Twisted in Chaos (Destructive Devastation #2)

Chapter 24

"Ding-dong. Is there anybody home?" I sing to myself as I stick to the shadows of Brandon's apartment building. How convenient of them to offer balconies for every resident. And how nice of them to make them climbable.

I peek in the sliding glass door of Brandon's apartment. According to his tracker—yes, everyone has one, if I can get my hands on them—he's home. Probably sound asleep in his bed, dreaming of whatever he dreams about. You know, now that I think about it, I don't know him that well. He's worked for us since we started at the club a few years ago—a gift from Gabe. We practically inherited the man. But he's always been elusive and private. Well, I guess that changes now.

I wiggle the knife I brought along through the crack of the sliding glass door and pop the lock—easy, peasy, lemon squeezy. I slide the door open as quietly as possible, stepping inside the small, dark kitchen, barely able to see a thing. Oh, well. I'll find his bedroom and then be on my way. People act like breaking into someone's house is hard. It's as easy as pie. It's as easy as...

"You've been lurking for some time," Brandon grumbles, turning on the kitchen light with a frown. He makes his way to the small kitchen table with chairs and plops down. Damn. I must be out of practice. I didn’t hear him coming. A small handgun rests on the table near his hand, and he shakes his head. "Couldn't have waited until morning?"

"Ah, well. You're awake! So, what's all the fuss about?" I grin at him, pull out a chair at the small kitchen table he's at, and relax. "We needed to have a word, anyway."

"You're lucky I didn't shoot you," he says, flipping the safety back on.

Interesting. He must trust me if he's not keeping his weapon all cocked and ready. Maybe I won't earn an extra hole today. It's my lucky day.

"You wouldn't have shot me," I say confidently, waving a hand. "Besides, you act like I'm not used to it." I raise my chin when he scoffs.

"What do you want?"

I tilt my head, finally taking in poor Brandon. Dark circles rest under his eyes, and tiredness weighs his face down. Day-old stubble lines his usually perfect jawline. And holy shit. He's exhausted.

"What's been keeping you up at night, Brandon? Enemies? Pussy?" He rolls his eyes. "Dick? I don't judge."

"Keeping me up?" he growls, gritting his teeth. "My life is in goddamn danger, and then you just waltz in here..."

I hold up a hand, stopping his tirade. I've heard too many angry rants to last a lifetime these past few days.

"Fine. Fine. Last time I saw you, you were working the bar at the tower. I see you made it out." I make it a point to look his ragged body over. Damn, my dude needs to get some more sleep. Might make him feel better.

His face completely falls, and he throws his hands in the air. "Yeah. I barely escaped after my psycho boss let off a damn rocket launcher. What a goddamn disaster," he grumbles with a huff.

"Refresh my memory. What happened after the rocket launcher went off? Was it epic? A fireball? Was it as amazing as tits?" I lean forward, eager to hear his words, but the fucker just glares at me.

"Epic is one fucking way to put it," he grunts, standing from the chair and throwing it across the kitchen. Man, he's crankier than I remember. Where's the respectable guy that said yes sir, no sir, and didn't throw chairs in my presence? Shit, maybe I broke him. Damn it. "After the rocket launcher blew the room to smithereens, everyone ran and finally started fighting fire with fire. But your dumbass was missing. I don't even know what the fuck happened in there. All three of you went poof, and I couldn't protect you."

My dumbass. I resent that. I am not a dumbass. I frown. Sweat drips from his forehead as he looks at me, and then it dawns on me. A light bulb goes off in my overactive mind.

"Oh! Oh! You thought I was here to kill you," I chuckle, slapping my knee.

"I failed," he says, clenching his jaw. "You. The family. I work for you three, and you're all gone..." he trails off, shaking his head with shame. “I couldn’t fight off Shadow’s men in the ballroom. All I could do was escape unnoticed and try to find the three of you. But I failed. Miserably. I couldn’t save anyone.” But himself. I keep my lips sealed, though. I get the feeling he’s swimming in some sort of guilt over the fact we all went missing.

