His body stiffened and he acted indignant, but she saw the panic lacing his eyes. It was the panic of a user who was scared to death he wouldn’t get his next fix. It angered and broke her heart at the same time. “You always think I want money.” He finished his drink, crushed the can, and threw it on her glass-topped coffee table.
“You do,” she said softly. “When you’re on the stuff, I never hear from you unless you need money. Shelby and Jeremy tell me the same thing.”
He snorted. “Shelby shouldn’t be talking. She’s nothing but a whore moving from one guy to the next that she meets online. Do you know she’s shacking up with a married man? The dude’s doing that shit in front of his wife, and Shelby brags all the time how he gives her everything and nothing to his wife. And Jeremy is in and outta jail all the time, so why the fuck is he saying anything about me?” His nostrils flared.
Nicholas was right. She and her siblings were the quintessential fucked-up family. “That may be true, but you’re putting up smokescreens. Do you need money?”
He averted her gaze. “I always need money. Who the fuck doesn’t?”
She rubbed her temples. I can’t keep doing this, but I can’t stand the thought of him alone on the streets. “How much do you need?”
He smiled. “Just a few hundred. My rent’s due and I’m a little short.” He averted his eyes.
She knew he was lying, and he knew she knew; it was a game they played each and every time. “Spend the night here. I was just ready to heat up a frozen pizza. It has pepperoni on it.” When he looked everywhere but at her, she knew he’d walk out the door and head straight to his dealer. When he was young, the promise of pepperoni made him settle down, his big blue eyes widening as he watched her set a bubbling slice of pizza on his plate.
If only life were that simple again.
“Can I take a raincheck? I’m beat and I gotta get up early for work tomorrow.”
She stared fixedly at him. “Don’t lie to me, Nicholas. You quit your job at the grocery store three weeks ago.”
Without missing a beat, he flashed her a too-wide smile. “I got another job. Working at the car wash. The tips are pretty decent.” He scratched at the sore on his neck again. “So, you got the money?”
She went over to her purse and counted out three hundred dollars before handing them to him. “You should put a bandage over that.” She pointed to his bleeding sore. “You’re going to get an infection.”
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, then squeezed her to him. “You’ve always been the one to worry about me. You’ve always cared. I appreciate it.” He pulled away and ambled to the door. “I’ll call you over the weekend. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat or something.”
She nodded and watched him disappear into the misty night, the long shadows enveloping him. I’m losing him. I don’t know how to stop it. Breanna closed the door, her heart heavy. First Chenoa, then her brother. Two young people caught up in a macabre dance of death.
She went back to the kitchen, opened the freezer, and stared at the pizza. Hunger had left her, so she closed the door and sat on the kitchen chair, numb from exhaustion and sadness. Then Steel’s face—angry and proud—flashed in her mind. Whoa. Where did that come from? Chenoa’s father intrigued her, but she knew he was an outlaw biker and that meant bad news all around. She found him to be rude, cocky, and an overall jerk.
She’d go over the following day to see if Chenoa was better. She hoped the biker wouldn’t be there. Then why did you tell him you were going to be there? She was tired. She didn’t know what she was saying, and the way he stared at her made her nervous as hell. It was like he was seeing into her, becoming a part of her.
She didn’t have time to think about him.
Breanna swung around and opened her laptop. If she was going to keep helping Nicholas, she’d have to get a part-time job on the weekends; a county employee’s salary was barely enough for her to live on. And with Jeremy getting out of jail soon, she knew he’d need some money until he could find employment. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and crossed her legs on the chair. Instead of typing “bartending” and “waitressing jobs” in the search engine, she typed “Night Rebels MC.”
I’m just curious, that’s all.
But she knew that wasn’t all by a long shot. She couldn’t get the rugged biker out of her mind. I seriously need to get laid. It’s been like five months since I broke up with Mark. She shook her head and closed the computer, knowing the biker’s penetrating green eyes would stab at her dreams that night.
