Bronze (Blackwings MC - Devil Springs Book 5)

by Teagan Brooks

  Fuck! I was a goner.

  After tossing and turning for at least fifteen minutes, I picked up my phone and sent her a text.

  Bronze: Tell me about the story you’re writing right now.

  Sloane: That’s creepy AF. How do you now I’m writing right now?

  Bronze: Because you just told me. I meant currently.

  Sloane: Um…did I ever tell you what kind of books I write?

  Bronze: No, I don’t think you did. What kind?

  The dots on my screen bounced for several seconds before they disappeared for twice as long. She continued to repeat this pattern until I replied again.

  Bronze: You must be embarrassed to tell me…Is it amphibian shifter romance? Or maybe snuff smut?

  Sloane: Wait. How do you know about those genres?

  Bronze: I volunteer/work in a bookstore. I know way more than I ever wanted to know about the different kinds of books.

  Sloane: Are you genre shaming?

  Bronze: I’m going to say no since I don’t know what that is.

  Sloane: Basically, it’s judging someone for what they’re reading.

  Bronze: Uh, this seems like a hot topic. And no, I wasn’t judging.

  Sloane: It kinda is in the book world.

  Bronze: The only hot topic I’m interested in is you.

  Bronze: What do you write?

  Sloane: Erotica

  I damn near choked when I read her reply. Books weren’t typically my thing, but erotica written by her was definitely something I wanted to read.

  Bronze: Do you use a pen name?

  Sloane: Yes.

  Bronze: What is it?

  Sloane: S.C. Lorcan.

  Bronze: You used your dad’s first name as your last name? Lol.

  Sloane: I did it to piss him off.

  Bronze: I’m guessing the S is for Sloane, but what’s the C for?

  Sloane: It’s my mother’s first name, Caitlyn.

  Perfect. I searched her name and clicked on the first retailer link I found.

  Sloane: Let me know which book you were going to buy. I’ll send it to you instead.

  Bronze: Now whose being creepy AF?

  Sloane: I’ve had this conversation many, many times before.

  Bronze: Not something I needed to know.

  Sloane: I meant with friends and family, you giant alpha-hole.

  Bronze: You say alpha-hole like it’s a bad thing.

  Bronze: What story are you working on? What’s it about?

  Sloane: It’s about a live-in nanny who gets herself into a lot of debt and has to ask her boss for the money to keep from being arrested and sent to jail.

  Bronze: How is that erotica?

  Sloane: Because he agrees to loan her the money and let her repay her debt with her body.

  Bronze: Sounds hot.

  Sloane: Erotica kinda has to be.

  Bronze: What happens to the nanny?

  Sloane: I don’t know. I haven’t finished writing it yet.

  Bronze: You have plenty of inspiration from last night.

  Sloane: Oh, I don’t write about my own experiences. I watch porn for that.

  Bronze: You watch porn?

  Sloane: Yes. Is that a problem?

  Bronze: Fuck no! Every man dreams of finding a woman who likes porn.

  Sloane: I watch it for work.

  Bronze: Best excuse ever.

  Sloane: So, uh, random…my brothers don’t know Paige is our sibling. Neither does my dad. If you could not say anything about it, I’d appreciate it.

  Bronze: My lips are sealed.

  Sloane: Thanks.

  Damn it. I was hard from just texting with her. I wanted nothing more than to rub one out and fall asleep, but one glance at my sleeping daughter was all it took to put a halt to my plans. Closing my eyes, I exhaled slowly, intending to get up and start a load of Blue’s laundry before she woke up. But I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until I heard Blue crying a couple of hours later.

  The next morning, I woke up an hour before Blue, which was unusual since I used her as an alarm clock. But I knew the reason behind it. I had some business to take care of, and I was apparently more excited about it than I thought.

  Once we arrived at the gym, I got Blue settled and started my morning routine. It felt like the few hours before lunch lasted forever. But when the clock struck twelve, I dropped Blue off at the bookstore for her lunch date with Auntie Josie and Uncle Luke. Then, I went to the clubhouse for my own lunch date with Copper.

  On most days, a handful of brothers and Old Ladies ate lunch at the clubhouse. When I pulled into the forecourt, I was pleased to see more than a few bikes and cars in the lot, but I grinned from ear to ear when I saw Layla’s car.

  I entered the common room and went straight for the food like I always did. But instead of joining Copper, I walked over to Leigh and Layla. Placing my plate on the table, I dropped a kiss on top of Layla’s head and arched an eyebrow at my brother.

  His eyes narrowed when they met mine, and he got to his feet. “The fuck are you—”

  The words died on his lips when my fist made contact with his deceptive mouth.

