FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 34

  I backed up and checked the light on my meter.

  "Hang on, I want your bike in the shot." I stepped carefully around his chopper. The gleam of chrome lit his face from underneath, giving his craggy, scarred face a heroic glow. "That's perfect."

  One by one the Sons of Steel posed for my camera. I could feel J.'s eyes in me as I snapped the portraits of his brothers. "My girl's an artist," he declared.

  I searched my heart and spoke my truth. "I found my inspiration."

  The End

  STEEL

  ME AWAY

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  (C) 2015 by Vivian Lux and Velvetfire Press

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  Prologue

  J.

  Six on six.

  Those were the terms. And though they had sounded fair at the time, now that J. was standing in the dusty parking lot of the abandoned strip mall, he wasn't so sure. He and his brothers numbered six all together. Their opponents numbered four times that amount.

  "If shit goes down, we're dead," he muttered to Case.

  The Sergeant-At-Arms nodded, all trace of his usual good humor erased from his bearded face. J. could see worry lines creasing his best friend's forehead, and the stiff way he still held himself. Two cracked ribs was the official diagnosis from Doctor D. but Case had refused to go to the hospital after the fight with the Storm Riders. They would have asked him how it happened.

  "Pretty much," Case nodded. He furrowed his brow and squinted his pale blue eyes towards the east, his expression grim. Case had scouted this location for the negotiations yesterday and declared it safe. Neutral ground, good visibility and miles away from any interested law enforcement. The lonely highway shot straight through the Pine Barrens, vanishing to a pinpoint on the horizon. There was no way the Storm Riders could surprise them. They had the advantage that way.

  Our only advantage, J. thought, digging the toe of his boot into a weedy crack in the pavement. He and Case were the only real fighters in the club, and Case was already injured.

  Crash was always ready for a scrap but his bad leg slowed him down, and his brain injury sometimes affected his reaction time. And then there were the three older men. J. pursed his lips as he watched them mill about on the baking asphalt. Doctor D. was a heavy drinker with the proud beer gut to show for it. MacDougal was a demon fighter back in his day, but no one could claim he was still in his prime. His taste for blood had dissipated with age. Now he was like an old, sleepy dog that seldom left the shade of his favorite tree. Only waking long enough to snarl at you before nodding off again.

  But most worrisome of all was Teach. J. swallowed when he caught a glimpse of the ruin of his mentor's face. The club president had taken a shattered glass bottle to the cheek in their last encounter with the Storm Riders. It had opened a lurid purple wound under his eye that was still shining and raw in the late morning light.

  J. hadn't been there to protect him.

  His guilt weighed heavier than his fear. And guilt fed his anger. He clenched his fists, priming his rage, feeling the rush of adrenaline hone his senses. He couldn't control anything else in his life, but he could control his fists. His brothers weren't in good fighting shape, but he was. He was ready to fight for the greater good of the club. He was ready to defend each of them, to fight for their honor the way they had for him.

  Everything else was in tatters. Honor was all he had left to hold on to.

  He was almost ready to die if need be.

  Almost.

  But not quite.

  Because when he surveyed the knot of men, the people closest to him in this world, there was someone missing. He had all the backup he wanted, except one person.

  He had fallen in love with her quick and driven her away even quicker.

  "If I get out of this," J. spoke into the wind, "I'm getting Emmy back."

  But the hot breeze tore his words from his lips before anyone could hear them spoken.

  It started as a rumble so low he could have imagined it, but the dots on the horizon confirmed. Six riders from the east.

  "Head's up!" Case called to the rest. Even though the riders were a long ways off, he still moved to the front of the cluster, his instincts to protect the club honed to a pinpoint.

  They were a long way off, but moving fast. Streaks of heavy metal thunder barreled closer.

  "No one moves unless provoked," Teach called over the roar. "I don't have to remind you they may have reinforcements out of sight."

  He didn't have to remind them.

  "Fuckers," Crash growled and spat on the ground in contempt.

  "Stop that shit," Teach barked hoarsely. "We're not here to fight them." The older man looked exhausted. "We need peace."

  "Fuck peace, this is the next battle in a war," Crash protested. "Fucking bring it."

  Not before I find Emmy, J. breathed in. Let me get out of this so I can see Emmy again.

  The riders made the wide left turn, swooping into the parking lot like a flock of birds of prey. J. recognized Desmond, the president of the Storm Riders. And behind him was a face that sent his blood racing and his fists clenching.

  Wayne, the Storm Rider who had started this whole mess. The racist piece of shit who had tried to get between him and Emmy.

  J. stepped forward without realizing, his fists balled at the ready. Here was the reason his brothers were hurting right now. The fury flowed fast and strong through his veins. J. could already see his fist smashing into Wayne's sallow, sneering face.

  "Get back," Case growled, pushing J. behind him.

  "I want first hit on that fucker if it comes to it."

