Quiet Chaos: An Opposites Attract MC Biker Stand-Alone Romance (Bourbon Riders MC)

By Denise Baer

He's a tattooed Prez of a biker club, and she's only been out of the convent for two years.

He's sin, and she's innocence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Baer Books Press
• Release date: Feb 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781958343036

Denise Baer

Denise Baer has gone through life in ecstasy (not the drug). At times, she couldn’t quite remember where she was or how she got there. But that’s a story for when she gets to know you. For now, she’d like to concentrate on her successes..., which aren’t too many. She’s not an award-winning author, never starred in a porn, or entered a beauty contest.She’s just a regular gal who likes potato chips on her sandwiches and says ‘member’ instead of remember. You can take the girl out of Chicago but you can’t take Chicago out of the girl. If flip-flops were the only form of footwear, she’d go without because she’s not crazy about feet thongs.A life in Germany hasn’t stopped her from letting her national roots sprout. She sings with the windows wide-open, screams at the television while watching the Chicago Bears, and talks to her dog, Shakespeare, during their daily walks. She’s known as the ‘American’, and while shopping, bike riding or walking, let’s out a few loud ‘Guten Morgen’ or ‘Guten Tag’s’, which shakes everyone up. And she won’t hesitate to use a screwdriver when locked out of her flat to open the door Chicago style.During the winter months, Denise can be found on the couch, writing or revising with a spiced chai in her hand. And in the summer, out on the balcony with a Captain Morgan and Coke Light.If you want to check her out or put her on your banned list, please stop by one of my sites. Any one of them will do. Tschüß!

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Denise Baer

Baer Books Press

Table of Contents

Copyright

About the Book

Quiet Chaos Playlist

1 - Sky

2 - Cade

3 – Sky

4 – Cade

5 – Sky

6 – Cade

7 – Sky

8 – Cade

9 – Sky

10 – Cade

11 – Sky

12 – Cade

13 – Sky

14 – Cade

15 – Sky

16 – Cade

17 – Sky

18 – Cade

19 – Sky

20 – Cade

21 – Sky

22 – Cade

23 – Cade

24 – Sky

25 – Cade

26 – Cade

27 – Sky

28 – Cade

29 – Sky

30 – Cade

31 – Sky

32 – Sky

33 – Sky

34 – Cade

35 – Sky

36 – Cade

37 – Sky

Acknowledgments

Other Books by Denise Baer

Baer Books Press

  baerbookspress.com

Published in the United States of America

by Baer Books Press.

Copyright @ Denise Baer 2023.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, or stored in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, without the express written permission of the author.

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-958343-03-6

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-958343-04-3

Proofread: Jo McCall at Dark Ink Publication

Cover design: Natasha at Dazed-Designs

About Quiet Chaos

He’s a tattooed Prez of a biker club, and she’s only been out of the convent for two years. He’s bourbon and sin, and she’s Bible verses and innocence.

Have a little faith and anything’s possible.

SKY

At five-years-old, I entered the convent, and at eighteen-years old, I left, realizing the sisterhood was not for me.

With a place to stay, a best friend, and a good job, I believed it was only a matter of time before I met my future husband. To marry and have his babies. Unfortunately, my first boyfriend turned out to be abusive, and when I had the chance, I ran.

Then I met my beautiful hero, Cade, except he’s dripping in sin. He scoffs at my beliefs. Even so, I can’t deny Cade’s goodness or my attraction to him.

If I stick to my faith, I can win against temptation, right?

Or does God have a bigger plan that includes Cade?

CADE

I lost my adoptive parents, mom to cancer, and dad to alcohol. My company Briggs Bourbon is prospering along with my motorcycle club, Bourbon Riders.

There’s nothing better than a bourbon in hand and a woman on her knees… until Sky enters my life. Clad in bruises, blood, and ripped clothing, I offer her a place to stay because it’s the right thing to do.

Bible verses pour from Sky’s lips, and she gets under my skin as much as she warms my heart. This angel provokes a wickedness I’ve never felt before. She’s sweet and pure, and I promise to protect her.

When I offered to help Sky, it didn’t include becoming a husband. We’re opposites, and my ability to love died long ago… Or did it?

