Twisted Steel: An MC Romance Anthology Read online

  Because the fucking reality was, that was never going to happen.

  Things weren’t going to be made right.

  Ethan Bailey was never going to admit to the pain and suffering he had caused. He was never going to admit to killing Anna and dumping her body God knows where to die all alone.

  Tears choked me.

  My hand tingled as I thought about the idea of her being so scared, so alone, and not being able to hold her hand. I think that was what killed me the most.

  My body instantly paused at the deep rumble of a motorcycle cruising slowly onto the street behind me. It was an odd sound for Kings Crescent, a street that wasn’t a stranger to supercars, muscle cars, and any other vehicle that was worth more than a small house, but that harbored men who were worth too much to risk their life and limbs on a bike.

  I looked over my shoulder as the rumble got closer, the low baritone of the motor emanating through me, feeling like it was shaking my entire body. Strangely though, it had a comforting effect given that my eldest brother was a member of a motorcycle club called the Brothers by Blood over in Phoenix, Arizona. The past year we’d really found our relationship again, and I’d found another family in the form of his MC brothers.

  His very large.

  Very tattooed.

  Kind of scary.

  Overprotective MC brothers.

  The guy riding this motorcycle, though, he wasn’t wearing any colors, no patches, which meant he wasn’t a club member. And the bike he was riding was a street bike, not a Harley. He had on a thick black leather jacket, dark denim wash jeans, and a full helmet, so I couldn’t see his face as he slowed down and rolled to a stop beside me.

  Part of me wanted to move closer, the other part wondering how hard I could kick him, to make him and his bike topple over so I could run.

  Thankfully, he unstrapped his helmet and tugged it off his head, placing it on the seat between his legs as he switched off the motor.

  Asher.

  Of course, the bad boy with tattoos and a devious reputation rode a fucking motorcycle.

  And here I was crying on the fucking sidewalk.

  “You need a ride?”

  Did I?

  Looking back over my shoulder at the street full of ten-foot gates and homes that sat on hills, Kings Crescent was overwhelming, overbearing, and honestly, just not the place where I felt at home.

  Did people like the Carsons feel empathy for what I’d been through and the life I lived? Of course.

  But would they ever truly understand the scars I have?

  Would they ever really know what it was like to just go to sleep at night and hope like hell you wouldn’t wake up the next day?

  Or what it felt like to be so fucking powerless in a world where power and standing seemed to be everything?

  I caught sight of the Carsons’ gate swinging open, and, at that moment, I made a choice. “Anywhere but here,” I said quickly.

  His gaze followed mine for a second before he turned back, picking up his helmet and leaning over, pressing it down onto my head, giving it a soft thump to force it securely and stunning me for a second. “Get on,” he ordered, not waiting for a reply before turning the key on his motorcycle, the beautiful machine roaring to life.

  You don’t know this kid.

  Heath told you to stay away from him.

  You’ve already seen he isn’t afraid to use his fists.

  And yet, in those couple of seconds, everything inside me was pulled to him like a fucking magnet, and I just couldn’t fight it.

  I didn’t have the energy to fight it.

  Fuck it!

  I threw my legs over the back, quickly tucking them up onto the pegs and wrapping my arms around his waist, interlocking my fingers over his stomach.

  The motor below us revved loudly, the deep growl actually bringing a smile to my face as I thought about the look on my brother’s face if he ever caught me on the back of a damn street bike.

  Suddenly, we shot forward, my stomach feeling like for a second it had been left back at the curb, fighting to catch up with the rest of me. Asher definitely didn’t hold back any punches, picking up even more speed, flying down Kings Crescent like we were on some kind of drag strip.

  I couldn’t help it.

  I started to laugh, tightening my arms around his waist, feeling like in that moment he was my anchor, the only thing keeping me from being swept up into this crazy cyclone that seemed determined to destroy me.

  For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t scrambling to find something to hold on to.

  I wasn’t sure how long it was that we rode for, and I had no idea where we were going. I was simply trusting him to take me away. Which, for all I knew, was a horrible fucking idea, but as we pulled up to the pier just as the sun was disappearing over the horizon, I felt like I could breathe again.

  Asher glided into the parking lot, slotting right into the center of a parking space and placing both feet on the ground to hold us upright. My body stayed glued to his back for a few extra beats, not quite ready to step back into the real world just yet.

  The silence was nice.

  It was welcomed.

  But eventually, he reached up, placing his hand over mine.

  I took that as my cue.

  Neither of us spoke as I climbed off the back of his bike and fought with the bulky helmet on my head, finally managing to yank it off as he kicked the stand down.

  “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want,” I added as he threw his leg over the side and climbed off beside me. “I can catch the bus home from here.”

  He shrugged, but the deep intensity in his cloudy eyes told me he wasn’t about to dump me and run. “I’ve got time.” That low rasp was everything I needed to hear in that moment to make me relax.

  Asher was uncomplicated.

  That was the conclusion I’d come to.

  Which meant there was no pressure to be, do, or say a single thing.

  We walked down the concrete sidewalk that framed the beach. It was pretty much empty now the darkness had begun to settle, just the sound of the water crashing against the sand and the scuff of our shoes as we walked.