Poor Brandon. My guy thinks he fucked up. The only fuck up would be him switching sides and whispering in Gabriel’s ear.

"Nah, Brandon. You're not a failure. Not to us, anyway. I'm here to make sure you're not a traitor." I twirl my knife in my hands, humming when the scrape of a chair is righted and set back down, which brings my eyes back to him. "I'll stab ya if you are." It's not my best threat, but it seems to hit the mark.

More sweat beads are on his brow, and he looks white, like a ghost. Bam! I got him. Now, all I need him to do is talk the talk. Then, he’ll be coming with me. For his protection, of course. If Gabriel gets wind that our soldier is on the loose, he might, well—cut him loose by ending his life.

I can’t stand for that.

"After everything you've done for me?" His voice lowers, and he barks out an unhinged laugh. “Like fuck would I ever think about betraying you all. Working for you three and helping you build something… The greatest thing I’ve done to date.”

Man, maybe I can keep him on board with us forever. He's turning into me. God, I'm so damn proud. Before I can stop myself, I pat his head like he's a dog. He's never, ever leaving us again. He can’t. I have a tracker inside of him.

"Well, that's a relief, Brandon. So, let's go!" I say, nodding toward the front door after jumping up from the chair.

He stares at me like I'm crazy. "Go?" he questions with a frown, following my movements.

"Uh, yeah. Go. We've got a home base set up, and you're coming with me." I flash him my best smile, but all it does is make him shudder a little. So, I pull back.

Maybe my smile is a little scary. Or unhinged. Or, yeah, I should probably stop myself.

Brandon stands, shaking his head. "I'd ask if you were fucking nuts, but I know you are!" he grunts, pacing in front of me.

Weird. I am nuts. Have some, too. But it isn't polite to point that out. My dad always said it wasn't nice to voice what's on our minds. Well, fine.

"Why exactly am I nuts?" I hum, twirling the knife again. Maybe if he sees it, he'll slow his roll and stop slinging hurtful words at me. Who am I kidding? They aren't all that hurtful. It's the principle of it, though. Only my Kitten can tell me I've got a screw loose inside my skull. For her, yeah, I do. Damn it, now I miss her more than life itself. I want to hold her. Fuck her. Get her pregnant so she can never leave us again.

Normal things.

"Because the family has lost their damn mind," Brandon grunts, running a hand down his face.

"Please elaborate, or I'll start poking holes." I flash him my grin again, not bothering to hide the manic feeling bubbling inside me.

His gaze whips to mine. Then, the knife twirling in my fingers. Oh, and then they drop to his stomach, and he shudders again.

"Can we agree not to stab me?"

"Only if you agree you'll tell me everything cooking inside that brain of yours. Tell Arrow everything you know about the state of Briar Cove." Otherwise, it's stab-o'clock until his blood paints the kitchen, and his wails fill the air.

A man can dream. Wait, no. I like Brandon. Good soldier. Fuck. Bloodlust is absolutely fogging over my damn mind. I need to fight again. Or fuck. Or get my Kitten back. So many things could tamp down this incessant feeling boiling inside me.

His entire body slumps when he leans against his kitchen counter. "Word on the street is Gabriel is down with some mysterious illness. I haven't seen him since his Viotto Tower fell to the ground."

"And who are your sources?"

Brandon's brows furrow. "Other guards who have been hired on. Our men. We’ve been waiting for you guys to resurface before we do anything."

Right. Brandon and Aiden were the head of security at Rave together. They searched for bugs almost every week for us. Knowing old Gabe, he would have listened to us any chance he got. Hence, we used sign language in front of everyone to hide our discussions. Honestly, everyone should learn ASL.