  "Ain't gonna come to it," Teach rumbled. "Get back."

  The red rage was coming, clouding the edge of his sight. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. No one had the power to calm him when it took over. Except one person.

  Emmy.

  And she was gone.

  Chapter One

  Emmy

  I was the only one awake.

  The darkness of the clubhouse at night was total in a way that had nothing to do with the place itself. It had everything to do with my own fear.

  Because in the darkness it was too easy to forget that it was J. asleep by my side.

  In the darkness the sleeping bulk next to me could be Robert.

  I shook my head and clenched my eyes shut, but the darkness behind my eyes was the same as the darkness outside. Both invited the terror of my own thoughts.

  In the void, my own inner darkness came out to play.

  I crouched in the corner, huddled near the heating register. The warm air blew on my naked skin and the chill eased for a moment.

  At the same time my skin flushed warm with humiliation.

  It had been four days since Robert had taken away my clothes. Four days of huddling in the penthouse, hoping each moment that he would change his mind.

  I hadn't meant to make him mad. It was still early enough in our relationship that I hadn't learned to tiptoe around him. I had only wanted company during the long day spent in the penthouse, waiting for him to com
e home. I had wanted to impress my college friends with my beautiful home and lucky new life.

  He had to remind me, he said calmly as he stuffed everything from my closet into trash bags, that all this he bought for me with his money. It was his apartment. I was his girlfriend. I wasn't to be making decisions without him.

  And then he had told me to strip.

  I balled my fists in the dark, feeling the deep soreness in my knuckles with satisfaction.

  Even the memory of Robert's shocked face as he landed on the lobby floor after I'd hit him wasn't enough to keep the bad thoughts at bay. Because he had sent a repairman to the penthouse on the second day of my punishment. When I didn't answer the call button, the repairman had come up anyway, oblivious to my scramble for safety. I had to huddle, naked and shaking, in my empty closet. He had tramped about the penthouse for hours, looking for a leak in our water line that wasn't there.

  Robert had even taken his own clothes away. He dressed at his office for the duration of my punishment.

  The entire four days.

  I shook my head in the darkness. Panic was rising in my throat again. J.'s sleeping form pressed against me, pinning me between his body and the rough plywood wall of the bunkhouse. The claustrophobic swelter of the un-airconditioned clubhouse had my whole body prickling with sweat.

  The sob of terror that tore from my throat surprised me almost as much as it shocked J.

  In an instant he was awake, his strong arm flung out over my chest, pulling me close to stop the shaking. "It's over babe," he whispered in my ear, low enough that it could have been my own thoughts.

  He was here.

  He was real.

  I was safe now.

  I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. J. never forced me to explain myself. I buried my face into his arm, and his grip on me was tight enough to shut out the darkness. I pushed away the terror as I sighed into his skin, inhaling his warm smell.

  I felt his lips on my forehead. He pressed them to my skin and held them there, sealing me with his love. We stayed like that for a long time, just clinging to each other in the dark. It was long enough for my heartbeat to slow and my rapid breathing to match his strong, sure rhythm. My hands traveled across his bare torso to rest on his chest. I felt the calm beat of his heart under my fingertips and moved my head down to press my ear to him. "I love you," I thought.

  "Love you too, babe," he sighed sleepily.

  I hadn't realized I spoke the works aloud. I had to smile as I buried myself further into his arms. The terror, banished for now outside the perimeter of his embrace, waiting patiently to grab hold of me again. It wouldn't be denied its hold on me for long.

  But his arms around me bought me just enough time to be able to fall asleep.

  Chapter Two

  Emmy

  My thoughts were too jumbled for dreams. Old memories bobbed to the surface, popping up like dolphins for air.

  I floated on the edge of sleep, remembering how Andy and I used to spend summer nights in the tent in our backyard.

  It was a treat to be out of our house just as much as it was a treat for our parents to be rid of us. Even though we were only fifty feet away from my parents' arguments, it felt worlds away.

  It was peaceful.

  Andy was the first person in my life to know how and when I needed silence. Our excited conversation would die away as the darkness settled over our tent, each of us retreating to our own private world. I would snuggle down with my head in my sleeping bag and pretend I was far away from all the turmoil of my childhood. And Andy would lie there quietly, listening to my breath as I listened to his. I would know he was there, and it was all the comfort I needed.

  No words required.

  The cool summer air would ruffle the flaps of the green tent and I would dream peaceful dreams. Until the watery light of dawn started to seep through the fabric walls.

  Most of the time it wasn't the light that would wake me. It was what happened before the light as the birds stirred to wake the dawn. The dawn chorus they called it in Girl Scouts. The stirrings and shivering of the world coming alive to greet the new day.

  If the dawn chorus of the countryside is the chirping of birds, then the dawn chorus of a biker clubhouse is the hacking cough of a smoker clearing his lungs.

