Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

Footsteps grew louder as they grew closer. The dickwad in the chair looked close to the pissing-shitting-puking part of the evening. Nox and one of his boys came into the room. Matt stopped just inside the door, taking his station as a stony sentry. Nox continued toward me, ignoring his prey in the chair. I’d like to say he focused on me for my charming personality and irresistible dimples, but it wasn’t that. It was a torture tactic that the ruthless, bearded bastard loved to use. Make his enemy sweat. Draw it out. The morbid anticipation and sick suspense became almost corporal as it filled the room. “Ay,” he greeted, forcing casual as he gave me a shoulder slap. “How’s it going?” “Can’t complain. How’s the wifey?” Nothing about the way he grinned was forced. “Fookin’ perfection. Fookin’ magic.” That was all he said about his pregnant wife, but it said enough. Ophelia wasn’t a Mayhem brother, but she was closer than some prospects or nomads. She went on runs, helped where needed, and Judge didn’t hold shit back if she asked. Nox’s wife, Augusta—or Gus—wasn’t like that. She preferred not to know the specifics, and he happily obliged. He didn’t want his shadows touching her sunshine. Like Judge and Ophelia, their system worked for them. “Getting excited?” I asked. “Getting busy.” At my brow raise, Nox shook his head as he ran a hand across his red beard. “Not like that, you fookin’ muppet. She’s got me rearranging the apartment, painting, all that shit. She’ll get it perfe...