FALLEN GOD_GODS OF CHAOS MC_BOOK EIGHT

by Honey Palomino

  I knew once that call was made, this girl’s life would be thrust into chaos. Whatever she’d gone through, whatever she’d seen — it wasn’t over. They’d force her to relive it, the worst parts of her story milked from her repeatedly until she was drained of all her energy, leaving her empty, lost, scared.

  For now, she sat there in front of me, breathing slowly, as peaceful as she was going to be for a long time, even with the pain that was surely churning inside of her at this very moment.

  “Take your time,” I whispered, gently. “I’m just going to step outside. I’ll be right back.”

  I opened the door to a sea of eyes staring back at me.

  “She’s okay,” I said. “She’s not talking right now. But she’s eating.”

  “What are we going to do?” Slade asked.

  “We have to call the police,” I said, locking eyes with Ryder. He knew what I was thinking, what I was feeling, how much I hated having to say that. I didn’t trust them anymore. There was a time, a long, long time ago, when I did. When I was one of them. But that trust was shattered and would never be repaired.

  “Grace,” he whispered.

  “It’s okay,” I shrugged. “This isn’t one of our cases. There’s a dead body in the woods. We have to call for help.”

  “Shit,” Slade said, shaking his head. He looked over at Riot and Riot nodded.

  “I’m on it,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and walking away.

  Ryder stepped up, pulling me into his arms.

  “This must be killing you,” he said.

  “I’m fine, really,” I said, smiling up at him. “It’s the girl I’m worried about. She won’t talk. And now, she’s going to be bombarded with a whirlwind of doctors and investigators.”

  “You sure there’s no way we can handle this ourselves?” he asked.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “If there was, I’d do it.”

  “Okay, then,” he said, turning back to the group of men behind him. “Guys, this place is going to be swarming with uniforms. I suggest if you have anything you don’t want them to see, you take care of that right now.”

  “We’re clean as a whistle, boss. And weed is legal now,” Slade said, laughing.

  “Yeah, alright,” Ryder said. “Brace yourselves for a storm. Slade, tell Riot to make sure all the cameras are turned on. I don’t want some ambitious rookie planting anything on us.”

  Ryder turned back to me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in close. I leaned into him. He didn’t have to say another word. He knew all I needed was his warmth.

  “I should go back in,” I said, reluctantly pulling away and heading back into the cabin. His comfort would have to wait till later.

  The girl was sitting in the exact same place I left her, her hands wrapped around the mug, her eyes clouded over and far away.

  “We’re calling the police. They should be here soon,” I said, sitting next to her. Slowly, she nodded, her eyes briefly meeting mine.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her words raggedly escaping from her throat.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  “She was my sister,” she whispered, the words barely audible in the stillness of the room. Her big eyes welled up with tears that spilled down her cheeks in fat drops.

  “I’m so very sorry,” I replied. She sat quietly crying, not moving an inch in her seat. We stayed like that for a long time, until the sound of sirens broke through the heavy silence.

  CHAPTER 7

  RYDER

  The Gods and I sat on the porch, watching as the cops scoured in and out of the woods surrounding our property. Technically, the dead woman wasn’t dumped on our land, but that didn’t stop them from trampling all over looking for evidence.

  They’d arrived an hour ago, in a calvary of flashing lights and squealing tires, spilling out of their vehicles like a bunch of puffed up clowns, full of swollen egos and cocky authority. Once we’d explained what we’d found, shown them the body of the woman and given them the finger, we’d led them to the woman that Grace was protecting like an angry Mama bear in the cabin behind us.

  She was whisked away in an ambulance not long after that.

  A few moments later, they’d set off to work unrolling endless rolls of yellow crime scene tape around the area and putting up bright spotlights that lit up the forest almost as bright as day.

  When an unmarked car rolled up a few minutes later and a man and a woman in a couple of cheap suits poured out, I knew they’d called the FBI. The badges they flashed at us after they walked up only proved what I already knew. Grace walked out of the cabin behind me and they introduced themselves.

  “My name is Special Agent Ford Randolph, and this is Special Agent Donna Parotti. We’re with the FBI.”

  “I’m Grace and this is Ryder,” Grace answered, shaking their hands.

  “We’d like to look around,” the woman said.

  “Of course,” Grace nodded.

  “We’ll have questions later,” she said, nodding briskly.

  “We’ll be here,” she said.

  “You found the victim? Took her in?”

  “Yes.”

  “We kept her warm by the fire. She was despondent, wouldn’t talk,” Grace offered.

  “I see. We’ll be questioning her later,” the lady said, raking her eyes over Grace, sizing her up, before turning her gaze to the group of burly, leather clad men gathered behind her. “We’ll be back soon.”

  They turned and walked away, disappearing into the trees.

  “Must be a slow day at the Bureau,” Grace said, turning away in disgust.

  “Holy shit, that’s the hottest FBI agent I’ve ever seen!” Slade exclaimed.

  “Seriously, that’s some Dana Scully shit right there,” Wreck said.

  “Shut up, both of you!” Grace barked.

  They jumped and immediately put their heads down sheepishly.

