Willow's Chaos Read online

  Willow's Chaos

  AJ Storm

  Contents

  Also by AJ Storm

  Author Note

  Synopsis

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  About AJ Storm

  Copyright © 2019 by AJ Storm

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher or author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload, or for a fee.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Disclaimer: This book may contain explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: erotic elements. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.

  Authors Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Final edits rest with the author.

  Publisher’s Note: Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in descriptive capacity and recognized by the author as not being owned by said author. This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination.

  Also by AJ Storm

  Emily’s Passion

  Right of Passion

  Dark Strangers

  Alexander’s Story

  The Power of Two

  Fortune’s Eyes

  The Blood Rose

  Fortune’s Daughter

  Danny’s Heat

  Child’s Play

  Howler

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  A huge thank you to my editor and alpha reader, Sandy, at Personal Touch Editing. You are wonderful to work with and your ideas are amazing. We work well together.

  Thank you to Moonstruck Cover Designs and Photography. What an amazing job you did with the cover to Willow’s Chaos. I couldn’t have asked for more.

  Thank you to Dragonfly Ink Publishing for the formatting and Cheryl, you’re coming onboard as a PA. Woohoo!

  A shout out and thank you to RplusM photo and FuriousFotog for such beautiful photos of the models. You guys make it hard to choose.

  My beta readers DeAnne, Jody, and Sara, you make my job easier and fun.

  Suz, we share a love of writing as well as a spirit of survivorship. Thank you for mentoring me.

  My husband and best friend is the best encourager and sound board I could have. He lifts me up when I’m down and always pushes me to go forward. He’s my traveling buddy and acts as my PA at book signings. He loves it.

  To the readers, you are the most important aspect to my writing. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. Thank you so much for your encouragement and reviews. Keep them coming—Authors wouldn’t be who we are without you.

  Willow’s Chaos

  Chaos is one of the most beautiful and horrific pieces of art ever displayed. Built firm, solid, and ripped, his body is his canvas. His unmarked face displays what every woman longs to dream of.

  A successful businessman leading an investigative service, he is always searching for those needing help. But deep inside, Chaos has a secret, and he suffers from the pain.

  Willow knows how Chaos releases the pressure of life, but he refuses to let her in. With problems of her own, will she let him go, or will she heal herself through helping him?

  Prologue

  Jackson Investigative Services occupied the top two floors of one of Austin’s tallest buildings downtown. The name had been changed from Jackson Family Venture due to the hiring of more investigators who weren’t part of the family. The top floor housed the living quarters for the brothers and Mac—four large bedrooms each with their own bathroom, a large living room, kitchen and dining room, and a large gym.

  His workout over, Chaos stood in his speedo in front of the solid glass window, looking over Austin’s morning sunrise. Tattoos covered almost every inch of his body from below his hairline down to his toes, except for his jewels. He wasn’t ready to colorize his pecker and balls.

  Five months from today, Howler and Sadie intended to walk down an aisle in front of a preacher. Chaos loved his big brother, and Sadie gave Howler happiness more than he could wish for. But there was a heaviness in his head he couldn’t get rid of. His heart knew he was being purely selfish.

  He was ecstatic for the crazy couple and having an older sister excited the hell out of him. The fact he’d turn forty next year, the fact he’d never found love, and the fact there wasn’t a tattoo he could carve into his skin to handle this kind of pain, shook him to the center of his body.

  Thirty-nine years ago, he came into the world screaming bloody murder and didn’t stop for several months. Fortunate enough to have wonderful parents, they allowed the little guy to be who he was. Months of colic and years of cuts and scrapes from no fear adventures and following his older brother around copying him weren’t easy to live with. Being the mom and dad, they were, they loved all their son’s differences. They gave him the nickname Chaos, and it stuck.

  The small towel he realized he held in his hand finally wiped the sweat from his forehead and chest. It was time to put this all away and shower for work. His feet led him out of the gym, stopping long enough to toss the towel into the dirty clothes hamper.

  Mac was working an assignment in the panhandle of Texas, so Chaos had to make his own coffee this morning. He loaded the Keurig and moved into his bedroom into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel around his hips, rubbing his hair dry with another one.

  He’d love to throw on his jeans, boots, and wife-beater t-shirt to go down to the office on the floor below, but appropriate representation to clients was imperative. Slacks, dress shirt, and tie would be his attire until six o’clock when he’d change into his boot stomping clothes.

