SOLID GROUND: GODS OF CHAOS MC (BOOK TWO) (7 page)

“Thank you,” Lacey whispered, her voice small and quiet next to me.

“Why don’t you try to get some rest, honey?” Grace said to her.  “It’s about three hours to the safe house.”

“Okay, sure,” she replied.  

“You can put your head on my shoulder, if you want,” Slade said.  I caught his eye and glared at him, a silent warning for him to remain on his best behavior.

“What?!” he exclaimed, glaring back at me.  “We didn’t bring any pillows!”

“That would be nice,” Lacey replied, gingerly leaning on his bony shoulder, and closing her eyes.

I turned and looked out the window, marveling once again at what my life had become.

Ten years ago, I spent every waking moment in the ring.  Boxing was the only thing I cared about and it consumed me with a burning passion that ended up eventually burning all my dreams to the ground.

Sometimes, you can want something so much that it destroys you.  

I had started boxing in the Army.  I joined up when I was seventeen, lying about my age, wanting to do anything to get away from my alcoholic father. My mother had left us alone together years ago, and I can’t say I blamed her. He was impossible to live with. I was finally tired of cleaning up after him, worrying if today was the day I was going to find him dead when I woke up each morning, and trying to get him to eat.  I felt guilty about leaving, but if I didn’t leave then, I knew I never would.  I wanted a life of my own.

At first I was just a cook, but then I saw how they treated the boxers. They were the rock stars of the Army.  They got special meals, didn’t have to work, and spent all their time training.  They even got special living quarters.  After a year of breaking my back in the kitchen, I went down to the gym where they trained and started hanging around, just watching on my free time.

Soon, I was itching to get in the ring, and the coach decided to give me a chance.  He put me in the ring with a very fast, very sweaty, incredibly strong, well-seasoned guy, but I stood my own, even if he did get a few punches in.  I was quick and light on my feet, and I fell in love with it right then and there.  

Afterwards, the coach would let me spar every time I showed up, and when I started showing up every night, he told me I should talk to my sergeant about boxing full-time.  Surprisingly, my sergeant was receptive, even if the rest of the guys in my barracks were pissed with envy.

Suddenly, I was the golden boy.  But I didn’t give a shit about any of that.  All I wanted to do was fight.  

I spent all my waking hours either training or fighting, obsessed with trying to make weight, trying to improve, sparring with bigger and badder guys until I had honed my skills so well that I finally got my first real fight.

That night came and it was like I had finally found my purpose in life.  I was strong, clear-headed, practiced and ready.  My opponent was a corn-fed Midwestern boy that had been fighting for years.  He was a strong opponent, but by the time the first bell sounded, I had tunnel vision.  The crowd melted away, my past melted away, and I had only one mission. 

I wanted a knock-out.  Nothing else would do.

I came out of the corner, dancing and swinging, my enthusiasm only serving to add to the adrenaline pumping through my veins.  

He hit me hard right away, and I stumbled, but stayed up, kept my wits.  We tangled together, over and over, the ref pushing us away from each other repeatedly, as we tried to get our punches in.  

I took a few steps back, and faked him out.  I came in strong, with a brutal upper cut, hooking him just under the chin.  I hit him hard, loud, the crack jarring me, vibrating pain through my fist and up my arm.

He went down fast, collapsing in a heap.  

Hard. 

Cold.

Knocked-out.

My hands flew up over my head as I cheered, but I quickly realized something was wrong when the ref called for the medic.  

The medic kneeled over him, checked his pulse, shook his head.

He was dead.

I had fucking killed him.  

I was fucking devastated.  

I was just a kid, killing someone was the last thing I wanted to do.  Sure, in the back of my mind, I knew that joining the Army would increase the possibility that I might have to do that very thing.  But I wasn’t ready.  Not yet.  And when I saw what it did to this guy’s family, his friends, I felt awful for them.  It didn’t matter that I didn’t know them. 

I fell into a deep depression, following in my father’s footsteps, and quickly turning to the bottle, doing my best to kill myself, too. 

It didn’t work.  

All it did was get me kicked out of the Army, and then I just hit the streets of Portland, hanging with the wrong crowd.  

One day, I ran into my childhood friend, Slade, downtown.  He told me about the Gods, introduced me, and before I knew it, I was prospecting with Slade.

They became the family I never had.  

The family I needed.  

A true brotherhood that I never would have found on my own.  

They saved my life.

And now, here I was, trying to pay it forward.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

The bumping woke me up.  I raised my head and looked around, seeing nothing but a bumpy dirt road and tall, towering pine trees on both sides.  

“Where are we?”  I asked Riot, who was sitting next to me, looking stiff and uncomfortable.

“Our clubhouse,” he replied.

“Our?” I asked.  

“Yes. The Gods of Chaos MC,” Slade answered.  He sat next to me, all sprawled out, his arm slung around my shoulder.

I shifted in my seat, inching away from him, but as I moved closer to Riot, Riot moved away from me. 

