Quiet Chaos : The Chaos Series- Book #2

by Keta Kendric

  If not for Desiree, I would probably be an empty, emotionless vessel, incapable of forming or giving true affection. My father died when I was too young to remember him, and my dead crackhead mother remained a nameless soul that my uncle refused to talk about in detail.

  I had never gotten the soft hugs and sweet kisses little girls were supposed to get. I was taught to fight, to survive, to protect, and to dish out punishment. The streets were my parents, because incidentally my uncle had only ever been interested in shoving me into them.

  Although I had never gone into any branch of the military, I was a soldier of a different kind, one created by wrath and fury, danger and sin. Desiree had never given up the quest of proving that I was capable of more than loving her and the streets.

  The expression she cast on me lingered as we made our way out the door. It was a cross between hope and fear, and it was too late to ask her about it. She sprang the second door open, and we were met with crushing silence, followed by the wedding march being keyed by an overpaid piano player.

  My fingers tightened around Desiree’s hand, crushing it. She walked in place beside me, acting as my best-woman and the person I had picked to get me down the aisle. The aisle was a floral pathway that divided the huge room in half.

  Surrounded by an ocean of sunlight and a rainbow of different shades of blue and white flowers, each side of the space was packed with excited onlookers who had snapped around quickly in their seats, unwilling to miss a thing. Instead of benches, elegantly decorated tables made up each side of the room.

  “It’s okay,” Desiree whispered. “You’ll do fine. When haven’t you?”

  Her words of encouragement landed on my heart and allowed me to concentrate on the most beautiful scenery I’d had the pleasure of seeing in years. The mountains called my attention through the glass walls. The sun’s rays pierced the bluest clouds, shining down streams of light that appeared to be blasted straight from heaven.

  Soft murmurs dwindled into a stilled silence that called my attention from the view and momentarily stifled my movements. The guest eyed me with a lingering intensity as gasps lifted their shoulders high and parted their lips like they were holding their breath.

  The breath I was holding rushed out when I noticed the emergence of approving smiles and the sparks of excitement in their expressions at my appearance. Phones and cameras were lifted and aimed, the clicks blending into the melody of the wedding song being played.

  Despite the crowd’s excitement, my legs became weighted like two inflexible led pipes. A big neon sign flashed in my head, reminding that with each step I took, I was walking towards an uncertain future.

  Waving silk banners hung from the glass ceiling as crystal figurines accented with my favorite color, sky blue, sat in strategic places among the crowd. This was the wedding of my dreams. Too bad I didn’t know my groom well enough to even care about him, or any of the people filling the space with their excited, but sketchy energy.

  I’d had a reoccurring wedding dream through the years, my mind always summoning a similar fantasy wedding day. I would always see my groom waiting, visible from the neck down, but his face had always been a mystery. I accepted the dream as a sign that there wasn’t anyone out there for me.

  My Mr. Right had likely already been shot and killed or had never been born because his mother had had an abortion, some crazy mess my brain would conjure up as a reason for my groom being faceless.

  The revolving door of faceless men I had dated throughout the years, and dropped, hadn’t given me an ounce of hope on putting a face on the mystery husband of my dreams.

  However, there was finally a face on my groom this day, but it was the last face I would have pictured. I had imagined a dread-wearing, insanely handsome brother waiting on me. Instead, I was inching closer to a man I never envisioned touching me, much less marrying me.

  Based on the few encounters between Arjen and me, I didn’t believe he would be opposed to not consummating our wedding. He gave me the impression that he wanted what I wanted, which was to strengthen the empires we ran.

  Thick knots of dread kept dragging me down, the closer I got to the altar. None of my runaway ideas could explain the tight pull of reluctance as Desiree all but dragged me along, keeping her body close to mine.

  “We’re almost there.” Desiree’s whisper found my ear.

