Silver and Chrome: A Bad Boy MC Romance

by St. Clair, Aubrey

  I need to root this problem out at its source, and there seems to be more of those popping up every day. Edward is only the biggest threat because he was able to sniff out the rot that I’ve left festering for too long. He knew about the Velocity deal, so there must be some sort of leak at the company. And then there’s the issues with the club.

  I might not be able to touch Stonewall right now, but Ripper is within my reach, and it’s time I put a stop to his bullshit once and for all.

  All I want to do is crack some fucking heads, which is the only reason I left Evelyn at home tonight. I would have loved to have brought her with me, but I don’t want her to see me like this. When I get like this, I don’t even go to the office, which is why I called Hans this morning and told him I was working from home. It took all I had not to blow up at him over the phone when he tried to point out that the timing of me taking a personal day couldn’t be worse, but I managed it.

  I sent Evelyn to work instead. I told her I had some errands to run and some shit to figure out. She’s smart enough to know that was a lie, but also smart enough to just let it go. She recognized that I needed time alone during the day, and I left for Axle’s before she got back from the office at night.

  She’s seen some of the darkness within me, but never like this. She’s never seen me out for blood. And that’s the only thing I can think about right now. I was part of the MC before I ever put on a fucking suit to start Piston, and the MC will always be in my blood. It’s that primal part of me now that is guiding every thought and action in my body. I may have tried to guide the club away from violence, but that’s only because I know that, in the end, it doesn’t lead us to anywhere good. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have my own rage inside. I’ve just gotten good at suppressing it. But it can no longer be ignored.

  My rage has a focus tonight. Ripper. I’m just not sure what I can really do that won’t blow up in my face. And that makes me even angrier.

  As usual for a Friday night, the bar is packed, even though it’s still relatively early, and I have to weave through the growing crowd to get to the other Soldiers. There are more of them than usual, but Ripper is noticeably absent. So is Snake. I clench my teeth even more as I consider what the two of them are up to together.

  “Hey boss, where’s your ol’ lady tonight?” Knox tips his beer to me as I approach, a burning cigarette hanging from his lips. His hand is resting on Jez’s knee as she sits beside him. As soon as I approach, she turns to the pool table and stares at it as if were the World Cup finals.

  “Left her at home.” I hadn’t planned on going into any more detail than that, but when his grip on Jez tightens, I add, “She wasn’t feeling well, so I’m not staying long.”

  The last part is the truth, at least. How long would punching Ripper in the face take, anyway?

  If only it were that easy. Hell, I need to find him, first.

  “You seen Ripper?” I ask, raising my voice over the raucous laughter of the club members playing pool. Sparkie’s white ball narrowly missed knocking over Jake’s beer as it flew off the table from a crappy shot. When Knox shakes his head, I ask about Snake instead.

  “Nope, haven’t seen either of them at all today. What’s up with you and Ripper, anyway?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.

  Knox shrugs and some of the ashes from his cigarette break away to float down onto the stained table I’m leaning against. “He just doesn’t seem to be your biggest fan these days. He’s actually been stirring up talk about a confidence vote in you.”

  “Based on what, exactly?” If my blood were water in a kettle, there would be steam coming out of my ears.

  “Ah, you know, he just doesn’t like some of the changes… shit, you know him. He just wants to bust heads and pull his gun any time he pleases.”

  “That it?”

  “Sure.” Knox shrugs again. “I mean, I guess. What do you mean? Is there something else?”

  I shake my head absently and turn away from the table. So he’s finally making his move, but at least it seems like he’s keeping the other shit to himself. For now. Which means he probably still doesn’t know enough. No way he would sit on it if he did. Edward is smart enough to know that, so he won’t play his hand until he’s ready.

  “Bash, here, have a shot.”

  Maximus presses some whiskey into my hand. I almost give it back, I didn’t come here to drink. But Ripper isn’t here which means calming my anger through booze might be the only other option. At least for now. I toss it back in one swallow and slam the glass down onto Knox’s table. It’s only once I turn back to the big man that I realize how intently he’s staring at me.

  “What?”

  Maximus’ eyes looked a bit glazed. He probably started drinking early. He’s usually the first one drunk and the last one to leave. “We’ve had a good run here,” he says. “You know, whatever happens.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I growl.

  “Nothing, nothing.” Maximus raises his pudgy hands up. “I’m just saying, you know, no one knows what tomorrow will bring. Life is unpredictable. Anyway, lemme go get us some more to drink.”

  I stare at the overweight biker as he makes his way to the bar, his movements only slightly unsteady. Was he really just having an existential reflection, or was he hinting at something more? He and Ripper have always got along well, and Maximus was never a big fan of me cutting off his supply of easy food and booze money. I’ve offered him some pretty cushy replacements, but he always just argues that they sound too much like work.

