Steel: A Dark MC Romance (A Dark and Dirty Sinners’ MC Book 4)

by Serena Akeroyd

I got it.

  If he was glad to be back, then we were glad to have him back too.

  It was always disconcerting when one of my council was away too long. It reminded me of prison.

  It wasn’t like we had that many vacations in this life, and if we did, they were for a few days and involved a cluster of the MC tagging along for security reasons.

  Steel had been out of the country for three weeks, and he’d been on a job that might have seen him never coming home.

  So, fuck yeah, it was good to have him back.

  “We ready to collect that piece of shit?” I hollered over the rumble of our engines when we all started up our bikes.

  “Fuck yeah.”

  It happened so smoothly, the transfer, that I wasn’t sure I could have planned it better—trust me, I’d planned this shit down to the nth degree.

  The crate was moved onto the truck bed, and then we drove through the city, out toward the state line, and into our home state without a single issue.

  Not a single boy in blue drove past us, and when we made it to the clubhouse, I knew we were all amazed by how easily that had gone.

  If I was a religious man, I’d have said God was on our side, and I saw Link fiddling with his rosary a little more than he usually did, evidently deep in gratitude for how fucking ‘swimmingly’ that had gone down.

  We’d been a time bomb ticking away, just waiting for it to explode in our faces.

  He could have woken up, could have slammed his fists into the side of the crate and made himself known. Just because no cops had passed us didn’t mean another car couldn’t have noticed how weird shit was and reported us, so for us to be riding as if we weren’t transporting a fugitive on the back of a truck?

  More than good luck was on our side.

  As we pulled up at the front of the clubhouse, I climbed off my hog the second I was standing and strode over to Hawk, who rolled down his window. “I’ll send someone over to help you get the crate down. Don’t open it. Leave it for the council.”

  He nodded, his chin dipping, and though he was curious, he wasn’t going to ask.

  I respected that about him.

  Sure, he had a rep for being a miserable cunt, but I could deal with that. Better than stupid and cheerful like his twin. Hawk was serious, but he knew when to toe the line, and I knew he’d go far in the club if he kept it up and didn’t let his brother drag him down.

  I knew the pair of them were fucking clubwhores, which was a direct rule break, but fuck, there was plenty of pussy to go around, and I knew Prospects always fucked on the sly, still, I was curious what would happen when Hawk got patched in sooner than North.

  Would things change?

  Their dynamic had to. They were twins, after all. Used to doing shit together.

  I hummed at the thought, feeling like I was playing God with their familial ties, but truth was, it wasn’t Hawk’s fault that North was just shit at most tasks the MC gave him. When the truck started up and Hawk drove to the Fridge, I watched him go and felt someone move up behind me.

  I wasn’t surprised when it was Nyx, because the fucker was quiet but not quiet enough for me not to hear him.

  In our world, your senses either turned supernatural fast or you ended up in a body bag.

  “What’s the next step?”

  I blew out a breath. “Honestly? I don’t fucking know. It took so much to get to this point, I never thought it would happen.”

  “But it did. You played it smart, Rex. Thank you. Not just from me, but from us all, bro.”

  I shrugged. “Thanks aren’t necessary. You’d do the same for me if it was—”

  I couldn’t finish the sentence, because I didn’t want to.

  I didn’t want to say her name, not at that moment. I figured everyone fucking knew what I felt for Rachel Laker, the MC’s attorney, but saying it then?

  It would have been a lot more revealing than I could handle.

  So I said shit. Nyx clapped me on the shoulder, and muttered, “Maybe we should call church once he’s situated in the Fridge?”

  I cut him a look. “Sure. We’re all awake anyway. Want to call it?”

  His nose crinkled, and I laughed. He’d called two churches since Storm had left, and it always made me laugh because he wasn’t a natural leader, even if he was fucking good at it.

  “Just do it, dumb fuck.”

