Charon's Chaos, page 1
Charon’s Chaos
Club Apocalypse
Book Five
Raisa Greywood
© 2023 Raisa Greywood LLC
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is unintended and entirely coincidental.
The author and publisher expressly prohibit any entity from using this work for purposes of training artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text, including without limitation technologies that are capable of generating works in the same style or genre as this publication. The author and publisher reserve all rights to license use of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
Cover art by Wicked Smart Designs
Editing provided by Briggs Consulting LLC
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-952596-37-7
Print ISBN: 978-1-952596-38-4
Playlist
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ueEesSNfD4RGqTZA9nwsi?si=faa8de3700d743e7
Contents
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About Raisa Greywood
Also by Raisa Greywood
Wicked Truth - Minette Moreau
Prologue
Ian
“Oy, you lot! Come have story time! Let’s have fun while the grownups do grownuppy things.”
Wearing a tartan wedding dress, Dr. Gabby Knox sat in the sand and was soon surrounded by dozens of children, all gazing at her with the rapt attention one might expect from a cultist looking at their leader. It was hard to see his old friend Death, otherwise known as Sean Franklin, looking at her the same way.
“Eww!”
“Too right! Let’s sit in a circle and hold hands.”
The adults breathed a collective sigh of relief and headed for the open bar. Gabby was like a rock star to a six-year-old, and the pair of discreetly armed guards watching her didn’t hurt matters either.
“She’s like the rugrat whisperer,” his date muttered, giving the good doctor a sour glare. “That’s just fucked up.”
“Behave yourself. This is a wedding.”
It wasn’t a bad spot for the nuptials either. Dr. Knox was rich enough to have chartered a jet for the entire wedding party to go wherever she wanted, but she and Sean had chosen Hatteras Island to be closer to his large extended family. The weather was unseasonably warm for the week before Christmas too, and brilliant sunlight sparkled off the calm water.
Gabby also had the balls to get Ian and the Four Horsemen into kilts, bringing her Scottish homeland to a North Carolina beach. Too bad Valentina Lopez didn’t seem impressed by his hairy legs.
At least Gabby’s bridesmaids enjoyed the show, but they were all married or in relationships. Even if he hadn’t brought a date, he wouldn’t have messed with them. Nothing good ever came from a groomsman getting horizontal with a bridesmaid.
He especially wouldn’t touch the tall one with the pink mohawk and full-sleeve tattoos. Her husband looked like he was one misspoken word away from burying someone in a shallow grave, and only softened when he looked at his wife or daughter.
“I’ll behave myself when you let me go home, Paxton. This sucks, and you’re a fucking dick for making me come to this bullshit.”
Biting back a retort, he let her park herself at the bar and didn’t protest when she ordered a double shot of tequila. Her animosity wasn’t entirely unwarranted.
Grimacing, he remembered their fight when he ordered her to quit the escort service just before she graduated with her PhD. It wouldn’t have killed him to ask instead of demanding—especially when she’d have done it on her own once she started the work she really wanted to do.
Too angry to apologize, he’d walked away instead of trying to hash things out. By the time he figured out he’d been the one to fuck up, he was in a military hospital in Germany hoping he’d get to keep his arm.
And of course, because that was the way his luck worked, she was seeing someone else by the time he made it home. He’d decided tracking her down to apologize wasn’t worth the effort.
Mistake number two.
However, if she thought he’d leave her now, she was delusional. Between her drinking, the post-traumatic stress she refused to admit was a thing, and enough antidepressants to choke a horse, she wasn’t safe to be by herself.
Worse, she wouldn’t talk to Carrie Wood, Ryan’s wife, and they were supposedly best friends. Of course, Carrie’s father had been the one who hurt Val in the first place. It wasn’t Carrie’s fault, and he didn’t want to see Val lose her closest friend.
She had few enough of those as it was, but Ian understood how hard it must have been to know Carrie had been living it up in Scotland while Jonas Jamison assaulted her. It had to be even worse because sending Carrie there had been Val’s idea in the first place.
It hadn’t been easy for Carrie either. Ryan had let it slip that she cried herself to sleep most nights.
So did Val—a fact Ian knew because he slept on the floor outside her door every night. Carrie wasn’t the only one feeling guilty for what had happened to Val.
He told himself he was giving her space, but he hadn’t picked up the damned phone and called her. He knew the Shepherds of the Coming Peace cult had threatened her, and believing her safe in a gated community, he hadn’t checked on her.
Unfortunately, her office hadn’t been as secure. They’d knocked out the security cameras and snatched her from the parking lot late on a Friday night. Nobody knew she was missing until one of the women from the cult warned Carrie.