  Am I seeing conspiracies wherever I turn, or is someone ready with a knife at my back?

  Asking around, no one has seen Ripper or Snake for the last few hours at least, but more drinks are pressed into my hands and it isn’t long before I’m not even asking about them anymore. Any thoughts I had of avoiding getting shit-faced are gone, and each hour gets me more and more loaded. Ripper and Snake never do show up, and my booze-addled brain is all but convinced it’s because they’re out planning a coup. Some of the guys are acting weird, too, but no one is talking about anything important. I can’t tell if it’s just paranoia, the booze, or something is really going on. I regret not bringing Eve. She could have helped me figure it out.

  Thoughts of Evelyn make me miss having her around. We’ve been spending so much time together lately, trying to figure all this shit out, that not having her next to me almost feels like I’m missing a limb.

  The thought of that makes me pause. I’m faced with losing my company, and my MC, and both of those thoughts just make me angry. They make me want to lash out and punch someone in the fucking face, and that was my feeling even before I’d started drinking.

  But imagining a life without Evelyn is different. When she’s not around, it’s like something is missing, something essential, like the very air that I breathe. Suddenly, I just need to see her again. I don’t even care about Ripper or Snake or fucking Stonewall. I just want to see Evelyn and to hold her and touch her and wrap my whole body around hers.

  Maximus is pushing another drink at me, but I brush it off. “I’ve had enough,” I say. That’s not completely true. Enough would have been an hour ago.

  Turning, I stumble past the pool table, so desperate to see Evelyn now that I don’t stop to say goodbye to anyone or even to grab my cut at the other side of the room. I’m boiling anyway, from the heat of the packed bar and the booze.

  The noisy bar is so filled with bodies that I am able to use them to steady myself as I head for the door. Outside, I breathe in the cool crisp air and give my head a shake, trying to sober up and happy that it’s not warm out. My bike is parked on the side, away from most of the others, but by the time I get to it and drop my keys for the third time I realize there’s no way I can ride it now. But without my cell phone, which is sitting in my jacket by the pool table, I can’t even call for a ride.

  “Hey, man, you don’t look like you should be riding that t
hing.”

  My eyes take a moment to focus on two young men that approach. One of them has a goatee and the other is wearing a leather jacket of his own, but without a cut. “That your bike?” The one with the leather is looking at it appreciatively, so I nod, waggling my keys. Maybe I can get one of these guys to call me a cab.

  “Great, maybe I can take it for a spin?”

  I can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Not a chance, kid.”

  “Sorry,” he says, still looking at the bike. Then he turns to me with something in his eyes that makes me tense up. “I didn’t mean for that to come out as a question. Hand me the fucking keys, douche.”

  Is this guy serious? I look over at his friend who has taken a step forward, his hands are clenched into fists. Apparently so. Must be my lucky day. I didn’t get to beat the hell out of Ripper like I wanted to, but these guys will make a fine stand in.

  “Come get ‘em.”

  The first guy lunges for me, but even drunk, I can see it coming and twist out of his way, swinging and arm as he passes to clip him in the head. It wasn’t hard enough to really do any damage, but at least it told him I wasn’t going to make this easy.

  Leather Jacket is quicker, though, and just as I’m stepping away from his friend, his arm shoots out and I feel his fist connect with my jaw. I let my head turn with the punch instead of absorbing it, but even still, it hurts like a bitch. My own fist flies out and hits him back, reflexively fast despite the booze in my body, years of fist fights making the action automatic. I connect with his nose, which causes him to stumble away, clutching at it. It was hard enough that I expect to see blood seeping between his fingers in a moment.

  It’s only because I’m watching and waiting to see blood that I catch the widening of his eyes and realize it’s a look of surprise aimed in his friend’s direction. I’m almost too late when I turn to look, a glint of metal zipping toward my midsection so close that even when I move, I still get cut. I feel the blade slice through my shirt and along the side of my chest, but the roar that comes out of me is more fueled by fury than by pain.

  I grab the arm of the man that just cut me as his body passes mine and twist it hard, making him stumble and drop his knife as he cries out. I have no mercy for this fuck, though, and with my other arm, I slam my fist into his face, over and over again, until he’s crouching on the ground, whimpering in a bloody mess. Even then, I twist the arm I still hold hard enough to dislocate his shoulder before pushing him away.

  Leather Jacket had apparently seen enough. He’s already gone.

  I bend down and reach into the pocket of the guy on the ground, fishing out his cell phone.

  I still need a cab, and he’s in no state to object.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EVELYN

  It’s past one in the morning when Bash’s rough, calloused hands touch my skin. I’m in his bed, of course, so it isn’t a surprise to feel him slide in behind me, but there is something in his touch that seems different than usual. It isn’t the subtle settling into bed you expect from someone trying not to disturb you. His touch is insistent, but gentle. He wants me awake.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, shaking the sleep from my head and starting to sit up.

