Chrome: With a Heart Forged in Steele (Carolina Bad #4)

by Rie Warren

  “Fuck you. Why aren’t you rebuilding that engine for the Softail that came in yesterday?” I took off my jacket, hung it beside the door.

  “And I ask again: whose tail did you tap? Because you were whistling and you never whistle.”

  Brodie. Pain in my ass. Almost worse than me when nosing out information.

  We’d never been able to keep secrets from one another.

  “Aaand how the hell did you manage to get boned after last night?” His eyebrows rose in expectation.

  “I did not get boned. Now shut it. And what are you guys doing instead of working . . . again?”

  “Not each other.” Lucy giggled.

  “You two are fucking impossible.” I rolled up my shirtsleeves.

  “Yup.” Brodie shamelessly confirmed.

  Just for that, I took up the whistling as I moseyed to my office.

  “By the way, we’re downloading Candy Crush Saga 1.57!” Brodie. Annoying shit.

  I silently flipped up two middle fingers.

  Yep. We were totally professional. Good thing Chrome and Steele Auto Parts was a family-run operation and we could pretty much do what we wanted. Good thing we actually knew what we were doing and had built an excellent reputation.

  The business my dad had started now belonged to the three of us siblings. Cat was the salesperson, being the most professional among us. Brodie was a master of custom and detailed work. He was relegated to the garage because he wasn’t suitable to be around other people.

  I was the numbers dude. I liked the neatness and the consistency of math and accounting. Nothing to surprise me. Nothing to shock me. Nothing to unbalance me.

  That was how my life had been for a very long time. Until Rayce. She’d done more than surprise and unbalance me.

  She’d fucking shocked me back to life.

  I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted any other woman.

  By the end of the day that seemed to go on and on, I couldn’t look at another goddamn spreadsheet without feeling like I was gonna crawl right out of my skin. Numbers danced in front of my eyes, making no sense whatsoever.

  I just wanted to get out of there and head back to Rayce.

  I even thought about keeping her dirt bike hostage just so she’d have to continue to rely on me for transportation.

  Maybe I could tie her up to my bed until she openly admitted her attraction to me.

  That idea had some merit. It also made me painfully hard in my pants, imagining her naked body with those ridiculously ripe curves all mine for the taking. Mine to lick and suck and bite until she came all over my face and fingers. Mine to fuck deep and hard and fast until she shattered apart all over my cock.

  I slammed the laptop shut then gripped my dick through my pants. Lucy and Brodie did not need Boomer’s boner bonus material to keep up their running hahaha commentary at my expense.

  The thick stick in my pants finally going half-mast, I made a quick dash to the john to clean up before leaving.

  A splash of water on my face.

  A rinse of mouthwash from the bottle stashed in the cupboard.

  A quick check of my appearance. My shoulders filled out the seams of my blue dress shirt like my dick wanted to fill out my gray-colored pants. Short stubble created a black shadow on my jaw.

  I wished I had some of that nice cologne I’d used for Cat’s beachside reception.

  Then I dropped my hands to the edge of the sink and groaned.

  Here I was, thirty-one, and standing in a bathroom worrying about what I looked like.

  Christ. I knew it. I’d grown ovaries overnight to go with the new vagina.

  Out in the front room I put on my jacket in stiff silence while the hecklers grinned conspiratorially at me.

  Brodie’s parting comment, “Go get her, tiger!” earned him an exaggerated stroking motion of my fist.

  “Yeah.” He snickered. “You’ve had enough practice doing that.”

  Douchebreath.

  Must’ve been about quitting time at Stone’s when I showed up again. The parking lot was mostly empty, and all but one of the bay doors had been closed down for the night. I unloaded Rayce’s bike and sat her helmet and goggles on the seat, listening to the soft sound filtering outside from the garage.

  The noise wasn’t the usual hum of high-powered tools or the clank of metal on metal, but a throaty female voice singing a sultry bluesy tune. I followed it by instinct, the woman’s voice dipping and rising, beguiling me.

