STEEL: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 1)

by Wilder, Chiah

  STEEL

  A NIGHT REBELS MC ROMANCE

  CHIAH WILDER

  Copyright © 2017 by Chiah Wilder

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please purchase only authorized additions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Hot Tree Editing

  Cover design by Cheeky Covers

  Cover model: Dan Pearson

  Photographer: Al Gonzalez

  Proofreading by Daryl Banner

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Notes from Chiah

  Author’s Note

  Muerto/Excerpt

  Other Books by Chiah Wilder

  Chapter One

  Breanna Quine followed the red and blue lights as they flashed in the dark night. Tears welled in her eyes as images of the teen flitted through her mind. When Breanna had received the anonymous call telling her the address where she’d find Chenoa—one of her clients—she rushed out of her house, not even thinking of any possible danger. And when she’d entered an abandoned building on the outskirts of town, junkies huddled in corners, whispers wrapped around her, and the semiconscious body of Chenoa McVickers had greeted her. She’d rushed over to the young woman and noticed a syringe, rubber tubing, and a dirty spoon strewn around her. Breanna checked the teen’s pulse, then dialed 911.

  She gripped the steering wheel as she turned the corner too sharply, St. Joseph’s Hospital looming ahead of her. By the time she parked her car and went through the security check, she was a basket case. Her insides twisted as she opened her purse, took out an antacid, and popped it in her mouth. She ran her hand through her long blonde hair as she walked in circles around the emergency waiting area. Breanna took out her phone and dialed Chenoa’s mother for the sixth time, and again, it went to voicemail. She didn’t have Chenoa’s father’s number in her case file, so she took a deep breath and dialed the only other number she had—the teen’s paternal grandmother.

  “Hello?” a shaky voice said.

  “May I please speak to Mrs. McVickers?” Breanna crossed her fingers, hoping the number she had in the file was still the correct one.

  “Speaking,” the woman said slowly.

  “Mrs. McVickers, my name is Breanna Quine and I’m your granddaughter’s caseworker. I’ve been trying to contact her mother for the last hour without any luck. There’s been an accident. Chenoa is at St. Joseph’s Hospital.” Her stomach lurched when she heard the older woman’s gasp over the phone. She always hated this part of her job—informing family members that their loved one was hurt, or worse, dead. “I just need to contact one of her parents. Do you have her father’s phone number?”

  “Is she going to be okay?” Sadness and fear seeped through the phone.

  Breanna exhaled. “I don’t know. I need to have one of her parents here.”

  “I’ll call my son.” The phone went dead.

  Breanna stood staring at the black screen, wondering if she should call back.

  “Ms. Quine?” a strong voice boomed out.

  She whirled around and saw a man in a white coat with a folder in his hands. “That’s me.” She went over to the middle-aged man.

  He extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Sanchez.” She took it and nodded. “Have you been able to contact Ms. McVickers’s parents?”

  “Not yet. I’ve just spoken to her grandmother and she told me she’d call her father. How is Chenoa?”

  “We’ve stabilized her. You got to her in time, but it’s too early to tell if there will be any physical or mental issues. We’re monitoring her.”

  “I really thought she was making progress with her addiction. She’s a really good kid.” Breanna blinked rapidly.

  The doctor nodded. “You can go in and see her. We’re waiting for a room to transfer her to. Since you’re her caseworker, you can stay with her until one of her parents gets here.”

  Breanna followed Dr. Sanchez through the double steel doors and down the sterile hallway until he stopped in front of a door that was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and gestured for her to go in. Breanna muttered her thanks under her breath and walked into the dimly lit room.

  Chenoa lay in the bed wrapped in white sheets and a blanket with tubes stuck in her veins and nose. Several machines hissed and beeped as bright numbers in lime green and red displayed intermittently on their monitors. Breanna padded over to the bed. The teen looked so peaceful, yet Breanna knew a storm was brewing inside her. She ran her hand gently over the young woman’s cheek while her gaze fixed on the angry red lines on the girl’s thin arms. Anger wrapped itself around the social worker’s spine.

  I want to kill whoever sold Chenoa heroin. How did it get to the reservation? Why isn’t the sheriff doing anything about this?

  To Breanna, it seemed as if heroin had started appearing in the county late the previous year. She could pinpoint the date based on when her brother had started showing up at her house begging for money. She shook her head. She’d been hoping that law enforcement would’ve had a handle on it before it made its way to the reservation.

  The door banging against the wall startled her and she looked up, then sucked in her breath. Before her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man who exuded blatant virility and rebelliousness. The leather vest he wore clung to his bare, toned chest, revealing menacing inky images. Outlaw patches filled his leather cut. On his face, a wicked scar paled against his tanned skin, a silent testimony to the world of violence in which he lived. It looked out of place amid his high cheekbones and sculpted nose, which momentarily captivated her.

