GET LUCKY: GODS OF CHAOS MC (BOOK NINE)

by Honey Palomino

  “The guy must be shaking in his shoes,” the bald one with the missing tooth said, full of arrogance. “I bet he took one look at us and ran the other way.”

  “I’m glad we made it through yesterday without any incidents,” the serious one said. “Let’s do that again today, guys. You’re all doing a great job. Just remember to be vigilant and stay focused. Vegas can be chaotic and just being there will come with its own challenges.”

  Jesus, they were like a bunch of toddlers that needed reassurance.

  Good job, guys! Rah! Rah! Rah!

  Yeah, right.

  They had no idea what I had in store for them.

  Let them be arrogant and feel good about themselves. Let their leader heap praise upon them. It’ll be better that way.

  If they’re feeling so high and mighty, it’ll only hurt more when they fall.

  Walking behind the tall, skinny one that had been guarding Lucky’s door last night, I reached over him from behind to fill his cup. I filled it to the brim, slowly bringing the coffee pot back and letting the edge tip over just slightly, just enough to allow some of the scalding hot coffee to pour out and land all over his precious black leather vest.

  “What the fuck!” he shouted, jumping up from his seat.

  “Sir, I’m so sorry,” I replied, grabbing a napkin and pressing it against the leather to soak it up. He pushed my hand away, ripping off the vest and wiping the coffee from his now-stained white t-shirt that he wore underneath. “That was a total accident, I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll get you another coffee.”

  He draped the vest over a nearby chair and sat back down, glaring at me with an angry growl.

  “I’ll make sure your breakfast is comped,” I said.

  He nodded and went back to his breakfast, and the others continued their conversation, ignoring me completely.

  They didn’t see me grab the vest from the chair.

  They didn’t see me walk away with it.

  They didn’t see the huge smile that spread across my face as I rejoiced in my success, just like they didn’t see the chaos that was coming their way.

  I passed Lucky and Ziggy near the elevators, the leather vest hidden away in my shirt, the smiles plastered to their faces only serving as motivation to destroy them.

  CHAPTER 33

  LUCKY

  Vegas was a circus.

  After finally catching some sleep in the bus, we arrived to a crowd of fans waiting for us at the hotel. The Bellagio always took great care of us, and today was no different. After I stopped to sign a few autographs, the manager of the hotel greeted us personally, whisking us away to the entire floor of separate suites on the top floor, which is where we always stayed when we played Vegas.

  I ignored the feeling of déja vu as I stepped into my suite, the memories of being here before with Nicholai flooding my mind. I didn’t want to think about him. In fact, I never wanted to think about him again, but I had no choice. At least this time, I had somebody else to distract me.

  Ziggy still hadn’t left my side. After the amazing night we had last night, and the delicious do-over this morning, I had absolutely no complaints about that. With any luck, he’d erase every memory I possessed of spending time with Nicholai here and record over them with memories of his amazing touch.

  The record signing event was being held at Hyde, a nightclub on the edge of the water at the hotel. Luxurious and sleek, it sported amazing views of the fountains and even better drinks. They’d set up a table out on the patio for me to sit at, cordoned off with red velvet ropes that stretched back into the club to wrangle the public into an orderly line.

  It was packed before we’d even arrived and by the time I sat down, the line was so long I couldn’t see the end of it. Panic threatened to overwhelm me, the idea that any of these people could be Nicholai in disguise hitting me full-force.

  Alarm rushed through me as I looked up at Ziggy. With calm confidence, he stood by my side, his eyes smiling down at me reassuringly. He placed a warm palm on the back of my shoulder and I took a deep breath and relaxed. My eyes raked across the room once more, and instead of terror, I saw the room peppered with those leather-clad men, their intimidating presence alone enough to scare off the most determined evil people.

  Or, so I hoped.

  I smiled at the first person in line, a woman and her teenaged daughter.