  The area where my groom waited was the portion of the building that extended out and edged over the cliff, so it appeared that Desiree and I were about to walk off the side of the mountain. The glass floor gave a peek at the steep slope of the mountain’s descent below my shaky view.

  Once I was within a few feet of my groom, my lips twisted into a smile despite the hot coils of tension riding my body. He was handsome, in his expensive white Tuxedo that fit his impressively tall frame with class to highlight his defined chest and arms.

  Surprisingly, I considered Arjen a gift to my imagery sensors, his picture as captivating as the view outside. I took in both he and Khane as I eased closer. The brothers shared similar heights and masculine statures, but their appearances were like night and day. Where Khane had darker features, Arjen’s were lighter, his eyes, hair, and complexion.

  By the time we made it to within a few feet of Arjen, the pastor, and Khane at his side, Desiree and I appeared to be standing in mid-air atop a glass floor.

  A debilitating thought socked me in the chest when I stood to face Arjen. Was I about to make a mistake?

  5

  Arjen

  Every eye in the room was cast on Mecca as camera flashes popped off like an A-list celebrity had entered the building. The power of anticipation held me captive as she edged closer, her dress fitting her delicious figure to perfection. Her cousin, who I was set to marry only a few weeks prior, was walking her down the aisle.

  A glance around the room revealed genuine awe on people’s faces along with their appreciative smiles. Cameras and phones were held at every angle, attempting to capture the moment and peek into her emotions.

  The few moving lips I read spilled words like beautiful and lovely, and a few men thought I was lucky. I didn’t need anyone’s approval, but their reactions swelled me with pride, like I was accomplishing a goal I had not known I needed to set.

  I wasn’t one to get anxious, and if I did, I had learned how to keep it hidden. However, this union had me on edge, and a jittery tension I wasn’t used to had crept into my bones and stiffened my body.

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” Khane whispered, likely picking up on my tension.

  Until he had spoken, I had forgotten him standing at my side. I wasn’t like this at my first attempt at a wedding, so why was I reacting now?

  The attempts I made to swallow the anxiousness bubbling up inside of me failed. The closer my bride came, the more intense the sensations grew, and caused my damn knees to get a little twitchy. My heart pounded against my ribcage like it wanted out of my chest. Where had these uncharacteristic feelings come from? More importantly, why was I feeling them?

  Once Desiree walked Mecca within a few feet of me, my mouth went dry, and nerves overtook me, sending tiny shockwaves zipping throughout my entire body. The pastor talked, and I assumed he was instructing me to do the unveiling since Desiree had kissed Mecca and was standing in place a few paces behind her.

  Reaching for the veil, I took my time lifting the sheer white material. Her hair was pulled into an elegant bun atop her head that held the veil in place. Once I had it lifted past her face, I paused, my hand stuck mid-lift as my gaze had traveled over Mecca. I needed a moment to process what my eyes were seeing.

  Holy shit!

  The gum that I shouldn’t have been chewing was a gulp from slipping down my throat, and I wasn’t sure if I had just cursed out loud. The crowd’s collective gasps filled the room as Mecca’s unveiling had cameras and phones being set off in a frenzy. I knew that my wife-to-be was easy on the eyes from our first few brief interactions, but, hot damn, she was
gorgeous.

  Her brown skin shimmered with a bronzed glow that wasn’t all makeup but her natural tone. Thick lashes waved above a set of big seductive eyes, so dark I couldn’t tell if they were black or dark brown.

  The sight of her naturally plump and kissable lips made them appear to be offering me an invitation. I couldn’t feed my eyes enough of her skin, which at certain angles appeared to be sparkling like diamonds were embedded in her pores.

  It was best that I ignore her body from the neck down because it set off a whole different system that had things moving and hardening. Full ample breasts, enticing shoulders, a long inviting neck, a slender waist that gave life to hips, and although I couldn’t see her ass, I knew it was nice because I checked it out the first day we had met.