"Right. The others..." I trail off, tapping my chin with the edge of the knife. The burn of the cut in my flesh has my mind finally slowing down, and I nod. "Yeah, of course. The others." We've been slowly recruiting the other soldiers to our side through the years. It started with Brandon and Aiden when they became our head of security. We showed them respect and valued their contributions to us. And in return, they valued us, too. At the time, at least. Aiden proved to be Gabriel's double agent. What makes Brandon any different? "Have you spoken to Aiden lately? Weren't you two best buddies?"

Brandon recoils. "Respectfully, sir. We worked together, but that was it."

Hmmm. I tilt my head. Okay, that reaction was pretty sincere. I guess Aiden was always a little sneaky.

"Well, that's good news. Aiden was a dirty little traitor. A good actor, too. That's not in your skill set, is it?"

He swallows hard at my accusation. "Not in a million years. I pledged myself to the family years ago. But it wasn't until Jericho, you, and Shepp came into the club to take it over that I felt valued as a member. You guys gave me a purpose at Rave."

"Okie dokie then, Brandon. Let's go now."

I can detect evil and lies all day long, but getting into this sappy moment without understanding what he's saying throws me for a loop. Give me a body, blood, guts, and gore—I'm amazing at that. The guy. The legend, Arrow. Give me feelings and tears, like the big lug opposite of me is giving me. I'm utterly fucking confused.

He doesn't fight me when he pushes off the counter. "Let me put some clothes on, and then I'll go with you." He seems resigned to the fact we might hurt him.

But I have no intention of poking holes in him. Today, at least.

I drum my fingers along the table I’m resting at and tilt my head. Shadows move somewhere outside, drawing my eyes to the bushes. Interesting. I wonder what’s going on out there? Hopefully, someone will follow me, and I can disembowel them ASAP. It’ll help me in the long run. It’s like a doctor giving me a prescription for mayhem and murder. It’s necessary to my being.

With nonchalance, I turn the kitchen light off and crouch low. The entire apartment falls victim to the darkness as I watch the shadows move in the parking lot beyond the balcony.

“I’d crouch if I were you,” I sing-song to the footsteps approaching me. “Oh, and maybe grab a gun or two.”

“Fuck,” Brandon hisses, dropping beside me on his stomach. “Why?” I can practically feel his eyes scanning the outside and squinting at the nothingness. “I see nothing.”

“And they call you the head of security,” I scoff, pointing a finger at the moving figures crouching between cars. “You see those little fuckers? There are at least five out there. Who they belong to, I don’t know. Are they after you? Anything suspicious I should be aware of?” One little fucker who needs to die. Two little fuckers who need to roast. Three little fuckers who will meet my knife. And so on.

Brandon blows out a breath. “Fuck.”

“Good fuck or bad fuck?” I question, reaching into my waistline, taking out a fully loaded gun, and taking the safety off.

“Bad fuck. What else?” he groans as the sound of his safety coming off clicks in the air. “You think the family would come after me?”

“You’re a loose end loyal to the three heirs they tried to get rid of. So, maybe?” I shrug because I don’t technically know what the fuck is happening right now. “How about your friends? Have any of them dropped dead lately?”

I feel his eyes burning a hole through my head when he should watch the enemy advancing through the parking lot toward his apartment building.

“Not that I’m aware.”

“But you were scared for your own life?” I hum.

“Naturally. You’re my fucking boss,” he growls, probably through clenched teeth.

“Naturally,” I agree with a chuckle. “New plan. We need to ambush the amateurs before they ambush us.”

“I can take the living room. You stay here and position yourself to shoot them as they enter the front door,” Brandon grunts, slowly crawling away from me toward the living room.

“Well, who said they’re all coming in through the front door?” I grin.

Anticipation roars through me at the prospect of dropping some baddies like it’s hot. I’m about to make it rain. Blood. Bodies. And anything in between.

“Got ‘em,” I murmur as the sliding glass door slowly opens without a fuss, and Mr. Intruder slowly walks into the kitchen, letting one of his pals follow him. At the same time, the front door slams open, causing a commotion.

