For the Love of Dixie

For the Love of Dixie

Kings of Chaos

Shyla Colt

Published by Hot Ink Press

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 2015 Shyla Colt

Photograph courtesy of Sara Eirew

Edited by
Leanore Elliot for There For You Edits

Edited for Hot Ink by Elizabeth A. Lance

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.

Demons: Imagine Dragons

Bad Girls: MIA

Ain’t Born Typical: The Kills

Ride: Lana Del Rey

The One that Got Away: Katy Perry

Poison and Wine: The Civil Wars

Against the World: Machine Gun Kelly

Bleeding Love: Leona Lewis

See my Tears: Machine Gun Kelly

Dark Side: Kelly Clarkson

Maps: The Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Amber: I Found

Jaymes Young: I’ll be Good

Crazy in Love: Beyoncé (50 Shades of Grey remix)

Thinking Out Loud: Ed Sheeran

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.

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

There for you Editing

Leanore Elliott: Editing

Photograph courtesy of: Sara Eirew

Cover Design by: Dreams 2 Media

MGK- Our flaws are what makes us perfect.

For everyone out there who’s felt alone, isolated, and sure no one else understands. Reach out, don’t be ashamed or afraid to ask for help. We all need this sometimes. We all have pain, and demons we have to fight and overcome. The hard times will pass and in the end, we’ll be stronger. It’s these trials that make us who we are.

Pressing my foot on the gas, I open up the engine of my Chevy Camaro. Black Betty growls. I weave through the cars on the highway, hell bent on reaching my hometown. Thoughts of my father swim in my mind.
Is he still alive? Will he survive this?

The years spent pulling all-nighters, partying hard, and taking on too much stress have finally gotten to him. They wheeled him into Mount St. Joseph hospital two hours ago.

I made the drive from Santa Monica in under an hour, breaking laws and driving with the aggressive skills honed on the busy highways of California. The familiar landscape is nothing more than a blur. I’m going too fast, and my ability to focus is shot. All that matters is reaching San Mateo. I know how their hospital is going to play it. They’ll bust the club’s balls and tell them they can only let in and release information to the next of kin or emergency contact.

Despite the AC blowing from the vents, a fine sheen of sweat coats my body. My father is everything to me. Mother, father, sister, brother, and extended family. I never knew my mother, and unlike many single fathers in our lifestyle, he never pawned me off on someone else. His philosophy is…we’re in it together. That means it was him and me against the world.

And then I left.

Guilt shreds me from the inside like poison tipped claws, releasing toxins into my bloodstream. I hit the brakes and skid into the parking lot, steering the car precariously into an open spot. After fumbling with the seatbelt with clumsy fingers and shaky hands, I manage to remove the strap, stumble from the car, and take a shaky breath. This wild-eyed, panicked persona won’t win me any points with the Kings, or help him.

Knock it the fuck off, Dunn. Time to woman up.

My heels clack against the blacktop as I walk through the rows of cars. I spot a line of parked motorcycles up front. My stomach drops, and I feel as if I’ve started the descent down a large hill. I run out of steam a few feet from the Harleys, faltering at the thought of facing their knowing eyes and censure. Everyone has an opinion about me and the way I handled things. I’m used to the malicious stares peppered in. It’s the silent accusations that kill me.
At least I have the Grans.
Grandpa and Grandma Dunn had accepted me and loved me with the single-minded-all-consuming-love that only grandparents are capable of.

As I stare at the double doors, my past rushes up and consumes me. The loneliness, shame, and self-loathing are the bile creeping up the back of my throat.
God hates me.
I’ve suspected it from the minute I was old enough to realize how fucked up my living situation was. Yet I didn’t let that stop me. I’m a part of Chaos. We don’t bitch and whine. We change what doesn’t work and keep it moving. It doesn’t matter if we’re dying inside. Maybe that’s why so many of us have a wicked vice of going a little mad. All that holding in emotions and pretending to be okay. Never mind the dirt, blood, and secrets that cover each and every one of us. We can pretend it’s a motorcycle club that loves to ride, but in the back of our minds, the reality is always there staring us in the face. It’s a fucked up thing when you see shit on the news and know the people you love caused it. The club has an ugly side and a hefty price tag.