  “Hello,” I said, taking the record the daughter handed me. People brought all kinds of things to these events. Posters, pictures, records, books, concert tickets, anything really.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she gushed, placing her hand over her heart as she beamed at me. “I can’t believe this is happening! You’re my favorite!”

  “What’s your name, honey?” I asked.

  “Lucy,” she said, her eyes wet with tears. The amount of love I felt flowing towards me at these signings never ceased to amaze and humble me. I signed her record, then stood up while her mother took a photo of us. She turned back to me.

  “Thank you so much,” she said. “I’ll never forget this.”

  “My pleasure,” I replied, waving at them as they walked away. I took another deep breath, relaxing into it. We had a long way to go.

  “How long do these things last?” Ziggy asked, leaning down and whispering into my ear a half an hour later, the end of the line still nowhere in sight.

  “Usually an hour, but I won’t leave until I’ve greeted everyone.”

  “That could take days,” he murmured.

  “Buckle up, buttercup,” I replied, with a laugh, turning back to the line. Next up was an older woman, her eyes sunken and disappearing into her wrinkled face, her white hair rolled up into a bouffant, a bright pink cane holding her up.

  “Hello, dear,” she said, her voice cracking with age, as she handed me a poster from a show over ten years ago in New York.

  “Hello, ma’am,” I replied, smiling at her. “This is an old poster, where did you get it?”

  “My granddaughter won an auction online,” she said. “Paid out the wazoo for it, if you ask me. I figured I’d come and meet you and get it signed for her. She loves you.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” I said.

  “Well, life is short, you know. You gotta take all the opportunities you can get,” she said. I stopped in mid-air as I was handing the poster back to her, my head spinning. Where had I heard that before?

  I shook my head, and tried to clear the cobwebs out.

  “Thank you, dear,” she said, grabbing my hand and smiling warmly into my eyes. “You’re a beautiful woman, don’t ever forget that.”

  Maybe I need more sleep, I thought, as she limped away. Still, her words lingered in my head for the next half hour, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.

  “I can see the end of the line,” Ziggy said, after another hour.

  “That’s good, because my back is killing me,” I said. “Not to mention I think my signing hand is paralyzed into position.”

  “That could be convenient,” he quipped, with a playful smirk.

  “Shut up,” I chuckled.

  With just a few more people in line, a little girl of about ten walked up with a big bouquet of red roses and my heart sank. I jumped up and stepped back, my eyes wide with fear.

  “Hi, Lucky,” she said. “My name’s Angie.”

  “Angie,” I repeated, staring at her with suspicion. Was this Nicholai? Surely not. He could impersonate a lot of people but I’d never seen him impersonate someone this short. “You brought me roses?”

  “No, actually,” she admitted. “An old lady gave them to me. She asked me to give them to you. She paid me twenty dollars and asked me to give you a message.”

  The blood drained from my face as I looked over at Ziggy, trying desperately not to freak out in front of this innocent kid, but every urge in my body told me to flee.

  “I’ll take those,” he said, grabbing the roses and smiling at the little girl. “What’s the message?”

  “She s
aid to tell you that it’s important to take an opportunity when you get it. I don’t really know what she meant…”

  “That’s okay,” Ziggy said, motioning to some of the other Gods. Ryder and Riot walked over. “I think we’re done here. We’ve been fooled again.”

  “It was the old lady with the pink cane,” I said, my stomach flipping as I finally remembered where I’d heard that message before. “And the woman in the bathroom at the truck stop! Oh, my God, Ziggy! They were both him! He hasn’t left us alone at all!”

  “Fuck,” Ziggy said, immediately covering his mouth as the little girl’s eyes grew wide. She’d been standing there the whole time listening.

  “Did you want me to sign something, sweetheart?” I asked, taking a deep breath and trying to keep my shit together.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Great,” I mused.

  “Folks, we’re done here today, thanks for coming out!” Ryder called out, before turning to the Slade and Riot. “Go see if you can find that old lady.”

  “She’s probably long gone by now,” Slade said.