  Copper roared in anger and started to lunge for me but froze in his tracks when Layla stepped between us—just like I knew she would. “Stop!” she cried. I hated to upset her, but I knew she could make Copper pay for his sins in ways that I couldn’t.

  “Move, Locks! Baby Brother’s about to get his ass kicked.”

  Judge appeared out of nowhere and managed to take Layla’s place, effectively moving her out of the way without her even realizing it. “What in the hell is going on?” he demanded.

  I stepped back with my hands held up. “I’m good.”

  “Until I get my hands on you! What the fuck, Bronze?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I held his stare. “You tell me what the fuck, Copper. Explain to me why you took it upon yourself to threaten Sloane and scare her away when I specifically asked you to tell her I’d be in touch with her in another day or two. Better yet, explain it to them because I don’t want to fucking hear it right now!”

  With that, I turned on my heels and drove back to the gym to finish out my day knowing that Copper would spend the rest of his day dealing with his angry wife. I also knew a riff with us would eat at him until it was resolved, but I felt like he deserved to suffer for at least a night. Because he stole three months from me.

  The next time I heard from Sloane, a few days had passed, and I didn’t know what to think when I read her message.

  Sloane: What kind of animal would be attracted to a rotting human body in the forest? Like to eat it.

  Bronze: Should I be worried?

  Sloane: Lol! It’s for my book.

  Bronze: Is this what happened to the nanny?

  Sloane: Gasp! No! I finished the nanny and started working on my next story.

  Bronze: And it involves animals eating dead bodies?

  Sloane: Yes! A photographer witnessed something she shouldn’t have and ends up in the witness protection program. Things get heated during the six months she spends at the safe house with the two agents.

  Bronze: She gets with both of them?

  Sloane: Eh…I haven’t decided yet. She might, or maybe one will just watch.

  Bronze: I’m glad that’s not weird for you.

  Sloane: What’s not?

  Bronze: Writing scenes like that.

  Sloane: Why would it be weird?

  Bronze: Because of my relationship with Heidi and Paige…

  Sloane: Eek! Never mind. Yes, she’ll get with both of them.

  I found myself reacting to a situation in a different way than I would have before Blue was born. Maybe it was because the subject we were discussing was indirectly related to Blue. Whatever it was, I heard the hidden message in her words and felt the need to address her concerns without making her feel more uncomfortable.

  Bronze: Too close to home?

  Sloane: Yeah, I think so.
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  Bronze: Not something I would normally do, but given the circumstances, if you ever want to discuss them and me, just say the word.

  Sloane: I think I’ll pass on the details.

  Bronze: Not what I meant and you know it.

  Sloane: Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather drop it for now.

  Bronze: Done.

  While I was waiting for her to reply, Savior had arrived at the gym and was ready to start sparring. When I first got into the ring with him, well over a year—maybe two—ago, it was immediately obvious that he had an unrefined talent. Since then, we’d been sparring at least three times a week—when we weren’t recovering from unrelated injuries. We went at it hard when we were in the ring, but neither one of us ever intended to hurt the other.

  Savior was quick on his feet and kept his hands up to guard his body, which left me with very few opportunities to strike. He was a great sparring partner for me, but Coal and Grant were proving to be worthy opponents as well.

  I chuckled to myself as the thought of putting together a team of fighters for the gym briefly entered my mind. Of course, no one in the club was interested in getting involved in any illegal moneymaking endeavors. We’d have to make it a legit team. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t saints by any means, but crossing the line of the law for profit was where we drew the line.

  From the time Copper and I were old enough to add and subtract, Grandpa repeatedly stressed the importance of keeping the club’s money legal. “We have a good reputation in this town, and when the day comes for you boys to lead the club, it’ll be on your shoulders to maintain what I’ve spent many years of my life building.” We’d discussed it on numerous occasions, between ourselves as well as with the club officers, and we were all in agreement about upholding Grandpa Talon’s legacy.

  The next time I heard from Sloane, it was three days later—the same amount of time she waited between the first and second time she texted me.

  Sloane: I have another book-related question.

  Bronze: Shoot.

  Sloane: Funny you should say that. Can a gun be fired after it has been submerged in water? Like dropped in a lake.

  Bronze: The gun? Yes. The ammunition? Depends on how long it was submerged. A few minutes would probably be okay, but after a few hours, water will get inside the casing and make the bullets useless.

  Sloane: Thanks!

  Bronze: You know you can text me without using a question as an opening.

  Sloane: Guess that means I’m busted for being socially awkward.

  Bronze: You’re not socially awkward. Maybe a little quirky. Definitely sexy. Hot as fuck, actually.

  Sloane: What are we doing?

  Bronze: Not charming you, apparently.

  Sloane: You know what I meant.

