GET LUCKY: GODS OF CHAOS MC (BOOK NINE)

by Honey Palomino

  Ruining people’s lives is not an option, not so I can enjoy a little vacation, it isn’t. And even with Nicholai’s threats, I can’t stop. So, I keep going. And I keep doing this — showing up incognito to a random bar in a random city, even if I already see someone giving me that squinty-eyed ‘I think I know her’ look that I’ve come to recognize so well.

  I adjust my glasses, look away, and continue to drink my beer, hoping that tonight, I will indeed get lucky enough to make it back to my hotel room without having to call in the brigade.

  The whiskey goes down smoothly, so smoothly I order another. The burn is a painful pleasure that warms everything inside of me that was cold and shivering from the drizzling rain I’d trekked through to get here. There’s something dark and mysterious about Seattle. The people are a little rougher and harder than their Oregon neighbors, and the grittiness of the wet downtown sidewalks make me think of New York City a little bit. Of course, it’s nothing like New York. It’s green and lush and cloudy and smells like fish everywhere you go. Not to mention the flannel that everyone wraps themselves in. And the absence of dog-sized rats running around.

  No, it was a far cry from New York.

  Maybe that’s why I like it so much.

  Sipping my whiskey, I imagined what it might feel like to live here. Hell, to live anywhere. I had houses, but I didn’t really have a home. I worked so much, my tour bus was more of a home than my place in Los Angeles or my house on Long Island. But Seattle could be nice, I thought. I could settle in and find a little vintage house in a hilly neighborhood, with a view of the water. Become a regular at the neighborhood bar, not unlike this one, actually. Somewhere the beer taps never run dry and the customers know when to leave folks alone.

  I know I shouldn’t but I’ve made it this far, so I order a third whiskey. The hotel is stumbling distance away and I’m feeling confident I’ll make it back without incident. There’s a big difference between the second whiskey and the third one, and when that difference hits me, I feel it right away. The bar stool my butt is planted on feels a little wobbly. Each time I put the glass down on the bar, it gets a little louder, because my depth perception is slightly altered. But damn, it feels so good. Too good. So good, I remember how much I miss it.

  The good ol’ days of slamming down as much booze I wanted, without anyone ‘watching’ me, except for Nicholai, of course, but he only encouraged me. Now that he’s gone, you’d think I’d have more freedom, but no. My new ‘team’ came with only more restraints than I’d had before. Not only was Becky a constant presence in my life, but in the background there were so many other pieces and people in play. Public relations reps, record label executives, managers of managers. I didn’t have to deal with this stuff before.

  Not that I’d go back, no way. Nicholai is a monster. A scheming, lying, murderous monster and I want nothing to do with him. In fact, if I could, I’d stop thinking about him all together, but lord knows that’ll never happen. It’s not like I can erase the last ten years from my memory, as much as I’d like to.

  He was a part of me now, whether I liked it or not.

  At least he’d taught me one good thing. How to hide.

  With the whiskey buzz came the guilt, so I paid my tab and finished off my whiskey, knowing Becky was probably combing the hotel looking for me by now. I was just about to leave when a hand landed on my arm.

  “I know you!” A male voice slurred. My eyes landed on the hand first, then shot up to the man’s face. He was drunk. Way drunker than I was. Leering and swaying, he brought his face close to mine. I pulled my arm away and jumped off the barstool.

  “I don’t know you,” I said, grabbing my purse.

  “You’re that star! The singer!” He grabbed my arm again, his fingers wrapping around my bicep and gripping me tightly. I pulled away, but I couldn’t shake him loose.

  “I’m sorry, sir, you’re mistaken,” I said. “Please let me go.”

  “My daughter lovessss you,” he hissed, his eyes raking over my curves, despite my effort to hide every one of them. “You’re fucking hot, you know that?”

  “Sir, please let me go!” I insisted, still attempting to wrench my arm away.

  “Let me buy you a drink!” he slurred, pulling me back to the bar. My purse fell to the ground between us.

