Twist of Fate (Kings of Chaos 6)

“Ha, I wish. No. This,” she waves the folder, “is everything you need to get started.”

Taking the folder from her, I gasp as Magical Munchies is realized in plans. The black truck contrasts with the beautifully illustrated unicorn across the side. Done in bright colors with a unicorn it’s everything we discussed.

“Jas,” I whisper, moved by the time she must’ve put into this.

“Do you like it? I’ve been working on it for months off and on.”

I hold the plans to my chest. “I adore it,” I whisper.

“Good, keep looking … I made up shirts and potential uniforms. I figured I’d incorporate your obsession with unicorns.”

“That was my idea,” Andrew remarks.

I laugh as I sift through the pages. The almost anime-style unicorn is adorable.

“He or she needs a name,” I murmur as images of merchandise dance in my head.

“Yes, she does,” Jas says.

“I should run a contest, get people involved once I start to set up my marketing.”

My mind is going a mile a minute as the things I’ve long imagined suddenly seem within reach.

***

Shayne

I don’t know what kind of strings Stone pulled, but the Foley’s think I’m an average Joe coming to learn everything they have to teach about the food truck industry. The Kings of Chaos and their connections never fail to amaze me. Richard wants me to meet up with Xia every morning. That way I can store my bike at her place, and not worry about navigating to the locations where they’ll be setting up until I’m more familiar with the city.

I also think he expects me to be a distraction. I don’t know the family well enough to get their internal politics, but the guilt-laced glances being exchanged over the table Sunday told a story all their own. I’m good at observing others. My life often depends on thinking ahead and predicting what the other person is going to do. I watched a soul be grievously injured while the others rejoiced. I have to give it to her, she did a great job of hiding it outwardly.

But the windows of the soul never lie. Those cocoa brown eyes went from dancing and full of stars to an endless black hole of pain and fury. I saw a world full of emotions be born and die in a matter of moments. Getting involved in family drama isn’t on my to-do list, no matter how intriguing the dark-haired beauty with full lips, a heart-shaped face, and delicate features is.

I know that level of devastation she’s experiencing. It draws me to her. I clear my head as I drive onto the busy highway. I don’t know how people manage this mess in a cage.

I weave through the cars, mindful of the exits. It’s weird being in L.A. The vibe is completely different from San Mateo. Hustle, bustle, high fashion, and flashiness abound. The one bedroom feels like a time out. I’ve never existed in such a quiet environment. There’s always someone around in the clubhouse, and growing up I had Echo, and my dad always had brothers over.

This must be what it feels like to go to college for the first time. Everything is unfamiliar, and I know no one. Still, there’s a type of freedom in that anonymity. There’s no past, except the one I create. It’s a fresh start, and days full of simple tasks.

The decisions I make aren’t going to be life or death, or affect an entire group of people who depend on me. People think being in a M.C. is the ultimate freedom, but there’s a lot of rules and obligations. The President keeps us a tight leash. If we don’t answer to each other, it’s chaos and not the controlled kind we thrive on. After parking in her garage, I make my way up to the third floor.

It’s a new experience, heads don’t turn, whispers don’t start, and I’m not judged for my appearance. Matter of fact, I know I look like a schmuck. I miss the weight of my cut. I feel naked without the leather and my steel-toe boots. In blue jeans, a white T-shirt with the Smoke logo across the chest, and slip-resistant shoes, I’m a caricature of my former self. If the brothers saw me right now, they’d piss themselves laughing.

The apartment is swank and new. Whatever they’re paying her, she’s not hurting for money. I take the elevator up and find myself at her door, unsure about what I’m walking into. People have a tendency to kill the messenger. I knock on the door and wait. She opens the door, and I feel my pants grow tighter. Her lips are a deep red that has me itching to smear her lipstick with my mouth.

She peers up at me through her long, dark lashes and purses the pouty lips that have me thinking about what she looks like out of those black pants and the T-shirt that hugs her ample breasts.

“You’re punctual. I like that. Come on in. I’m finishing my coffee, and then we’ll be off. You don’t want to work with me if I haven’t had enough java.” She steps inside, and I scan her space. Dark black curtains contrast with a white leather couch and zebra print rug. Framed posters of graphic novels and anime line the wall.

The furniture is a dark espresso wood, and odd items catch my eyes. An old timey copper phone rests on an end table, and I can see an old black typewriter and intricate iron candle holders. Xia has hidden depths. Ones I can’t imagine going over well with her tightly laced family. From their home to the food they served, and the khaki and polo T-shirts they wear, they scream conservative.

“You want a cup?” she asks over the rim of her unicorn plastered mug.

I nod my head. “Please.”

She moves over to a shiny, dome-shaped machine and recreates a trip to Starbucks. “I’m pretty laid back. If you listen and observe, you’ll do fine. There’s a lot that goes into the food truck industry. You have to cook, market, sell, and provide excellent customer service and a unique experience. You have to do all of these things well, and that’s a tough balancing act. That’s where people fail. Cream and sugar?”

“Black is fine,” I reply.