  “Sorry,” Wreck mumbled.

  “Sorry, Grace,” Slade said, shrugging. “Is there anything we can do to help right now?”

  “Just keep your heads down,” she said. “I don’t trust them.”

  “How can you tell a good cop from a bad cop?” Wreck asked.

  “You can’t,” Grace said. “That’s the problem.”

  We sat in silence, waiting in the darkness, watching as their shadows danced in and out of the trees.

  “Do we have to stay here all night?” Nate asked.

  “You can go inside,” I said. “Y’all don’t have to stay on this porch. We’ll call you if we need you.”

  “I need whiskey,” Slade said, his boots shuffling as he stood up. “Diana’s on her way, so she can drive me home.”

  “Slade, you told Diana?” Grace asked, her voice laced with irritation.

  “I had to explain why I wasn’t home in time for dinner,” he said, shrugging. “Sorry.”

  “I suppose she’s bringing an entire news team with her?”

  “She promised she wouldn’t,” he replied. Slade’s lady, Diana, is a news anchor at KATU, and I knew the thought of the media nosing around was just as distasteful to Grace as the cops being here.

  “No cameras, Slade,” I said, my voice dropping to a low warning.

  “You got it, boss,” he said. “I promise.”

  “What happens now?” Fury asked.

  “Hopefully, they’ll remove the body and be gone by dawn,” Grace said.

  “Well, I’m up way past my bedtime,” Cherry replied. “I’m too old for all this drama. If I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning, I best be off to bed. Y’all call me if you need me.”

  “Goodnight, Cherry,” Grace said, hugging her. “Thanks for your help earlier.”

  “That poor girl,” she said. “I hope she’ll be alright.”

  “She’s already survived the worst of it,” Grace said.

  “True,” Cherry said, flashing me a quick smile before walking into the clubhouse.

  A group of men eme
rged from the forest with a black body bag, placing it in the back of a waiting coroner’s van. Moments later, the FBI agents returned, sauntering back up to us with notepads and pencils out.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions,” the man, Agent Randolph, said.

  “Would you like to come in and sit down?” Grace asked. I looked at her in surprise. She was being very gracious and professional, hiding her feelings well. We led them into one of the back cabins, one of the two larger homes we’d built for guests.

  “This is a nice little set up you all have here,” Agent Parotti said, looking over the craftsman details of the cabin. “Lots of room.”

  “Yes,” Grace said, gesturing towards the living room. We settled in and waited for their questions. “We enjoy it here.”

  “I hear you were a great cop, Grace,” Agent Parotti said, smiling over at Grace.

  “Is that so?” Grace asked, lifting a brow.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve heard impressive stories about your work on the force.”

  “We understand you’ve been doing great work with Solid Ground now,” Agent Randolph said.

  “How do you know about Solid Ground?” I asked, exchanging a quick glance with Grace.

  “That’s our job,” Agent Parotti said. “We know about you, too,” she said, turning to look into my eyes.

  “I see,” I nodded.

  “You’ve built quite a compound here, surrounded yourself with courageous, strong men, doing good work. It’s quite impressive,” she said. “If not entirely legal.”

  “Nothing we do is illegal,” Grace said, defensiveness rising in her voice.

  “That’s up for debate,” Agent Randolph said. “But we’re not interested in any of that right now. Right now, we want to know who put that body there. Do you have any opinion on that?”

  “I have no idea,” Grace said. “But I feel like once her sister has some time, she’ll be able to provide all the answers.”

  “Hopefully,” Agent Parotti replied. “The officers told us you reported an owl brought the finger to you, which ultimately led to you searching the woods yourself?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “An owl? Do owls normally bring you gifts?”

  “We have a pair of bonded owls that come around often. They live on our property. We feed them, they let us pet them, they’re almost family.”

  “What other gifts do they bring?”

  “Nothing like today,” Grace said. “It’s usually a rock or a feather or something of that nature.”

  “I see,” she said. “And you didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary the last few days? Voices? Unusual vehicles?”

  “No, not at all,” I said.

  “Me, either,” Grace replied.

  “I’d like to talk to the rest of the group, if that’s okay,” she said.

  “Most of them have gone to bed, but you can speak to the others,” Grace said.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow morning for that,” she said.

  “Tomorrow morning?” Grace asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “These things take time. Surely you remember that, Grace.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “The paramedics told me the victim showered?”

  “She took a bath, yes,” Grace said.

  “Surely you remember that’s discouraged, as well?” Agent Randolph said, his forehead wrinkling with disapproval. “We lost a lot of evidence.”

  “She was freezing and filthy. I didn’t really care about the evidence. It was the fastest way to warm her up.”

  “Hmm,” Agent Parotti said, shaking her head. “That’s too bad. Maybe you weren’t as good of a cop as everyone says you were.”

  “Excuse me, I —,” Grace began, anger clouding her eyes.

  “— We have enough for now,” Agent Parotti interrupted, standing and walking towards the door. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Grace bristled, forcing herself to take a deep breath as she rose to her feet. We followed them out, waving goodbye as they drove off in their car, the heat of Grace’s anger rolling off of her small frame.