  “No!” I shouted, my eyes darting around for help. My eyes locked with the guy at the end of the bar, pleading. He nodded and stood up, walking over quickly.

  “Hey, man, that’s my wife!” he shouted. The drunk guy froze in surprise, looking at him, then sizing him up.

  “No way,” he said, shaking his head.

  He took another step forward, peering deeply into the drunk guy’s eyes.

  “Dude, let her go,” he said. He reached out, removed the guys hand from mine, then stepped between us.

  “She’s not your fucking wife,” he slurred.

  In a flash, the other guy wrapped his arms around me, leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, his tongue opening them and sliding inside, hot and wet and searching. In shock, I froze, my body tensing up as he leaned me back, kissing me like he’d just married me.

  And just like that, it was over. He raised me back up, staring defiantly at the other guy.

  “Now, leave us the fuck alone, you drunk asshole!”

  “Sorry, man, my bad,” the guy said, holding up his hands and backing away.

  My lips burned from his touch and I stared over at him in shock. I’d barely noticed him before, but now I drank in his image with as much gusto as I’d consumed my whiskey earlier.

  Tall and lean, with lush and long blonde hair that fell to his shoulders in thick waves, he flashed his blue eyes down at me with a mischievous grin. His 501’s hugged his hips and the white tank top he was wearing was almost entirely covered up by a heavy, black, leather vest that had a patch that said ‘Ziggy’ on the breast.

  “Sorry for the kiss,” he said. “It was either that or knock him out and I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  I looked up at him and shook my head in disbelief.

  “I’m sure you could have come up with a different solution,” I said, my voice laced with anger. “You always go around kissing women you don’t know?”

  “First time, actually,” he shrugged. “You’re going to kick me in the balls now, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, I probably deserve it. It was basically assault. I know better. I apologize,” he looked down at me with sincere contrition, but it was those damned eyes that did me in. I guess if I had to be kissed by some random dude, it could have been a lot worse.

  “I should go,” I said, grabbing my purse and walking towards the door, my lips stinging from his kiss. “Thank you.”

  “Wait,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’ve already had enough, I think,” I protested.

  “Coffee?” he asked, his brows rising hopefully.

  I paused and looked around. The drunk guy had stumbled out of the place already, and nobody else was paying us any attention. Despite the brief interruption, I realized that my disguise had worked for the most part and was still working, it seemed. And here, gesturing for me to sit down next to him at the bar was an ordinary man, doing the most normal thing in the world, asking a woman in a bar to join him. It was everything I’d wanted to pretend I could have. Hell, I already knew he was an amazing kisser.

  Screw Becky, I thought. She could sweat it out a little longer.

  I smiled and sat back down, nodding at him. “Coffee would be good.”

  He gestured to the bartender and ordered. “Coffee for both of us, please.”

  “Thanks for your help,” I said. “That guy was a jerk.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Sorry about the kiss.”

  “It’s alright,” I said, biting my lip. The feel of his lips lingered still, and I fought the urge to reach up and touch them.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  I fro
ze. I couldn’t remember the last time someone asked me that question. Such a simple request and yet, I’d forgotten how to answer it.

  “Lucky.”

  “Lucky, really?” he asked, nodding with a smile. “That’s a cool name.”

  I looked over at him suspiciously. Did he really not recognize me?

  “What’s yours?” I asked.

  “Ziggy,” he said. My eyes shot down to the patch on his vest and nodded.

  “So it says,” I said. “What’s on the back?”

  “Of my cut?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I replied. He turned around, flashing a large logo. Gods of Chaos was embroidered on the top rocker, with Motorcycle Club on the bottom and a very scary skull and cross bones emblazoned in the middle. I nodded. It all made sense. The long hair. The handsome, rugged face. The tattoos. The leather. “What kind of bike have you’ve got?”

  He turned back around and flashed me a smile that damned near knocked me off my stool. For fuck’s sake, he was hot. Bright, sparkling blue eyes, a killer smile, with heavily tattooed forearms and biceps that were on display like a work of art. My fingers twitched in my lap as I imagined dragging the tips of them around the edges of each one, memorizing their shapes by candlelight.