  My eyes flew open in a panic. J's arms had slipped from me in the wee hours of the morning, no longer holding my terror at bay on their own. But I sighed in relief when I saw I wasn't in the penthouse.

  I was in the Sons of Steel clubhouse. And it was the morning after my whole world had exploded.

  "Fuck," Crash swore as he banged his bad leg into my cot.

  "Sorry," I apologized. J. had shoved two cots together after we had made love last night. As it was, there was barely enough room for the two of us, and what was worse was that J.'s cot now stuck out right in to the center of the bunk room. Right in Crash's way as he humped his bad leg around us to get to the bathroom.

  Case moaned as he rolled over, and I squirmed in sympathy. I couldn't imagine how much pain he was in. Cracked ribs, Doctor D. had said. He was lucky they weren't fractured all the way through. He could have ended up with a punctured lung. I felt a harsh pang of guilt in my chest when I remembered why he was in pain. The whole club had jumped in to defend J. and me. Six brave men against four times that amount. And somehow they had held their own.

  Case flopped back onto his back with a loud groan, and J. stirred next to me.

  I rolled back to face the plywood wall and closed my eyes, even though I knew sleep was futile.

  J. groaned and shifted onto his side. The sagging cot bowed in the middle and I fell into the space, flopping into him gracelessly.

  "Oof," I groaned, my words thick and muzzy with sleep. "Sorry." J. didn't move.

  There was a loud clatter and light pierced my eyeballs. I clapped my hands over my face, but J. still didn't stir. I looked at him, wondering how he managed to sleep through the growing racket. He was flopped awkwardly on his belly, arm flung over the side of the cot, fingers splayed on the floor. I was still wedged between him and the wall. My arms were pinned so closely to my sides that I was suctioned together with sweat. In spite of this he still looked ready to fall off the side.

  I lifted my head to see what the clatter was. Crash had opened the door to the bunk area on his way to the bathroom. I could see across the huge space of the attached garage to the rolltop doors. They now stood wide open to let the cool, early morning air in. The penetrating light drilled right into my eyeballs.

  I seemed destined to face east. From penthouse to clubhouse, the morning sun always found a way to fuck with me personally.

  I squinted and lifted my head further, trying not to disturb J.'s comatose form. Crash and Mac were already up. They stood just outside of the garage, ducking over their first cigarettes of the morning. The smell wafted towards me, as did the sound of muttered conversation. It rumbled too low under the noise of dawn's traffic for me to hear.

  J. shifted and overbalanced. I squeaked, but his arm flew out and caught him before his eyes could even fly open in surprise. I grabbed his shoulder from the other side and helped him haul himself back onto the cot.

  "Hey there," he blinked at me. "You doin' better?"

  "Good morning," I croaked, feeling suddenly shy. "Yeah, thank you. Things are better in the day time."

  He certainly was. The steamy heat of the clubhouse had left his bare torso coated in a fine sheen of sweat. I knew that if I bent my lips to his smooth, chocolate skin, they would come back salty and sweet.

  And since he was mine, I did just that.

  Then I licked him a little.

  Just because I could.

  "Well hey there," he chuckled, dimpling into a soft smile.

  His lips on mine were as warm and welcoming as I knew they'd be. I traced the warmth of his skin with my fingertips, letting them run along the outlines of the tattoos that mapped out the story of his life on his torso.

 
"You're really nice to touch," I said without meaning to, and then felt the flame of embarrassment heat my cheeks.

  "So are you," he whispered. I heard a cough and then the clearing of a throat. The door to the bunkhouse slammed shut with a bang and the plywood walls shook with the impact. I blushed harder but he kissed it away.

  "Wait...." I squeaked as he pulled himself on top of me. But his lips silenced my protests. He didn't care that I hadn't showered yet, hadn't brushed my teeth, hadn't brushed my hair. I was as tousled and disheveled as a person could be, but my biker didn't care one whit about that. The dance of his fingers down my belly to my warm secret place let me know exactly how little he cared about anything else.

  I sighed and pressed myself upwards into his hands, but he didn't need my direction. His fingers moved down and slid inside of me like they belonged there. I gasped as he began to move them in and out, all the while his lips moved down to meet them.

  "Why are you so good?" I groaned, rocking myself back and forth in the rhythm of my own desire.

  "You make me good," he grinned at me, his dimples deepening in his sculpted cheeks. The emerald fire of his eyes was blazing brightly. "Baby girl, you make me wanna be a better man."

  "You're already the best man I know," I protested, arching my body towards his. My brain wanted him to say more, but my body had its own ideas. I tried to sit up and meet him. I wanted to take him into my arms and explore his body with the same care and precision as he was exploring mine. But the motion of his fingers had me helpless. I weakened and fell back moaning.

  He took his cue. Kneeling above me, he thrust swiftly, sliding into the entrance that was still wet from last night's love. I wrapped my legs around him to pull him higher, deeper, to keep him right there where he belonged.