  Bronze: What do you want us to be doing?

  Sloane: I just want to clarify whatever it is.

  Bronze: Because of what happened last time.

  Sloane: Maybe.

  Bronze: I’m not seeing anyone else. And haven’t since I met you. I wasn’t planning on getting involved with anyone until my daughter is a little older.

  Sloane: Understood.

  Bronze: And then you were at my fight.

  Sloane: I was there to see my brother.

  Bronze: Doesn’t matter. I saw you. And I wasn’t going to let you get away again.

  Sloane: I didn’t get away last time.

  Bronze: Stop fucking up my game, woman.

  Sloane: Fine, woo me with your words.

  Bronze: I can’t now. The moment’s over.

  19

  It was the day of Bronze’s fight, and I was a nervous wreck. I’d spent the majority of the two weeks since the last time I saw him writing until my fingers were too sore to type anymore. I’d completed over half of the short stories I needed to write for the upcoming collection scheduled to be released next month. However, what I hadn’t done during those two weeks was anything more than shower and brush my teeth.

  One glance at my phone had my heart rate immediately increasing because I wasn’t sure I had enough hours left in the day to do all of the grooming necessary to make me presentable by the time he arrived. On top of that, I was running out of time to ask him the one question I’d been working all week to build up the courage to ask.

  I typed out the message, deleted it, retyped it, deleted it, and finally sent it after I typed it for the third time. With my eyes squeezed tightly shut, I tapped send, tossed my phone on the bed, and ducked under the covers to hide while I plugged my ears. I wouldn’t know if he did or didn’t respond if I couldn’t see or hear my phone, right?

  Sloane: Are you staying at the same hotel as last time?

  Wrong. My plan would have worked if my ringer was turned on. Instead, I felt the vibration from his reply. With my eyes still closed, I blindly groped around for my phone and pulled it under the covers with me when I found it.

  Bronze: They have the best cookies.

  Sloane: Is that a yes?

  Bronze: Have you been paying any attention to me?

  Sloane: It’s impossible not to.

  Bronze: Good answer. Why’d you ask about the hotel?

  Sloane: Well, I was thinking you could stay at my place if you wanted to.

  Bronze: That works. Can you stop by the hotel and pick up my cookies before the fight? They’re supposed to have two dozen boxed up for me.

  Sloane: Are you serious?

  Bronze: They have the best cookies.

  Sloane: That’s not an acceptable answer to every question.

  Bronze: Blasphemy.

  Sloane: So, I’ll pick up your cookies and meet you at the club?

  Several minutes passed with no response from him. I started to get nervous, thinking maybe he’d changed his mind about seeing me again when my phone dinged.

  Bronze: No. Change of plans. There’s no need for you to go to the club. I don’t like the idea of you going by yourself anyway. Text me your address. I’ll pick up my cookies and come to your place after the fight.

  At one time, a request for my address would have sent me into a tizzy. My parents didn’t allow me to have random friends over whenever I wanted. I had to clear it with them first and give them plenty of advanced notice so they could make sure none of my father’s business dealings would be happening in or around our home. Apparently, I was still accustomed to living that way even though I hadn’t resided in the same house as my father for many years.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I blew it out slowly and started typing my address while reassuring myself that it wouldn’t be a problem. Bronze was well aware of who my family was. He could easily find out where I lived by doing a simple real estate record search.

  Sloane: What time should I expect you?

  Bronze: Probably around midnight.

  His guess proved to be correct. The house phone rang a little after twelve, startling me from the catnap I was taking. “Ms. O’Shea, there’s a Bronze Black at the gate to see you,” the guard on duty said.

  “Thank you, Dickerson. Please allow him through and give him directions to the front entry to my wing.” After years of living in my own section of the house, I was still uncomfortable referring to it as my “wing,” but I didn’t know what else to call it. Basically, the mega-mansion consisted of three individual houses connected together, with the one in the middle being over twice the size of the other two. I lived on one side, and Tiernan occasionally lived on the other side.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dickerson said slowly. I could only imagine what he was thinking about the biker arriving at the gate after midnight. Chuckling to myself, I shrugged it off and headed downstairs. I honestly didn’t care what Dickerson or anyone else thought about anything I did.

  Opening the door before he knocked, I was anxious to get my eyes on him and see how he was after the match. Even though the rational part of me knew he wouldn’t have driven to my house if he was hurt, the emotional part of me needed to see that for myself. “How w
as your fight?”

  He frowned. “Same as the last two times. Over in less than a minute. I didn’t even break a sweat during this match.”

  I gestured for him to come inside. “You sound disappointed.”

  He exhaled slowly. “I for damn sure don’t want to lose, but I’d like a challenge. I want to win, but I want to fight for it.”