Twisted Steel: An MC Romance Anthology Read online

  Charles laughed, his hand snapping out and his fingers circling my wrist, squeezing painfully and pulling me back. “Come on… I’m sorry. Okay?”

  That was enough to snap that small bit of self-control I’d been clutching at. I spun around, balling my hand into a fist, and using the momentum of my body as extra force. My fist hit him across the face, connecting with his nose and pushing it to the side. The crunch that came with it could be heard well over the music that seemed to have melded into the background and the conversations which had come to a sudden halt.

  There was a series of gasps, water splashing in the pool, and heavy footsteps around us. My heart was racing, the world around me swirling as I watched him cradle his face with both hands.

  “I swear to God, if you touch me again, I’ll cut your damn hands off,” I seethed, standing a little taller.

  Kelsey came up beside me, her hand gripping my elbow. “Come on, babe.” I let her pull me away, knowing she had a clearer head than I did at the moment, and she was trying to protect me.

  My heart was thumping so hard inside my chest I was becoming lightheaded.

  That should have been it—I walk away, and some little entitled shithead learned a lesson about putting his hands on girls when he was not invited to. But that’s not what happened because apparently the groper, Charles, he didn’t like being shown up by a girl.

  “You little whore,” he cursed me, the words muffled by his hands. When he pulled them away, there was a steady flow of blood dripping down his face and off his chin. “You better fucking watch out.”

  Kelsey held me back, but I was fully prepared to go another round if he was going to run his mouth. I didn’t care. The only reputation it was affecting was his. I didn’t have a care in the world what people thought about me.

  “See, I was going to sit back and enjoy watching her beat the shit out of you and then let you walk out,” a deep, raspy voice announced, drawing my attention.

  His eyes hit me first. They were what I could only describe as ominous gray storm clouds rolling in. He swept his black hair back from his face, the water keeping it slicked back in place.

  “But you had to go and be a little bitch with your stupid threats.”

  He was shirtless, only wearing a black pair of swimming trunks, water dripping from them onto the ground. He stalked closer. The way he moved was slow but self-assured, the kind of swagger you only found in a certain type of guy.

  The confident kind.

  The alpha kind.

  The asshole kind.

  Not your typical kind of asshole who was determined to simply drag down everyone around him to make himself feel better. No. This was the kind of asshole who could destroy you with just a few words, but who never wasted them on idle bullshit.

  Charles pulled back as this guy walked around him, putting himself between the two of us.

  My breathing hitched for a second as I took in the tattoos that covered almost every inch of skin on his back, a medley of colors and patterns that I could have spent hours studying and analyzing.

  He suddenly drew back his fist, curling it upward and slamming it with force right into Charles’ stomach. You could hear the air being forced from his lungs even over the loud groan of pain he released as he dropped with a hard thud onto the concrete.

  His body writhed around in pain like a worm that had been torn from the dirt.

  My mouth fell open as I watched the guy with the tattoos reach down and grab a fist full of Charles’ shirt, dragging him back to his feet. He coughed and spluttered, trying to catch his breath, but the guy dragged him toward the edge of the pool, picking the asshole up off his feet and literally throwing him off the edge and into the water.

  A wave of gasps and laughter chorused through the crowd who had gathered to watch Charles’ demise.

  He sunk like a fucking brick, his arms and legs flailing around as he tried to get back to the surface.

  I waited for a beat, expecting his group of friends to go in after him, or at least form some kind of protest. But there was nothing. Not a fucking whisper in the breeze.

  “Phee,” Kelsey’s soft voice murmured, her arm coming around my waist. “You okay?”

  I couldn’t answer her, though.

  My eyes were glued to the dark-haired, tattooed, fuming guy standing at the side of the pool, his muscles twitching and tight with anger. He spun around, his narrowed gaze looking to a group of guys standing to the side. The entire group was glaring at Charles like they were ready to rip him to fucking shreds given the chance.

  “Someone, get him the fuck out of my house,” he ordered, his chest heaving a deep breath in before blowing it out and finally turning his eyes on me. “You all right?”

  The deep rasp in his voice was hard, but there was genuine concern there.

  “Yeah,” I reassured quietly, but as I unclenched my fist, pain shot through my arm, making me cringe. “Fucker,” I cursed, biting my lip and cradling my fist.

  Tattooed guy stepped forward, but he didn’t get far before I was surrounded by people, Fable being the first to appear in front of me, her eyes wide with worry.

  “Charles, you slimy little fuckface,” Layla spat, storming toward the pool where the little bastard was still trying to fight his way to the side. There was a group of guys who were patiently waiting to show him the door.

  Braydon rushed after her, wrapping his arms around her waist and dragging her backward.

  “You come at her again, you fucking see what happens,” Layla continued to scream.

  “Come on, you need ice,” Fable said, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and turning me back toward the house. “Heath will deal with that shit.”

  I looked over my shoulder, watching as Heath stood close to my rescuer, both of them looking like they were ready to kill.

