The Devil’s Chaos (The Brotherhood #2)

6. Six

6

SIX

HAVEN

I didn’t bother waiting for my brother or father to approach me. Instead, I weaved through the crowd and approached my car, a sleek matte-gray Range Rover, in the back parking lot. While most of my life was a nightmare, being a Benson had advantages. And if I was going to be continuously used and controlled, I might as well find solace in regular bouts of retail therapy. But as I reached the car, a chilling shiver ran down my spine, and I couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of being watched. I scanned the area around me, but no one was in sight besides the crowd near the club entrance and the fire trucks screaming into the parking lot. Ignoring the uneasy feeling creeping up in my spine, I hit the code on the car and pressed the unlock button. The Range Rover beeped twice in response, and I opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and retrieved my car keys from my purse in the compartment behind the GPS screen. Brushing off my paranoia, I started the car and pushed the gear shift into drive, trying to focus on the road ahead.

I navigated the familiar streets of the city, the neon lights blurring into streaks of color as I drove. My mind, however, was far from the bright cityscape passing by. The unease that had settled in my chest at the club lingered, refusing to dissipate despite my attempts to shake it off. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed or watched in some way. Glancing in the mirror, I caught a glimpse of what looked like an all-black Impala several cars behind me, its headlights shadowed by the night. My heart quickened its pace as I turned down a deserted alleyway, hoping to lose whatever phantom presence I felt trailing me. The sedan followed suit, so I pressed harder on the gas pedal, the engine roaring to life as I raced through the winding streets toward my penthouse.

I didn’t get far before a sudden screech of tires pierced the night, causing me to slam on the brakes just in time to avoid a collision. My heart pounded in my chest as I peered through the windshield and nodded apologetically when the other driver flipped me off.

I deserved that.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, my heart like thunder in my chest, and to my surprise, the car had vanished into thin air.

Had I just imagined it? The doubt crept in, undermining my confidence and leaving me questioning my sanity.

“Jesus, Haven. Get it together,” I scolded myself, shaking my head in frustration. Once the car I almost T-boned moved out of the way, I pulled onto the street and drove into the parking garage at my complex. I parked and stepped out of my SUV, shivering in the cold emptiness of the garage. There were several cars parked, but no movement.

It was quiet.

Just like normal.

Wrapping my jacket tightly around me, I was thankful I chose a longer one to keep in my car. The other residents weren’t aware of my occupation, and I’d like to keep it that way. As the doors slid open with a soft ding, I stepped inside and pressed the button to the twentieth floor. The elevator lurched into motion, carrying me upward as I leaned against the cool metal wall. The heat was on, which brought an odd sense of comfort to my chilled bones. The doors opened with another ding, and I hurried out, fumbling with my keys as I quickened my pace down the hallway leading to my penthouse. I unlocked the heavy oak door, glancing at 7201 in gold, letting out a rush of air when the door opened. Stepping inside the dimly lit foyer, I froze when a creak sounded from behind me, shattering through the silence of the corridor. My heart skipped a beat, and I spun around, only to find the hallway empty. Swallowing hard, I slammed my door shut and locked the deadbolt, taking a deep breath as I tried to calm my racing heart.

Tossing my keys in the bowl next to the door, I shrugged off my jacket and padded through my penthouse. This was my sanctuary, a place where I felt most at peace. The plush carpet of my bedroom was soft beneath my feet as I switched on the lights. The warm glow illuminated the elegant furnishings, a stark contrast to the chaos of my emotions. I poured myself a glass of rich amber whiskey from the crystal decanter on the mahogany sideboard, relishing the familiar burn as it slid down my throat.

Then, the tattooed stranger in my dressing room flashed into my brain. The depth of his blue eyes, and the way his shirt fit tight against his body. Who was he, and what was he doing in my father’s club? He claimed to be there for my father, but somehow, I had inadvertently become his business. I couldn’t make sense of it all. Was he involved in business with my father? And if so, doing what?

It didn’t matter though.