  I looked down at her, shaking my head.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” I said.

  “I’m not,” she insisted, her eyes squinting in anger. I nodded slowly, knowing better than to point out the fact that the redness of her face told a completely different story.

  Whatever bullshit we’d been thrust into tonight, I knew we’d never get through it unscathed if I pissed off Grace in the process. So, I bit my tongue, pulled her stiff body into my arms and kissed the top of her head.

  “We’ll figure this shit out, babe,” I said. “We always do.”

  CHAPTER 8

  DONNA

  When I dragged myself from my comfortable bed this morning, I never expected I’d end my day surrounded by a village full of beefcake. My days were usually filled with criminals, liars, egotistical cops and self-righteous prosecutors and defense attorneys — ugly people. The group of leather clad man meat I’d encountered at the Gods of Chaos clubhouse made me feel like I’d just stepped into a hunky calendar shoot or some behind the seasons Chippendales retreat.

  Trust me, I’m not complaining.

  Not at all. In fact, it’s a welcome change from blood and gore and crime. Of course, showing how pleased I was was out of the question, so I kept my professional mask on, never letting my armor crack for a second.

  The dead body was just part of the routine, so I wasn’t fazed by that in the slightest. Unfortunately, as I made my way to the hospital to interview the other victim, I knew that keeping my mask in tact would prove to be more difficult as the day wore on.

  It was always the eyes that got me.

  The victims always turned their gaze on me with such despair, but it was the twinges of hope directed my way that unnerved me. They looked at me like I would be the one to find all the answers.

  Yeah, it’s my job. I get that.

  But I’m not always successful, and as much as I wish it was different, the answers just aren’t there sometimes. Sometimes, all I find are more questions.

  I do my best to stay with a case till the end.

  Sometimes the end comes quickly, but most of the time, it’s a long drawn out process that comes in spurts and starts, revealing twists and turns that don’t always make sense when you’re in the thick of them. Hopefully, it all makes sense in the end and you can wrap things up in a nice little package to present to the victim, handing the perp off to a judge and jury and letting them go on to decide the fate of the criminal.

  When that happens, I go to bed and sleep soundly, knowing I’ve done my job.

  But when it doesn’t happen that way — when it’s messy and open-ended and ugly and raw — sleep eludes me. I stay up berating myself, wondering where I went wrong and what I could have done better, scraping over every last detail, trying desperately to see the lessons each case provides and hoping like hell that I’ve learned something, even from the failures.

  Because those are the ones that haunt me.

  The ones I can’t let go of.

  And they all start with those eyes.

  As I make my way to OHSU after dropping off Agent Randolph downtown, I brace myself for what I’ll see in those eyes today.

  I can’t help but feel empathy for the woman. I wasn’t sure what I’d find. All I knew was that she’d been buried alive, along with her sister. I could only imagine the other terrors she’d faced.

  My thoughts drifted back to the Gods, their serious leaders, Grace and Ryder, and I couldn’t help but be impressed. Randolph and I researched them before arriving, wanting to know exactly what we were walking into. Grace was famous, or perhaps more accurately, infamous, in law enforcement circles, and while there were rumors that the operation they ran wasn’t completely above board all the time, it was impossible not to be intrigued with their work.

  They’d managed to bring down crime families, corrupt politicians, as well as enormous
sex trafficking rings, and they’d been successful each time.

  The fact that their success rate surpassed mine was not a fact that was lost on me. But I guess it’s easy when you don’t have to deal with all the bureaucratic bullshit and red tape. I could easily understand why Grace left the force, without even knowing all the details behind her departure. Somedays, all the bullshit was enough to make anyone want to quit.

  Not that I’d ever quit myself. I’d grown up with the FBI in my genes. My father’s an agent. My three brothers are agents. My uncle, my cousin, and even my grandfather were all members of the Bureau, too. Outside of retiring, leaving the FBI wasn’t something one did, not in my family, at least.

  My fate was sealed before I was even born.

  And letting down my father was not an option, even if I wanted to leave.

  I’ll admit it — I fucking love it. I live and breathe my cases, I let them seep into my bones, even if I hide that fact behind my professionalism.

  Once I’m assigned a case, I quickly become obsessed.

  Some might say it’s a flaw.

  But my obsession has allowed me to quickly crawl my way to the top of the Bureau’s ranks and earn the respect of my supervisors and peers, without having to sleep my way to the top or turn dirty, like some of my colleagues have done.

  Not that I haven’t been tempted, of course.

  The easy way always seems easy, doesn’t it? At least until you’re forced to pay the price of taking the easy road by sacrificing your dignity and living with immense guilt.

  I wanted no part of that.

  I wanted to do it all by the rules and I did, even if I cursed the damn rules the whole time. I still respected them.

  That’s what my father had taught me. It was all I knew how to do.

  Especially if I wanted to sleep at night.

  The cases were hard enough without being a dirty cop at the same time.

  So, here I am, lingering outside the patient’s room, waiting for permission to enter and begin the long process of interviewing her, asking the same questions over and over, just to make sure her answers didn’t change.