Twist of Fate (Kings of Chaos Book 6) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ©Text Copyright 2017 Shyla Colt

  Cover By Dreams2Media

  Photography Courtesy of Regina Wamba

  Edited for Hot Ink By There for you Editing

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Published by Hot Ink Press

  An Imprint of

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing Inc.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Harry Potter: JK Rowling

  Glossary

  Cut—vest worn by Motorcycle Club members

  MC—Motorcycle Club

  Old Lady—Like a wife/ long term girlfriend

  Sweetheart/Sweetie—Girlfriend or someone a biker is dating

  Sweetbutt—Name of a girl who hangs around the club and is always available for sex. Can be the “Property of” one of the members.

  House Mouse—Depending on their temperament they can be given as gifts to an old lady. They are used to clean up and do chores.

  Positions

  President— Leader of the Chapter

  Vice President— Second in charge. Fills in when President isn’t around.

  Sergeant at Arms— Basically the club’s policeman. He enforces club policy and procedures in meetings.

  Enforcers— There to help the Sergeant at Arms do his job. They often stand guard at meetings.

  Secretary— Responsible for the club’s paperwork, including club records.

  Treasurer— The chapter’s money man. He collects club fees, pays bills, etc.

  The Wise One— He often looks after the club’s spiritual needs. He’s often referred to as the “Chaplin”.

  Road Captain— He’s usually in charge of the logistics of the club. IE: Planning routes, fuel stops, etc.

  Asst. Road Captain— Assists the Road Captain.

  Patch Members (Riders)— Members who’ve earned the right to wear the club’s color after paying their dues as a Prospect. They’re also known as Patches or members.

  Nomad— A club member who doesn’t belong to any particular chapter.

  Prospect— Man in training to become a member of a Motorcycle club after a probationary period.

  Playlist

  You Blew Me Off: Bare Jr

  Colorblind: Counting Crows

  What I’ve Done: Linkin Park

  Numb: Linkin Park

  Somewhere I Belong: Linkin Park

  Love Me Like You Do: Ellie Goulding

  I’ll Be Good lyrics: Jaymes Young

  Say You Won’t Let Go: James Arthur

  Now or Never: Halsey

  Dedication

  For my best friend, Megan,who never lets me give up, even when I want to. You’re the Fred to my George and I don’t know what I’d do without you. #Forge

  Prologue

  Charm

  Being mistrusted by the men you grew up admiring and emulating is demoralizing, embarrassing, and infuriating. I went on the road as a Nomad to gain clarity. I thought time away from home would allow the air to clear and the dust to settle after the scandal with my father. I was mistaken. The space didn’t help me figure out who the hell I was at all.

  Being a Nomad tends to be good for head clearing. Leave it to me to be the exception to the rule. Existence as a Nomad was everything I thought it would be—a sanctioned wander. I didn’t need to think or people because I was never in one place for too long, and I always had a clear directive.

  Every chapter of the club I visited welcomed me because they required me to complete a task. I needed that acceptance. It was a far cry from the cold shoulder I’d been getting from members of my chapter in San Mateo. I took that time to build my body and my mind back up, and then requested to return home.

  I never thought I’d feel like an outsider here. This is where I was raised. The legacy handed down to me originated on this soil. Disconnection from what I love and self-loathing are eating away at my soul bit by bit. The sense of alienation in the one place I was born and bred to belong in sickens me.

  We’re founded on brotherhood. The feeling of being shunned is a slap in the face. I should be angry, but deep down, I know I deserve their scorn. I did this to myself, buying into all of my father’s lies about the superior race and perpetuating stereotypes.

  I’ve long since stopped making excuses for my unforgivable actions and accepted I became the product of my environment. That way of thinking was all I knew. It was my version of normal, shoved down my throat from the moment I entered the world. I had no reason to see anything wrong with it.

  The ancient by-laws of the club first formed in the racially charged climate of the late fifties and early sixties kept the club exclusive, white, and trapped in a time of backward thinking. It’s easy to buy into a skewed belief system when you’re isolated, and there’s no one to challenge it or teach you any differently.

  The things I said and did at one point are now repugnant to me. A person should be judged on their merit and character, period. I could spend my entire life trying to make up for the damage done by my ignorance and never scratch the surface.

  “You good?”

  I glance over at my brother, Echo, and nod. I agreed to dinner with him and his wife, Dixie Rose, because I wanted to tell him about my plans.

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure? You’ve been lost in your thoughts a lot lately. I know coming back in from off the road is an adjustment.” He clears his throat. “I want to be sure there’s nothing else going on. I failed you in the past, letting you get swept up in all of Dad’s vicious propaganda. I can never apologize enough for that. But I’m here now.”