  “Nothing.” His voice is hoarse. It’s a whisper but there’s an urgency to it. He slides his hands around my body until they settle on my breasts. I’m warm under the covers, but I shiver at the touch of his fingers on my nipples. “I thought about you tonight. I missed having you at the club with me.”

  “It was your idea that I stay home,” I remind him. I want to turn around and look at him, but I’m enjoying his touch too much, and if I turn, his hands might slip away.

  “I know. A bad one.” His lips are near my ear now as he speaks, and the hot breath against me brings about another shiver.

  “Are you drunk?” The smell is unmistakable, the heaviness of whiskey mixed with beer.

  His fingers tweak my nipple harder, causing it to firm up under his touch, and a warmth starts to grow between my legs. “A little. Why? Does it matter?”

  “Well, if you’re drunk, you can’t consent to what I’m about to do to you.” I smile, reaching behind my back. I let out a little gasp as my hand touches his bare cock. I had no idea he was naked. And quite ready. “Well, hello there.”

  “I think you should be more worried about what I’m about to you,” he growls.

  I pull the sheets forward, exposing my bare behind. “Do your worst.”

  “Fuck, you have an incredible ass.” His free hand skims along my skin until he slips it between my legs, drawing a moan from deep within me. I was already starting to get wet before he touched me, and now that his fingers are rubbing along my insides, I’m becoming drenched. Suddenly he shifts and I feel his cock pressed against my entrance, and then a second later, he’s inside of me.

  He’s never taken me with such an urgency before. His body is thrusting behind me as his hands knead my tits and his hot lips kiss and bite along my neck. My own hand slides back and holds onto his hips. I love the feeling of the muscles under his skin as he moves, and how I can feel the tension in them as he tightens and releases inside of me.

  It’s only after I feel his breath start to return to normal and he slips out of me that I finally turn around to face him. His eyes are gleaming in the near-darkness of the bedroom.

  “What was that all about?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “It just felt different. You were like a man possessed.” I reach forward and touch his chest, running my fingers through his hair and tracing along the hard planes of his body.

  “Like I said, I missed you.” I feel his body shift as he shrugs in the darkness.

  “That seemed like more than—”

  Bash suddenly winces as my hands slide along the side of his body. I felt something there, and my fingers feel wet.

  “What is that?”

  “It’s nothing.” The alcohol has lowered his normal ability to keep his voice neutral and I can hear the lie in his voice. I reach over and flick on the nightstand lamp.

  “Holy crap, you’re bleeding. What happened?” There’s a three-inch cut along the side of his body. It doesn’t look deep, but it does look fresh.

  “It’s nothing,” he repeats, sitting up and covering the wound with his hand. “Just some punk kids. One of them pulled a knife as they tried to rob me. It’s just a scratch.”

  “Jeez, you should put something on that or it’ll get infected. They tried to rob you? At the bar? Where was the rest of the club?”

  “It was outside, I was heading home and they thought they saw a drunk. An easy mark. They won’t make that mistake again.”

  I don’t want to ask what he did to them. It seems like there is more to what he wants to say, but it’s obvious he’s tired. It’s late, he clearly had a rough night, and he’s still a bit drunk, so I don’t push it. Instead, I clean his cut and put a bandage on it, even as he falls asleep.

  I never brought it up again because we were so busy the entire weekend. Most of our time was spent trying to contact some of Piston’s biggest investors. Being the weekend, Sebastian wasn’t able to contact many of them, and even from those that he could get a hold of, he could only get a handful of them to commit to not selling their shares. Edward only gave Sebastian until Tuesday morning to decide before he would make his move and expose everything. Obviously so that Sebastian wouldn’t have enough time to rally support.

  “Still,” he argued on Monday morning, “we don’t need that many more. I own a fairly big block of shares, as does Hans. With the ones that have committed so far, we’re almost there. I can probably get the rest of the ones I need today.” But by the end of the day, he wasn’t so sure and in a foul mood again.

  “How close are you?”

  Sebastian is pacing by the window of his office, the darkness on his face more than just a reflection of the night outside. “Close. Probably close enough that if the vote came down, enough would side
with me at the last minute when they see it will actually make a difference.”

  “But there’s no guarantee…”

  “No, there’s no fucking guarantee on any of this,” he snaps. “And where the fuck is Hans?”

  The CEO had been missing all day, and Bash wasn’t one hundred percent sure which side the man would vote on. Apparently, he had been noncommittal during the meetings, preferring to hear exactly what the offer was so that he could evaluate what was best for the company. Sebastian assumed he was hedging his bets in case it didn’t go their way and he could still cash out, but without a firm commitment from him before tomorrow’s deadline, he wasn’t feeling comfortable.