  His lips twisted in a snarl, but he grabbed his cell. The group message we all had pinged to life, making my own phone buzz, and I nodded at him before I strode off.

  I needed to clear my head before church, needed to figure out what the fuck our next step was.

  We’d invested a lot in bringing Donavan back, and while it was for revenge, I wanted to make it worth our while too.

  Our allies were at war with the Famiglia, and that was a war we’d just joined, thanks to one of the don’s sons coming after Lily and attempting to kidnap her.

  In the hostage attempt, Tiffany, Sin’s woman, had been hurt and had lost their kid, and Lily was badly beat up from her car going off road and colliding with a tree.

  The don’s kid was dead now, drained of both lifeblood and information, and I saw no reason why we couldn’t do the same with Donavan.

  It would be even better, because unlike the dumb fuck son behind the hostage attempt, who was an idiot the father spent most of his time shoving into rehab, Donavan Lancaster?

  He was one of his close friends. They’d gone to college together.

  With the right persuasion, there was nothing Donavan couldn’t tell us about the Famiglia’s operations.

  Turning to watch Hawk drive the bastard away, I started to stroll slowly, letting myself process things, toward the bunkhouse where the three women were living.

  Girls, Tiffany insisted we call them, and for lack of a better word, I had no alternative to use.

  “Where you going, Prez?” Steel tossed out.

  I didn’t answer because I didn’t need to. I just raised a hand over my head and pointed at the bunkhouse where the women, ‘girls,’ were staying.

  As I approached, I saw a small face through the window, and my lips twisted, because somehow, the compound had become a kind of halfway house for chicks of all ages.

  I wasn’t sure how that had happened.

  How we’d managed to tuck a technically kidnapped child into the mix alongside three trafficking victims and a lunatic hacker who usually got us into more shit than she got us out of. Then there was Giulia, a bloodthirsty bitch who was the only one capable of soothing the torment in my brother’s soul. Lily, whose fucking eyes made me feel like I was having a come-to-Jesus moment every time I stared deep into them, and who, I figured, did the same for Link—made him feel things that he hadn’t felt in nearly forty years of living. Then there was Tiff. Lost, adrift, tied to us while somehow being even more of a part of this clusterfuck than anyone else.

  She was the don’s secret daughter.

  A secret daughter, for fuck’s sake.

  It was like something from one of those Harlequin novels my mom had loved reading, except this shit had life and death consequences.

  Katina, Ghost’s kid sister, ducked out of the window, and I figured she was rushing into the living room where most of the women were undoubtedly sitting.

  Having known our intent tonight, I had no doubt that Mav would be in the sitting room too, so when I made it around there, opened up the door, and saw seven women, one child, and a brother staring back at me expectantly, even though it wasn’t even five AM yet, I just shrugged and said, “The boogeyman is no more.”

  Three

  Stone

  “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

  I smiled at Harriet, who was in the hospital for aggressive radiation therapy, and tried to soothe her by rubbing her shoulder. “Harriet, you’re not losing your mind.”

  “Just a part of my brain,” she replied with a sniff.

  My lips twisted because she was one of the strongest people I knew.
In fact, the more I stayed around the oncology unit, the more I realized exactly how strong the human race could be.

  Every single one of the patients here were fighters. They had their down days, they had their moments where they needed to cry, just to slump in their chairs as the poison that we pumped into their veins swept everything, good and bad, from their system. But for the most part, they were strong.

  Warriors of old in a modern facility.

  “You’re not losing your mind,” I repeated.

  She shook her head. “I feel like I am.”

  My brow puckered. “What makes you say that?”

  She sucked in a breath. “I saw someone in Angela’s room the other night, Stone.”

  My mouth worked at that. “You mean Alex?”

  “No, it was too late for visitors. Alex left with Oliver with everyone else, the same time my Frank went home.” She blew out a breath. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but it was your day off, and then…” Her shoulders shook. “I thought you’d think I was crazy, so I put it off.”

