GIVE IN: Steel Phoenix MC

by Paula Cox

  “It’s been ringing like crazy,” Micky told him with a chuckle. “I think your girl is on the warpath. If you don’t call her back soon, she’ll probably blow an ulcer or something.”

  The ringing sound in his ears was suddenly so loud he thought he was having a stroke. His head felt momentarily empty. Nash’s arms fell to his side, and he gawked at Micky blankly for a moment, trying to process the information. “W-What?”

  “You know…ulcer…” Micky stared at him, his smile faltering. “It’s a joke, Nash, relax. She’s just been calling you a lot. You just missed one, actually.”

  “Micky, I don’t…” He looked down numbly at his phone. “I…”

  “Her name’s Eliza, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Well, that’s the name that flashes every time the damn thing rings,” Micky continued, arms crossed and grinning. “I had half a mind to throw it out the damn window. Thing’s been driving me nutso all day.”

  “Oh.” His voice seemed very small, which only seemed to make Micky’s expression alter more. Clearing his throat, Nash tightened his grip around the black rectangle, his whole body starting to tremble, and he offered his old pal a wry grin. “Well, guess I should probably call her back before I do anything else.”

  “That’d be wise, my friend,” Micky agreed, shooting him a wink before heading over to the bar. Seconds later Nash was swiping a shaky finger across the screen. Sure enough, Eliza had left him fifteen missed calls and a whole slew of panicked messages. Well, some angry, some panicked, most poorly punctuated, which wasn’t like her at all. Something was very wrong, but maybe it wasn’t the sort of wrong Phillip had made him believe.

  With his heart pounding in his ears, Nash stumbled over to one of the nearby tables, recently cleaned and still a little damp when he set his bag of coke on it. For a few moments, everything else was background noise as he perused all of Eliza’s messages, checking the times they were delivered, half-wondering if Phillip was somehow fucking with him.

  But based on the time and content of the messages, Phillip couldn’t have been sending them. They were full of panic over her dad’s condition—she’d found him on campus badly beaten, apparently, and was taking him to the hospital.

  One of the messages was accusatory. She asked if he’d done it, which hurt, but he couldn’t blame her for thinking it. Throwing caution to the wind, Nash tapped around on the screen until he was on her Contacts page, then pressed the little green call button. Seconds later the phone was pressed to his ear, but he barely registered the ringing reverberating through the speaker.

  “Nash?” She answered on the fourth ring, cutting it in half just as he had started to give up hope.

  “Eliza?” Both of them spoke in mere whispers, though he expected for different reasons. Hearing her voice again was like hearing the voice of an angel, and he couldn’t stop the huge smile that spread across his face. “Are you okay?”

  “Where have you been?” she demanded, her tone accusatory like that one message, but her words full of trembles and breathiness. “I’ve been trying to c-contact you all day!”

  “It’s a long story,” Nash muttered, pushing away from the table and eyeing the car of Phillip’s guys waiting for him through the window. Things were about to change course—and fast. “Where are you? Still at the hospital?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Have you noticed anyone…weird following you?” He grabbed the grocery bag and pulled the strap over his shoulder, then made eye contact with Micky at the bar. His old friend stopped polishing glasses, slowly lowering the one in his hand to the bartop. “Anyone suspicious?”

  “What the hell is going on, Nash?” Eliza demanded, the pitch of her voice shooting up several octaves. “Didn’t you get my messages? Someone hurt my father, and I—”

  “Eliza, it wasn’t any of my guys, I promise,” he said quickly. “Look, just stay with your dad, okay? Keep the door to his room closed if you can until I get there. Don’t let anyone who isn’t hospital staff in to visit.”

  “Nash, what’s going on?” Her strength seemed to grow with each word, perhaps realizing that this situation was even more serious than she might have thought.

  “Just stay with him and I’ll find you,” he promised. “I’m on my way.”

  “Nash…”

  “Please, Eliza,” he murmured, his grip tightening around his phone. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and never let her go, but there were more pressing matters to attend to first. Namely, putting a bullet in Phillip Crest’s temple. “Just keep an eye on your surroundings. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Text me the room number.”

  Before she could make any further protests or ask any other questions, Nash hung up and stuffed his phone in his pocket.

  “What’s going on, Nash?” Micky asked as he approached the bar. “Something’s up, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t have time to give you a full rundown,” Nash told him, then held up the bag he was carrying, “just know I’m not stealing all this coke.”

  His old friend’s eyes widened. “W-What?”

  “It’s just for show right now,” he continued. In that moment, he realized his palms were starting to sweat. Shit was actually getting real. “I found our guy. Well, our guy found me.”

  “Nash—”

  “And it’s not the dean,” Nash pushed on. There was no time to have a real conversation about it, but he knew Micky deserved that much. “I can’t elaborate now. He’s… He’s threatening Eliza, and I gotta go get her. Make sure she’s safe.”