  “I don’t care! Go fucking look!” he barked.

  Becky, who’d been hiding in the back of the room this whole time, stepped up.

  “We can’t stop yet,” Becky whined. “There are still fans waiting. If we disappoint even one of them, it’ll be blasted all over Twitter in five minutes!”

  “Like hell we can’t,” Ziggy said, ushering me away from them.

  “Lucky!” Becky cried after us, but I ignored her, letting Ziggy lead me away from them all. Blade followed close behind, and as I glanced back, I saw Ryder and Riot waving everyone out of the club.

  “What do you want to do?” Ziggy asked, looking at me with concern. “Go back to the room?”

  “Honestly? If everyone is leaving, I’d like to sit here and get a drink.”

  “It’s barely past noon.”

  “So what?”

  “Good point,” he shrugged. “Blade, go find a bartender.”

  “Will do,” he said, shuffling off.

  “There’s a private little spot over here,” Ziggy said. “Let’s sit down for a few minutes.”

  I put my head on his shoulder and he wrapped a comforting arm around me.

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I shrugged. “Maybe he’ll just never leave me alone.”

  “This is complete bullshit, you know that, right? Maybe you shouldn’t do events like this anymore.”

  “And let him win? No fucking way.”

  “You’re a tough cookie, Lucky Lazzarini.”

  “Yeah, or a stupid one.”

  “Hey, you’re hanging out with me, you can’t be that stupid.”

  I smiled and nodded, “you’re right.”

  He kissed my head, and held me tighter, his warmth immediately calming me down.

  “We’re gonna stop him. I promise you that,” he said, his voice a low growl of anger. My head against his chest, I could hear his heart pounding in my ears. He seemed even more upset than I was. Truth be told, I was starting to get used to this. Hell, I was starting to expect it.

  Blade came back practically dragging a uniformed bartender along with him by the collar.

  “Found one!” he barked.

  The guy looked frightened, but he took my order for a double scotch on the rocks and rushed off, glancing back over his shoulder to see if Blade was following him. He wasn’t. He stood guard nearby, but just far enough away to give Ziggy and I some privacy.

  “Lucky, what do you need from me right now?” he asked. “How can I make you feel better?”

  My heart melted. Underneath all that tough exterior, Ziggy was the sweetest, most tender guy. Sure, he fucked me like a machine non-stop all night, but that didn’t stop him from being kind.

  “You’re doing it,” I whispered, leaning my head back on his shoulder and closing my eyes.

  CHAPTER 34

  NICHOLAI

  By the time the Gods poured out of the club entrance like a bunch of clowns falling out of a Volkswagen, I’d ditched the old lady disguise, changed into a hotel uniform and was pretending to sweep up trash next to a group of slot machines. I watched them with a wide smirk as they searched the length of the casino and hotel lobby with increasing frustration.

  It was such a pleasure making these guys look like fools. Their incompetence is astounding, and they’re playing right into my hands. The erection that had formed when I touched Lucky’s hand still lingered in my trousers. Being that close to her was exhilarating.

  Although, I was deeply disappointed in her, I still loved her. I was still attracted to her.

  Maybe I’d have to kill her.

  It didn’t mean I didn’t love her.

  It didn’t mean I didn’t still want her.

  It didn’t mean she wasn’t always going to be mine.

  To think that way, to give up, to walk away and leave her be? Well, the idea never occurred to me. Why would I ever do such an absurd thing?

  I’d created her, as if she was my own child.

  I’d molded her into a star, put my heart and soul into my creation.

  I’ll never walk away.

  And neither will she.

  Oh, let her gallivant like a brazen hussy, slumming with that biker. Let her have her fun. Because by the time I’m done with her, fun will be a distant memory, just like our time together, before she’d jilted me at the wedding, making me look like a fool in front of everyone.

  Nobody does that. Not to me.