  I wanted to hear what they were saying, but I was still confused at what had just happened. I knew soon the adrenaline would wear off along with the alcohol that was probably mixing with it as it raced through my bloodstream.

  The girls dragged me away, the group of them muttering about ice and more alcohol. But all I wanted to do was find the guy with the tattoos and say thank you.

  There was something about him. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but that left me feeling a little unsatisfied?

  Instead, the girls ushered me back upstairs to the patio, all of them spitting in anger.

  “Here,” Lucas offered, placing a shot glass full of God knows what, along with a tea towel that was twisted at the top like a little sack. “The shot’s for you, the ice is for your hand.”

  I didn’t waste a moment throwing back the shot, which turned out to be tequila. I managed to keep it down, pursing my lips when it threatened to shoot straight back out again. “Thanks, Lucas,” I rasped, coughing and trying to catch my breath. I took the makeshift icepack and placed it over my hand. “I think it’s just my ring finger.”

  “That’s what happens when you throw a punch with a ring on,” Layla noted as she stepped up beside where I was standing at the banister of the patio. She reached up and swept my hair back from my face, an uncharacteristic seriousness in her eyes. “You okay?”

  I nodded, but inside my stomach was swirling.

  That could have been from the shot I just took—which was a desperate attempt to keep me from making a run for it—but it was more than likely from the fact I could still feel the little asshole’s hands on me. It felt dirty, and I was fighting the urge to find the nearest bathroom and lock myself inside the shower.

  The thing keeping me from doing that right now was utter stubbornness and a refusal to let some little fucker like Charles cause me that much pain.

  I stopped letting people like him win a long time ago.

  Heath appeared at the top of the staircase, Fable instantly moving toward him. He opened his arms, gathering her in them. “You all right?” he asked, both of them coming over to where I was standing.

  I laughed. “Yeah,
I’m fine. Do I need to make an announcement or something, so people will stop asking?”

  “Maybe. You just broke that dude’s nose.” Braydon laughed, sitting on the table. “Although, after Asher hit him with that right hook, he’s probably going to wish he walked away with just that.”

  “Who’s Asher?”

  “The guy in the black shorts,” Fable pointed out, leaning forward over the banister and pointing toward the guy with the tattoos. “You know, the one who possibly just broke all of Charles Fox’s ribs with one punch because he was being mean to you.” She laughed.

  Asher walked around the edge of the pool, stopping to talk to a couple of guys.

  Did I need him to rescue me? No, probably not.

  When push came to shove, I knew this Charles guy was all talk and no balls.

  I’d met more than my fair share of guys like him.

  But was it nice not to have to fight for myself for once.

  Well, fucking kind of.

  “Does he go to Diamond Cross?” I asked curiously.

  There was a brief pause before anyone answered, even though I knew everyone around us had heard the question.

  “No,” Heath answered, but I could tell there was more, more that I probably wasn’t going to like, but he was biting his tongue. “He’s older.”

  My eyes followed Asher for a few seconds as he walked to the side of the pool and picked up a towel. He was tall, his shoulders broad, tapering down to a slim waist. He scrubbed at his inky black hair and dabbed at his face with it, before wiping down his one very tattooed arm, causing a herd of damn butterflies to suddenly invade my stomach.

  “That’s all you’re gonna give me?” I asked without pulling my attention away, a little amused at Heath’s reaction.

  “That should be enough,” he threw back, this time his tone a little sterner.

  It wasn’t often you came to these kinds of parties and found a guy with an entire sleeve tattoo or his back almost completely covered. That wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment thing you do with your friends.

  That dedication meant it was something you love.

  It was something that’s a piece of you.

  My eyes drifted down to the flowers covering every inch of space from my elbow to my wrist, an ode to the people I love, but also to the life I had lived, the person I’d grown into, and the way I had bloomed.

  When I looked up again, I found myself met with a pair of dark eyes staring directly back at me from beneath a heavy brow, the storm clouds that had been rolling in before now settling, ready to pour. I should have looked away, pretended like I hadn’t just spent the last five minutes watching him, but I couldn’t. I was holding my breath, my bottom lip caught in between my teeth.

  Slowly, the corner of his mouth turned up, the smirk warming the coolness in his gaze, but also letting me know he was everything you would fucking expect from your typical bad boy.

  Tattoos. Check.

  Hot. Check.

  Cocky. Check.

  He grinned, turned away, and gave me his back.

  My fingers tightened around my makeshift icepack, trying to stop this immediate need to reach out and trace the lines and patterns which decorated his back with my fingers.

  I wanted to ask Heath more about him, but I already knew what the answers would be.

  He’s bad news.

  He mixes in the wrong crowd.

  He’ll break your heart.

  They were all probably true.

  But you know what?

  Those facts just pulled me in even more.

  4

  Asher/Rein

  My eyes couldn’t help but follow her as her friends ushered her away.

  “Stay away from her, Asher.”

  The sharp tone instantly had the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. I pulled my obsessed gaze from Phee and focused in on the stern-looking teenager standing in front of me. “Nice to see you, too, Heath,” I scoffed, eyeing my old school friend.