  The closer we got to the pier, the louder things grew. The sound of the small amusement park and the people inside filled the air. It was all laughter and joy, everything lit up and sparkling, kids screaming as they flew past on the rollercoaster as we sat on a bench looking out over the water.

  “Thanks for stopping,” I finally managed to say. I pulled my legs up on the seat, folding them like I was a kid in school. “I’m a hot mess. So, that was a big risk.”

  Asher leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and looking out. “I’ve seen my fair share of hot messes over the years, and I think you’re doing pretty fucking well in comparison.”

  “Thanks…” I paused, letting out a short laugh. “I think.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “All right.”

  I smiled, my eyes glued to the shoreline and the way the sky was slowly darkening, smothering the sunlight. Trying to keep myself distracted from the sexy, nonchalant guy sitting next to me, his presence was distracting, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe I needed to be distracted.

  “You’re easily appeased,” I noted, leaning back into the hard and uncomfortable bench seat. “It’s nice to have someone not so determined to know what makes me tick.”

  “Trust me,” he scoffed, tugging at his leather jacket and rolling his shoulders back, so he was leaning into the seat. “You’re not the only one who people seem to like to pull to pieces and dissect.”

  Taking a deep breath, I turned my body just slightly toward him, enjoying the way his eyes found mine and held them. He wasn’t shy, and he didn’t avoid looking me in the eyes like most boys my age. It made it feel like he was actually listening like maybe I was even important.

  “I’ll trade my trauma story for yours?” I bargained, eager to share a
little bit of my hell if it let me see a little bit of his.

  His smirk was addictive.

  It was cunning and playful with the kind of deviousness that made my heart skip.

  “I won’t bore you with the details, so here’s the short version,” he started, not a single ounce of trepidation present. “My mom was a whore. She met my rich, drunk father at a bar and saw it as an opportunity. Nine months later, she slapped him with court papers for a DNA test and a demand for child support payments.”

  My mouth fell open.

  So many questions tickled at the tip of my tongue.

  He didn’t even give me time to process it all before he continued, “She overdosed when I was fourteen. My dad got custody, and I moved here until I turned seventeen. Hated it. Moved back to Montana to live with my mom’s sister. Been there ever since.”

  His honesty about his past was something I wasn’t expecting, but I found myself smiling unconsciously. Maybe I was jaded, maybe I was too untrusting, always expecting the worst in people. While people like Fable were taking their shattered walls and using the bricks to build a castle, I was picking them up and throwing them at anyone who tried to come too close.

  It was starting to seem like Asher, though, had ducked.

  And he was starting to sneak in a little closer.

  And I was starting to find that maybe I didn’t mind so much.

  “So, why the retu—”

  “Uh-uh,” he cut me off, holding up his finger and shaking his head. “I don’t believe follow-up questions were part of this deal.”

  “I didn’t know we’d written rules,” I threw back, just as the lights flickered on around us, the sun finally disappearing behind the horizon. I shuddered, though I wasn’t sure why because the night air was warm, so much so there was a gentle sheen of sweat across my forehead.

  “Sometimes the most important rules are unwritten,” Asher drawled, raising his brow, daring me to argue like he seemed to fucking love it. “Come on, tell me your damage.”

  My fingernails were already picking at the chipped paint on the arm of the old wooden bench—nervous habits die hard. I’d spent a long time training myself to keep my fingers busy, so I wouldn’t scrub or scratch at my skin.

  “Parents were killed by a drunk driver. I was put in foster care. The counselor at my group home attacked us weekly. Got my best friend pregnant at thirteen, and when she finally found the strength to tell someone… she disappeared.”

  “What di—”

  “You clearly said no follow-up questions,” I interrupted, leaping from the seat we were on and slowly backing away. He never took his gaze off me, and even as it narrowed in annoyance, I found my breath catching at the beauty in his eyes. I was lost in the way the gray color caught every reflection, every little sparkle that lit up the darkness around us.

  Almost like streetlights fighting through a heavy fog.

  Or the reflection in a motorcycle’s chrome on a midnight ride through the city.

  I’ve been spending too much time with Ham and Meyah.

  “Hell, no,” he protested, jumping to his feet and jogging after me when I began to move a little faster. His heavy riding boots and the hard thud they made against the wooden boards at our feet reminded me of my brother’s, instantly giving me a warm feeling as he fell into step beside me. “See, I said no follow-up questions, but you left half the fucking story out.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  He reached for my arm, my instant reaction was to rip my body away and put distance between us. It wasn’t that his touch was scary—at least, not in the same way other men’s touch was scary. His was different. He frightened me more because it didn’t scare me. Because I found myself searching for it, wondering if he’d get closer, questioning how it would feel if his fingers brushed my hair back from my fa—

  “Sorry,” he murmured, cringing slightly and shaking his head as I took a step backward. “You don’t have to tell me shit. We can go back and sit down, and I can shut the fuck up.”

  I spotted a little shop up ahead, the bright signs screaming about all the flavors of ice cream they carried.

  I knew if I went home now, I’d let this shit with Ethan get to me.

