Treat: Steel Saints MC

by Evelyn Glass

  THE REAL AMY P: Who are you fooling, girl? You think you can tame a guy like ‘L’? You can’t. I know him. I know him better than you ever will. A little nerd girl like you will be spit up and thrown out by him in a week -- if your pussy is that good. No red dress and heels could make up for the fact that ‘L’ is mine. And once I get the rest of Steel Saints on my side, I’ll make sure that you regret the day that he found you in that ice cream truck of yours.

  I stare at the screen for a long while, my heart in my throat and my hands practically shaking. Jana finally breaks the ice. “Do you think she’s serious?” she asks, her voice quaking a bit.

  I can’t help it. I shoot back without checking my tone. “Are you fucking kidding me, Jana? Of course she’s serious! You heard Liam -- she’s crazy! And not only that, she knows who I am. She saw me in that damn red dress yesterday.” I throw off my covers, pushing her laptop to the side. I run over to my closet and quickly change out of my pajamas and into a black t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts. I run my fingers through my hair before throwing it up into a quick ponytail. I couldn’t care less about what I look like right now. I just want to get out of here.

  Jana stares at me for a long while, giving me my space to calm down. “What are you going to do, Alana? I mean, you have to tell Liam about this, right? He dated her so he would have to know what to do with her.”

  “No. I’m not going to tell him. I am just going to get my business done, have him sell his damn diamonds, and then get the hell out of this. He’s not worth dealing with a psycho like that.”

  My phone begins to ring as my stomach drops. I have no doubt it’s Liam. I told him I’d call him first thing in the morning and between my alarm going off and Jana and I discussing Amy, he’s probably wondering what was taking me so long. I reach over my bed and retrieve the phone from under my pillows. Holding up a finger to Jana who is still ranting on about why I should tell Liam, I answer the person on the other line quickly, “Dr. Underwell? This is Alana. Has something happened?”

  Jana goes silent as she jumps straight up to my bed and sits down next to me, leaning her head in towards the receiver. “Hi, Alana. I’ve got some news for you, and I thought I should call you myself. Your father is awake. While he’s still not totally conscious, his vital signs have improved, and his eyes are open. We’ve also checked his reflexes, and they are also good, but in a slow condition.”

  My heart breaks through my chest as I am stunned speechless. I fall back towards my pillows with a soft hand placed to my lips. “Doctor… Doctor...” I repeat over and over again as I try to find the words at the tip of my tongue. I take a deep breath and push out all the questions I have about his care. Finally, I end with, “So what does this all mean? Can he come home soon?”

  “‘Soon is certainly being optimistic, but in a few weeks, he could be moved to a rehab facility where he could live part time. Like I said, he will need extensive physical and occupational therapy to regain his strength and mobility. The injuries from his accident are physically repaired, but mentally and internally, we will have to monitor him extensively to see what damage may be there.”

  “When can I see him?” I push aside the nagging thought of Liam waiting for me to pick him up at his restaurant. All I want right now is to hear my dad’s voice and to see him with outstretched arms calling for me. I know that isn’t the reality here, but anything close would be heaven.

  “Give me the day to work with him. He’ll be in and out of x-rays and CT scans all day long, and the nurses will need to monitor him back in the ICU. I’d rather you not go through that again.” The doctor is right. The buzzing and ringing from the ICU still play in my head like a bad record determined not to be stopped. That nightmare is one no one should have to face, especially not when they are just waiting out reports. I thank him for his time and promise to stop by in the evening, but in the meantime, I hold him to his word to call me when and if results come in.

  “Your dad? Is he really…” Jana practically beams. My father and her have always gotten along. He was the one who lifted her bed up onto the dressers and desk when she complained that there wasn’t enough floor space to entertain. She also helped redesign some of the ice cream truck’s t-shirt logos as a Christmas gift to him. Jana was invested in him as I was.

  “He is! He’s awake. I mean, as much as he can be from a coma. I’m going to see him later tonight.” I grab my backpack up off the floor and begin to walk out of the room. My feet feel as if they are about to fly off of me.

  Jana is the one who stops me in my tracks, “What about Amy, Alana?” she calls after me, “You can’t not tell Liam. He’ll know what to do!”

  Although she’s right, I don’t… I can’t hear it. Not right now. All I want is to focus on getting through today with Liam so I can see my dad. Everything else will work itself out. After all, despite apparently finding my blog and recognizing me in the crowd at the boxing match, Amy can’t be that much of a threat, and I told Liam about what I heard in the bathroom. He’s probably already got it worked out by now.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Liam!” Alana squeals as she sees me walking up to the truck. “Stop it with the flowers! It was old the second day you brought them. Now I think I’m coming down with hay fever or something and this truck is smelling like a freaking bath shop!”

  I don’t know why I did it on the first day -- a fresh bouquet of painted green daisies in honor of my win. She blushed in that way only she can blush, and placed them aside in the back of the truck. When we parked, she found an old canister of ice cream, cleaned it out, and cut the daisies to fit inside. They looked just as if they belonged outside the service window of the truck, and she went red whenever anyone mentioned them.