  Concentrate on her face, I reminded myself before the crowd ended up seeing the results of the way the sight of her full view was affecting the lower half of my body.

  The necklace she wore was the only thing that seemed out of place. The jewelry was simple, not like anything I would expect her to wear, especially not with her gown. Therefore, it must have held sentimental value.

  Our gazes locked, and all the lust inside floated away. This was a first, as it was usually lust followed by sex and the woman’s swift departure. I couldn’t decipher what was passing between us, but it took the preacher clearing his throat to get me moving again.

  Something within me had burst free and spurred me to speed things along. However, I found myself continuing to take my time, easing the veil past her shoulders to take her in leisurely. Our gaze held strong, leading me to believe we were seeing and assessing each other fully for the first time.

  “Mecca,” I mouthed her name on a low whisper, reassuring myself that this was real, that she was real. She didn’t reply, but the smile that appeared on her lovely lips hinted that she heard me.

  Once I had her unveiled, I didn’t wait for the pastor’s instructions, remembering the order of the last ceremony. Mecca followed my lead when I took her warm, soft hands. I stood facing her as the pastor stood at our shoulders, poised to speak sacred words of promise and uniting.

  “Friends and family of the bride and groom, welcome, and thank you for being here on this important day. We are gathered today to celebrate the special connection between Arjen and Mecca by joining them in marriage.”

  This time, I listened, allowing my brain to break down the meaning of the ceremonial words. A weird urge suggested that I make a valid attempt to do what the pastor spoke of, being there for her, protecting her, and honoring our union for better or worse.

  “A marriage, as we understand it, is a voluntary and full commitment. It is made in the deepest sense to the exclusion of all others, and it is entered into with the desire and hope that it will last for life.”

  We continued to hold each other’s gazes, and every once in a while, she or I would allow a smile to slide across our lips. It was like this secret little thing passing between us that I don’t believe either of us understood, but still embraced.

  “Your wedding rings are the outward and visible sign of the inward and invisible bond, which unites your hearts in love. Groom, place the ring on your bride’s finger and repeat after me.”

  An unexpected shot of relief swept threw me as I glided the ring on her finger. The sight of the binding action captured my attention until my gaze reconnected with hers once it was set in place. We hadn’t prepared any vows, so the pastor moved on.

  We listened as he recited that the ring was a representation of our love. I didn’t know Mecca enough to love her, but even at this early stage in our union, I believed I could grow to care for her. I believed liking a person was a hell of a lot better than loving them anyway.

  Love brought on a level of stress that caused people to lose control of their minds. It forced you to make decisions about life and death that you would never have considered before. Loving one person in this world was enough. Khane had that spot as our brotherly bond gave me the ability to make all the connections I needed to.

  Truth of the matter was, I didn’t believe that I was capable of producing the specific type of emotion, the kind a husband gave to his wife or a man gave to his woman.

  The fact that I’d had her background checked thoroughly was proof of my inability to build the bond a couple needed. Mecca was as careful as me, so I wasn’t able to find evidence that hinted that she was involved in any illegal activities: no jail time, no juvenile offenses, credit impeccable.

  She was smarter than her uncle and had invested her money in three legit businesses that she managed. At only twenty-six, she impressed me with what she had accomplished. I surmised that she’d had no choice but to grow up fast considering who her uncle was and the role she played in their organization.

  The Black Saints, now her organization, wasn’t a run-of-the-mill small-time group. Although they were facing major issues, they had applied strategic techniques and tactics that had made them a force in their respective market.

  Mecca’s uncle had left her an empire on the verge of collapse, but based on the strength of her profile alone, I was confident that she would find a way to fix their issues.

  Standing before her, I found that there was nothing about her that my gaze didn’t linger on. It was concealed well, but when you were trained, more like tortured, into detecting small details, you see a lot of what others missed.