  “But—”

  “Can you keep an eye on the car out front?” He nodded back to the front door. Micky leaned over the bar and squinted, probably just barely able to see through the windows at the front door. “It’s the dark blue Sedan.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Let me know if they leave, okay?”

  “Done.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more about it,” Nash insisted as they both headed for the rear exit of the bar, moving in unison on either side of the bar. “But I—”

  “You gotta protect your girl,” Micky finished for him. “I get it.” They both stopped just before reaching the door marked EMERGENCY EXIT, as if knowing exactly what the other was doing, but before Nash could push through it, Micky grabbed his arm and looked him dead in the eye. “We’ve always trusted you, Nash. I know it hasn’t felt like it because some of us are impatient assholes, but whatever you gotta do, we trust you to do it.”

  Although he was in a hell of a rush, Nash actually took a moment to pause. Micky had said those words to him before, but they didn’t really sink in until now. After all, here Nash was, standing there with a lot of coke, giving vague answers and clearly trying to make a run for it, and Micky seemed to be helping him without questioning any of it.

  “Thanks, man,” he muttered, and they both gripped one another’s hand and gave it a little shake. Micky was the true friend Nash never knew he had. So, hopefully, he wouldn’t gut punch him for what Nash was about to ask of him. “One last thing?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Can I borrow your bike?” He offered his old friend a crooked smile when Micky’s grip clamped down harder. “Just temporarily of course. They’ve got my car.”

  “Shit, Nash, what kind of trouble are you in?”

  “More like what kind of trouble are we in,” he insisted as they broke apart, “because the shit that I’m in… Well, it’s on the Phoenixes, too.”

  “What are we gonna do about it?”

  “I don’t know,” Nash said earnestly as they carried on out through the emergency exit. There was a sign there that said the alarm would sound if it was opened, but that had been disabled for years. “I’ll update you as soon as I do. Kind of hard to think when she’s… I don’t know if she’s in danger, but they threatened to start taking fingers—”

  “Say no more,” Micky told him. He then yanked the cover off his Harley and folded it over his
arm. “Just take care of her and give me a shout in an hour so I know you didn’t get whacked on the way to the hospital.”

  “Will do.” Nash swung a leg over the bike and took the helmet when Micky held it out to him. He arched an eyebrow. “And by take care of her, you mean—”

  Micky laughed and smacked his arm. “My bike, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  They exchanged one last grin, though both smiles were wracked with nerves rather than the carefree easiness both Steel Phoenix bikers usually possessed. Revving up the bike, Nash stuffed Micky’s helmet on—which was too small, but he made do—before whizzing out of the back alley, accompanied by the familiar roar of the engine.

  Chapter 41

  Every sound, no matter how insignificant, made her twitch. Eliza had been sitting in her father’s private room under the guise of watching over him while he slept, but really, she couldn’t take her eyes off the door. Ever since Nash’s phone call, one that made very little sense if she was being perfectly honest, she hadn’t been able to relax one bit.

  Not that she could ever fully relax at a time like this. Her father had been horrifically assaulted in his office. The doctors counted four broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone and nose, a chipped tooth, and split lips. They’d cleaned him up, sure. Scrubbed the blood away. Added dressings. Pumped him full of painkillers. But they couldn’t hide the bruising around his eyes and nose. They couldn’t get rid of the bloody knuckles or fix the fingernail he’d all but torn clean off in the struggle.

  Her father was a broken man in more ways than one tonight, and Eliza had no idea what she was supposed to do to fix it. Aside from clutching his hand and fending off the police when they came around for questioning, Eliza was at a loss.

  Of course, she encouraged her father to tell the police every detail he could remember, but she couldn’t blame him for not being in the mood to talk. He’d said more to her in his office when he was delusional with pain than he had now when he was cleaned up and medicated, but again, she couldn’t fault him for that. After all, he’d just endured a trauma. If he didn’t want to talk, she couldn’t blame him.

  But she was desperate to know what had happened. There were various pieces she could put together herself, but like most of the puzzles she did as a child, one key piece was always missing. Something didn’t quite add up. Nash had assured her on the phone that no one from his motorcycle club had been involved, but how could she trust him after this? He had been so determined that her father was the man responsible for the death of all those bikers. And now her father had been attacked, most likely by a group of men—was it such a leap to assume members of Nash’s gang had come to campus last night to seek revenge?

  Was Nash on his way now to finish the job?

  Eliza swallowed hard, paling at the idea that Nash could ever hurt her father like this. Seated on a chair next to her father’s hospital bed, she reached out and adjusted the white sheets, pulling them farther up to cover more of her father’s body. His secretary had been by earlier with flowers and toffees, her father’s favorite guilty pleasure, but Eliza had refused all other visitors. His secretary was like his family, but that title extended to no one else besides Eliza.