I can’t let him get to me. I hope I never see him again. As she thought the words she knew they were a lie. She was very much looking forward to their next encounter.
Damnit.
Chapter Two
Steel looked up as Dr. Sanchez entered the room. He came over and introduced himself to both him and Mika, then glanced down at Chenoa. Her eyes had fluttered open twenty minutes before the doctor had come in, and Mika was feeding her spoons of chipped ice.
Dr. Sanchez smiled at the young girl, then looked down at his chart. “Your daughter is doing well. I’ve given her naloxone. It’s an opioid receptor antagonist, which means the substance quickly attaches to the same areas of the brain that heroin seeks out. The good news is that Ms. Quine had your daughter brought in just in time, so the drug will reduce and most probably reverse all the symptoms of the overdose.” He turned to Chenoa. “You gave us quite a scare, young lady. You’re lucky you’re still alive. Heroin overdose is very serious business, and many addicts don’t live through it.” He wrote down something on the chart, then addressed Steel and Mika. “I want to keep her in the hospital for a few more days for observation, make sure there isn’t any lasting damage from the overdose. I’ll arrange a time when we can meet to go over some options after release.”
“What does that mean?” Chenoa asked in a soft voice.
Dr. Sanchez smiled. “We rarely send an addict home before we have some safeguards in place. Rehab is what we recommend. I’ll talk to your parents about it.”
The dark-haired girl pushed herself up a little more. “I don’t need rehab. It was a mistake. I was stupid. It was the first time I tried it.” Her eyes darted to each parent.
Mika put down the glass of ice and hugged her daughter. “I believe you, sweetie. I’m here for you, you know that.”
Steel narrowed his eyes. “You can bullshit your mom, but you’re not doing it to me. You’re a fucking addict. I can see your lines from here.” Dr. Sanchez cleared his throat. Steel glanced at him. “I’m just telling it like it is, Doc. Too much denial’s been going around here. Chenoa, your ass is in rehab, and you and I are gonna have a serious talk. I don’t give a shit what you or your mother wants. I’m fucking in charge now.”
Chenoa hung her head and the doctor squeezed her hand. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to check on you. It was nice meeting you.”
Steel jerked his head at the doctor and watched him walk out of the room.
“Can you keep your temper in check for once?” Mika said as she sat down in a chair near the hospital bed.
“Not when it’s about our daughter putting shit in her body. What the fuck were you thinking, Chenoa? Where’d you get the stuff?”
“Dad, I’m tired. I’m not ready for the third degree right now. Can it wait?”
Steel wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense in her. “Can it wait?” Fuck no! He opened his mouth but then shut it when he saw his daughter’s eyes close. She looked so fragile lying on the bed, her black hair a stark contrast to the white sheets covering her. Her skin was pale, and her usual pinkish lips were drained of color. He decided to talk to her later; for the moment, he’d let her rest. As long as she was in the hospital, she was safe and he wouldn’t have to worry about her.
“I’m taking off,” he said to Mika. He went over and kissed his daughter on the forehead.
“I’m going to stay the rest of the night with her. We’re so luc
ky Breanna got to her when she did. We could’ve lost our baby.” Mika’s voice broke and Steel saw a couple of tears escape.
“Yeah, we gotta figure this shit out. I need to know who she’s hanging with. Do you know her friends?”
“Some of them.”
“Some? Fuck, Mika, you need to know all of them. She’s hanging with the wrong crowd.”
“I can’t monitor every minute of her life.”
“Why the fuck not? If she wasn’t into this shit, I’d agree with you, but she is. She’s given up any right to privacy. I want to know everyone she knows. I need to find out who she got the stuff from. And how the hell is she paying for it? Are you giving her extra money?”
“No. I hardly have enough some months to pay all the bills. Thank God I have Roy helping out.”
“That’s another thing. I don’t like that fucker you’ve been going out with.”
Mika’s eyes widened. “Since when do you have the right to tell me who to go out with? I don’t tell you about the many women you screw, do I?”