  Compassion filled me but, keeping my voice calm, I asked, “Who was it, Harriet?”

  “I don’t know, but I heard Angela cry out.” She quivered. “I called for the nurse, but no matter how many times I pushed the buzzer, no one came.” She bit her lip. “I was going to—I thought about pushing the emergency button, but I couldn’t reach.”

  “You had a nasty dose that day, Harriet. There’s no need to sound so mad at yourself.”

  “What if someone was hurting her?”

  “Why would anyone hurt Angela?” I asked, even though my heart was beating like a fucking drum.

  This was the first time a patient had confirmed my suspicions, but the truth was, I didn’t have a clue what to do with it.

  Did I go to the cops?

  If I did, what would I say?

  Grievously ill patients in the hospital were dying?

  Angela wasn’t going to have an autopsy. This would get swept under the rug again, just like it had with Louis and Thomas two months ago.

  Once, well, I could have made a mistake.

  Louis had been old. Nearly a hundred, he was blind in both eyes and deaf in both ears, and he was bedridden.

  His death had been a blessing, thanks to an aggressive pancreatic carcinoma.

  Technically.

  A technical blessing.

  When he’d died, he’d been brighter than usual. Not on the brink of death’s door—not more so than usual.

  There were always ways of telling if someone was close to passing over, and it boiled down to something that medical science would never agree with.

  One: gut instinct.

  Sometimes, the scent of death lingered in the air, as if the Grim Reaper himself was wearing aftershave.

  Two: food.

  A dying man or woman didn’t care what they ate. They just ate. Sometimes they didn’t, sometimes they did. But a favorite food? It lost the taste, that very essence that made it a favorite.

  I knew it sounded stupid.

  Truly, I did. And I knew doctors and fellow students would mock me for it, but I’d seen it so many times that it was true to me.

  My grandmother—she who loved KFC more than she loved me—that final month of her life had told us, “Ain’t got none of the flavor no more.”

  My mother, who adored dill pickles, and even more the juice in which they came, had turned her nose up even at the pickles in a MickyD Big Mac—and everyone knew they were the best dill pickles around—when breast cancer had robbed us of her.

  As for Louis, his favorite had been orange Jell-O. I’d sneaked him cups when I shouldn’t. The old man went through as many as I could procure for him, until I started to feel like an orange Jell-O bandit, but he’d had no sight, no hearing. What joy was there in the world for him if he couldn’t have that too?

  And that last day?

  He’d eaten eight of the damn cups I’d brought him.

  And Thomas? He was in for palliative care as he went through rounds of chemo for lung tumors. The morning before his death, his wife had brought him a picnic basket filled with his favorite foods.

  He’d even offered me a blini with caviar on top, for God’s sake. They’d been sitting in the room like they were having a romantic picnic!

  And sure, it could be said that people just died. They did, and I knew that. But this felt wrong.

  Just…wrong.

  But I couldn’t say anything to Harriet, could I?

  I couldn’t say anything to anyone.

  Speaking out about Angels of Death was notoriously difficult, because getting the word out wasn’t something the hospital itself would actually want.

  I’d noticed three patients had passed, and that was in my rotation in this department.

  How many other people had died in odd ways?

  How many other deaths required investigations?

  It meant compensation and expensive research into who the perpetrator had treated.

  I sucked in my cheeks, pinching them with my teeth, even as I told Harriet, “I’m sure it was a bad dream, sweetie. Lottie said she was fine in the morning.”

  Harriet bit her bottom lip. “She did?”

  I nodded. Even though it was a lie.

  Harriet sank back against her pillow and whispered, “Thank the Lord for that.”

  Well, I wouldn’t go that far…

  I finished checking the site of her IV line, which had grown infected, and made notes on her chart about the subsequent direction of her treatment.

  When I was done, I smiled at her and said, “I’ll see you before I leave for the day.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Thanks, Stone.”