Quiet Chaos Playlist

Destination: Anywhere–The Commitments

S.O.B.–Nathaniel Rateliff

Over The Rainbow­–Israel Kamakawiwo’ole

Born To Be Wild–Steppenwolf

Believer–Chantal Kreviazuk

I Drink Alone—George Thorogood & The Destroyers

I Say A Little Prayer—Diana King

Torn—Natalie Imbruglia

Livin’ On A Prayer—Bon Jovi

Preachin’ Blues—Larkin Poe

Devil’s Backbone—The Civil Wars

Losing My Religion—R.E.M.

Life Is A Highway—Tom Cochrane

What A Wonderful World—Louis Armstrong

A Kiss To Build A Dream On—Louis Armstrong

Proud Mary—Creedence Clearwater Revival

Angel In My Heart—Mick Jagger

Hell Right (feat. Trace Adkins)—Blake Shelton

SexyBack—Justin Timberlake

Breathing—Lifehouse

Bourbon In Your Eyes—Devil Doll

Nobody But You—Blake Shelton & Gwen Stefani

One Of Us—Joan Osborne

Ain’t No Sunshine—Bill Withers

Calling All Angels—Train

Blessed—Martina McBride

1

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. Isaiah 1:10

SKY - September 2017

Today is my eighteenth birthday, and for the first time in thirteen years, I’m stepping out on my own from behind these walls and bars. Over the past year, fear has crushed my heart, but a tingle of exhilaration sweeps it away. In the end, my stomach clenches as bile slithers up my throat. I'm terrified of being alone. I sneak out here for one last time before saying my goodbyes. My fingers wrap around the iron gate’s cold bars. Its squeaking a familiar sound since I was five. The clouds create elongated shadows on the street and buildings, like the dark hues that have come and gone within me since my decision.

This small Wyoming town is all I know. The sisters raised and educated me, sheltering me from most of the population. They did their best, unequipped, and naïve in how to raise a child. When I was old enough, the sisters brought me to the homeless shelter to help serve the lunch hour meal. Other than that, I only walk the barren streets of this town at dusk, accompanied by a sister. But I can’t complain. They have given me a good life.

I press my face against the metal, contemplating my future and panic-stricken about the world out there. As if begging for attention, I glance over my shoulder at the chipped and battered white pillars, weathered from abuse. The easier choice is to stay here. All I’ve known is white. White walls and white habits. Even our sins are white. I can remain in comfort, except a large part of me wants to explore. Find me. Find a husband and have children. Until now, I have never made my own choices. Others always gave them to me.

I whisper, God, please help me make the right decision. From a distance, a rumble of thunder and lightning cracks the sky. If that’s God talking to me, I’m not sure what he’s trying to say.

The smell of incense wafts in front of me. A hand presses against my shoulder, relieving me for a moment of the foreboding future. I turn toward Sister Mary with a smile. Since I arrived, she’s been like an older sister to me, providing words of affection and generosity. I’ve learned a great deal from her. I wonder who I’ll learn from when I’m gone.

Blinking from the sting of tears I’ve kept at bay, I hug her and say, I apologize for leaving my morning chores and coming out here.

Sister Mary takes both my hands in hers and says, Sky, no need to worry about those chores. This is a big step for you. She turns my hand over and places an envelope in it. Here’s a little something to get you started. My mouth opens, but she stops me. We all took up a collection a year ago when you hinted about leaving. We can’t have a child of God wandering the streets with nothing to her name.

A tear runs down my cheek as I release a shattered thank you, giving her hands a light squeeze. I grew up in this convent and became a young lady. Now, I stand in the courtyard in a faded plain white dress hovering at my ankles while I have conflicting emotions.

She drapes an arm around my shoulder. It’s enough to get you on your feet.

I glance over at the street, which is quiet at this time of day. Do you think I’m making a mistake?

Sister Mary shakes her head and pats my hand. Not at all. You’ve known nothing else other than the convent. It’s time you get out there and see for yourself. If you realize this is your place, you’re always welcome back. A waterfall of tears blinds me. Now, child, you’ll be fine. She turns us in the convent’s direction and slips her arm through mine. You have such a big heart, Sky. You won’t have any problem fitting in. This world could use someone like you.

