Die For Her (Steele Raiders MC)

by RB Hilliard

  Table of Contents

  Die For Her

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Other Books In This Series

  Acknowledgments

  About RB Hilliard

  Other Books By RB Hilliard

  Copyright

  Copyright © RB Hilliard, 2020

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  Warning: This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Names, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any similarities to real persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editor—Christian Brose

  Personal Assistant—Natalie Weston

  Proofing—Roxane Leblanc

  Cover designer—Just write. Creations and Services

  Cover model—Darrin James Dedmon

  Photographer—JW Photography and Covers

  Formatting—CP Smith

  Chapter One

  Three months earlier. . .

  LAUGHTER GREETED STEELE as he stepped inside Salvatore’s restaurant. The sound—somewhere between a bray and a hee-haw—reminded him of a dying animal. His lips twitched in amusement as he thought about how many times he’d heard that awful sound. Too many to count.

  Plush purple carpet absorbed his steps as he moved further inside. A waitress carrying a tray of food passed by him, the savory aroma of onion and garlic trailing behind her, and it took everything in him not to turn around and walk back out the door. More laughter erupted from the bar area. He ignored it. His focus was directed at the dining room, his eyes fixed on a familiar corner booth. Funny how something so small once felt so big—big enough to hold a family of four—big enough to accommodate plates piled with delicious foods, a pitcher of soda, several beers, and either a glass of wine or one of Donny’s famous Italian martinis. He closed his eyes, as if to shut them out, but the memories kept rolling. Family dinners when he was a kid. Coveted time at the bar with his dad as he got older. Nights drinking with his brothers after earning his patch. They played through his brain in technicolor, those golden moments when he was too young to appreciate what he had and too stupid to realize it wouldn’t last. He would give anything to have those days back again.

  “Arlan, is that you?” a familiar voice called out.

  He took one last glance at the booth before shifting his gaze to the man standing behind the bar. Donny Salvatore, owner of one of the best Italian restaurants in Austin—and the guy with the world’s most obnoxious laugh—was one of Steele’s dad’s oldest friends. Donny and Grizz had gone to grade school together. He’d been a lifelong friend of the club. To Steele and his brother, Carver, he’d been more. Donny and his wife, Silvia, had been like family. Surprise blazed through him as he stared at the once formidable giant of a man. A man who’d played tag with the kids in the parking lot. A man who could drop and do a hundred push-ups on command. Donny’s once black hair was now streaked with gray, and his muscled body had become a bunch of sallow, sagging skin. Steele’s gut twisted. How long had it been since they’d seen each other?

  “Figlio, it is you!” Donny exclaimed, the wrinkles on his face shifting with his smile.

  Guilt flooded him as he made his way to the bar and held out his hand. “Donny, it’s been awhile.” Eyes bright with emotion, Donny took Steele’s hand and jerked him in for a bone-crushing hug.

  Fucking hell. Steele hated this shit. He hated that he’d neglected Donny, but especially hated the reminder of what he’d lost.

  “Four years is too long,” Donny whispered, his voice quivering against Steele’s ear.

  Shame ballooned inside Steele’s chest. Four years? Had it been that long? His dad would’ve been disappointed in him.

  “I’m sorry, Donny, I should have checked in on you.”

  Donny gave him a teeth-jarring clap on the back. “Bah, you’re a busy man. You have a club to run now.”

  And just like that, Steele was excused. Feeling like a world-class prick, he made a mental note to do better.

  “Now, sit and tell me why you’re here,” Donny barked, motioning to the stool in front of him. “Silvia misses you, you know, and Pietro, you wouldn’t believe how much he’s grown. What are you drinking? It’s on the house.”

  Steele knew exactly how much Petey Salvatore had grown. In fact, that’s why he was here.

  “I’m not here to drink. I need to talk to you about Petey.”

  The old man visibly stiffened. Their eyes met and understanding passed between them. Donny knew. His son had fucked up, and this wasn’t the first time. Shoulders slumping, he let out a defeated sigh. Steele had guessed the little shit had been giving Donny trouble, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He should have kicked Petey’s ass instead of bothering Donny.

  “Please, sit,” Donny repeated. “Once I get LuLu squared away, I’ll grab you a beer and we’ll talk.”

  Steele took a seat while Donny shuffled his way to the woman sitting at the end of the bar. He could make out her long, dark hair and red shirt but that was about it. His stool gave a loud groan as he swiveled around to inspect the room. His mom used to bitch about Silvia’s lack of taste. A smile ghosted his lips as he scanned over the gold and purple striped walls, purple carpet, purple tablecloths, and orange and gold napkins. He could see why. Salvatore’s looked more like a whorehouse than a restaurant.

  “A few years back, we had a leak that ruined the wood floors. Silvia insisted on getting carpet. Other than that, not much has changed since you were last here.” The balloon of guilt expanded as Steele swiveled back to the bar and took the beer from Donny’s outstretched hand. “Now, tell me, what my son has done?”