I didn’t want to pay the toll, so I left. There was no gain for me, not when I was treated like a pariah.
It wasn’t everyone, just a few, but it was one too many.
I know I shouldn’t have let it stop me. Nothing changes the fact that I ought to have been around more for Pops.

Maybe this is my punishment for being a shitty
daughter
.

A month after I broke my rule about mixing with the club, I’ve returned with no immediate exit strategy in sight. I’ve avoided this place like the plague for over ten years, and now I can’t get away. I’d do anything for my father. The man loved me and fought for me from the minute he knew I existed. It wasn’t easy being a single father in the club. When you add the fact that I represented everything some of the patch members were against, its miraculous I came out as well as I did. I think I was drawn to psychology because what I wanted most when I left San Mateo was answers. About myself, about the world I grew up in, and about people who blindly hate.

I’ve learned a lot over the years, but the one thing I could never figure out was how to come home without feeling like I was compromising myself and undoing all the work I’d done. I grew up in the club, but I never felt like I belonged. It put a strain between me and my father. I regret my choices now, as I pray the cardiac arrest he went into doesn’t steal him from this world. I let it go too long. I knew better. No one understands better than I and my family how fleeting life can be. My mind goes back to Psycho’s fucked up assassination, because truly that’s what it was. A senseless snuffing out of life.

I give advice to people all day long, but I’m too chicken shit to face my demons.
It’s ironic really. Those who can’t do, teach. Those who can’t function in a non-dysfunctional manner, become psychologists.
Or at least I had.
It made me feel like a fraud. Tired of being held captive by the bonds of the past, I square my shoulders like a soldier going into battle, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I gave them the finger once and rode off into the sunset with a full ride to college and plans for a good life. I won’t revert to the cowardice preteen now.

With my spine rediscovered, I enter via the double doors with my head held high. The sight of all their cuts boasting the crowned Kings makes me queasy.

“Dixie Rose,” a voice booms.

I glance up and spot Stone.

“Where you been, girl? Get your ass over here, so we can find out how your daddy is doing,” Stone says. His voice is husky and his eyes are bloodshot.

I scurry over. When this man tells you to do something, you immediately comply. “I’m sorry, I got here as soon as I could,” I say, glad to have my task clearly labeled. “What happened?”

“One minute he was fine and the next, he was clutching his chest, and collapsing. His lips started turning blue. We managed to get an aspirin in him. I don’t know how much good it did.” Stone shakes his head.

“Are the Grans here?”

“No, they were out at the cabins. They’ll be pulling in soon.”

I grip Stone’s arm and let him lead me to the nurse’s station.
I cannot lose my dad.
“He has to be fine, he’s too damn ornery to let this take him out,” I whisper.

“His next of kin is here,” Stone says to the nurse at the desk.

“I’d like to see some identification,” the dark-haired nurse with the severe bun and dour facial expression says.

I grit my teeth, used to the disbelief that comes from having dark skin, and a Caucasian father. I dig into the purse hanging at my side, pull out my driver’s license, and glare at her.

She looks from my picture to the information they have on my father. “I see you are his emergency contact. Your father suffered a cardiac arrest.” She nods her head. “Okay, Ms. Dunn. I’ll call the doctor in to speak with you.”

“No, you need to tell me something, now,” I state.

“Ma’am, that’s against policy.” She glances over at Stone nervously.

“No. You don’t look at him. You look at me. I’m the one you need to be worried about right now.” I lean over the desk. “These men are my family. Don’t let this face and these work clothes fool you. I want to know if my father is alive and I’m not going to wait for you to track down the doctor who’ll take his sweet time getting up here to tell me.”

She clears her throat and shifts in her chair. “He is alive and stabilized, that’s all I can say.”