We walk under the arches and pillars to the walkway where the rest of the sisters stand. Rosaries dangle in front of them and they offer the smiles I have grown to love. Internal chaos wreaks havoc on my emotions, pulling me between staying and leaving. Each sister steps forward with words of wisdom, a verse, or a simple heartwarming farewell. They’re all the family I know.

I inhale the tears and blink away the lone ones caught on my eyelashes. I can’t thank all of you enough for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve made this my home for thirteen years, and I’m honored to call you family. I flick the tears off my cheeks. I’ve learned so much from living here. My voice cracks when I finish. I am eternally grateful.

Reverend Mother Corinne joins us, places a hand on my lower back, and guides me back to the gate.

I assume Sister Mary gave you the money? I nod. She takes a rosary out of her pocket. The beads are made from wood, connected to a silver cross of Jesus. I know you have a rosary, but I wanted to give you this one. The wood comes from Bethlehem. My hand shoots to my mouth. Let’s not make a fuss, child. It’s time for you to go. We have prayers in five minutes.

Reverend Mother Corinne opens the gate for me. I step out, and she closes it before I can change my mind.

Godspeed, child.

Sister Mary and Reverend Mother Corinne turn without another word or glance, disappearing into the convent.

At the bus station, I buy a ticket to Salt Lake City. Sister Mary has a friend I’ll be staying with, and the city has more jobs than Wyoming. Stares come from cautious people, eyeing my dress, cinched at the waist using a simple rope. I take my ponytail out and let my long hair fall to hide my face. Young women pass by, pointing at my dirty white scuffed shoes and giggle. I slide the cross along the chain around my neck, sitting in a chair by a wall to say a simple prayer. The same women mock my whispered prayer, so I say it in my head. At this moment, loneliness weighs heavily on my heart. This past year, I thought of nothing else except life beyond the convent. My imagination blossomed, picturing a beautiful and kind world. Never had I considered a littered bus station or people peppered in unkindness.

The loudspeaker announces, the1:00 pm bus bound for Salt Lake City, Utah has arrived.

I gather the purse Sister Ruth gave me and the small bag of my meager belongings and board the bus. Those who had already boarded put their legs across seats next to them or scowl. One man is bobbing his eyebrows up and down. I have no idea what that means, but he gives me a smile, exposing missing teeth. I take the seat next to him. He smells of the alcohol I recall from the homeless shelter. I had ladled out soup to glassy-eyed men and women, and their demeanor looked like hope waned in the far distance.

Hey, pretty girl.

I hold out my hand. Hello. My name is Sky.

You’re my moon and sky. He lets out a bellow. Yellowed fingers take my hand, and he places it on my leg.

My eyes shift from his hand to his face. Excuse me, sir, but could you please move your hand? I notice the armrest. As I push it down, I continue, You can rest your hand here.

Again, a loud roar comes out of him. My shoulders twitch at the sound. All I offer him is a smile. With that, he tells me to call him Jimmy. He says he works as a lumberjack and is on his way to visit a friend. Jimmy uses his two fingers on each hand, holds them up, and bends them opened and closed when he says friend.

I tilt my head and ask, Why are you doing that with your fingers when you say, friend?

Jimmy slaps his leg and laughs. Pretty girl, you’re funny.

I don’t understand his comment or reaction. Does he not have a friend? Did he lie to his family about visiting a friend? I softly ask, Why is my question funny?

He clears his throat, face releasing the smile, and mutters, Never mind.

Three stops later, Jimmy escapes the confines of the bus. No one else boards, so the bus jolts into drive. I slide to the window seat to admire the landscape. I haven’t been outside of our little town, so now I get to see God’s artworks. The scenery is flat, yet enormous mountains jut skyward. An amazing thing to witness. Snow-capped peaks close to heaven. My eyes water from the magnificence of it all. Salt Lake City comes into view. Mountains, greenery, and blue skies are backdrops to the city. My heart flutters in terror and anticipation.

The bus pulls into the terminal. I snuggle my purse and bag close as I stand in the aisle, waiting to start my new life. Many people bustle around the station. Mothers exhausted from crying children. Men in suits, carry briefcases, and talk into the air. They are looking at phones, but I don’t know why since I’ve never had what they call a smartphone. I held one once when a homeless woman came to the shelter after finding it on the ground.