  He had long black hair that he wore loosely around his shoulders, and several silver earrings in both ears gleamed under the light. Her ga
ze dropped to his corded legs, encased in black denim, and then to the bulge in his crotch. She quickly raised her eyes, meeting his dark green ones, and she gasped. His eyes were the color of the forest right before sunset; they were the kind of green that distracted a person from everything around. They were simply gorgeous. And at that moment, they glared at her. His whole expression was fiercely arrogant, and there was an aura of danger about him.

  She smiled weakly.

  He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. “Who are you?”

  She took a few steps forward and shoved her hands in her gray hoodie. “I’m Breanna Quine. Who are you?”

  He took a few steps toward the bed, his eyes softening when they landed on Chenoa’s body. In two strides he was near her, bending down and placing a kiss on her forehead, whispering to her in a language Breanna couldn’t understand. After several minutes, he looked up. “I’m Chenoa’s father. Steel.”

  “It’s good to meet you. I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t get a hold of her mother.” She extended her hand. “I’m Breanna Quine, your daughter’s caseworker.”

  Ignoring her hand, he stiffened. “Her caseworker? Where the fuck were you when this happened?” He glared and jerked his arm over his daughter.

  Anger prickled her skin as she lifted her chin and glared back. “Where the fuck were you?” She placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve been her caseworker for the past six weeks and never once met you.”

  He growled and stepped forward, his lips curling in a feral smile as he came within inches of her face. “Don’t you ever insinuate that I’m not there for my daughter. You don’t know shit. You’re just one of many the county has assigned in the past four years. It doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.”

  “Apparently it doesn’t since you never bothered to get in contact with me even though I left my card at your daughter’s house many times.”

  His eyes grew darker at her show of defiance, and fury etched across his face. “You wanna know where I was? At the clubhouse, like the fucking county has dictated. You determined I wasn’t a good bet for my daughter because of my lifestyle. Fuck that. If she were with me, she wouldn’t be lying here on the brink of death.” His voice broke just slightly on the last word, and Breanna, pissed as she was, felt her heart melt a bit for him. No parent should see their child fighting for her life.

  “I know you’re angry right now, Mr. McVickers, but this is hardly the place to discuss the what-ifs of the situation.”

  “Fuck off, lady.” He turned back to Chenoa and slipped his hand inside his cut. He withdrew something and touched his daughter’s forehead, nose, eyelids, chin, and ears with it, then placed it under her hand.

  “What’s that?” Breanna asked as she inched closer to the bed.

  “A Navajo talisman. We use it for healing. It’s a bear claw and a turquoise stone.”

  She stared at Chenoa’s serene face. “I’m sorry this happened, Mr. McVickers. I’d been so hopeful that your daughter would’ve reached the milestone in her recovery. I had no idea she was using heroin. Did you?”

  His face hardened. “No.”

  “She’s a tough young lady. She’ll pull through, and when she does, I know of an excellent rehab center that I think she’ll thrive in. We can talk about it later, but I think—”

  “I don’t give a damn what you think. I’m gonna be honest with you—I don’t like or trust you. I don’t trust any government worker. You don’t give a damn about my daughter. She’s just another fucking case number to you. As long as you draw a paycheck, you’ll go through the motions. You don’t fool me at all, so stop with your fake-as-hell sympathy. Once Chenoa pulls through this, I’m in charge, and I don’t give a fuck whether you or the county likes it. I have nothing more to say to you.”

  He turned away and Breanna just stared at the words “Night Rebels MC” on the back of his leather vest. She didn’t know what to say. Part of her chalked up his contempt of her to his obvious upset over his daughter, but a larger part knew that this was who the man was. Hard, fierce, and proud. She was just ready to respond when Chenoa’s mother walked in, her face tight with worry.

  “Breanna, what happened?”

  Before Breanna could answer, Chenoa’s mother glanced at Steel and then made her way over to him, reaching out her arms. He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Mika,” he whispered. Her arms were around his narrow waist and she buried her head in the crook of his neck. “She’s gonna be okay. Fuck, she has to be okay.”

  Mika answered back in whimpers.

  She then pulled away, grabbed a tissue out of the box sitting on the hospital tray, and went over to Chenoa, stroking her forehead. She leaned down and whispered something in her daughter’s ear, then turned to Breanna and smiled faintly. “Thanks for being here. I don’t know what happened. She was doing so well,” Mika said softly.

  Steel stood next to Mika. “So you know her?” He jerked his head in Breanna’s direction, his eyes riveted on his daughter’s placid face.

