by Haley Jenner
a Chaotic Rein novel
by Haley Jenner
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright 2018 Haley Jenner. All rights reserved.
Published by Haley Jenner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design: ellie at Love N. Books
Cover Model: Warren Phillips
Photographer: Jeff Heath
Editor: ellie at Gray Ink
This book is intended for those 18 years and older. It contains content of an adult nature.
To anyone who has ever felt shadowed by their dark thoughts.
Ellie. We’re running out of ways to say thank you. We’ll never stop, but that just means you’ll have to hear us bowing down at your feet for eternity. You make us better writers and not just through your editing, but because you make us more conscious of who we are as authors now. So, maybe here, we’d like to thank Instagram for bringing you to us. Thank the holy fucking greatness of memes that kick started our appreciation for you as a person. You’re our Yoda, our Sorting Hat, our Three-eyed raven. Anyway, this is getting weirdly long. You’re our form of a bible; let’s break bread and drink wine (eat pizza and get drunk).
Can we double paragraph you ellie? Or is that weird? Too bad. Special mention needs to be made about this cover. HOLY. MOTHERFUCKING. SHIT. Thank you for securing this image of Warren for us. Writing Tangled, we had a picture in our mind and you made that happen. We don’t even know how to say thank you for that. We heart you. Big time.
Stacey, Sarah and Samara. Your names are like a solid fixture in our books now and we LOVE that; a forever part of the HJ family. The time you take to read our books and offer us feedback before we let them out into the big, wide world, means everything to us. Truly. You ladies take away the crippling nerves of release week. We love you, you know this, but it doesn’t hurt to be told a million times more.
To the amazing group of people that make up our Group Therapy reader’s group. We hope you know how much we appreciate each and every one of you. Group Therapy is one of our favorite places and you bring smiles to our faces every day.
To our readers. We’re still constantly blown away by the love and support shown to us in this amazing community of book lovers. We feel so blessed to be a part of this ridiculously beautiful collection of people. There are no words to describe how grateful we feel every time you engage in our posts, every time you share something of ours, every time we read a review. It’s overwhelming and it’s humbling. Each and every one of you hold a special place in our hearts (like double the love, because there’s two of us). Thank you for continuing to read our words, to let yourself be consumed in our stories, we hope you love them as much as we love you. Kisses. (And hugs from J. H would hug you, but she’s kinda weirdly uncomfortable with physical affection. She still loves you though.)
We hope you enjoy Parker and Codi’s tangled love story. These characters hold a special place in our heart(s) and we hope we’ve done their chaotic story justice.
Much love, as always, H and J x
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Epilogue
Parker & Codi’s Playlist
About the Author
Other Books by Haley Jenner
Connect with Haley Jenner
Prologue
Parker
I’ve seen this scene before. A hundred times. Maybe more. You know the one. The rained upon funeral. People gathered in their dark clothes, umbrellas scattered amongst the crowd, shielding them from the dreary weather as they pay their respects. The widower; soul extinguished from his eyes, flanked by his two sons. Boys that are dressed in the same black attire as their father, loss and anguish cloaking their not-yet-matured faces.
It’s different experiencing it first-hand. There’s a hollowness to it that swallows you. That engulfs you entirely until you’re not sure that you’re actually still standing there. You almost feel as though you’re watching from a distance. Watching yourself grieve for the single most important person in your life. You want to comfort yourself, move closer to offer your support, but then that would mean being amidst the misery, so you let yourself remain detached. For as long as possible anyway.
I’m happy for the rain. The bleak and colorless damp thundering down on me. I’d be pissed if the sun were shining today. If Seattle decided to shine one of the few warm days of the year upon us in this moment. No. Rain and gloom is right. It’s what it should be.
Words are spoken, but I let them pass my ears without hearing them. Nothing anyone would say is meaningful enough for me to listen. They’d all be clichés and empty words of how joyous her time with us was. Was. That’s the word I can’t seem to stomach. The word I can’t move past without suffocating in my grief. It’s painful enough to make my fourteen-year-old self want to die. To crawl into that hole the wooden box is hanging over, and move into the abyss with her. Except that would mean leaving Rocco, and I’m not gutless enough to do that.
Her casket begins lowering without further warning, and I feel myself beginning to choke on my own breath. I attempt to swallow it down, wanting to shield everyone from the overwhelming sadness drowning me. I have no choice. I was warned; my father’s words still ringing in my ears.
Don’t embarrass me with theatrics today. Show me your strength. Prove to me you belong in this family. Otherwise there’ll be consequences.
Rocco’s hand grabs tightly onto mine and his whole-body shakes with his will not to let his tears spill over, the movement visibly moving my arm. We turn, eyes anchoring and we remain that way, glued to one another as our mother meets the earth. Leaving us in the hell she couldn’t have imagined would encase us. A hell brought down by her beloved.
Her husband.
Our father.