  Not ever again. Embarrassing me in front of others had been my mother’s favorite hobby. I’d endured mind-bending shame at her hands. Years of that had resulted in a vow to myself that I’d never allow someone to get away with it again.

  I’d stopped my mother eventually.

  I’d stop Lucky, too.

  If I had to do it the same way, in the same violent manner, so be it.

  My mind drifted away, just as it did every time I thought of the last time I’d seen my mother, her eyes bulging from her head before all the life drained away in a blissful absence, leaving nothing but me, without her. Oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself, because to appreciate the true pleasure I felt, the genuine gift that evening brought to me, then you have to understand the beginning of the end, when I began to realize I’d had enough…

  Like fireworks, beams of light bounced off the cobblestones of the rainy Paris street, the headlights of passing cars breaking through the frigid darkness, leaving the stream of people on the sidewalks appearing as dark silhouettes, ghosts window shopping along the brightly lit windows, strolling beneath dripping umbrellas down the boulevard, languishing in front of window fronts sporting designer clothing many of them may never afford.

  Mother loved them so.

  She longed to lift the fine fabrics, feel the weight of the threads, sliding her fingertips along the perfect seams in deep appreciation for the seamstresses skill. She’d ooh and ahh at the hand-beaded couture gowns, admiring the cut and lay of the silks and satins until she was shooed out by the over-attentive and haughty store owners.

  They took one look at her and knew she’d never be able to afford a gown like that.

  Outright stealing one was out of the question with the hawks that worked the stores. Breaking in wasn’t easy due to the intense security they employed. Even at night when they were shut for the evening, guards would roam up and down the Avenue Montaigne at all hours of the night.

  No, for my mother to obtain one of those coveted gowns, she’d have to utilize a nontraditional method.

  She hated thinking of herself as a thief, or a criminal of any sorts, but that’s exactly what she was, through and through. Of course, she usually sent me to do the dirty work, so perhaps I’m the true criminal, but I never would have done any of it had it not been for her insistence and guidance.

  What ten year-old says no to his mother?

&
nbsp; What ten year-old doesn’t want to make his mother happy?

  If I could give her the gown of her dreams, who was I to say no?

  So I tried any and every hare-brained scheme she thought of. Sometimes they worked. A lot of the times, they didn’t. And other times? Other times I was caught red-handed.

  Of course, these times were always my fault, and never hers. She’d never take the blame. Instead, she berated me. She didn’t care if she did it when others were watching, but I sure did.

  The summer I turned ten was a summer I’ll never forget.

  I developed early. My voice began to change shortly after my birthday and my legs stretched almost ten inches that year. What my mother called ‘peach fuzz’ began to pop up under my chin, making me look more like an aging billygoat than a growing boy.

  So when she dressed me up like a teenaged girl again to help her get a dress she’d had her eye on for over a month in the Yves St. Laurent window, I’d never felt more awkward.

  “Remember the plan, Nicholai?” she asked, hovering outside the shop’s front door, herself dressed as my wealthy father.

  “Yes, Mother,” I said.

  “Father!” she reminded me.

  “Right,” I shrugged.

  “Shoulders back, chin up,” she said. “Remember, you’re filthy rich and spoiled rotten.”

  “Yes…Father,” I replied. She grabbed my hand and we walked inside like we owned the place.

  “Good evening!” A tall, svelte blonde greeted us with a frosty smile, her eyes quickly glancing down at our shoes. Mother had stolen the fancy shoes to go with our new ready-to-wear a week ago, explaining that was always the most important part of a disguise. When I saw the woman glance down, then smile again as she rushed over with an eager gleam in her eye, I knew Mother had been right.

  “Evening,” Mother replied, her voice low with a slight lilt in her voice that she used whenever she wanted to appear wealthy. “My daughter’s looking for a ball gown. She insisted on coming here.”

  “You’ve come to the right place,” she replied. By now, I’d left them alone, walking over and perusing the gowns hanging against the wall. I picked through them with disapproval, clicking my tongue and shaking my head.