  “Of course. She’s Chenoa’s social worker. She’s been helping her out.”

  “Why the fuck doesn’t anyone tell me anything?” His jaw jutted out.

  “Because you’re always consumed with the Night Rebels. I haven’t seen you in over a month.” Mika grabbed their daughter’s hand. “She’s gonna make it, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah. There’s no way I’m letting my baby girl leave this world.”

  “She’ll pull through. The doctor said I got to her in time. Besides, she’s a strong girl,” Breanna said. Steel scowled at her. She licked her lips and shoved her hands back into her hoodie’s pockets. “I’m going to find the nurse. I have to talk to her.” She turned around and walked toward the door.

  As she left the room, she heard Mika’s voice. “Really, Steel? You’re checking out the social worker’s ass while our daughter’s lying in a hospital bed? You never change, do you?”

  His deep voice washed over her. “I wasn’t doing shit. Did you know Chenoa—” At that point he was out of earshot as Breanna walked over to the nurse’s station.

  I can’t believe he was checking out my butt. A strange tickle in her stomach pissed her off. Why am I flattered by it? He’s an angry, rude biker. He probably checks out every woman’s ass. He’s despicable. The head nurse came over and helped her with some of the information she’d need to finish her report. As she sat there writing her notes, she sensed him. Glancing sideways, she saw him lean against the counter.

  “I want to talk to the doctor. Now,” he commanded, his voice like a whip.

  The middle-aged nurse picked up the phone. “I’m paging him, sir.”

  That’s when Breanna saw him look in her direction. She shifted her eyes back to the report she was writing, accidentally knocking over a cup of coffee the nurse had given her. “Damnit,” she muttered under her breath as she pushed her chair back from the small desk. She grabbed several tissues and sopped up the brown liquid leaking onto her report.

  “Here.” His voice was gruff and rumbled from deep inside him.

  She took the wad of paper towels he handed her. “Thanks,” she murmured as she wiped up the mess. Breanna tossed the wet towels in the trash and glanced up at him. His steady gaze on her unnerved her. Gathering her papers and shoving them into a manila folder, she rose to her feet, expecting him to move back a little, but he didn’t. Her body brushed against his and a strong jolt zinged through her. “Can you please step back? I’m trying to get out.”

  “I’m not stopping you.” She pressed her lips together and rearranged the papers in her folder. “Am I making you nervous, lady?”

  When she looked up, she knew he’d be wearing a smirk on his full lips. Anger replaced nervousness. “Not at all.” She stood up again and pushed him back. She must have caught him off guard, because he stumbled back slightly. For a brief second, rage flashed in his gaze, but then admiration replaced it.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow to see Chenoa.” She tossed her hair over her shou
lder and walked to the elevator. I bet he’s checking out my ass again. Tempted to turn around, she resisted. She stepped into the elevator, breathing a sigh of relief when the metal doors shut, staring at her reflection in the shiny gold-toned doors. Her face was flushed.

  What the hell’s the matter with me? And why did I tell him I was going to be back tomorrow? He’s such a jerk. She forced all thoughts of him out of her mind as she walked across the parking lot. When she settled in her car, she cranked up the radio and sang along until she arrived at her house on the other side of town.

  The first thing she did when she entered the kitchen was go to the freezer; she hadn’t eaten since earlier that morning and she was starving. The minute she took out a frozen pizza, her front doorbell rang. Knowing only her brother would come to her house at eleven at night, she grimaced and shoved her dinner back in the freezer. She padded over to the door, looked out of the peephole to make sure, and then opened it. Her brother, tall and skinny, smiled at her as he wiped his runny nose with a tissue. “Hey. Did I wake you?”

  Breanna took in his haggard appearance and flushed skin and sighed inwardly. “No, I just got back from the hospital. A client of mine ODed on heroin.” She looked fixedly at him. He fidgeted and scratched an open sore on his neck. Is he injecting there now? She moved aside. “Come on in.”

  He slinked past her and plopped down on a large cushy chair by the fireplace. “You got any pop?”

  “Diet Coke. Is that good?” He nodded and she headed to the kitchen. Seeing her younger brother strung out on drugs broke her heart. Nicholas was the youngest of the four of them. He was twenty-one to her twenty-nine, and she always felt very protective of him, especially since their mother had basically stopped caring about them when Nicholas had only been four years old.

  “Can you hurry with that pop?”

  She grabbed a cold one out of the refrigerator and went back into the living room. After she handed him the can, she settled on the couch. “Why are you here?”

  He took a large gulp. “Can’t your brother come by and say hi?”

  She shook her head. “Not this late and when he’s obviously using. Did you come by for money?”