  “It’s a Harley Dyna-Glide Super Glide Sport,” he said, lifting his chin proudly. He was fucking adorable, clearly beaming with pride about his pride and joy.

  “That’s cool,” I said. The coffee arrived and we sat by side, sipping quietly for a moment. I was still wearing my sunglasses, even in the darkness of this bar on a dark, rainy night and I knew I looked ridiculous. I took them off, but mostly because I wanted to get a better look at him. He glanced over at me and I waited for the flicker of recognition to appear.

  It didn’t. He smiled openly, his eyes wide with no clue of who I was.

  How refreshing, I thought, as I smiled over at him.

  “So, Ziggy, are you from around here?” I asked.

  CHAPTER 2

  ZIGGY

  Of course I know who she is.

  She’s one of the most famous women on the freakin’ planet, but clearly, she wants to blend into the crowd tonight. It’s almost adorable. Her big floppy hat and sunglasses, on a night like tonight, when it’s pouring outside and none of us have seen the sun in weeks. But there she is, looking like she’s sitting on a beach in Maui or something. The only thing missing is the sunshine and bikini, but lucky for me the baggy button down shirt and tight jeans she’s wearing suck at hiding those famous curves.

  Maybe she thinks we don’t recognize her, but we’re all just being polite. Well, except for that one asshole. That’s what we do in the Pacific Northwest. We’re too cool to make a fuss about famous people. When I saw she needed help, I wasn’t about to turn away and pretend nothing was going wrong. That’s also what we do. When we see someone in need, we step up.

  Of course, kissing her took things a little too far. But I don’t care — I’ll admit it. I knew I could have handled things a little differently, but once I saw that I was being blessed with the opportunity of getting away with laying a big one on the most famous pair of lips in America, I took that opportunity and I ran with it. I ran hard.

  Leading with my tongue.

  I know, I know. Too much. I’m an asshole. But I apologized!

  And, by the looks of how fast she sat that pretty little ass back on that barstool when I flashed her my secret weapon smile, she didn’t mind the kiss too much. I could tell by the way she bit her bottom lip when she looked over at me, too.

  Damn, she was hot. Hotter than any time I’d seen her on TV. In real life, in 3-D, she’s all curves and contours, with a moon shape derriere that almost makes me swoon. And I’m a big, tough dude. I don’t fucking swoon.

  But damn, that ass is enough to make me fall to my knees and it’s a damned good thing she’s sitting on it, because all I really want to do right now is to grab a handful or two of it and hold on for dear life while I —

  “—So, Ziggy, are you from around here?”

  “Me?” I ask, blinking back to reality. “Oh, no, I live on the Oregon coast, with a bunch of my buddies.”

  “So what brings you to Seattle?”

  “I just came up to visit my sister and her kids. I’ve got a five year-old niece and a three year-old nephew.” I wasn’t lying. I did visit, briefly. But then I met up with an old lover who’s a flight attendant and we locked ourselves away in a hotel room for the weekend, partying and fucking till we wore ourselves out and she had to fly back to Miami. Of course, little Miss Incognito doesn’t need to know that. I’d stayed for the rest of the week just to take in the sights and was planning on going back to Tillamook tomorrow. “I’m heading home tomorrow.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow, too,” she said.

  I nod, knowing not to ask too many questions. Why force her to lie?

  “Would you take me on a ride?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.

  “A ride? On my bike? Seriously?” I ask, suddenly trying to remember exactly how much my insurance policy was worth. Whatever it is, she’s most definitely worth more.

  “Sure, why not? Do you have something more important to do?” She flashes that smile over at me, her eyes full of innocent hope. I looked around the room, wondering where her bodyguards were. Surely, they didn’t just let her wander around by herself, I thought. But there she is. Superstar in the flesh.