“There…was that so hard?” I ask.

She shakes her head. Her hazel eyes are full of disdain, anger, and fear.

I want to feel bad, but I don’t have it in me. From the minute I walked up, she judged me and gave me shit at the worst possible time. There were things I missed about this life, like getting straight to the point. There was no need for fake niceties. “You get all that, Stone?” I ask.

“Yeah, I got it, baby girl. Let me go tell the others,” Stone replies.

The mention of the others thrusts me back into icy waters. A chill rushes down my spine, and I can’t help but follow his journey with my gaze. I scan the crowd, searching for the one person I want to see the most, and the least at the same time.

Leaning against the wall, he looks like a mythical being. The golden strands of his hair fall around his shoulders, and his muscles flex in his forearms. All he needs is a hammer, and he’d be Thor.

His bright blue gaze collides with mine, and I’m lost. My heart bangs against my ribs like a prisoner rallying for freedom. Unable to move, I remain rooted like a tree grown up from the white and green tile floor.

“Miss?”

A baritone voice breaks the spell. I turn around and spot the silver-haired man with kind brown eyes, and a long face. His green scrubs makes him look pale. It felt like a death omen. My stomach aches.

“I’m Doctor Adams. I’ve been taking care of your father. Mr. Dunn is a very lucky man. We unclogged his blocked arteries using thrombolysis.”

“In layman’s terms, Doc,” I urge.

“We injected him with a clot-dissolving agent to get blood flowing back to his coronary artery. We’ll check in to see how they look and watch his progress. We’re hopeful with a new diet, exercise program, and the removal of stress, he’ll get back on his feet and avoid surgery altogether. The only answer if he continues the life he’s been living will be a pacemaker and even then, it will only extend his life so much.”

“I understand, Doc. He needs to realize he’s not a young man anymore.”

“He’s still under sedation, but coming to himself slowly, if you’d like to see him.”

I nod my head, working out my plan of attack in my mind. My father never liked to be told what to do. So, I’ll have to make him think this
lifestyle change
was his idea. “Can he have visitors? Those men out there, they’re family.”

“After you see him, one visitor at a time, for a few minutes apiece.”

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll go tell them.”

“Good. Nurse Reynolds will show you to his room. I’ll oversee your father’s recovery through the night, and then we’ll be talking to him about the necessary changes.” He’s off as suddenly as he appeared.

I walk over to Stone, relay the information, and return to the nurse’s station.

“He’s in room 416, third on the left,” Nurse Reynolds says.

“Thank you.” I hurry down the hall. I push the door open and peer inside. He looks so small lying there, far too still in the bed with a white blanket drawn up to his chin. Scooting the navy blue chair beside his bed, I sit and grab his hand; his swallows mine. The calluses remind me of the
hands on
policy he’s always had. Hell, he raised me with it. I can change a tire and oil with the best of them. Seeing this capable man felled is ripping my heart to pieces. “I’m here, Pops. And I’m going to stay here for as long as you need me,” I whisper.

His hand squeezes mine. “Always need you, Rosie.”

“Pops?”

His eyes flutter open. “What happened?”

“You had a heart attack. They’re working on clearing your arteries, but you have to change your lifestyle.”

He harrumphs. “No quack is going to tell me what to do. All gotta leave this place some time.”

“No time soon, if I can help it.”

“Takes more than a heart attack to put your old man in the ground.”

His voice is thready and whisper soft. It’s a far cry from the boisterous boom I grew up with. It’s a role reversal I never saw coming. I’m the caregiver who needs to protect him. “I know, Pops,” I say patting his hand.

“Brothers here?” he asks.

I can see him struggling to fend off the meds and regain awareness. “You know they are.”

“Mom and Dad?”

“On their way down from the cabin.”

“How long are you here?”

“As long as I need to be. I mean that,” I reply.

“You ready to commit to that?”

“Pops, you know my loyalty lies with you.”

“Yeah, but this place always sends you running.”