Some people shuffle around, dirt littering their clothing, and they carry a cup, begging for money. I dig into my purse for a couple of dollars and hand them to a man with a dog. I ask him where the cabs are, but his rheumy eyes look into nothing. There is a young man by the station doors, blowing out puffs of smoke. Leaning lazily on the wall with his head against the bricks and ankles crossed, he appears uninterested in his surroundings.

I’m holding the piece of paper Sister Mary wrote the address on. I take timid steps toward him and ask, Excuse me, sir.

His eyes narrow at the sight of me. Yeah?

I clear my throat before asking, Could you tell me where I can find a taxi? I need to get to my lodgings.

He lets out a snort. Lodgings? Who talks like that? My head and hand drop as I tell him I do. Walk around the building and you’ll find them there. I thank him and walk in the direction he noted.

After what seems like hours, I arrive at the quaint little house on the outskirts of the city. Sister Mary’s friend, Ms. Adeline, welcomes me with open arms. Her frail frame embraces me. Ms. Adeline’s spine curls into a question mark. Her home is one level. From the wear and tear of the décor in her house, I guess it got lost in time. Dingy lace drapes hang from the windows. The furniture is worn and faded. Flower wallpaper dresses the walls throughout the kitchen and living room. Even so, it’s cozy and warm, like Ms. Adeline.

She guides me to a couch, so she can prepare the tea. I offer to help, but she declines. Ms. Adeline carries a tray, piled with teacups, a small kettle, and a plate of biscuits. We nibble, sip our tea, and talk about our lives. Ms. Adeline never married and doesn’t have children. This thought saddens me, because since my teens I’ve dreamed about having a husband and a houseful of children.

In the bedroom, Ms. Adeline says, This is your room and your home. I put clean sheets on the bed, fresh towels in the bathroom that we’ll share, and the rest of the house is at your disposal.

This is lovely, Ms. Adeline. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.

Nonsense, sweetheart. I’m doing it for selfish reasons. It’s nice to have company. I’m sure you’re tired, so I’ll let you get situated.

An Afghan covers a single bed, so I sit down. My room is painted yellow and has sunflower curtains. There’s a single dresser, a small closet, and a little desk. It’s an upgrade from my plain room at the convent, which only had a dresser and a bed. I unpack what few things I have and stretch out. With the softness of words and a gentle touch, Ms. Adeline has already made this feel like home for me. We’re going to be good friends.

***

A couple of weeks have passed as I venture into the city to find work. It’s easy to get there since Ms. Adeline doesn’t live far from a bus station. So different from Wyoming, this city is alive. There are countless people rushing from one place to another either on foot, public transportation, or a car. And there are a variety of people, such as skin color and hair. The fashion ranges from tight to flowing.

These observations keep my attention while my trust in getting a job diminishes. I try to be positive, pray daily, and whenever possible, slip into a catholic church for mass. Every job wants more than what I can provide. When I tell them I’ve lived in a convent most of my life and I don’t have any work experience, they act as if the devil himself cursed them.

I walk down the street and come across a large woman with a laugh the size of the mountains. She has short, brown curly hair tucked into a hat too small for her head as she wipes down the outside of a diner’s window.

Stopping in front of it, she says, Well, aren’t you the cutest thing. I’m Babs. She swings her arm toward the door and says, And this is my diner.

I smile at this big, beautiful woman. Like Ms. Adeline, Ms. Babs makes me feel like home baked bread.

It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Babs.

Oh honey, Babs is fine.

I fold my hands in front of me. Babs. Would you, by chance, be looking for help? I can do anything, such as wash the dishes, cook, make coffee—

She crosses over to me, favoring her left leg. Of course! I could use a girl like you to brighten the place up. How about waitressing?

Another position I’m unqualified for. An anxiousness rises because I don’t want to answer. If I do, she’ll dismiss me, and I need a job. Ms. Babs ushers me inside to the diner’s counter. Her eyebrows cave, narrowing her eyes while she watches my internal struggle. I bite my lip and rub my hands together.

My thoughts are cut short as Ms. Babs says, I’m guessing you’ve never waitressed.

No, ma’am, but I’m willing to try if you’ll have me.

She pulls me into a hug, her body jiggling with laughter, forcing mine to join. I guess I make her happy.

You got the job! Let’s sit down so I can go over everything.

Really? I hug her again. Thank you. Thank you so much.