  It was the perfect distraction for me, at least. The first day spent working out of the back of the truck was less about selling and more about making sure I could get buyers. Most in the limited circle had heard about the diamonds and wanted absolutely nothing to do with it unless I could find a way to scratch the codes off each individual diamond so that they couldn’t be traced or reported stolen.

  I managed to track down one former jeweler who could do it as a rush order and promised him a five percent cut in exchange for his work and a commission fee for every buyer he could send me. On the second day, we moved the ice cream truck to outside his housing complex as a cover while he worked and I supervised. Most of the day was spent looking out my window, watching Alana as she sold cone after cone to children out for fall breaks.

  Every day, she looked just that much happier; that much more settled with me. She didn’t even mind my men tagging along behind her, posing as frequent customers or friends of hers. She handed them treats from her freezer and pretended to take their cash while making small talk.

  The third day, we had our first buyer. When I told her that he was meeting us at the Simpson Memorial Park she, uncharacteristically, had a mini-meltdown. “The cops, Liam!” she shrieked. “Simpson Park is right outside their station. I can’t get caught now. You don’t understand--”

  I cut her off quickly, promising her that the buyer had been vetted and didn’t have any ties or obviously links to the cops. My detective contact made sure of that. And by doing it near the police station, we could ensure that nothing would go down between my security guys and a buyer who may be scouting stolen goods for the mafia I took them for. It took her a few minutes, but she significantly calmed down with that. And when the buyer appeared dressed in a suit, Ray Ban shades, and a Bluetooth in his ear, Alana personally greeted him with an offer for a free sundae.

  By the fourth day, we had our flower routine down pat and our diamond selling business on a roll. Each morning we were open, I would jump in the passenger side, grab a t-shirt with the truck’s logo from the back, and cut the flowers for her in advance. By mid-morning, we would be working different angles of the truck. I would lead the buyers to the back, pretending them to show them equipment on the inside while Alana would deal with t
he real customers as she always did -- with a smile and a friendly greeting.

  Today, however, was different. I hand Alana the flowers as she rebuffs them. This time, they are roses, and they are attached to a box tied with a green velvet ribbon. She doesn’t even register the gift until I set it on her lap. “What is this?” she asks as she studies me up and down. “Should I be worried or something?”

  “Will you just open the damn thing up and not ask questions!” I insist. She gives me another roll of her eyes before tugging gently on one of the ends of the bow the salesperson tied up for me last night. The fabric unfurls, and she removes the cover to the box. Inside is an emerald green dress, the same color as the ribbon, from Viva La Hera, a top Vegas designer. I had spotted it in the window of one of those high-class boutique shops while dropping off some security detail last night at the Bellagio. The store wouldn’t unlock their doors for me until I flashed them some cash through the security camera lens.

  I had to have it for her. It was the same dress she has worn in my fight dreams. It clings to her body as she stands up in the center of the crowd -- a beacon for me to spot before I KO my faceless opponent. She jokingly called me her muse one afternoon when she received a payment for advertising on her website. But she had no idea how much my boxing had improved, and how much my focus had returned to what matters to me. And tonight, she would be there, wearing that same dress, when I won against the number 7 ranked in my weight class at the Tri-State fights.

  Alana’s jaw is practically on the floor as she pulls the tissue apart and the dress comes in full view. She runs her hand gently over the delicate lace of the bodice and the gold beading that hangs gently at the satin waist sash. “Liam…” she says to me in hushed tones. “This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” I watch as she pulls back the tag to check the size. Her big blue eyes practically double in size when she notices the designer. “Liam!” she calls out again.

  “I want you to wear this tonight at the fight. Everyone will have their eyes on you when you walk into the arena with me.”

  Alana suddenly places the dress back into the box and places the lid on. She gently turns and tucks the box next to the flowers and buckles her seatbelt. I grab her hand before she can turn the keys in the ignition. “Whoa. Alana? What is up? Why are you acting like this?”

  She stares back at me with her arm outstretched. I try to read her, but her expression is blank, if not pained. Something is holding her back from accepting my gift. “I-- I-- I need to tell you something,” she says quietly, placing the keys back in her lap. “It’s about the fight tonight.”

  “What? We have a deal, remember? You go, I fight and win, and we go back home together with money in the bank. What could be better?”

  Alana doesn’t seem convinced. Yet, she reaches over and ruffles the hair on the back of my head gently and then tugs at the ends till I fall over the console between us for a quick kiss. “You’re right,” she says hesitantly, “I’m sorry. I’m just… thinking about my dad today. He’s getting moved to the general floor today.” She smiles, but it’s not the toothy grin I’m used to.

  The rest of the day is more of the same. Despite being down to only 1/4th the diamond supply, she can’t muster up any excitement. She continues to check her laptop over and over again, and I watch as she messes up orders and can’t focus on counting the few bucks coming in on this unusually cold day. As it gets nearer the time to quit for the day, she beings to look even more nervous and agitated.

  “I’ll see you after the match, alright?” I say as I kiss her forehead before heading out towards the parking lot of the Beat Gym where I’ve left my cycle. “Wear that green dress for me, please. It’s good luck.”

