy feelings or clingy women. I wasn’t old man material. I never had been, and I never would be.

  Cherry and Tiff knew that, even if Cherry tried to get a little possessive sometimes. Every now and then, I’d have to remind her of the limits of our interactions. And sure, Tiff was technically our prospect Thorn’s occasional squeeze, but as the President of the Gods of Chaos MC, I had earned the right to be with any of the club girls I wanted. Unless she was someone’s old lady, and there was only one of those around these days. Most of the brothers weren’t too interested in making these girls a permanent part of their lives. Sure, they might take a liking to one or two, but they were rarely attached to anyone in particular. So, I borrowed Tiff every now and then.

  I liked the way she tasted. And she reminded me just how much by climbing up and straddling my face at the same time that Cherry smoothly mounted my cock. They rode me simultaneously, deliciously rocking their beautiful pussies against me, their lips and tongues melting together above me. The sound of their moans filled the clubhouse as we worked with a triple goal in mind. Tiff’s pussy was like velvet against my tongue, as I fucked into both of them over and over, our bodies meeting in the space between, slamming into each other again and again, harder and faster with every sweet, debaucherous thrust.

  Cherry tightened around my cock, her spasming pussy rhythmically pulling me over the edge as I reached up, and grabbing Tiff’s hips, I pulled her down towards me and pressed my tongue into her deeper and deeper until she was thrashing above me, the three of us coming together in a symphony of moans and soft screams, our voices echoing into the darkness of the still black night.

  We collapsed in a pile of naked limbs on my bed, the girls cooing on either side of me as I caught my breath, our chests rising and falling in the quiet room. This time, the girls drifted off to sleep, and I gently untangled myself, leaving them cuddled together as I snuck off to the shower.

  I cherished times like these. Rarely was there anything quiet about the clubhouse. The sounds of the party had faded long ago, and I knew all too well the scene that would greet me when I opened the door that led out of the peaceful privacy of my room and into the chaos of the clubhouse. But every now and then, I was blessed with being awake during those moments in between the chaos.

  The peace was comforting.

  I showered and dressed quietly, pulling my jeans over my hips, buckling my heavy silver skull belt-buckle, and placing my piece in the gun pocket of my cut. My knife slid smoothly into its leather case on my left hip, and my second knife fit snugly into my black leather harnessed biker boots. I stretched a clean, white t-shirt over my tattooed torso, and shrugged my cut on over my shoulders. I never felt quite right until I had my cut on.

  Like I said before, chaos was my life. This vest was a badge of honor, a symbol of respect for everything I chose to do, the very person I chose to be.

  It was a part of me just as much as my skin was.

  I took one last look at the girls in my bed, looking like angels sleeping with nothing covering them but the pale moonlight streaming in from the window.

  Any normal man would not be leaving. Any normal man would not be about to wind his way through the remnants of last night’s party, straddle a dangerous machine, and roar straight into the pitch black danger of the night to meet up with a fellow criminal to plan their weekly agenda of crimes. No. Any normal man wouldn’t have done any of that.

  But, like I said before, there’s nothing normal about me.

  I walked through spilled beer, side-stepped naked bodies strewn all around, picked up some broken glass, and turned down the stereo behind the bar. When I stepped outside, it felt like only minutes had passed since I had walked in. In truth, it had been several hours, but the night felt young, and as I took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs, I felt invigorated. Strong.

  I pulled on my helmet, started up my bike, and drove slowly, peacefully, down the winding road that would lead me to the main highway that would eventually lead me to the coast, where I was expected in an hour. Plenty of time to go slow and enjoy the stillness of the night.

  Unfortunately, that peace was short-lived. As soon as I spotted the headlights, I knew something was wrong. Nobody ever came this far down our road, and if they did, they were on a bike and I knew them well.

  At first, I could only make out the shadow of the man. His long, sleek El Camino shimmered in the moonlight like a snake lying behind him, lighting him up. When he turned towards me, I saw the glint of gold in his mouth. Then, I saw the silhouette of his cock in one hand, and a pistol in the other. He froze like a deer in my headlight, to my advantage. Before he could think to take one step towards me, I was on him. As I jumped off my bike, I saw the woman lying at his feet. I saw her bloody face, her skirt hiked up around her hips, her bare legs and feet covered in scratches, and I attacked without any further thought or debate.

  Whoever this guy was, he was no good.

  I barreled into his chest, knocking him off his feet, his gun skidding through the dirt and resting in the grass ten feet away. Stunned, he stared up at me, locking eyes with me as I grabbed him by the lapels of his filthy white suit jacket. A crumpled pink carnation clung to his front pocket like a dying wish.

  “Who the fuck are you?”I asked.

  “Fuck you!”A sickly, evil grin spread across his gaunt face.

  Sweet anticipation spread through my veins as I asked one more question before pummeling him.

  “Who is she?”I asked, my chin jutting in the direction of the still motionless, bloody woman.

  “Just a cunt who deserves what she got.” The sick sneer remained on his face until the first contact of my fist. The rest was a blur. I don’t know how long I hit him. At least until he stopped moving. A shot in his leg, just in case he decided to come back to while I went to check on the girl.

  She had a pulse. Gently, I pulled her long blonde hair away from her face. Her eyes were closed and the swelling was already beginning. My eyes trailed up and down her battered body, and rage swelled inside of me again.

  My eyes darted over to the man, and he began moaning softly, barely moving, like a dying piece of roadkill. I rose, my stride unflinching, with more purpose than I had ever felt in my life. My gun was heavy in my hand. My bicep twitched as it went off, my hand holding onto my weapon steadily, with ease, with confident intention.

  And then he stopped moving. Suddenly. Easily.

  And just like that, the stillness returned. But, while the peacefulness I loved had only been interrupted by a few moments, now, everything was different.

  That stillness now came with a price.

  I stood over her, staring down at this strange woman, and wondering what the hell I had stumbled upon. Who was she? A hooker? His lover?

  I rifled through the El Camino, and found nothing but a bottle of lube in the glove compartment and a few condoms under the front seat. Two joints were in the ash tray, which I pocketed. No purse, though. I walk
ed over to the dead guy, taking him in briefly before looking through his pockets. I wasn’t much on fashion, but even I could tell his suit was cheap by the thin, rough fabric and his shoes, while very shiny, weren’t even real leather. His stringy black hair was slicked back away from his ugly, pock-marked face.

  I found his wallet, with an ID that said he was Franco Javier Corona and had an address in Gresham. Three hundred and fifty-seven dollars in small bills, and two hotel card keys, and not much else. I pocketed the cash, and tucked his wallet back inside his suit jacket.

  I looked at the girl again, and shook my head. Something wasn’t right. She was too healthy, too pretty to be a hooker. Way too fucking pretty to be the dead guy’s girlfriend. Her skin, while bruised and scratched, was smooth and toned, with a perfect bronze sheen to it. Her curvy hips swelled away from a taut, strong core of perfect ab muscles that I could see a flash of because her black tank top was pushed up against the swell of her full breasts. Every hooker I had ever seen was emaciated and ravaged from drugs and other various abuses, and the girl laying in front of me looked as healthy as a prized horse.