  It would soak down into my skin, making it feel dirty and itchy until I finally gave in and rubbed it raw. Here, with Asher, it was different. Where thoughts of Ethan stung my skin, Asher somehow soothed it. He pulled me in, distracted me from the way my stomach was swirling uncomfortably.

  I didn’t want to leave.

  Not just yet.

  So, I made another plan. “You buy me an ice cream… I’ll give you one question.” My heart skipped when Asher made the first move, brushing past me with a confident smirk, on a mission toward the small ice cream stall.

  “Deal, what flavor?”

  “Vanilla!”

  “I’m not buying you vanilla,” he called back, not even bothering to pause.

  I frowned, folding my arms across my chest like a pouting child. “But I like vanilla!”

  “You’re far too much of a rainbow kind of girl to get vanilla.”

  I grinned, shaking my head as I jogged to keep up with him.

  I needed this.

  More than I fucking knew.

  I couldn’t let Ethan Bailey win.

  This time around, I was stronger.

  I knew I was.

  7

  Asher/Rein

  “Water.”

  I looked over my shoulder just as Shotgun took a seat at the bar.

  Empire was closed for the night, the place empty but looking like a bomb had fucking hit. Shotgun had called Bandit and me back from Cali at the last minute when he had half the damn security come down with the stomach flu, and Huntsman and his boys were off on a club ride up north.

  We were lucky we didn’t get our fucking rides impounded as we made the little over six-hour ride in a hell of a lot less, pulling into Empire just as they were opening the front doors.

  I was working on stocking the shelves with fresh bottles and stacking the empties to be taken out for recycling. “You sure you don’t want something a little stronger?” I asked, reaching for a clean glass from the tray.

  “I don’t drink,” he answered simply. “Haven’t had liquor since I was probably eighteen.”

  “Beer?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Nothing.”

  Chucking a scoop of ice cubes into the glass, I stuck it under the tap, filling it to the brim before placing it on the bar. “Wow,” I noted in awe, bracing my hands on either side of the bar sink. “There any particular reason?” It was none of my fucking business, honestly, but the thing was, I knew Shotgun would tell me just that if he didn’t want to share.

  “Dad was an addict.” He swallowed several mouthfuls before placing it back on the bar. “He’d been an alcoholic for a long time. Saw some pretty shitty sides to him. Swore I’d never follow that fucking path, so decided just to cut alcohol altogether so that the temptation was never there.”

  “That took a lot of self-control,” I commented honestly, in a little awe of this man in front of me.

  “It’s not about self-control,” he countered, his fingers strumming on the shiny wooden bar top. “It’s a choice I made. Simple as fucking that. Some people choose not to eat cheese. I choose not to tempt my genes with alcohol.” I’d heard Shotgun was an amazing man. I’d heard of sacrifices he’d made to protect the club, and now hearing his backstory with his dad, the pieces were beginning to fall, and the picture it was putting together had my head spinning.

  Seemed like even when he was young, he had all the makings of a president.

  Some just did.

  They were the guys who weren’t afraid to step up, to hold the lives of the men and women and their families in his hands. That was essentially what he did. The choices he would have to make during his presidency could mean life or death for many.

  The club still did illegal shit.

  They had moved o
n to a lot of endeavors that brought in legitimate money—a fucking lot of it here in Phoenix—but no matter what you did, there was always someone who hated to see the club succeed. There was always someone looking to prove something by bringing down someone more powerful.

  Or like right now with Phee—there was always a piece of your past that refused to fucking stay there.

  “How’s the shit with Phee going?” Shotgun asked as if reading my mind.

  “That’s what I was just about to ask,” Shake added as he, Bandit, and Repo made their way toward us from the front of the building. “I haven’t had any luck with this slippery asshole. You manage to be keeping an eye on her, okay?”

  I scoffed loudly. “When you said look after your little sister, I don’t know why I imagined some sweet, innocent young girl who would never stir the pot or make a scene.”

  Bandit’s loud burst of laughter was a dead giveaway. The grin on Shake’s face letting me know it was likely Phee hadn’t saved her little show just for me. He knew exactly what I was talking about—they all fucking did.

  “So, you met Ophelia?” Shotgun chuckled, reaching for his water again. “How’d that go?”

  “Girl has a hell of a right hook,” I explained, huffing out a short laugh. “Man, this kid touched her, she dropped him. Hard.”

  “Broke his nose,” Bandit added, joining me behind the bar and picking up where I left off, stacking bottles onto the shelves.

  Shake grinned, pulling himself onto the stool beside Shotgun while Repo leaned against the bar, a thoughtful smile on his face. “I taught her to throw a punch when she was like six.” Shake chuckled, wiping his hand over the bar top. “Knew it’d come in handy one day.”

  I was pretty sure she’d had a lot more practice at it over the years than he knew.

  “So, no luck finding this guy? His parole address?” Shotgun cut in, looking to his VP with a raised eyebrow.

  The light in Shake’s eyes quickly darkened as his brows pulled together in a heavy frown. “Doesn’t fucking have one. When he walked out, he claimed homelessness. Address he gave was the apartment building he lived in before he was arrested, but it was torn down last year.”