“No, but I’m not exposing Chenoa to them either. I don’t give a shit who you date. I just don’t like him living with you while Chenoa’s in the house. There’s no reason for you to be living with him. She’s only seventeen years old. Anyway, she told me that Roy gives her the creeps.”
“She’s never liked any man I went out with. She keeps holding out hope that we’ll get back together. Roy’s always been nice and treated her well. I won’t have you or her dictate who I can or can’t go out with.”
“As I said, going out with him is fine. Shacking up is a different story.”
“I’m too tired for this. Believe me, Roy isn’t the problem. You not seeing Chenoa as much as you should is the bigger problem. You didn’t even know she had a new caseworker.”
“How the fuck would I know about Miss Uppity Bitch if no one told me? I don’t get shit from the Department of Human Services. And you keep badmouthing the club to Chenoa every chance you get. You have her terrified to step one foot into it.”
“Your family and your life is the club. You don’t fool me.”
Steel ground his teeth. “I’m not rehashing this shit again. You always take the focus off yourself. I’m outta here.” He swung around and marched out the door, his breathing heavy. He was pissed at Mika and at himself for not seeing the signs of Chenoa’s drug use. As he thought back, he should’ve wondered why she’d started wearing long sleeves all the time.
Maybe Mika has a point. Maybe I was too consumed with the club that I let Chenoa stand by the sidelines. I’m gonna fucking fix that.
The chill of the night air felt good as he made his way across the parking lot to his Harley. He swung his leg and settled on the leather seat, starting the ignition and letting the iron horse roar to life. Whenever shit got to be too much, he’d jump on his bike and ride, loving the way the wind wrapped around him, the way his body moved with his motorcycle like they were one fusing with the road.
He sped past the closed businesses on Main Street. Alina was a small town of only eight thousand people, nestled in the southwestern part of Colorado and surrounded by the high and rugged San Juan and La Plata mountain ranges. The town rested on that imaginary border between mountain and desert: close enough for high elevation views, low enough for the arid environment of the high desert. Alina was about forty miles away from the Four Corners, where the borders of Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico meet. He grew up in the area with his three siblings. His mother was Navajo and his father—the bastard—was Irish. He grew up in poverty on the Navajo reservation that was about thirty miles from Alina. Except for him, his whole family still lived on the reservation.
His Harley blasted around curves as he rode farther away from town. He ached to feel the wind around him, to banish all thoughts and to be one with Mother Earth. He made his way to Mount Hesperus, one of the Navajo people’s sacred mountains. He’d been going there since he was a kid. His mother had explained how her people believed that the sacred mountains were integral to their worldview. They respected them and believed that they had spiritual power. Steel often went to Mount Hesperus, where he would open himself up and let the spiritual power that surrounded the peaks interact with him.
Steel believed that everything in life was a balance; if there was a communion of order and disorder, the universe would be good. At that moment, his life was out of balance. His daughter had ODed on heroin, and he knew she was fucking lucky to be alive. What about the next time? She doesn’t even think she’s an addict. Fuck! How did things get so out of hand?
A maelstrom of emotions came over him. He had to bring the chaos under control.
He stopped his bike and hiked up a steep path until he made it to the top. Without the obstruction of streetlights, the stars filled the inky sky, shining like a million fireflies. They seemed so close that Steel felt like he could reach out and touch their blazing heat. He breathed in deeply, the chilled air icing his lungs. Quiet surrounded him, and he welcomed it. Calmness began to seep through him, abating the turmoil within him. He turned his head skyward and whispered to the wind, “Give me wisdom to help my little girl.” Wet streaks ran down his face. It was there, on that sacred mountain, that he could let the tears no one ever saw flow freely. After a moment, he wiped his face. “Mother Earth, watch over Chenoa. Hold your hand before her in protection.”
After several more minutes of quietude, he made his way to his bike and headed back.