  Chaos stood by the kitchen cabinet, pouring himself a cup of coffee, taking a sip and letting the heat flow through his body. Memories of another hot cup of coffee controlled his mind, drifting back to foreign soil where he was expected to investigate explosives and their effects on the human body. His commanding officer had shared his pot of coffee with him and then gave him his orders, which were non-negotiable. Chaos had been ordered to do
this for six months, but it lasted for a year.

  When he returned to the States, he put in a request to finish his year and a half term to train in computers. He excelled in it fighting his own brand of war for the government, leaving the terror of bombs and mutilation behind. He became an expert programmer and hacker.

  His bomb assignment was where his journey into tattoos began—how he handled the shock of evil. The pain he felt from the needle in its own way alleviated the trauma from injustice. He picked art representing his emotions and nightmares. He’d been labeled a freak over the years as his canvas filled up with more portraits of empathy.

  Chaos didn’t care what others thought. Somewhere, someday, a lady would walk into his life who’d understand every tat on his body. He shook off his memories and took his coffee in hand into the private elevator to the floor below. After the quick ride down one floor, the doors opened in a private hall just to the side of the receptionist/secretary/assistant.

  A mischievous grin crept over his lips as he spied the middle-aged woman shuffling papers on her desk. Singing, he stood in front of her desk giving her a morning greeting. “Wake up Maggie, I think I’ve got something to say to you.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Chaos,” she posed, never taking her eyes from the papers in front of her.

  “Maggie, what would it take to put a smile on that face?” he chided.

  “Possibly if you could carry a tune when you sing,” she soberly teased.

  “Maggie, my sweet, you have wounded my pride. I shan’t be the same ever again.” He clutched his chest with his hand over his heart.

  “I doubt that very much, sir. You have an appointment scheduled for two this afternoon. Hopefully, your shenanigans will be gone by then.” Her blue eyes gazed up into his green ones, and she breathed a sigh.

  “Marry me, Maggie. I can’t live without you.”

  “My husband would never allow it, and I doubt I could sleep with all those tats.” Then she smiled.

  “Beautiful as always, little lady. I’ll just be in my office at my computers.”

  “Chaos, are you going to do this every morning from now on? It’s getting a bit old.”

  “The day you greet me with a smile is the day I stop singing Rod Stewart to you,” he laughed, stepping into his office.

  Three computers sat gathered in a half circle across his very long desk, leaving no room for piles of papers. They were arranged in such a manner he could sit in his straight-backed leather office chair and comfortably use them simultaneously. His leather chair rolled on canister wheels, making it easy to change positions for each screen he worked on. Skype was loaded on all three, in case he needed to conference call the other three boys.

  He powered all three on, allowing them to load their programs and applications along with various other equipment, and for the next three hours, he pounded on his keyboard, researching necessary information for Mac and Creeper’s job assignments. Maggie kept his coffee cup filled with fresh coffee.

  Twelve-thirty was an excellent time to stop and order lunch to be delivered. Thick sliced cheesy pizza, salad, and cheesecake arrived, and the caterer had it set up in the conference room, along with a well-stocked refrigerator—pop, water, and beer abounded. He made Maggie lock the front door before she joined him at the large table. He even filled a plate for her and had it waiting. One thing about the Jackson crew, they treated their employees like royalty. Both were quiet, sinking their teeth into the deep-dish pizza filled with meat and four kinds of cheese. Once Chaos cleared his mouth with a sip of his cola, he studied Maggie’s face until her face scrunched up and she hollered, “What?”

  He laughed. “I’ve been thinking it’s time for another tattoo.” He was remembering the loneliness he felt this morning.

  “Where the hell are you going to put it?” the sarcastic woman demanded. “Everything’s already covered.”

  “Why, Maggie, you’ve been peeking at me.”

  Her face blushed red. “No, I just know you.”

  “There are still spots on me I can use for a tat. There’s always my face.”

  “Chaos, don’t you dare ruin your handsome face. You’re a good-looking man, and you don’t need to mess it up with that crap. Promise me you won’t do it.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, honey. I promise there are a lot of places still available on my body. My face is off limits.”

  Maggie sighed and smiled at him.

  “There ya’ go, little darlin’. Every morning when I walk in—let me see your face just like that.” They both laughed.