  “You won’t need it,” she says as she turns the truck back on and waits for me to close the door. I get one last look at her staring off out the opposite side window, her teeth biting down onto her bottom lip, and her hand placed at the corner of her forehead. She’s never looked this way before, never this hesitant and dull. There has to be something I’m missing.

  I leap back into the truck and unbuckle her seatbelt. She protests, screaming at me, as I drag her out of the truck by the arms and then waist. With her on my shoulders, I march towards the back entrance of the gym where the fighters go. I dangle the keys out of my pocket as she screams at me, “Liam! Put me down. Please! What about your fight?”

  “The fight can wait. We’ve got other business to take care of right now.” My mind is focused on one thing and one thing only -- getting Alana to talk at all costs. I walk past the locker rooms and the offices, back towards the lap pool and on through to the sauna. A wave of heat hits my face and skin as soon as I pull the door open, and I lock it closed behind me.

  “What are you doing Liam?” Alana says as I place her down onto a wooden bench. The steam fogs her face and curls the tips of her hair. She undoes her bun, letting it fall towards her shoulders.

  “You won’t talk to me out there, so I am making you talk to me in here. And I’m not letting either of us out until you tell me what’s up.” I reach towards my waist and pull at the black t-shirt I borrowed from Alana’s father. It’s one size too small; it clings to me in the humidity of the sauna, forcing me to strip it off. She eyes me suspiciously as if she has something to protest, but she only lays back and places the palms of her hands to her eyes.

  A few moments pass, her chest rising and falling with the seconds before she sits back up and walks towards me. Without a word, she too throws off her tight fitting t-shirt and unhooks her bra. “Wh--what are you doing, Alana?” I stammer. “You know I can’t do this before a fight.”

  “You want me to talk,” she says slowly as she unbuttons the hook of her jean shorts, “Then I want something from you first.” The zipper peels off along with the tiny pair of pants down her ample hips and apple shaped ass. She bends down before me so I can get a good glance at the roundness of her behind. I can’t help but smack the bare flesh with the back of my hand, causing her to cry out. My hands encircle around her waist to pull her naked ass into my hips. Gently, I began to rock my clothed cock into her, rubbing the fabric up and down the length of her exposed pussy.

  She murmurs a hum from deep within her belly; I can feel it vibrate against my hands as she continues to purr with each of my movements. I know what’s coming next. I can feel that build, the tightening of my cock, the strengthening of my muscles. I swore I would never take a woman right before a match. That was bad juju -- the easiest way to get your legs taken out from under you. But with her dancing up against me, her calls practically begging for me to take her here and now, I don’t know if I can stop myself. I don’t know if I want to stop myself.

  I make the quickest decision of my life. Grabbing her from around her stomach, I carry her back towards the two, segmented rows of seats in the sauna. Throwing down a towel from one of the storage units, I place her feet down on it for support while she stands on the bottom row, her deliciously curved back towards me. I rub my face against her neck gently, whispering, “Don’t fucking move. You’re going to cum when I cum and not any earlier. Do you understand me?”

  She says the words to make any man go insane, “Yes, Mr. Murphy.” My pants are off before she can even finish. My cock springs from within my boxers, eagerly wanting to join in the action. I lay myself up against her back, my heavy chest pressed into her. I can feel her heart beating through our hot, sticky skin. The steam envelopes us as I take a whiff of the back of her hair. The smell of jasmine and perfume mixes with the hot oak wood and stones.

  My hands slowly race down the line of her sides. Her body turns into bumps from my touch. She pulls aside her hair from her back, allowing me to take two fingers and tenderly trail them down the column of her spine. Her hips continue to sway sensually back and forth with my cock trapped in its rhythm. I move back up towards the front of her, circling the fingers around her pelvic bone, feeling the muscles of her hips and the line down to her pussy.
They then travel back to her breastbone, between her two perfect tits. I circle my way around both breasts, gently squeezing at the soft pillows as I come back towards the top.

  My head dips under her arms, sliding towards the tips of her nipples, which hang perky and upright for my mouth to grab hold of. Alana sighs desperately as I flick my tongue up against the pebbled tip and then around the pastel pink rings. My mouth hooks around, sucking just hard enough for her fingers to curl into the warm wood slats of the bench before her and her toes to press further down into the towel. My growing cock massages her ass as she remains completely still this time, waiting for the second nipple’s turn for its attention.

  “Liam,” she says, completely out of breath, her head drifting up so that it rests against my shoulder. “I don’t know how much more I can last… I want you inside of me. Please.”

  “Beg me for it,” I reply, needing to hear her voice again.

  “Please, Liam. Fuck me hard.” With that, she pushes her hips down and out towards me. Her head and arms rest on the bench’s seat and her waist and chest hang low without any support. She lines herself up perfectly for me, like an offering preparing their own feast. All I need to do is simply slip in through the sweet and lush folds. It’s a perfect fit. Each centimeter of me finds a warm place in the tightness of her body. The warmth outside is no match for what I feel resting inside of her.