  Turning the corner, I momentarily lost the ability to do anything other than stare. Rayce was in the bay, alone, rocking her shoulders as she sang. Her back was to me as she crouched next to a new crotch rocket.

  She seemed completely recovered from last night’s trauma and the morning’s incidents and was in full wrench-wench mode, and holy shit could she sing.

  I must’ve made a noise—probably the groan of a man who wanted nothing more than to strip her naked and give her some good loving—because Rayce whipped around with her hand pressed to her heart.

  “Holy crap!” She flicked up her chin. “You scared me.”

  I tried to think of something to say, but I was too busy trying to keep my eyes in my head at that point. She’d ditched the coveralls and was in the tight jeans she’d had on in the morning. Apparently she’d ditched the black tank top, too, in favor of a white one.

  Yeah. A white one with no bra because her nipples looked like pink smudges in the center of her way-more-than-a-handful tits.

  I growled.

  “Hello, caveman.” She placed her hand on her jutting hip.

  “When did you change your top?” Standing with my arms crossed over my chest, I coasted my gaze down her body then up again, firmly settling on her unfettered beauties.

  “When did you revert to being a Neanderthal?”

  She was back to full ballbuster mode.

  I liked it. Liked it so much I decided to bait her.

  Instead of answering her, I strolled around the red and white Honda CRF 250 X. “New project?”

  “This is a recovery.”

  She had that right. She was gonna have to Frankenstein the twisted aluminum frame back to life. It was nothing like the other bike I’d seen—not her enduro but the Gas Gas strictly motocross, hardcore trial dirt bike waxed to a brilliant red, white, and black sheen.

  “I need a back-up in case I total the TXT.” She huffed one blue-streaked strand of hair from her face.

  I flinched at the mention of crashing, but quickly shoved that old pain away.

  Smirking, I dragged my fingers up her bare arms. “Need a hand with anything on it, little missy?”

  “Little missy!” she spluttered, jerking beyond my reach. “Seriously?” Her eyes blazed like lethal fires. “I’m about to go pissy with a steel toe cap to your scrotal sac!” She stomped her boot.

  I laughed uproariously. Shit, it felt good messing around with her.

  “You are not funny,” she muttered.

  Turning her back on me, she tightened down the screws on the carburetor, continuing to fume. “Probably too old to even ride a bike let alone know how to fix one . . .”

  Quietly walking up behind her, I folded my forearms around her waist, over her tummy. I let out a low rumble of a sound when I pulled her into the cradle of my groin where my heavy cock pulsed strongly.

  Rayce’s breath hitched as my forearms brushed the undersides of her tits.

  “Actually, princess,” I spoke roughly into her ear. “Pretty sure I could run laps”—licking the side of her neck up to her jaw, I paused with my lips pressed against her—“around guys half my age.”

  I grinded against her, my fingers grazing the undersides of her breasts. Her nipples rose into stiff buds.

  “Can you feel what I have to give you?” I sucked the skin of her neck.

  Her ass circled against me. “I never doubted you were a big boy.”

  I sank down so my rigid cock rode right against her rear end, and she tossed her head back wit
h a moan. With my hand on her belly, I pressed her harder against me. For a moment, we stood like that. Sexy, almost-fucking in the middle of Stone’s Garage. No sound but her moans and my grunts.

  She turned abruptly and clutched my shirt in both hands. She arched into me, and more heat surged inside my cock.

  “You wanna see me naked?” she asked.

  “Yes.” My jaw tensed and I buried my fingers in her hair.

  “You might wanna ask me out on a date or two first.” She nimbly ducked away from me, leaving me holding nothing but air.

  “See, I’m old-fashioned like that, somethin’ you should know about me.” She closed her tool chest and gathered her jacket and backpack while I watched, dumbstruck.

  “Close your mouth, Boomer.” She laughed.

  “Actually, his real name’s Harold.” Stone chose that precise moment to appear.

  “Yeah? And yours is Pain In My Ass,” I slung back at him the same time my block-like fist hit him in the ribs.