  I winked. “My pleasure.”

  My smile lasted for as long as it took me to make it out through the door, and the guilt hit me next, as did one of the pharmacy assistants who was heading into Harriet’s room.

  My brow rose at the sight of her, but I smiled and informed her, “One of the nurses will confirm her new meds.”

  “Thanks, doctor.”

  Nodding, I peered back at Harriet, who waved at me, prompting me to wave back. I wasn’t supposed to get close to my patients, and everywhere else, I’d been fine. I’d been able to stay away, keep my distance, but here? It was impossible.

  That was why I told the ones I liked and who liked me to call me Stone.

  They needed the personal touch, and it wasn’t something they got often in a place where protocol was king.

  I knew I’d get into shit if anyone found out, and patients were under strict requests to only call me Stone if we were alone. Thus far, there’d been no issues.

  But that alone told me something about this ward.

  Secret conversations.

  Secret interactions.

  I’d been looking up Angels of Death, and had seen how they got to know each person they decided to ‘treat.’ They were doing their duty, they thought. Trying to ease the pain of those who were beyond saving…

  It was bullshit. Total and utter bullshit, but in this ward, it was doable.

  I had a deal with the patients to call me Stone. Why couldn’t someone else have something similar going down?

  With me, there was no nefarious intent. But with someone else? Who the fuck knew?

  As I passed a few nurses, a couple of med students, some junior residents like me and some senior, I avoided them, grateful I was on my break.

  When I got to the nurses’ station, I handed over Harriet’s chart and told Raina, who was in charge today, about the change in Harriet’s dosage as the infection site wasn’t improving.

  She nodded, cast me a concerned look, which told me I wasn’t holding up under the strain that well, and asked, “You doing okay, Stone?”

  I shook my head. “I’m just tired.”

  Her nose curled up. “Aren’t we all, darling?”

  I laughed. “True.” I looked at the clock, which sat behind her desk, and told her, “I’ll be back in an hour.”r />
  She waved me off, but instead of going down to the cafeteria to fill my grumbling stomach, I headed for the fire exit that had a faulty door at the back of the department.

  It was supposed to have been repaired, but staff who smoked came out here for a quick fix since it was faster than going around to the main entrance.

  I slipped out, took a seat on the step, and pulled out my phone.

  I’d given up smoking two years ago, but just sitting here in the corner with cigarette butts around me and the scent of tobacco staining the air?

  Damn, it made me wish for one.

  I could almost feel the nicotine-tinged smoke penetrating my being as I sucked in a deep, calming breath.

  It didn’t work.

  I knew the psychology behind it. Knew that smokers sucked in deep breaths that controlled the autonomous respiratory system like they were in a meditation or something.

  I’d tried meditating without tobacco.

  It hadn’t worked.

  Grunting, I unlocked my phone and dialed Indy’s number.

  “Bitch. Where the fuck have you been?”

  Her greeting had me crinkling my nose. “You always know how to say the sweetest things.”

  “Fuck that. Where. The. Fuck. Have. You. Been?”

  I sighed. “I want a cigarette.”

  “A cigarette?” Like I’d known it would, that shut her up. “You? Why?”

  “Because I’m an addict, and once an addict, always an addict.”

  She snorted. “Bullshit. You’re the strongest woman I know. You dropped coke, doll face. You sure as fuck don’t need that stuff.”

  “I genuinely think I was more hooked to the cigs than the coke. I mean, the coke was a, what? Three-time thing?” I grumbled glumly, eying one of the butts on the ground, soggy and leaking brown water, with interest.

  I mean, I wasn’t going to pick one up, but still, they were bizarrely tempting.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You busy?”

  “You caught me at the right moment. I’m between clients.”

  Indy ran the best tattoo shop this side of the Hudson. She was based in the small town of Verona, and if the mayor didn’t give her the key to the city for all the traffic she brought into the place soon, then there was no justice in the world.