For the Love of Dixie (Kings of Chaos 3)

Chapter One

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 sigh

t. 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.