  A large bruise on her arm was concealed under flesh-colored makeup. I found it difficult to believe in any aspect that she was being abused by a lover. I didn’t know her well, but based on the few interactions we shared, she was not the kind of woman that would tolerate a man putting his hand on her in anger. What was happening in her life that left her bruised?

  Mecca slid my ring on but hesitated before she glanced up to meet my eyes, watching me as keenly as I was her. Her gaze followed mine to the bruise I spotted, and our eyes lifted at the same time.

  Her expression didn’t give anything away, but she knew that I knew what she was hiding. I also noticed the life and death tattoo on her inner left arm, skeletal fingers grasping at a beautiful blue butterfly. I had caught a glimpse of the same tattoo in the same area on Desiree’s arm.

  “You may kiss your bride.”

  The words lured me from the depth of my exploring as my gaze fell immediately to her tempting lips, slick with a purplish color that highlighted their plushness and caused my tongue to dart across my own lips.

  Mecca’s facial expressions battled as she stood stiffly in place, the tension in her forehead indicating she either didn’t want to or hadn’t anticipated kissing me. But, I wanted it. I wanted to see if her lips were as soft as they appeared to be.

  “It’s okay. I’m a great kisser,” I whispered, making the crease in her forehead deepen at my arrogant words. The words were a lead off to my hand gliding along the surface of her neck, an action I hadn’t intended to take. I leaned in, excited for a taste of her.

  “Kiss me and get it over with, you big nut,” she whispered.

  The tension in her body radiated, but it didn’t stop my lips from melting into hers, caressing them between the folds of mine. “So soft.” My whisper escaped and added weight to my reluctance to pull away.

  Her scent floated around me while her warmth gripped me as securely as the pull of the connection shared when our lips had touched. One touch wasn’t enough. I leaned in further, trapping her lips between mine, tasting the sweetness she possessed.

  The kiss sent a gratifying warmth careening through me, enticing me to go deeper when she pressed her lips into mine, returning the kiss.

  “A-humm.” Someone was attempting to get our attention. The light murmurs from the audience sounded before the pastor cleared his throat a second time. Even with the knowledge that I was causing a scene, that we were causing a scene, I was reluctant to back away.

  An eruption of applause followed my release, but my eyes were locked on Mecca’s and her lifted right brow. An unreadable g
lint flashed in her eyes as she scanned me up and down, ignoring the crowd as much as I was. Why was I standing in the middle of my wedding, pondering what she thought of me?

  When I took too long to turn us so that we could proceed with the bride and groom walk, Mecca tugged at the tail of my suit jacket to call my attention. There was no doubt in my mind we had shared a connection. Had she sensed that we had chemistry? The realization had stunned me. It had me questioning what I had missed because I was usually not thrown off guard like this.

  “Give me your hand,” I suggested, realizing we needed to start our first walk as husband and wife.

  Individuals and couples that understood our marriage was an arrangement, made toasts like we were a real couple. We eased down the aisle, receiving our congratulations and being showered with warm smiles and applause. Through our walk and the noise of the cheering crowd, I never lost sight of the pulsating connection that remained alive between us.

  Mecca took it all in stride as she chatted with the crowd, winning them over with her charm. If she were nervous at any point, she didn’t express it.

  It wasn’t hard to notice that her lovely features garnered her a lot of attention. She was putting politicians to shame, and I had to admit, I loved what I was seeing. She could work a room as well as me. The wicked little grin she tossed in my direction let me know that she knew I was watching her every move.

  “How does it feel to be a married woman?” I eased up to her, close enough to press my body into the back of hers. My intention was to be forward, but I ended up getting caught up in her scent, and the warmth radiating off her like caressing hands.

  The first deep inhale I took enticed me to close my eyes and savor the stimulating mixture she produced. She wore Chanel Chance, an alluring mixture of pink pepper, jasmine, and amber that surrendered to the mix of her natural aroma, which was sweet, intense, and unusually calming. It was what I imagined warmth would smell like if it had a scent.