I stiffened, the awkwardness unbearable.

“What’s an emcee?” I asked.

“M.C.  Stands for motorcycle club,” Riot answered, his gaze fixed out the window as he spoke.

“You’re a motorcycle gang?” I asked, the high-pitch of my voice startling me.  I cleared my throat. 

Nobody answered.

What had I gotten myself into?

They sat silently beside me, all of us staring out the windows as the van wound its way down the curvy road. Finally, we pulled up to a run-down cabin, or more accurately -  a ramshackle mess.   Dozens of motorcycles were parked along the front.

“Motorcycles,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Yep,” Slade said. “You ever been on one?”

“Um. No, I can’t say that I have,” I replied.  My mother would never have let me risk a scar by getting on one of those.  Besides, it wasn’t high-class enough for her.  And Monty was far from the biker type.

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” Slade replied, winking at me. Riot groaned beside me, and I caught him glaring at Slade again.  Slade shrugged, slid open the side door of the van, and hopped out.

I stepped out onto the dusty ground and felt the crunch of gravel and dirt beneath my feet.  I inhaled deeply, my senses assaulted by the heady scent of pine.  No other buildings were to be seen, and not a soul was in sight.  

“Everyone’s out on a job today,” Ryder said, he and Grace appearing beside me as I stood looking around.  It was quiet, tranquil.  

“You’re completely safe here, Lacey,” Grace’s gentle voice was reassuring.  I wasn’t sure about the whole motorcycle thing.  From everything I had ever heard about bikers, I understood they were just a bunch of outlaws.

You killed Monty
, a voice in my head reminded me. 

Right. 

I’m an outlaw, too.
 

As if being Monty’s prostitute wasn’t enough, now he had made me a murderer, too. 

I sighed, and turned to Grace.  I had to trust them.  Every one of them.  They were all I had now.

“Thank you,” I said.  

I had no clue about how to proceed with my life, but I sure as hell hoped they did.  Grace and Ryder stood next to each other, strong, unwavering.  You could see it in the way they looked at each other, with such respect and regard for each other.  Ryder was protective, yet he seemed to hang out in the background, and let Grace call the shots.

“Let’s go into the war room, and we can talk,” Grace said, taking my hand.  “There’s a lot to cover.”

“Yes…okay,” I said, allowing her to lead me inside.  I needed that, because I had never felt so lost in my life.  I was so used to be people ordering me around, telling me exactly what to wear, what to say, what to do, and who to fuck, that I didn’t know anything else.  

I had a lot of adapting to do.

We stepped through the threshold, and the floor boards creaked under my feet.  I stopped as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.  The faint sounds of country music filled the air and a roughly assembled bar lined one wall.  A low slung, dirty couch stood along the other wall, with a few chairs and tables scattered around. 

“It’s usually very crowded here,” Riot said.  “Enjoy the calm while it lasts.”

“Um, okay…” I replied.  Grace led me into a side room that held a large table lined with wooden chairs.  

“Sit here, sweetheart,” she said, pointing to the chair just to the left of the head of the table.  I had expected us to talk alone, but Ryder, Doc, Riot and Slade followed us in and settled at the table as well.  Ryder took the seat at the head of the table, and Grace sat to his right, directly across from me.  They all seemed so comfortable, so at ease, so completely at odds with everything I was feeling.

You killed Monty,
that voice rose in my head again.

Yes, okay, I had a reason to be uncomfortable.  

“Okay, Lacey,” Grace began, “I want to tell you a little bit about me, about us, first.”

I nodded, and a hush fell over the table.

“I’m Grace, as you know.  I’m a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, at the hands of my own family members.  I have devoted my life to helping other survivors.  My journey began on the police force, eventually going undercover to bust the countless pimps and sex traffickers that roam the West coast.  Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that trusting the cops isn’t always your safest option.  Along the way, I met Ryder.  Actually, I won’t mince words.  Ryder saved my life.  This club saved my life.”

She paused, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke, her soft voice the only sound in the room.

“Ryder found me unconscious on the road leading to this clubhouse, the pimp I was planning on busting was about to kill me.  I owe my life to Ryder,” she said, her eyes landing on him.  The love that passed between them was almost palpable.  I felt a pang of envy stab my heart.  Nobody had ever looked at me like that in my life.

“After all of that, I tried to go back to my life on the force, but I just couldn’t do it.  Eventually, I quit, and I’ve found a way to continue doing the work that is so important to me.  That’s why I started Solid Ground.  Now, with the muscle and brains of the Gods behind me, I can rescue women in need, using methods that weren’t available to me as a cop.”

“I see,” I said, nodding.

“How did you get our number, Lacey?” she asked.

“Oh. Well, I went to jail…for a few hours.  A woman in the cell gave it to me.  I don’t know her name.  She said she was my guardian angel…” my voice trailed off.  What would I have done if I hadn’t had been given Grace’s phone number?