  “What’s your game here?”

  Heath didn’t spend time fucking around with pointless chit-chat. Getting inside his inner circle was something many strived for, but it was something years ago I simply tripped and fell into. My respect for him and Bray was through the roof—they were two guys who I would have told you at one stage I trusted with my life.

  But things had changed since then.

  “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I played off, turning and walking away, but noticing the way his heavy footsteps followed me. I fell onto one of the outdoor recliners, focusing on my fist, stretching out the muscles I’d just bruised against that little fuckhead’s ribs.

  “Let me simplify it for you, then,” Heath snapped, his sharp tone forcing me to look up at him. “Phee means a lot to my girlfriend. And she’s been through a fucking shitstorm to get to where she is now. So, don’t fucking pull her into yours.”

  He knew exactly what fucking buttons to push to get my attention, and I was quick to get to my feet, stepping into his space with a smirk. “It’s been four years, Heath,” I declared, pushing my shoulders back and daring him to have a fucking go at me. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. So, keep your fucking privileged little nose out of my business.”

  “You want me to keep my nose out of your fucking business?” he growled, not backing down a damn inch. “Then keep your ass off my fucking street.”

  He wanted to hit me.

  I could fucking feel the way the muscle in his jaw clenched, and his entire body tightened like a snake ready to strike.

  Couldn’t really blame him. I was being a fucking asshole, taunting him on what was basically considered his turf. If he broke my jaw right now—which I knew he was fully capable of doing—it would be pretty damn justified.

  Except he didn’t.

  He didn’t say anything else.

  He simply turned and walked away.

  And I found that so much fucking worse.

  “In town less than forty-eight hours and already pissing off the locals,” Bandit quipped, wiping the water off his face as he walked over. “We’re meant to be watching, not fucking inserting.”

  “Couldn’t help it. That little shitbag deserved it,” I argued, my body still itching to go after him and have another go. “It’s fine. No damage done.” I tried to placate him, but he wasn’t having it.

  Instead, the tingle moving up my spine pulled my attention away. I turned, looking over my shoulder to where Phee was standing on the balcony above. The corner of my mouth curled upward when I caught her watching me, her eyes alight with curiosity and intrigue. I didn’t belong here. I was older than these filthy rich teens. I wasn’t prim or proper, or even fucking close. She knew there was something, but she couldn’t figure out where my piece of the puzzle fit in this place.

  And I was hoping to keep it that way.

  “Think we should probably get out of here before you beat up any other teenage boys, and one decides to tattle,” Bandit prompted, grabbing my clothes off the recliner and pressing them against my chest. “That, and if another sixteen-year-old girl tries to put their hand down my fucking pants, I’m gonna have to go to a fucking strip club or something because I feel a little violated.”

  The laughter was unstoppable. It burst out of my mouth, and I couldn’t help but shake my fucking head. “You’re sexy, what can I say?”

  “They’re fucking sixteen. The same age as Livie,” he protested, a visible shudder shaking his body. Livie was his little sister. The light of his fucking life. “Even though I’m pushing them away, ‘cause that’s fucking wrong, it still makes me want to punch myself in the face.”

  We jogged up the stairs to the house and ducked through the kitchen. I fought the urge to stop, noticing the crowd of people on the balcony milling around Phee, my eyes drawn to the ice pack on her hand. It made me pause for a second, that agitation sparking back up that made me want to tie Charles to the back of my bike and drag him down the
highway.

  Instead, I forced myself to move forward, ducking and diving around teens and heading for the staircase. I had a couple of guys standing at the bottom stopping any of these kids from heading upstairs. “Give them till midnight, then get them all the hell out.”

  The two buff security guards nodded, and I raced up the staircase.

  Technically, this was my dad’s house.

  While we weren’t on great terms, we kept in touch a couple of times a year, and I just happened to convince him to take a prolonged holiday for a few weeks. Bribes may have been included, but that was irrelevant.

  Bandit snapped me a salute, letting me know he was done for the night before he stepped inside his room and shut the door.

  I continued down the hall to my room without a second thought, shoving the double doors open before tugging off my swimming trunks and heading for the bathroom.

  I was used to Bandit shutting off.

  For the most part, he kept to himself.

  When we met as kids, he hardly even spoke. And it wasn’t because he couldn’t. He was simply reserved, more of a watcher. I know moving to the States after growing up in Puerto Rico was a culture shock. Racism was alive and well, and no matter where you were in the country or even the world, there was always going to be people who couldn’t accept that other cultures had rights.

  He got a first-row seat to one of the most judgmental, disgusting parts of our culture, and in turn, he built his wall. It’d taken me years to break through his shell, and even then, he still struggled to share shit unless he felt like he could trust you completely.

  The music from downstairs thumped through the floor, the dull rhythm loud and obnoxious even while I was in the shower. I dried off, grabbing my sweatpants and pulling them on with nothing else while I worked the water out of my hair.

  The bathroom had been updated, but I swore the smell was still the same.

  It was weird being back here, in this house, that for years I just fucking despised.