  Just a girl in a bar…

  “Okay, what the hell,” I shrug. I take another quick swig of my coffee and say a quick prayer of gratitude that I’d only had that one beer tonight. At least I had partial sobriety going for me. Which is more than I can say for her, considering the little stumble she did on the way out of the bar. She grabbed my arm, holding on like she belonged there.

  I ignore the swelling in my cock and lead her to my bike.

  “Stand there,” I tell her. She sways in her boots, a small giggle escaping her perfect lips as I pull off her floppy hat and slide my helmet over her head. “It might be a little big.”

  She reaches up and adjusts it, smiling at me through the visor. I open it up, and peer inside.

  “Feel okay?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she nods. I hand her hat back to her and jump on the bike. “Hop on.”

  With a delighted smile, she swings her leg over the seat and plops down behind me. Her chest presses against my back, her nipples rubbing up against my cut. I try not to smile, but it’s useless. Thankfully, she can’t see how much I’m enjoying this unexpected encounter.

  “What about you? Where’s your helmet?” she asks.

  “It’s on your head.”

  “But isn’t that illegal?” she cries.

  I laugh and shake my head. She’s adorable. “I don’t care.”

  “It’s raining,” she protests again.

  “I don’t care about that, either. Look, do you wanna go for a ride or not?”

  “I do,” she nods, wrapping her arms around my waist, the heat of her body warming my back. “Let’s go!”

  I rev the engine and pull away from the curb and into the dark and rainy city, the lights of the Seattle skyline sparkling on the surface of the Puget Sound like a rippling kaleidoscope.

  CHAPTER 3

  LUCKY

  This.

  This is what I needed.

  A man. The wind in my hair, or at least the ends of it, since Ziggy’s helmet was holding the rest of it down. Two sizes too big, it wobbled on my head, making me feel like a bobble-head figure as his bike carried us up and down the steep hills that led through downtown and over to the Sound.

  By the time we made it to the water, I’d almost forgotten who I was. Almost.

  Sure, Becky’s nagging voice kept sounding in my head, but I pushed it away. I’d have to listen to her later, but it didn’t matter.

  This was worth it.

  Ziggy’s strong grip guided the bike around a curved road along the edge of the shore, the natural beauty of the islands sprinkled aro
und Seattle concealed under a blanket of darkness. Tomorrow morning, they’d appear like lush little gems offered by the deep blue sea waters, a gift to the rising sun. But tonight, they were hidden, save a few twinkling lights that might as well have been stars sprinkled in the distance.

  Even though the rain had let up, the air was thick with condensation, the fishy smell now mixed with the musky scent of wet earth and soaked trees. The cold clung to our bodies as we cut through the misty fog, a sole headlight illuminating our path. As wild as this was, something deep inside of me told me I was safe.

  Maybe it was the way Ziggy had defended me.

  Hell, maybe it was the way he’d kissed me.

  Perhaps the strength and ease with which he handled this huge, roaring machine between our legs was a contributing factor, as well.

  But whatever it was, it was enough that I felt myself breathe easy for the first time in a very long time.

  I wasn’t thinking about Nicholai.

  I wasn’t thinking about the tour, or the music, or the crew.

  Surprisingly, I wasn’t even thinking about Eddie.

  For once, I was in the moment.

  After all that had happened, after everything I’d gone through, I finally felt alive. I held on tightly, comforted by Ziggy’s warmth. For an hour or so, we rode through the city, a silent retreat from reality, the rhythmic call of the water lulling me into a peaceful bliss.

  After a while, he turned away from the shore, leading us back through downtown until he parked under the deserted Space Needle. He cut the engine and turned around, waiting until I pulled the helmet off. I shook out my tangled hair and smiled at him.

  “That was beautiful, thank you so much,” I said. I knew I was beaming. I knew my every emotion was plastered on my face and I was leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, but I didn’t care one bit about that.

  “Have you been up to see the view?” he asked, gesturing to the huge tower behind him.

  “No, but I’m pretty sure it’s closed. What time is it, anyway?” I’d lost all track of time and responsibility, eagerly leaving all thoughts of those horrid things behind.