She takes off her hat. You’re welcome, sweetie. For starters, how ‘bout you tell me your name?

My hand thrusts forward. Sky, Ms. Babs.

She takes my hand and says, Nice to meet you, Sky. My belly is telling me this arrangement is going to work out fine, and my belly is never wrong. I’m smiling so hard it’s punctuating my dimples. The pay isn’t the best, but I’m sure the tips will make up for it.

My first job. Ms. Babs is the best boss. I take a month to learn the menu, how to work the register, man the counter, and give checks to the customers. Eventually, we work in harmony, six days a week. Every day, she gives me pie to share with Ms. Adeline. The scariness of the world when I first left the convent doesn’t seem so scary having Ms. Babs and Ms. Adeline in it. Since I have a job, I can save for a place of my own. Maybe even in time, buy a car, and find a husband.

2

The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind. Humphrey Bogart

Cade - September 2017

Crates for the distillery line the bed of my pickup truck. Armstrong hops up, saliva dripping on a couple of crates, and I shoo him out. Mondays are busy workdays, and I can’t have my dog roaming around the place. After I put him in the house, I drive the ten-minute ride to Fish Haven, Idaho. Right over the Utah border. It’s a brisk morning with the chance of an afternoon warmup. Since I have a list of orders to fill, I won’t get to enjoy the day.

The short ride allows me to relax. Business is at a steady rise, and I’m working hard to make Briggs Bourbon number one in Idaho. Maybe one day, number one in the country. Things are looking up. My motorcycle club, Bourbon Riders, has grown from a mere two to seventy-five. It’s my extended family. All my brothers are hard workers. Because they all contribute to the club, our holidays and social events are bigger and better.

I ease the truck into the parking space near the front. Before I’m even out, Hal, the manager, comes running out the door. Cade! It’s your dad!

I have enough time to throw my car into park and pull the keys out. As I jog toward him, I ask, How much this time?

He holds the door open, and we both jog inside. I don’t know. He’s unconscious in the office. I tried calling you and when I didn’t get an answer, I called 911. I hope that was okay?

While we head to the office, I pat him on the back indicating it was fine. The ambulance sirens are near, so Hal runs out to let them in. Behind the desk, my dad’s body is strewn out. Spittle soaks the papers underneath. I smack his face to wake him, but he doesn’t budge. My foot hits a bottle of bourbon and knocks it over, spilling the rest of the contents. I curse. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last. Alcohol became his best friend after my mom’s death, and it’s the one thing that’s complicated my life.

The paramedics come into the room, which is my cue to let them do their thing. They sit him up, check his mouth for obstruction, take vitals, while asking questions.

Has he taken anything, such as drugs?

We look at each other and Hal says, Only alcohol. He’s an alcoholic.

Hal’s face contorts into an apology. I nod and cross my arms.

A paramedic asks, Do you know how long he’s been like this?

We don’t. I found him a few minutes before I called 911. He moves closer and asks, Is he going to be alright?

The same paramedic says, His breathing is shallow, so we’re going to put an oxygen mask on and take him to the hospital.

I ask, Which hospital?

Idaho General.

I run a hand through my hair and down my face, thinking, why today? Even thinking about it makes me feel like a dick. My dad has a problem I can’t fix. It’s why I took over the company at a young age. Briggs Bourbon exists because of him; except he jeopardized it. He’d forget orders, meetings, and had caught fire to an office after passing out with a lit cigarette. That’s when I stepped in.

There are so many orders to fill today and having to spend time at the hospital has me punching the wall.

Everyone stops and looks at me. I shake my hand to dispel the pain. I’ll follow in my truck.

Without having to ask, Hal says, I got this, Cade. Don’t worry about it. Just take care of your dad.

My hand wipes down my face, scratching at my goatee, and I breathe out my frustration. Thanks, Hal. I owe you.

I arrive at the same time as the ambulance. The emergency room is a madhouse—a trench of drunks still trickling in from the weekend. The buzz of ethanol taints the air. My hand rests on the rail of the gurney as I walk back with the paramedics to a room. By now, his eyes have fluttered open, drool continues to drip down the sides of his mouth. I use the sheet to wipe at it. The nurses hook him up to IV fluids and pump him with Thiamin and glucose, which I know from too many of these occurrences. I