  Before long, lunch was over, and his two o’clock was sitting in the reception area. It wasn’t an earth-shattering meeting—just gathering more information for Mac. At five o’clock, he sent Maggie home early and promised to lock up and turn everything off.

  Turning off the lights at six, he rode up to the penthouse and showered. He strolled naked into his long closet and picked through the laundered and starched shirts, snapping up a crisp, white western shirt and matched it with just the right pair of tight Wranglers. Except for work, he always spent his time commando—no boxers or briefs.

  He buttoned his shirt, slipped his long legs into his jeans, and looped a brown leather belt with a silver buckle around the top of his hips. It didn’t matter what color socks he chose to wear in his boots, so he chose black, semi-thick socks, then shoved each foot into his twelve hundred-dollar Lucchese Alligator boots. There was nothing quite like stomping in a pair of high dollar boots around a dance floor. And he was ready to find a little filly to two-step with.

  Chaos never had much trouble carrying on conversations with the ladies. Curiosity about his tats covering his body up to his neck ran rampant, and he was willing to satisfy their questions. Sometimes, he got lucky and satisfied other things as well.

  The loneliness kicked in then. He always went home alone because relationships weren’t permanent—not for Chaos. He was much too picky.

  His truck was parked in a private lot under his building. Most of the time, he left it parked and took a taxi wherever he needed to be. But when dancing and drinking, he took his truck and usually had a designated driver with him. He didn’t drink and drive—only danced with the ladies.

  Hitting the button on his key fob, he unlocked the door to his truck, emitting the loud ‘beep-beep’ before he grabbed the door handle. Almost everything in his truck was push-button—engine start, stereo, backup camera, door lock, and phone.

  1

  Chaos backed out of his parking spot and whipped his truck to the exit. He was more than ready to partake of some nightlife. Adrenaline rushed through his body and emotions—almost the same when Mac described Sadie’s buildup of stress. He chuckled to himself, thinking he wasn’t a female and didn’t let his emotions go wild. Yeah, right.

  He drove to 2nd Street, crossing over to North I 35 toward Round Rock, Texas. A new bar had opened eighteen miles outside of Austin, and he decided to check it out. It boasted being built uptown barn style, offering a huge hardwood floor, multiple pool tables, closed-in booths for private talks and drinking, live bands on Fridays and the weekends, and full-time country western DJs.

  It took him an extra fifteen minutes to park when he located the place. The huge building was in the country but wasn’t isolated. An upscale housing complex was within two miles of the place. The neon sign in front flashed its name in brilliant blues and greens—Shit Kickers.

  Chaos smiled to himself when he walked in. The place looked packed from his vantage point in the doorway. A little cowgirl greeted him at the front, stamping his hand after he paid the cover charge. She was a pretty little thing. He tipped the brim of his hat and gave her his signature smile, making her blush. He was good at it.

  He stood looking over the massive room that yes, resembled a giant barn with rafters, containing solid floors holding the lines of pool tables. Crowds were already gathered on the large floor, line dancing to Brad Paisley’s Last Time for Everyth
ing. Halfway down the opposite wall stood the bucking bull with a small line waiting to ride. Chaos shook his head, remembering the last time he was thrown from one.

  The bar itself ran the length of the wall with multiple male and female bartenders working behind it. Three open doors evenly spaced down the length of the bar allowed the workers to monitor bottles, on tap beers, and lines going to them as well as clean glasses and supplies. The wall behind had occasional mirrors displayed in-between shelves of liquor and the doors.

  Searching for an empty bar stool, he found one toward the back of the room and sat down, ready to order. The DJ played Cold Creek County’s ‘It’s About to Get Good’. The crowd on the floor let a huge whoop roar through the air, then stomped their boots on the floor in time to the beat. It was contagious, Chaos found his boots mimicking the steps on the concrete floor in front of the bar.

  A dark-haired, older man walked over and asked what he could get him. He had a name tag on his chest that said Brad. The other bartenders had big fancy name tags, but his was plain white, two-and-a-half inches long by an inch and a half wide, or so Chaos guessed.

  “Well, Brad, I’ll have a shot of Patron and a very cold glass of Amber Modello from the tap if you have it.”

  “Got it.” Brad walked over to pour the tequila and fill a frosted glass with the beer.