  Steele took a drink of his beer and thought about what to say. His dad would have finessed it, made it seem less than what it was, but that wasn’t Steele’s style. Finessing left room for interpretation. He preferred direct, that way, everyone was on the same page.

  “Petey got into a fight at one of our clubs last night. This is the third time in the past six months. The first two were minor and got him a talking-to. This one, I can’t ignore.”

  Frowning, Donny asked, “Pietro’s been hanging at your clubs? Why didn’t I know about this?”

  Steele shrugged. He wasn�
��t the kid’s keeper and really didn’t give a damn. He just wanted the bullshit to stop. “Last night he did five grand worth of damage. Because you’re a friend to the club, a friend to me, I let the first two incidents slide. I’m sorry to bring his shit to your doorstep, but it’s become clear to us that Petey has a problem. Before teaching him a lesson, I wanted to talk to you.”

  As expected, this set Donny off. Steele was thinking that curse words sounded better in Italian, when a sultry, feminine voice called out, “Everything okay down there?”

  As if a switch had been flipped, Donny swallowed his rant. His eyes jerked to the end of the bar, his mouth curling up into a beaming smile. “Everything is wonderful, Figlia. Are you done with your dinner?”

  The woman nodded. “Thank you, Donny. It was great, as usual.”

  She may have been talking to Donny but her eyes were on him, no doubt wondering who in the hell he was and why he was harassing the old man.

  “Oh, mi dispiace, where are my manners?” Donny exclaimed. “Luciana, this is Arlan. Arlan, this is our sweet LuLu.”

  Other than his parents, Donny and Silvia were the only two people to call him by his first name. He opened his mouth to correct Donny, to tell him he now went by Steele, but to them, he was Arlan, son of Grizz and Vicky—the kid who used to do his homework at their bar. The boy who drank cokes, told stupid jokes, and begged patrons to play games with him. If he asked them to stop now, he’d be severing those ties between who he was and who he’d become. He wasn’t sure he liked who he’d become.

  Luciana’s “Nice to meet you” pulled him back from his thoughts. Jesus, he was tired.

  His focus turned to the woman sitting at the end of the bar. She looked like a Luciana and not a LuLu. LuLu was a club girl’s name, and he could tell just by looking at her that she was about as far from a club girl as it got.

  Donny pointed at the stool where Steele was sitting, and in an animated voice, said, “You two probably don’t know this, but your fathers knew each other. They used to sit right here and harass me. The three of us had a lot of laughs together.”

  Luciana smiled. Steele did not. His dad was dead, and he was here on business, not to reminisce about the good old days.

  “That’s sweet. What’s your dad’s name?” she called out.

  Cursing under his breath, he curtly answered, “His name was Grizz. He’s dead now.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Her quiet response made him feel like a dick. Before he could apologize—something he rarely did but felt he should—her phone rang.

  She answered with a husky, “Hello,” and Steele and his lack of manners were dismissed.

  Donny gave him a disapproving look before announcing, “She needs more wine.”

  As Steele watched him shuffle to the back room, he decided it was time to leave. He’d come here to tell Donny about Petey. The message had been delivered, and now he was free to go. He was contemplating how to go about this when Donny reappeared with a bottle of wine in hand. Instead of taking it to Luciana, he doddered back to Steele, and with a loud thunk, he dropped the damn thing on the bar, barely missing Steele’s hand.

  Steele shot him an icy look. “Problem?”

  “LuLu is a nice girl,” he clipped, before whipping out the wine opener and jabbing it into the cork.

  “Look, Donny—”

  “No, you look. I get that you miss your dad. I miss him, too, but to take it out on that sweet woman—” he finished the rest of his sentence in Italian.

  “This isn’t a social visit. I came to talk about Petey.”

  Donny acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “Her father lost his battle with cancer last year.” Fuck, this is exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “They came here for dinner every Tuesday and Thursday, rain or shine. When he died, I thought she’d disappear—like you did. That we’d never see her again, but she kept coming. You know why? Because she’s a good girl, our LuLu is.”

  Point taken. Donny was upset with him. He wasn’t trying to be a dick; he just didn’t want to talk about his dad. He wasn’t here to drink, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be taken on a trek down memory lane.

  In an attempt to redirect the conversation, he said, “About Petey—”

  The cork came free with a loud pop, and Donny sighed. “I’ll deal with Petey. I’ll make sure he personally delivers your money to you. When he does, please do me the favor of explaining to him what will happen if he returns to your clubs. He won’t listen to me, but he will to you.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Steele challenged.

  “Then you’ll have to do as you see fit.”

  Steele’s brows shot up in disbelief. “And you’re okay with that?”

