Cowboy's Chaos

Cowboy’s Chaos Wheel Mongers MC Book 3 By: Jean Marie Copyright © 2023 Jean Marie All rights reserved The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. 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 Chapter 24 More Books From The Wheel Mongers MC Romance Series Other Series From Jean Marie About Jean Marie Chapter 1 All was right with the world for once. I had the entire mid-morning off, as well as the afternoon. Since this was a rare occurrence, I had made plans. I stepped out of the classroom, and the campus in northern Salt Lake City was as busy as ever. I checked my watch and saw I still had plenty of time. I walked across the well-kept lawn and headed to my beat-up, ancient Mitsubishi. I was allowed to take a course here and there because it gave me the potential to earn a better income. Better income meant more money to donate to the church. But I kept it a secret that my professor canceled today's class because if my father knew, he would hijack my time with busy work. At 23, I was still under my father’s rule, dodging him like a teenager. He tried his best to hold me hostage with obligation and doubt. Instead of submitting to him, I was bursting to break free of his rule. I hated living for the church, but I hated my father more. I didn’t know how long I was going to last under these conditions. The fact I wasn’t allowed to think about where I was going to live or what I was going to do when I grew up made it difficult, yet somewhat easy to stay where I was. I had a mother as well, but she might as well have been a ghost. My father sure as hell was a demon. Of all my brothers and sisters, my father and I butted heads the worst, a bad thing for a woman to do, according to him. He was hell-bent on breaking me down and making me a good little disciple. Which was the last thing I wanted to be. Jan was my oldest sister, and she was the most outgoing and independent. But even she wasn’t as defiant as I was. My father instilled discipline through fear and pain. He had beaten the will out of my two brothers over the years. Jared and Jeremy started out pretty hard-headed as well, but now they were in high school and were completely obedient in all of dad’s “plans” for his children. I never saw my dad hit my mother. But for as passive and submissive as she was, I guessed he had been pretty ruthless to her in the years before we were born. She was a slender woman and a foot shorter than my dad. So, it wouldn’t have taken much to overpower her. My dad was vying to become a ward in the church. But that probably would never happen, since having a defiant child like me under his roof made him look weak. And I assume the other church leaders saw through him also. He was the very epitome of a hypocrite. He was nice and polite and patient with everyone except his family. But once he got home and the door shut, he turned into an impatient, spiteful, and devious man who fed off of his control of others. We didn’t even have pastors like in regular churches. We had this weird hierarchy that made crazy zealots out of men, and my dad was one of them. He ruled with an iron fist in the name of devotion but I am pretty sure he was under the skirts of a woman who helped at the temple. In my opinion, the men who were in the church were hypocrites and had no business telling anyone how to live. One of these days soon, my father was going to relax his grip, maybe while distracted with trying to control one of my other siblings, and I was going to be out of there. In the meantime, I took great pleasure in defying him right under his nose. My act of rebellion for the day was to sneak over to the thrift shop to buy something – anything—for myself. I had a little bit of money my dad didn’t know about. My dad confiscated all my babysitting earnings for himself or “the family.” But I had managed to squirrel some money away. I shaved a few dollars off money paid each time and kept it in secret while I turned the rest over to my father. It took me a while, but I’ve saved up a little nest egg. I drove straight to my favorite Mormon-run thrift shop, Cassie’s Thrift Shop Treasures. “Hi, Mia,” Cassie said as she sat behind the counter, doing her needle point. “Hi, Miss Cassie.” I always liked Miss Cassie. She was about my grandma's age but always seemed much more down to earth compared to most of the adults I knew. And I was sure she wouldn’t tell my dad about my visit. Now all the thrift shops were Mormon-run, as was almost every other business in town, in one way or another. And all the dresses there were floor length. But I had a shiny pair of sharpened sewing shears. The hem of my thrift shop treasure and a half yard of fabric were about