Val absolutely refused to set foot in the building, and most of her employees had quit, unwilling to deal with her waspish temper. She was behind on her projects, and clients were beginning to question why their work wasn’t being delivered.
A burst of boisterous laughter interrupted his musing, and he turned to see Gabby jump on Sean’s back and demand a pony ride.
Ian smiled and shook his head, but the expression faded as he studied Gabby more closely. Maybe he couldn’t do anything for Val personally, but if he was lucky, Gabby might be willing to help him save Val’s business.
He hurried through the crowd to catch them before they got tangled up in more hugs from Sean’s family. When he reached them, he said, “Hey, I don’t want to spoil your big day, but can we talk privately for a few minutes? I need to ask a favor.”
“Of course.” Gabby gave him a dimpled smile and squeezed his arm. “I’ll trot off to the buffet and stuff myself on those fabulous crab cakes. If I’m lucky, there are some left.”
“I need a favor from you, Dr. Knox. Please.”
She blinked and glanced at Sean, then tucked her hand around Ian’s elbow. “Let’s go down to the beach for our chat. Do you mind if Sean hears?”
“No, I need his help too.”
“All right.” She stayed silent as he helped her across the sea grass to a group of loungers set under an awning. After seating herself, she asked, “What can we do for you?”
“Val is about to lose her business. She’s not…” He rubbed his face and turned to look at the waves crashing against the beach. “She’s not doing so great. I don’t know how to help her, and she’s close to breach of contract on almost all her projects. I just…”
He scratched at his afternoon stubble and sighed. “I don’t want her to lose everything, you know?”
Gabby stood and wrapped her arms around his waist. It weirded him out at first, but she was a hugger. “What do you need from me?”
“I was hoping you’d know someone who could take over her contracts and get them done. I’ll pay for it.”
“Oh, is that all?” She hugged him again, then returned to her lounger. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take care of it if you can get me access to her computers.”
“It’s kind of a lot,” Ian replied. “I can’t ask you to do all of it.”
“We’ll be in Scotland for our honeymoon,” Sean said. “Baby, you can’t start until the week after next.”
“I have interns who need a purpose in life,” she replied. “But I’m concerned Dr. Lopez will object.”
“That leads me to my second favor from Sean.”
“What’s up?”
“I need the nursery suite. I don’t know for how long.”
Frowning, Sean sat next to Gabby and pulled her into his lap. “I don’t think Val is a little.”
“She isn’t, but I need somewhere safe and nonth
Well, she used to love Club Apocalypse. She’d been so excited about her new membership but now refused to go. In fact, unless he forced her, she didn’t leave the house—even to sit by her pool.
“I could bring Doc Laura in.” Sean studied him for a moment, then added, “Maybe you could do a group session with just the two of you, plus separately.”
Twist the knife, why don’t you?
The hint was clear. All the Horsemen had been after him to go back to therapy, and Ian knew they were right. He just hated getting old scars picked open over and over, and watching after Val hadn’t left him a lot of free time.
Her needs would always take precedence over his, but maybe those festering wounds needed to be opened and drained—for both their sakes.
“I’m in.”
1
Valentina
Happy people were the absolute worst.
The trip to North Carolina to attend a wedding for people she barely knew might have been at least somewhat tolerable if Ian Fucking Paxton had let her stay in her hotel room and didn’t hunt her down whenever she tried to find a quiet place to be by herself.
At least he left her alone as long as she stayed within sight. It seemed he’d finally gotten tired of dealing with her. Lord knew it took him long enough to get the message through his thick skull.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone—much less him. He was a reminder of a Valentina Lopez who didn’t exist anymore, and she absolutely refused to think about how gorgeous he looked in a kilt and white tuxedo shirt with jet studs and an honest-to-God bow tie.
He’d gotten a haircut and a shave, making him look like the man she’d once known back in the day with expertly trimmed brown hair and stylish stubble that used to feel amazing between her legs.
She pushed her relationship with Ian back into the nope box where it belonged and refused to think about it.
Past Val would have partnered with Sean Franklin’s elderly grandfather, who could dance an amazing rhumba. She might also have been front and center for the bouquet toss instead of hiding behind a live oak draped in Spanish moss.
Past Val was the life of the fucking party.
She definitely would have been fangirling over her professional idol, Gabrielle Knox. Meeting her should have been the best day of Val’s life instead of yet another endless period of wakefulness until she could drink herself to sleep and pray for just a few hours without nightmares.