  I shake my head. “None of that was your fault. If you had tried to go against him, he would’ve buried you. Plus, you attempted to steer me right plenty of times. I was too blind and brainwashed to accept the truth you spoke.”

  “Dad was your hero. I seemed like the angry older brother who lived to argue non-stop and never gained his approval. Why would you listen to me?” Echo says softly.

  “Because
you were right.” I can admit it now.

  “It’s all water under the bridge now. We both came out on the other side better for the pain.”

  Absentmindedly stroking my chin stubble, I peer through the window at my sister-in-law, Dixie Rose. With her light brown skin, coarse, thick black curls, and brown eyes, she’s everything my father stood against. She’s also one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met. That she receives me at their table at all is a testament to her strength and forgiving nature.

  “You ready to tell me what’s going on?” Echo asks.

  I laugh. “Forever the big brother, huh?”

  “Without a doubt. Now stop stalling.” His voice takes on the parental tone that drove me insane when we were younger, and he was charged with watching over me.

  I snicker. “I’m odd man out here. It makes a man wonder where he belongs.”

  “What are you talking about? This is your home.”

  “No, it used to be, once. Now I’m in some sort of weird limbo. I feel like I’m a Prospect again, yet to prove his worth and loyalty to the brothers.”

  His brows deepen into a V as his eyebrows nearly meet. “You tired of the life, little brother?”

  Am I? It’s all I’ve ever known. How could I ever be a civilian? “Nah, I’m tired of people second guessing my loyalty. The brothers have a long memory and they associate me with the assassination attempt on the President.”

  “Charm. We all know you weren’t in on that shit Dad did—”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m not a reminder of it. I need to be known for something different.” Finishing my beer, I turn to face him. “Stone wants to get more legal venues going, and I’m going to help him out with that for a bit down in L.A.”

  “It’s been nice having you back, dude. I’ll be sad to see you go again so soon.” The audible disappointment is a kick to the gut. I let Echo down enough already. I was part of the reason his relationship with Dixie Rose failed the first time. The only African American female around, my father made her life hell, and I helped. They spent years apart they’ll never get back. Seeing them together now, it’s obvious they were meant to be. It’s not an easy thing to find in our life. Too many women want to be seen, get the bad boy experience, or take you for all you have.

  My sister-in-law, Dixie Rose, doesn’t need anyone to take care of her and gets what the life is about because she’s the daughter of a KOC member. When she looks at my brother, I can’t help but feel envious of the complete acceptance and adoration in her eyes and on her face. What would it be like to find that?

  “I won’t be far.”

  “True, L.A. is an easy drive. What are you going to be doing?”

  I clear my throat. “Working a food truck.”

  He blinks, and the laughter rips free. “Dude, what?”

  Smiling sheepishly, I shrug.

  “Charm, are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. The food truck business is booming here in Cali. It’s actually a smart move by Stone.”

  “And why aren’t we sending a prospect?” Echo asks.

  “Because when I come back I’ll be training, and if I want to, running a truck of our own. He’s not trusting them with that.”

  “You know I’ll be coming down to visit, right? I got to see this for myself.”

  “Jackass,” I mutter, flipping him off.

  He chuckles. “When do you leave?”

  “Today. I’m packing light.” I won’t tell him the truth—that it’s a last ditch effort to regain my balance and decide if this life is still for me after all.

  Chapter One

  Xia

  I can scarcely contain the excitement bubbling up inside me like a freshly opened soda as I move into the kitchen for my daily dose of caffeine. Family meetings are a regular occurrence, but not on a Sunday. Dad’s usually a stickler for saving the seventh day for rest. Despite his creative genius, the west Texas transplant is a Southern boy at heart.

  We were raised very differently from most free-spirited Southern California natives. That’s made life difficult for me. The youngest Foley, and only female of the five-member brood, I’ve had a ton of tradition and archaic thinking to combat. My father originally wanted me to stay on the business side of things and focus on landing a marriage and starting a family. I want to have those things eventually, but it’s not where my passion lies, or who I am, and I made sure he knew it.

  No matter how much he wants me to be a Southern belle, I’m not. I like my mascara dark, my hair multicolored, and my fashion spooky and sexy. I’ve worked hard to prove myself to my father and tried to ease him into the truth of who I am. My patience is thin, and my wings are battered from beating against the cage I’ve been trapped in for far too long. At twenty-seven, I’m ready to live my life authentically, with or without my family’s blessing and support.