  “Harold?” Rayce’s nose scrunched up, exactly how I felt about my real first name. “Harold. Huh. Guess that works for an old man.”

  Aaaand she laughed again.

  With that she sauntered away.

  “Damn.” I leaned a little to watch that ass sway. I couldn’t even figure out what the hell had just happened here.

  All I knew was Rayce was hot.

  I stood there grinning when I should’ve been glaring at Stone until I called out, “You’re welcome for your bike, princess!”

  “Thank you, Boomer,” came her sweet reply from somewhere out in the dark parking lot.

  Chapter Five

  Racy Rayce

  HUNTER HAD COME UP with one hell of a cockamamie idea. Cockamamie. Jesus. That was what our mom had said whenever Brodie fixated on another harebrained scheme like giving Cat rides in his little red wagon before she was old enough to sit up.

  But back to Hunter and his very own off-the-wall plan . . . wellll. Turned out when you lived most of your adult life outrunning danger, outgunning bad guys, then found the woman you wanted to settle down with, you wouldn’t let anything stand in your way. Especially when her life had been threatened because of you. Apparently you grew a big set of brass balls, too.

  A week or so after the motherfucking MC Muerte raid, Hunter Angelo-no-longer-Sexton was instated as full Vice Detective in the Mt. Pleasant Police Department. That made two of our own who were fully legit: Hunter joining my almost sister-in-law Ashe on the force.

  But that wasn’t the fucked up idea. Nope.

  Detective Hunter Angelo decided to throw a surprise wedding for JB—Jessica—the Ducati Queen.

  And he enlisted the MC’s help.

  I sat slack-jawed while he laid out his plan to Tuck, Cole, Tail, Brodie, Handsome, and me.

  Brodie hunched forward. “Wait. You mean you haven’t even asked her yet?”

  “No. That’s bad, huh?” Hunter’s gold eyes turned black-dark as he cracked his knuckles.

  I skidded my chair closer to Hunter. “You know what? I think we’ve got just the right person for the job.” I glanced at Tucker who gave me the affirmative. “What else do you need us to do, my man?”

  Turned out he needed a venue.

  No brainer.

  The unofficial nuptials would take place at the Church of Retribution.

  He needed a party planner. Lucy was FaceTimed immediately and totally on board. Hell, if the lady could spend half her time in a Candy Crush face-off with Brodie, she could squander a few in-between hours wedding planning. Besides, she was good with the details, which was why we’d hired her in the first place.

  “She’ll need a dress.” Hunter shut his eyes, smiling wickedly. When he looked up, he stared at me. “Think Rayce would help take care of that?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “You contacting her, or me?”

  I gulped down a burning shot of whiskey. “Think you better.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “Boom stutters whenever he’s around her. That’s why.” Brodie stroked his goatee.

  I wrestled him from his chair and strong-armed him to the floor. “Say it again, bro.” I wrenched his neck in a headlock hold.

  Just like the old days.

  I grinned.

  Coletrane guffawed.

  “Some fucking wedding planners,” Hunter groaned.

  “Break it up, kids.” Only Tuck had the nerve to clutch me by the back of my neck and Brodie by the tip of his ear, hauling us to our feet.

  The barrel-bellied man with the wiry gray hair and the perfectly tipped handlebar mustache had been our father figure since our dad died. Cat, Brodie, and I had all been of legal age, but we’d still lost our way. He’d guided us with stern words, gruff love, a big heart. He’d been my dad’s best bud for more than two decades.

  Without him, without Retribution, I didn’t know how we would’ve turned out.

  Brodie and I straightened our shirts, wiped our mouths, sat back down.

  “You two cool?” Hunter asked.

  “As ice.” I daggered my icy blue eyes straight at Brodie’s identical ones. “Just a little sibling rivalry.”

  “Because I’m gettin’ some and Boomer isn’t,” Brodie returned.

  Aaaand the whole wedding discussion dissolved into more thinly veiled insults.

  Amazingly, we got it together, and in time.

  The date.

  The decorations.

  The dress.

  The deacon.