After scooting her stool to the end of the bar, she ignored the bartender’s arched eyebrow and took a swig from the bottle of tequila she’d swiped. Although she contemplated finding another hiding spot, Ian had already found her behind the tree. Also, in the bathroom, the car, and in the sea grass with a piece of driftwood concealing her.
Of course, sitting in a bunch of prickly foliage wasn’t one of her smartest ideas. The bugs were vicious, and her calves were spotted with bites.
All she needed was a minute. Just one chance to get away and make it to Vermont without Ian dogging her footsteps. She couldn’t keep living like this, and she was running out of time.
“Hey, Val?”
Her teeth clenched at the sound of Carrie’s voice, and she resisted the urge to find another hiding spot. She was Val’s best friend, but after what happened…
Val took another few swallows from her bottle before turning to face her. “Hi Carrie. You look great.”
She did too. Her cheeks had filled out, and she’d lost the gaunt weariness that had broken Val’s heart for months after they’d first met. Instead of the disgusting brown burlap sack dresses forced upon her by her father’s cult, Carrie wore a blue sundress adorned with pink peonies and a wide-brimmed white hat perched on her wavy red hair. Her sandals revealed toes painted with sparkly pink polish.
Apparently, being married to Ryan Wood, one of the Four Horsemen, suited her.
However, she was the last person Val wanted to talk to—even less so than Ian. Carrie didn’t need to hear her unload about how fucking furious she was—especially when her issues weren’t Carrie’s fault.
She’d been the one to send Carrie to Scotland for their ill-fated girl’s trip. Hell, Val had paid for it. She had also been the one too convinced of her own superiority and safety to pay attention to her surroundings. Sometimes, Val could even manage to remember all that without too much bitterness, but usually not.
Sometimes she wanted to shout at Carrie and ask her what the fuck she’d been thinking to go back to that compound and face Jonas Jamison—Carrie’s father and all-around asshole leader of the Shepherds of the Coming Peace cult.
Even worse, Carrie had fucking done it twice. The first time had been a year after Val met her. Instead of going to the police, she’d trotted back, meek as you please, to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather.
After everything I did to keep that woman safe…
Knowing Jonas was dead was the only reason Val slept at all. It was also the only reason she’d managed to cut her daily showers down to three instead of bathing at least every hour.
Even now, months after her ordeal, she felt dirty. For a woman who was once a paid escort, that was saying something, although the comparison was ridiculous.
Accepting money to accompany men, women, and the occasional couple to events, and even sleeping with them on occasion after she was off the clock, never made her feel like she was covered in a thin layer of filth everyone could see.
“Thanks. So do you.”
Liar.
Val knew exactly what she looked like, and it wasn’t good. Tucked under a scarf, her hair was a mass of matted tangles she didn’t have the energy to care for. She couldn’t be bothered with make-up, leaving her face blotchy and revealing dark circles under eyes sunk deep into a sallow complexion. Instead of her normal Rockabilly sweetheart blouses and high-waisted shorts, she wore a gray muumuu that covered her from neck to ankles.
She looked fifty instead of twenty-eight. Poorly dressed older women tended to be invisible to other people, so her current look suited her right down to her unpainted toes and chewed nails. She tried not to think about how much she looked like Carrie used to.
Hoping Carrie would go away, she took another sip as Carrie set a plate in front of her. “I snagged the last of the crab cakes for you. I had to fight Ryan for them, and—”
“That was really nice, but I’m not hungry. You can share them with your husband.”
Ryan was also on her shit list for letting Carrie go back to that damned compound. Of course, Carrie had defended herself when that old bitch Betty slapped her. The video of Carrie throat-punching her, and Carrie’s viciously scathing diatribe had millions of views worldwide. Val wished she’d been around to see it instead of being on her way to the hospital for a rape kit. At least the doctor knocked her dislocated shoulder back into place first, but only after she threw a fit over it.
The prosecutors even tried to use the video as evidence in Betty’s trial, where she’d been found guilty of voluntary manslaughter for the deaths of over twenty newborns.
Oh yeah, Val remembered Betty Rush, all right. She hoped the nasty cow fucking died in prison. It couldn’t happen a moment too soon.
The beatings wouldn’t be so bad if you obeyed your new husband as a proper woman should.
The joke was on Betty. That farce of a wedding Jonas performed wasn’t legal to begin with, and even if it had been, the sick fucker was dead.
In a somewhat uncharacteristic act of glorious spite, Carrie had Jonas and his stepbrother cremated, then drove over four hundred miles to dump their remains in the waste heap of a commercial hog farm.