My father’s business only concerned me when I was lying on my back or sucking dick to secure business deals. As the whiskey numbed the edge of my anxiety, I poured another glass, filling it to the brim, before downing the whole thing without hesitation. Setting the tumbler back on the table with a loud clink, I knew I needed a piping hot shower to wash away all traces of Gerald from my skin. Once the bathroom was covered in steam, I stepped into the stall and let the scalding heat wash over me, trying to erase the feeling of his fat hands touching my skin, his dick inside of me. I scrubbed my skin raw, every inch of me, watching as all remnants of him swirled around the drain and disappeared with the soapy suds that gathered there.

When I was satisfied that no part of him remained on my skin or inside of me, I turned the water off, wrapped a fluffy pink towel around me, and wandered back into my bedroom. The decanter of whiskey and my black satin sheets called out to me. I stripped off the towel, letting it fall to the floor, and slipped an oversized Bad Omens T-shirt on, opting out of putting underwear on. Before I crawled into bed, I opened my balcony doors, embracing the breeze that drifted into my room. I fumbled with the remote by my bedside and turned on a horror movie called Wrong Turn, where a group of kids in the Appalachian Mountains get hunted and hacked into pieces by some creepy, inbred mountain family.

A classic.

Draped in the warm lights of the TV and drinking my weight in whiskey, I was lulled into a deep sleep. The sound of a loud boom startled me awake, and I sat up and rubbed my eyes in a state of confusion. The movie was still playing a part near the end. The female character was running from the mountain men, and the pink glow from the clock on my end table read 3:38 a.m. I strained my ears to listen for any other sounds, and that’s when another loud crash of thunder shook my walls. The sound of rain splattering against my window caused me to let out a sigh of relief. It was just a thunderstorm.

My favorite.

From a young age, I had always been fascinated by thunderstorms. The turbulent clouds crashing into each other like warring armies in the sky captivated me. The bolts of lightning streaking across the heavens, followed by the deafening roar of thunder, gave each storm a sense of finality, like the end of a melancholic melody before the next one began. The pitter-patter of rain against my window soothed me with its hypnotic rhythm. I reached for the whiskey decanter, pouring another generous amount into my glass and feeling its warmth spread through my body.

As I took small sips from the glass, I slid out of bed and went to the kitchen. The fridge revealed a lack of groceries, but I managed to find some vanilla yogurt.

I made a mental note to hit the grocery store as soon as possible.

Spoon in hand, I closed the silverware drawer by bumping my hip against it and headed back to my bedroom. The moment I stepped into my bedroom, a cold wind hit me. It took me a minute to realize I had left the double balcony doors wide open, with the curtains billowing like ethereal beings. The sound of pouring rain and wind was now amplified inside my room.

The storm outside was picking up, with flashes of lightning brightening the room, and a low rumble of thunder echoing through the sky. I had always appreciated raw energy and power. I was drawn to the balcony, to the wind and rain, to the loud drumming of the thunder, and to the lightning—the lightning that shed light on the darkest places. I walked across the threshold and into the wall of rain falling from the sky. The rain pelted my skin, cleansing me as I stood under the torrential downpour. The sensation was both harsh and invigorating as my heart raced in sync with the thunder’s echo. The lightning illuminated the apartments around mine, casting shadows and highlights that danced across the wet brick walls. I stood there completely exposed and vulnerable to elements, embracing the raw power of mother nature. The wind whipped my hair into a frenzy and carried the scent of rain-soaked earth and damp foliage with it, and I reveled in the chaos. I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and let the storm consume me, savoring its primal energy.

I let my thoughts wander back to the tattooed stranger.

Why was his face the only face I saw when I closed my eyes?

I shook my head, trying to dispel his image, but he still lingered there. Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe Gerald had hit me harder than I thought, but I swear I heard his voice behind me. I spun around quickly, peering through the rain wall and into my dark room, straining my eyes to focus on the direction of the sound, expecting to see him there. Seconds passed, and the storm roared, and just as the thunder boomed around me, lightning illuminated the sky around me. For a moment, I thought I saw him, hooded and silhouetted against the lightning flashes outside. As each bolt illuminated the sky, he seemed to move closer until he was just inside my doorway. My breath caught in my throat as I stumbled backward, tripping over a chair and crashing to the ground.

As I fell, I hit the back of my head against the corner of a nearby table, and before everything went black, all I could see were those piercing blue eyes staring back at me in the darkness.