  Just a few days before Christmas it was Surprise-You’re-Getting-Married Day, and almost everything was in place. One little detail Hunter forgot to nail down was in the Retribution repertoire and we had that one in the bag. The honor guard. We rode in formation for all important occasions: births, weddings, charities, rallies, burials. The last time we’d banded together like this had been Miss Myra’s funeral—Myra, my brother-in-law’s mimi. We’d flown down 17 North in Mt. Pleasant, streaming banners in memory of Nick’s grandmother’s life.

  This time, we came together to honor the joining of two lives.

  Our loud pipes rumbled like thunder through the silent December streets until we reached JB’s—JailBait’s—cottage. Five massive dudes dressed in black leather parked in formation in front of her house.

  No mistaking us.

  JB stuck her head outside the door as I approached in front of Brodie, Handsome, Tail and the rest of the guys.

  “What’s going on?” Her voice trembled. Her velvety brown hair shimmered.

  “Rayce here yet?”

  “Yes. She brought some sort of dress for me.” JB let me pass inside and closed the door. “Why are you here? Where’s Hunter? Rayce didn’t say anything about you joining us.” She eyed me warily.

  “Don’t worry, l’il momma.” I wiped my boots on the welcome mat.

  “This isn’t another damn abduction is it? Because all Rayce would tell me is there’s a special party happening. And I don’t like secrets.” She used her stern kindergarten teacher voice on me.

  “Nothin’ like that.” Bowing at my waist, I winked at her. “Why don’t you go upstairs and let Rayce get you ready. I’ll be right here, standing guard.”

  “Get me ready for what?”

  “The party, ’course.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “Because I got your back. And your man’s back.”

  “Trust him already. I need to do some freakin’ magic up here!” I heard Rayce’s tough-girrrl growl float down from upstairs.

  “I don’t like this, Boomer Steele.” Feisty JB prodded my chest, not making a dent in the muscle.

  “You will.” I gave her a full smile, one that usually made the ladies speechless.

  Go figure. Worked this time too.

  JB shook her head. “Okay. But no more guys inside. And just because you’re the prez.”

  I dipped my head in her direction. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

  It felt like hours pas
sed while the women did whatever it was upstairs. I was surprised the dudes outside hadn’t started a bonfire to keep warm.

  I checked my watch.

  I bet Hunter was having a full-fledged panic attack, waiting.

  I chuckled.

  I waited an amount of time that almost did my head in. The idea of Rayce, in the same house, half-dressed . . .

  I climbed the stairs. They were so delicate and fucking dainty I felt like a giant navigating them. At the landing, I hooked left, and immediately ran into Rayce exiting the bathroom on a cloud of total hotness.

  The hallway was so small she banged up against me, but not before my eyes spun with the vision of her in a dress, and my tongue must’ve rolled out cartoon-style.

  “Boomer!” She spread her palms across my chest where my heartbeat thundered.

  She had on some sort of number that ended just above her knees, and it was curve hugging through the top until it flared at the skirt. The gray and cream pinstriped dress with a deep red belt looked vintage, classy, and I just didn’t have enough mother-lovin’ adjectives to describe it. A floral pattern overlaying the stripes echoed the charcoal-colored tats on her arms. Her tits overflowed the top. Her hips rounded out below the slim waistline. And her legs?

  Shit.

  She wore fishnet stockings that ended in high heels. Make that ankle-length, black leather, high-high-high heeled boots with metal designs on the toes.

  Her perfume dazed me.

  Her dress goddamn amazed me.

  She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You in there?”

  “You’re wearing a dress.”

  Genius, Boomer. You are truly a genius.

  Rayce pivoted around, astoundingly graceful. The skirt flipped up to reveal seams on the backs of her stockings. “Like it?”

  Liked it so much I was considering banging her against the bathroom door. “Yeah.” I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “You could say that.”

  Then she did something entirely feminine, a side of her I’d never truly seen before, and performed a little twirl that lifted the skirt up her firm thighs before she stopped in front of me, her face glowing.

  I started sweating, right then and there. “Jesus. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”