  “My son has been extremely impulsive lately. I try to talk to him, but he won’t listen. I think a warning from you might do the trick. If it doesn’t and you have to use force, then you have to use force. Thank you for bringing this to me, Figlio. Your father raised a good son.”

  Relieved they’d finally reached an understanding, Steele pushed back from the bar and stood. As a concession, he said, “How about I drop by for dinner next week?”

  Donny smiled. “Silvia and I would love that. Before you go, I need to ask a favor of you.”

  Thinking he was going to ask for protection—something Steele would happily grant at a deeply discounted price—he told Donny to name it.

  “I see you eyeing my LuLu. Here’s a glass of her favorite Chardonnay. My legs are aching from being on my feet for so long. Do an old man a favor and take it to her.”

  “I have to go, Donny.”

  “It’s only a glass of wine, now be a good boy and humor me.”

  Fucking hell. Steele grabbed the glass of wine and headed for the woman at the opposite end of the bar, the whole time wondering how he’d managed to get himself into this mess. As he placed the glass in front of her, she flashed him a questioning look. Jesus, those eyes, he thought, before muttering, “Donny’s legs are broken, and apparently his hands aren’t working either.”

  A throaty laugh flew from her lips. It was a sultry, carefree sound that shot straight to his cock. “You’ve got to give it to the old guy, he’s got spunk,” she murmured, her eyes dancing with humor.

  Steele studied her as she took a sip of wine. If he had to guess, he would say she was somewhere in her late twenties to early thirties. Wearing minimal makeup, her deep-set eyes—more golden than brown—were framed by black-as-night lashes. This, along with her high cheekbones and full lips, gave her an exotic look.

  Those full lips taunted him with a sweet smile. “Thanks for playing delivery boy. Donny is a kind man.” Steele couldn’t stop staring at her. She had a rare beauty that was both understated and organic. He would even call it alluring.

  “Donny is a pain in the ass.”

  She laughed. “True, but he means well. By the way, sorry if I hit a nerve earlier.”

  “Earlier?” He had no idea what she was talking about.

  “When I asked about your dad.”

  His eyes roamed from her red blouse, down to her bronze-colored legs peeking out from her short, black skirt, and paused on her sexy red and black heels. There was nothing hotter than a woman in heels. What were they talking about? Oh yeah, his dad.

  “Yeah, I don’t like talking about my dad.”

  A look of sympathy sprang to her face. “Trust me; I get it. My dad died last year. Please tell me it gets easier.”

  He considered lying to her, but what would be the point? Death fucking sucked. “No. You just get better at dealing with it.” A look of disappointment appeared on her face, and he felt sorry for her. That first year after Grizz’s death was pure hell. In an attempt to change the subject, he nodded to the messenger bag sitting on the bar next to her. “A working dinner, I take it?”

  “Pretty much. I just got back from a two-day conference and was trying to play catch up.” Before he could ask what she did for a living, she told him. “I’m the school counselor at Jas
per High School. Right now, they have me doubling up as the college advisor, which is why I was at the conference.” Steele gave her a disbelieving look, then broke into laughter. “Hey, don’t laugh. I’m a kick-ass counselor, just ask my students.”

  “I have no doubt you’re good at your job, sweetheart, I just wish you’d been my high school counselor. I got an old fucker with a bad attitude.”

  She laughed again. “Mine was a woman who hated kids.”

  “Bet those boys line up outside your office, just waiting for some ‘good advice’,” he teased.

  “Stop,” she said, her face flushing a pretty shade of red. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”

  “By the color of your face, I’d say it’s working.” This got him an eye roll.

  Steele’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was the second time in a fifteen-minute period. Duty called. “Excuse me for a minute. My phone is blowing up in my pocket, and I need to make sure it’s not an emergency.”

  She waved him off. “Good, it’ll give me a minute to recover from such witty repartee.”

  He smiled at her smart-ass response. “Someone’s pulling out the big words.”

  Laughing at her scowl, he moved back from the bar. He had two missed calls. When he saw who they were from, he groaned. Karma had fucked him in the ass when it gave him Jake Espinoza as a VP. The guy was worthless. Taking a deep breath, he scrolled to Jake’s number and was about to hit call, when his gaze drifted over to Luciana. Her head was tilted back, and her eyes were closed, her delicately feminine fingers gripping the stem of the wine glass as it kissed her perfect lips. He followed the smooth line of her throat as she swallowed the sip of wine. Great, he was going to talk to Jake while sporting a massive boner. Tearing his eyes away, he quickly adjusted himself and pressed the button.

  Jake picked up on the third ring, and in that asshole tone that Steele fucking hated, asked, “Where you at?”

  “This had better be an emergency.”

  “What?” Jake sputtered.

  Speaking slowly, as if talking to a complete idiot, Steele said, “You’ve been blowing up my phone for the last half hour, what’s the emergency?”