He pulled into the lot of the Night Rebels’ clubhouse. It was about fifteen miles from Alina, and it sat so far back from the road that, unless someone knew it was there, it would never be spotted. The club was a two-story stucco building that had been used as a warehouse back in the day. The brothers who lived at the club had rooms in the basement or second floor. The first floor was reserved for communal living: kitchen; large room where the brothers drank, argued, played pool, and fucked; meeting room; smaller rooms for visiting brothers. There were seventeen members, seven club girls, two prospects, and a whole lot of hang-arounds during parties.
About half of the brothers lived at the club. A couple of them, Rooster and Tattoo Mike, had old ladies and lived with their families in town. The rest of the members preferred the freedom of easy sex and booze every night of the week. Steel was no exception. He liked having women at his disposal twenty-four seven, and for the past three months, Alma—one of the club girls—had been his favorite. Steel had no intention of settling down with any woman, but Alma was a good listener and he loved the way she sucked him. When he wasn’t with her, she played with the other brothers and it didn’t bother him in the least. In time, he’d tire of her and go back to the variety pack. They were all one happy family.
The moment Steel entered the large room, several of his brothers came up to him, drawing him into a bear hug.
“How’s Chenoa?” Paco asked. Vice president of the club, Paco was a six-foot-tall, well-muscled heartbreaker.
“Good for now.”
“We’re here for you if you need us,” Goldie said. The blond road captain turned to his brothers. “Am I right?”
They all voiced their agreement as they raised their fists in the air.
Warmth filled Steel as he surveyed the wave of raised arms. This is my family. Mika just doesn’t fucking get it. Since he’d started the Night Rebels twelve years ago, he knew he could always count on his brothers to be there 100 percent. They were a group of men who stayed together out of loyalty and love for each other and the club. They were more family to him than his blood siblings who couldn’t give a damn about him. “Thanks. I got some bad shit going on with my little girl, but I’m gonna take care of it.”
Paco gripped his shoulder. “Like Goldie said, we’re with you, brother.”
Steel nodded. “We gotta find who the fuck’s supplying the shit in our county. That’s for tomorrow’s church. Go ahead with the party.” He pulled away and threw back a few shots of tequila that his brothers had brought
to him. The sharp taste burned all the way down. Fuck, that’s good.
“Wanna get in on a game of pool?” Shotgun asked. “We can pair against Skull and Sangre. We’ll beat their sorry asses.”
Steel laughed for the first time since his mother had called him about Chenoa. “It’s tempting, but I’m pretty worn out. Another time.” He went over to the long bar that filled one corner of the room. Across from the bar, a couple of pool tables and a poker table were in use. A large-screened television filled the back wall opposite the bar, several southwest-patterned couches and chairs in front of it. Instead of watching the images on the screen, the brothers and the club girls were curled around, pleasuring each other.
The prospect tending the bar nodded at Steel. “Another shot?” Patches asked.
“The whole fucking bottle.” Patches placed a bottle of Patrón in front of him. Gripping it, Steel ambled out and climbed the stairs to his large corner room on the second floor. Inside, he placed the bottle on his dresser and then kicked off his boots, shrugged off his cut, and sank down into an overstuffed chair, placing his feet on the small table in front of him. He opened the bottle and drank deeply from it, his goal to get good and drunk. As he took another swig, he heard a faint knock on his door. “Come in.”
The door slowly opened and a petite woman with long brown hair and a plunging neckline showing off her ample cleavage came in. “Hey. How are you? I heard about your daughter. Is she okay?” She draped her arms around his shoulders. The faint scent of patchouli wafted around him.
“Hey, Alma. Yeah, she’s good. Thanks for asking.”
She leaned down and kissed his jawline, her fingernails scratching his bare chest. A shiver ran through him for a few seconds but then died away. He gently moved her hands away. “Sorry, but I’m not feeling it tonight. I’m beat.”
Her face fell. “Do you want someone else?”
“Nah. You know right now, you’re my favorite. I just wanna finish drinking and crash. Go back down to the party. Sangre’s had a boner for you for the last several nights.”
STEEL: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 1) Page 2