Ah, they’re the distraction.

Brandon lights up the intruders in the living room. One shot. Five shots. Ten shots. Then they fall silent. All while I keep my two right in my sights. I love the element of surprise.

“Aaron!” one in the kitchen hisses to the one that entered through the front door. At least, I assume he’s speaking to them.

Maybe I should clarify.

“Who is Aaron?” I ask from my hiding spot, aiming my gun in his direction.

Through the darkness, I hear the breath hitch in his throat before bullets rain around me. But never in me. There are only a few things and people allowed inside me. I grin.

“That’s rude,” I mutter, firing a few shots. One hits shadow number two in the skull, killing him instantly. The other hits its mark with shadow number one, hitting him in the leg and taking him down with a yelp. “Ah, the yelp heard around the world. How many more of you are there?” I crawl toward shadow number one and hover above his face, shoving the end of my gun into his neck. I grin. “Oh, Trevor. You poor, poor soul.”

“Arrow,” he hisses, reaching for his bleeding leg. “You’re not supposed to be here…” he trails off with confusion.

Oh. So, our infamous escape wasn’t told around a campfire? That’s very disappointing. Although, it might be good for Daddy Jer and me. We can walk through this town without someone trying to kill us—the element of surprise and all that good shit.

Anywho. Back to killing.

“Good to see you again, there, pal. But I have questions,” I hum, shoving his hand away and putting my finger into his bloodied wound. The sound of his cries fills the room. I’d ask him again how many more gunmen are waiting outside this apartment, but I don’t think he’d answer. He’s from the family. Unless I give him some incentive, he won't give me anything if he’s properly trained like I think he might be.

“Fuck you,” he hisses.

Well, until I use the darkness to knock him out with my gun. Ah, I love the feeling of violence at my fingertips. It leaves me craving more, though. But that’s okay. Trevor and I will have a nice long discussion about what he’s doing here and who sent him.

I get giddy at the prospect.

“I think that was all of them,” Brandon murmurs, cautiously crawling toward me.

“Could be. Or not. But what I do know is we need to get this asshole back to headquarters.” And torture the shit out of him before he dies of this leg wound. Daddy Jer will not be happy to see I brought baggage back into our hiding spot. But If I hadn’t, then Brandon would have been toast. “Go grab a belt for Trevor’s leg. We want to make sure he arrives alive.” Brandon nods, getting to his feet and coming back with a belt. We quickly secure the bleeding wound.

“Okay,” he says, lifting the guy into his arms and leading the way out the front door.

I scan the parking lot, holding my weapons, but don’t find any more assholes out and about. They probably heard the fall of their comrades and ran the other way. Bummer. I was looking for a fight with multiple casualties. It’s like an orgy but with death. A de-orgy? Nah, that doesn’t sound right. An org-ath? Nope. Even worse. Ah, well. Whatever.

“Throw asshole in the trunk,” I say with a hum, keeping an eye out in the shadows. Since Brandon can’t seem to see the danger he is in.

Brandon shuts the trunk and climbs into the passenger’s seat while I climb into the driver’s.

“Now, let’s go home.” I grin, starting the car and peeling out of the parking lot with my eyes peeled. If there are more people, they’re probably wondering where Jer and I are hiding in town. Or maybe they don’t know we’re back yet. Thankfully, the only witness alive is in my trunk, bleeding out with loud groans and knocking on the inside. “He’s going to be a feisty one,” I hum, making a few extra left turns and then a few right, trying to throw off anyone who might be following.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Brandon says, looking in all directions.

“Oh, good. But just to be safe,” I say, pulling into an empty tree line and sigh. “We’ll walk to Rave from here. I’ll knock out Mr. Loud-Pants.”

Brandon’s head whips to me. “Are you fucking insane? No, wait. You are. You’re fucking... You can’t carry a half-conscious man who has blood spewing from him...” Blah. Blah. Blah. I block out his words when I jump out of the car and open the trunk.