  If he wouldn’t share his story with the police, he probably wasn’t ready to be gawked at by business associates and underlings, all of whom were probably hoping he’d kick the bucket so they could apply for his job.

  Or they’d only be there to show their support because they assumed they would get something out of it. A promotion. A raise. Something. Like hell Eliza was going to let any of them use her father like that. Normally, he had the strength to shake that kind of behavior off, but she had a feeling he’d struggle with that today.

  The room he’d been given was a spacious suite that anyone would be thrilled to use. It was on the corner of a floor, two of the walls made up entirely of one large window. There was a bathroom with all the amenities, a flat-screen TV mounted to the wall across from the bed, and dimmer lights to help with the relaxation aspect of recovery. In some aspects, it was better styled and furnished than most of her friends’ apartments—Eliza’s included.

  But it didn’t feel welcoming, not when she was so on edge. Her father had expressed a similar sentiment before passing out; this wasn’t a place he wanted to be in for long, and Eliza couldn’t help but agree.

  The sooner they were out, the better.

  Fleetingly, Eliza heard voices outside the door, and she straightened up, instantly tense. Based on the soft sounds, she assumed they were women—nurses, maybe—and moments later they quieted down, as if just passing by the room. Letting out a shaky breath, Eliza slumped back down in the chair, a tremor passing through her body. Once he was given the okay to be moved, Eliza planned to get her father out of this room immediately.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she last heard the voices, but suddenly there was a soft tap at the door, followed shortly by a more insistent knocking. Fear prickled up her spine, and as she stood, Eliza grabbed the knife that had been left behind on her father’s dinner tray, his meal untouched. She gripped the cool metal tightly, knowing the doctor wouldn’t be back to see her for another few hours.

  “Eliza?” A heartbreakingly familiar voice called out to her from the other side of the door, and in that moment, she dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the ground.

  “Nash!”

  She should have been more cautious, of course. Just because he said he hadn’t sent anyone to harm her father didn’t mean he was telling the truth. But still she ran to the door and yanked it open, expecting to see his looming figure, his broad muscular chest in a fitted tee with a leather jacket thrown over it. A handsome smile on his even handsomer face.

  But she saw none of that. Standing in front of her was a man she knew more intimately than most, yet he wasn’t the Nash she had come to know and love—despite everything they’d been through. He had no leather jacket, a staple to his day-to-day wardrobe, and his t-shirt was coated in blood. Her arms fell to her side, as she gawked at him. In that moment, it was very much like finding her father all over again. Nash’s nose seemed broken, the bridge of it crooked, and there was some bruising around his face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out for her with one large hand, then seeming to think better of it and placing it by his side. “Is your dad…? Where is he?”

  “Sleeping,” she told him, her voice aquiver with unsaid emotions. “Let’s talk in the hall.”

  Nash nodded and stepped back, and before Eliza followed, she spared a glance over her shoulder at her father’s sleeping form. In that moment, he seemed so peaceful—peaceful like the dead. She swallowed hard, tears making her eyes sting, then blinked rapidly and moved out into the hallway. The corridor was quiet, most of the doors to private patient rooms closed. Down the way, two nurses were rummaging through a supply cart while another made notes to a patient’s chart, then set it back in the slot on the door.

  And Nash just watched her. Waiting. Studying her in a pensive silence that was almost calming. Her eyes darted to him, darted to the man she’d called Master, the man she’d fantasized about for months. Someone had kicked the crap out of him—and for some reason, he had a green fabric grocery bag slung over his shoulder, full of… well, god knows what.

  “Eliza—”

  “You need to tell me everything that’s going on,” she said firmly, holding his eye with a glare, “now.”

  “First, are you okay?” Nash asked. This time when his hand went for her, it actually swept her hair from her face and gently tucked it behind her ear. While she wanted to flinch away, she let him, finding herself enjoying the small, intimate gesture.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, pleased that her voice didn’t waver. When his hand lingered, she brushed it away and squared her shoulders. “Are you? It looks like you got in a fight with a baseball bat and lost.”

  His lips, those beautiful kissable lips, quirked into a grin.
“Sort of.”

  “Nash!” Eliza resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “I’m really not in the mood for jokes. Someone really hurt my father, and if you had anything to do with it, I need you to tell me the honest truth before I have a total meltdown here—”

  “I didn’t,” he insisted, his tone soothing. He stepped closer, the pull of his persona willing her toward him. “I promise. The Steel Phoenixes knew your dad was under suspicion, but they said they’d hold back until I could completely confirm it. My guys are good on their word. They’re like my family.”

  She pursed her lips, unable to understand how a gang of lowlife bikers could be considered family but let the issue go. It wasn’t the focal point of her pain right now—what did it matter, in the end, who Nash trusted? As long as they could actually be trusted, there was nothing else to say.