  The Foley name has become synonymous with good food in the Southern California area. My father, Chef Richard Foley, had a vision, a dream, and a lot of grit. After putting in his time in the industry, he opened up a small restaurant. Fresca follows the motto—fresh, traditional, and affordable. We’re known as the tex mex restaurant with a decent selection of excellent barbecue. The niche worked. We found a fan base and grew.

  In the late nineties, Fresca branched out to food trucks ahead of the trend chasers and never looked back. The family goal of growing up and working the restaurant changed for me Ellis and Caspian. The new dream was owning our own food truck. The rules were simple: we earn our degrees, do our time learning the ropes, and approach him with a cohesive business plan. Once we’re deemed ready, Dad will invest in the first truck.

  I watched as Ellis and Casp worked together to create their predominantly BBQ based truck; Smoke became a force to reckon with. Two years later, they’re still growing strong, and the Foley brand is ready for new blood. I have my business model ready to go, including branding and a marketing plan. I’ve spent years of my life blogging about food and our company. I have a decent following, and Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter have made planning things so much easier. I think people love the hunt and discovery that happens when we post where we’ll be or have specials. I’ve learned a lot over the years about marketing and branding. I plan on using everything to propel myself to the top.

  I feel lighter as I sip on the Crème Brule coffee with Salted Caramel creamer, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch the city wake. A life lived under the radar was a soul sucking existence I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Today marks the end of the Foley expectations I never managed to live up to. What do you wear to the start of your life?

  Dressed in a pair of black slacks with an off-the-shoulder black button down with white stars and a pair of black creepers, I’m in my element. My lips are painted in a velvet purple so deep it looks black, and my eyes are accentuated with a cat’s eye style eyeliner. I’m going to face my future the way I feel most comfortable. The fifteen-mile drive to the two-story house feels like it takes twice as long as usual. Which is saying a lot here in Los Angeles where fifteen miles will take you thirty to forty-five minutes if you’re lucky. My stomach knots as I exercise my defensive driving skills.

  Over half the population drives like a maniac with an ax to grind, and an important event to get to. Add the entitled, how-dare-you-drive-the-limit attitude, road rage, and resistance to obeying traffic laws, and it’s dry kindling waiting for a match. Pulling into the driveway, I roll my eyes at the sight of the black SUV. Of course, Caspian and Ellis beat me here. The suck ups own a house not too far from my parents. The business has been kind to them, and it’s no secret, they dote on the boys. After all, they’re the ones who keep the family legacy alive.

  I stifle my indignation. Ellis and Casp never asked to be placed on pedestals. The roles were assigned to us before we knew what favoritism, sexism, and tradition meant. Not that my dad doesn’t dote on me, too. In many
ways, I’m a daddy’s girl. It’s the things that make us alike that cause conflict.

  I want to forge my own path, and he’s spent his life making sure his children would never have to, so it doesn’t compute. Add a healthy dose of control freak into the mix, and more than our food flavors are explosive. I step from my four-door sedan and take a deep breath. This is it.

  The smell of banana bread greets me as I enter the house, and I inhale deeply. My father can cook, but my mother’s baking could make a five-star general weep. Shutting the door behind me, I reset the alarm and wander through the house to the back patio where everyone’s gathered.

  The muffins, banana bread slices drizzled with icing, and fresh fruit arranged on silver serving platters make my mouth water. The champagne and orange juice don’t escape my notice. I open the sliding door.

  “There she is,” Mom says, standing as she holds out her arms.

  “Hey, Mom.” I hug her tight, enjoying her softness and the lilac smell that always lingers on her skin. In a land full of artifice, her realness has always kept me grounded and grateful.

  I pull back and arch an eyebrow. Who’s the dirty-blond haired Adonis beside my father? With broad shoulders, muscular arms, and the prettiest set of hazel-colored eyes I’ve seen in a long time, he’s impossible to miss. I turn to my father, who flashes me a wide grin that stands out in his honey nut brown face.

  The crow’s feet and laugh lines around his mouth are deeper but speak to a life well-lived. His hair is cropped close to his head and liberally sprinkled with patches of gray that make him look dashing.

  “Grab a drink and a plate, and I’ll introduce our new friend, Shayne Spencer, properly.”

  Oh my God. He already hired staff! I play it cool as I grab a few items, mix a mimosa, and sit beside Mom.

  “Before we get started, I want to say a quick prayer,” Dad says once we’re all settled around the rectangular sandstone table. “Lord, thank you for this time we have together. For blessing us with a successful business, and for allowing us to enter into a new venture.”