A man so broken down by grief, so consumed with hate, he barely resembles a human being.
No. Now the devil himself would cower against Kane Shay. I force myself to see his side, to understand what happens to a person when something is stolen from them. Forcibly. Brutally. You lose any good that sat within your soul. It suffocates with your hate.
***
“Parker, sweetheart, you should eat something.”
I glance to Aunt Mira, her soft-spoken voice weak in its delivery. Uncle Marcus charged her with our care today. With ensuring Rocco and I remained dutiful and out of sight, making certain we ate. It angers me. I’m not hungry; the thought of food causing the sick feeling in my stomach to magnify. But I know if I don’t, she’ll bear the brunt. The blame for me refusing food. Most likely with his fists. I hate him. I hate the ruthless
glint in his eyes. The void of emotion that strips away his humanity. Besides anger, of course. He radiates it. I understand why my father charged him with being his second. You want someone that lacks feeling at your side. I watched him at the funeral, when I could stomach lifting my eyes from my brother’s, all I could see in his face was boredom. Irritation at having to be there. Our mother, his sister-in-law, was being laid to rest and he was inconvenienced by her funeral. I know he was only there at my father’s demand.
“Sure, Aunt Mira,” I agree, watching the bunch of her shoulders relax at my compliance. “I’ll go find Rocco.”
She smiles at me sadly, leaning down to touch her lips to my hair before moving toward the kitchen.
If I’m glad for anything today, it’s her. Relief that we still have her. Even if she is nothing more than a shell of a person. I’ll take that over whatever else Rocco and I have on offer.
Men and women gather in our living area, hushed tones and commiserated glances thrown at me as I edge past them in search of my brother. It doesn’t take me long to locate him, even in this prison our father calls our home.
“Rocco,” I call out when I see him.
Lifting a finger to his lips at lightning speed, he instructs me to be quiet, his feet edging him closer to our father’s office. I pad on light feet to stand behind him, listening closely to the voices inside.
“We react now, Kane. Take Dominic out.”
The malevolence in Marcus’ tone shoots a shiver up my spine and I swallow deeply against how easy he speaks of death, of taking someone’s life.
“You don’t think they’re prepared for that? Be smart, Marcus. No one wants Rein’s blood more than I do, he killed my fucking wife.”
The pain in my father’s voice is obvious but easily drowned out by his hate, making his declaration sound more vengeful than broken.
“So fucking kill him,” Marcus argues desperately and it gives me pause as to why he cares so much. My mother never liked him and the feeling was mutual. He didn’t show an ounce of grief when mom’s life had been taken, yet he’s desperate to enact revenge. It makes no sense and all I can speculate is that his thirst for chaos, for blood, runs so deep he’ll take any opportunity to find it.
Quiet descends and Rocco looks to me briefly before moving his ear back toward the office. Our father speaks next, the quiet haunt of his tone terrifying. “He blew her fucking face off, Marcus. I couldn’t even look at her to say goodbye. He made sure there was nothing left of her beautiful face. I’m gonna sit on my anger, my vengeance, my revenge and when the time is right, I’m gonna take everything from him. I’m gonna rip his heart from his body, like he did mine.”
Vomit rushes up my throat and I bend over in pain. Rocco yanks me upward, his eyes turning a violent shade of black. Our eyes meet, and a fire storms in his eyes as mine fill with heartache as we try to stomach the words we just heard. The brutality in the way our mother died. He holds my arm as he moves us away, but the words follow us. They’ll haunt me until the day I die. Until the moment I take my very last breath. I know that. As they flew from my father’s mouth, dripping with hate, they engrained themselves in my mind, never to be erased.
He blew her fucking face off. He made sure there was nothing left of her beautiful face.
“What are you two doing?”
Rocco whirls us around at the sound of Marcus’ voice, his entire body still vibrating with the anger. He can’t speak, the violent fury cutting off his ability to communicate. My eyes are brimming with tears, but I swallow back my need to cry. Not in front of him. Never will I show weakness to a man so willing to exploit it.
“Were checkin’ if Dad wanted somethin’ to eat, Aunt Mira is makin’ us lunch,” I blurt out, taking a step back, pulling Rocco with me. “But we heard voices in his office, so we didn’t want to interrupt,”
He eyes us skeptically, focus honing in on my brother. He reads his mood, and a wicked smile crosses his face. He knows we heard their conversation and he’s happy we now know the violent end our mother came to.
He wants this version of Rocco he sees to be permanent. The psychotic child no one can reason with. He sees the perfect soldier. A pawn in whatever games he seems to be playing.
Rocco meets his stare, refusing to back down at the devil dancing in Marcus’ eyes.
“Go,” Marcus finally speaks, flicking his wrist, dismissing us both and I drag Rocco away.
***
“Rocco?” I call into the black of his bedroom.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice devoid of any emotion. My eyes settle in the direction of his voice and I make out his silhouette, sitting upright on his bed, knees bent.