“Night, night,” I sing-song before punching him square in the nose. His head bounces back, and he gasps, ready to tear into me. But I was just getting started. I viciously pound my fist into his face and jaw until he stops moving.

“Stop,” Brandon grunts, gripping my wrist. The audacity of this motherfucker. “You kill him here, and we’ll never know whose orders he was on to kill me and why.”

I purse my lips and step back. Momentarily, the demon inside me simmers down, giving me the relaxation I need and want. So I can think clearly as we weave through the darkened areas and finally return to Rave just as the sun peaks over the horizon.

“Honey, I’m home!” I shout into the empty club, carrying the bloodied man on my shoulder.

And wouldn’t you know it? Jericho stands at the top of the stairs with a frown carved so deep on his face he looks constipated. He should take care of that. Or get the stick out of his ass for once. Either way. That look needs to go. He should throw me a parade or something. Oh, confetti!

“You know, if you leave your face like that, people will think you have RBF or that you need to poop,” I say with a grin, wiggling the guy on my shoulder. “I brought back visitors. Break out the mimosas. We’ve got quite the morning ahead of us.”

Jericho shakes his head with disappointment, coming down the stairs rigidly.

Oops. I think I made Daddy Jer mad. My bad. But not really. I saved Brandon’s life.

“You left without me? You left me sleeping to...” Jericho’s eyes scan Brandon as he stands at attention. “To retrieve him! I thought we had an agreement. I didn’t think I had to worry about you sneaking off in the middle of the fucking night,” Jericho grits out, waving a hand.

“Sorry, Daddy Jer. But you know, I saved his life. If I hadn't been there, he’d be dead. Courtesy of this guy and his cool gang of dead gunmen.”

“Who the fuck is that?” Jericho grits out, walking up to the guy on my shoulder and lifting his face up with a sigh. “He’s unrecognizable. Do you think he’ll actually wake up now? You’ve beat him into oblivion because you couldn’t stop yourself.”

He’s getting on my nerves lately. We usually breathe and move as one. Like a centipede or... Wait, no. That brings back images of that disgusting movie I forced them to watch. It was interesting, though. I wonder if it’s possible? Hmmm... Anyway, ever since he abandoned me in Briar Cove—hello, abandonment issues—he’s left a bitter taste in my mouth. I know he’s worried. And I know he had no choice but to leave me behind without getting himself killed. I recognize what he had to do. Would I have done the same? Absolutely not. Jer would have been tied to my back while I scaled the hospital to escape. So, sure. I get his reasons. Even though they were stupid as fuck.

I’m just a Petty Betty Bitch, and he’ll suffer for leaving me behind.

“Trevor. He works with your dad. Or did,” Brandon answers with a head shake. “He and five other guards broke into my apartment with weapons and fired at me. If Arrow hadn’t snuck in, I wouldn’t have known what was about to hit me. But I’ve been paranoid since that night of the initiation ball.”

“Paranoid?” Jericho asks, dropping the fool's head. “Why?”

“Because I failed you. I was there to be insight for you, and I went and fucked it all up.”

“Explain yourself,” Jericho barks impatiently.

Damn. Daddy Jer needs another nap. He’s awfully cranky right now. I bet he'll be a little nicer once Journey and Shepp are back. Maybe. Or I could punch him again. He seemed to like that.

Brandon straightens, and I roll my eyes, tossing the asshole on my shoulder into a wooden chair. I quickly find ropes and all that fun stuff from around the club while they have a little chit-chat. Brandon explains his failures and guilt. Jericho reassures him it is okay.

“As long as you’re not a traitor,” Jericho says at the end of their discussion, just in time for the asshole to rouse from his forced slumber.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey. We’ve got a lot to discuss, Trevor. Oh! And I brought a fun friend eager to speak with you.” I grin, stepping back and letting Jericho come into Trevor’s view.