“Mind if I crash in your room? I just, what Dad said, I…”
“Yeah, kid,” he coughs out, shifting on his bed to allow me space.
I wander over, settling alongside him and by some miracle, I fall asleep, even with the haunting words of my father glowing in the forefront of my mind.
I dream of her. She was beautiful; light hair, wide smile, swirling gray eyes. I loved her. Love her. Even with her gone, that won’t stop. I dream of her laughing, of the memories I hold of her. Of how happy our lives were because of her. But my dreams turn. They twist with the words I wish I hadn’t heard and I see her smiling, right before a bullet penetrates her skull and her face is replaced by blood.
“PARKER.”
I wake up, sweating, my heart racing. Rocco’s hands are grasped tightly to my upper arms as he calls my name, pulling me into consciousness. It takes me a moment, my nightmare hits me again and I cry. I sob heavily and he pulls me into his chest.
“You heard Dad. We’ll get vengeance, Parker. I promise, we’ll make them pay. We’ll fuckin’ destroy them for takin’ her away from us.”
He repeats this over and over again, rocking back and forth to settle me.
***
Three years later, my father is shot down in a shower of bullets. A gun trade gone bad. I wish I could say I was sad. But the last three years have been nothing more than an abyss of pain. Of suffering. Kane Shay made sure of that. He took out his frustration, his hate, his anger, his grief, on us. He beat us, he destroyed the light in our souls our mother had placed there. He slowly began training us to hate like he did.
I was relieved by his death, but it fueled something different inside Rocco. He took on my father’s vengeance, he took on his hate and let it worsen over time. He let it expand and fester, and without choice, he took me along with him.
One
Parker
My knee cracks as I stand, the effort working my stiff muscles. I’ve been watching her for days now. Not that she’s noticed. I’ve been discreet, but I sure as shit ain’t been hiding. Yet nothing, not even a curious glance in my direction.
Working out her routine was easy enough. Aside from work, she’s a homebody. She doesn’t have a man, or many friends even. She sticks to herself. She’s in no way closed off, or seemingly disappointed by her lack of a social life. She’s content. Happy even.
I’ve been sitting for close to an hour watching her work. Watching her smile. Watching her laugh. Watching the easy happiness in which she lives. I resent her for that. Begrudge how carefree and simple her life must be, how lacking of torment or turmoil it is. That life could’ve been mine, should’ve been mine. Instead, while she prances through her existence with a large smile and happy eyes, I’ve been fighting against being swallowed up by hell. For eighteen years.
I move closer to the shop window, shoulder leaning casually against a pillar, seemingly relaxed to passers-by. If only they knew the truth. If only they could see my mind’s eye, working tirelessly behind the scenes as I stand here, nonchalant and indifferent.
From the pictures Rocco showed me, I knew what she looked like before my stakeout began. But seeing her in the flesh, it’s obvious the image didn’t do her justice. Not by a long shot.
I’ve had my fair share of women. Some smokin’, others not as much.
I’ve found over the years that hot women are a dime a dozen. Beauty, real beauty, the untouchable kind, it’s rare. Manufactured for consumers, sure, marketing assholes trying in vain to recreate the unrivaled beauty of someone like her.
Like Codi Rein.
Codi’s allure is one hundred percent real. She’s flawless. Skin tone like creamed butter; smooth and honeyed. Her hair naturally highlighted, strands a perfected array of differing shades of blonde. It hits her shoulders, soft waves hanging loosely and dancing around her face. I can’t see her eyes from this far away, but I know they’re blue, so dark they flash purple. Her body is tight, and I mean tight. Skin pulled firmly over svelte curves.
She’s a wet dream come to life. And I get to play with her. Well, that’s what I’ve decided anyway. This wasn’t what this was supposed to be about. It was a straight-forward plan. Watch her for a bit, learn her routine and when the timing was right, move forward with our plan.
Now though, it seems such a waste. I’m hoping Rocco will be cool with me going off path. Let me have some fun with the sweetness of Codi Rein before her family gets what’s coming to them.
I pull the door of the shop open, the warmth of inside hitting me like a wall. She looks up at the small bell that chimes as I enter, watching my approach.
“Hiya, handsome.”
Her smile is so big it breaks her face, stretching her lips in a way that turns them from red to a bruised pink. It’s genuine, her smile. Kind, and I pause momentarily considering that I’ve never smiled like that. Genuinely. Don’t get me wrong, I fake the fuck out of a grin when I need it. But it ain’t ever real, not like hers.
Her head tips to the side, my silence making her uncertain, but her smile stays intact, not even the slightest waver in the gesture as she considers me. She’s not concerned by my rough appearance. Not in the least. My ink, thick muscles and bruised and cut skin not causing her any discomfort. Not in the way it should. She should be nervous. Anxious by my severe disposition. Instead, I see only kindness, intrigue even.