Steele shared the same shameful desire.
“No.” Ash backed away from him, shaking her head. “I can’t do this. I don’t wanna talk about this. We aren’t gonna discuss it.”
And then she started running—from him, from the memory of Abe. She tried to escape the reality of her own dark thoughts—to lay beside Abe in the cold ground.
Steele was right behind her, eating up the space between them with his longer legs and more powerful strides.
“Too damn bad. We’re talkin’ about it.”
“Go away.”
Steele gripped her arm and yanked her off her feet. He hauled her off the blacktop until they were huddled against the wall.
“Talk to me.”
Ash punched him in the face. “Let go.”
“Make me.” His voice cracked.
Ash stared at Steele, and her vision tunneled. The rage inside boiled, bubbled to the surface, aching to come out and play. Begging for release. Ash swayed closer to him, arms clamped at her sides to keep from reaching out.
“That’s it.” Steele tapped his own chest. “Put the blame where it belongs. On me. Abe’s dead because of my actions because I didn’t stay at my fucking post. I wanted to get laid, and that mattered more than my duty, mattered more than my friendship with Abe at that moment.” Steele spread his arms wide, offering himself as a target. “Stop punishing yourself and punish me instead. I deserve it.”
“No.” She trembled, adrenaline rushing through her veins. All she could see was Steele standing against the brick wall, big body braced for impact.
God help her, she wanted it. Needed it. How long had she been carrying around this anger, this pain? She could put it on him, and Steele wouldn’t fight back. For once, Ash could let the rage loose.
“Come on. You know you wanna.” His voice lowered. “I want you to. Punish me.”
The wind lashed at their clothing, making it billow around their bodies. For a wild second, she wondered if the two of them had somehow caused this weird weather—two fronts crashing into one another.
Ash wailed on him—striking his handsome face, pummeling his chest.
Steele didn’t even try to defend himself. He just took it.
She knocked his legs out from underneath him, and then straddled his hips. As she slapped and kicked and hit, tears streamed down her face. Tears she’d been holding on to forever. The floodgates let down, and all of it poured out—fury and pain and grief.
Steele kept repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said it like a prayer, a plea.
It only made her hit him harder. The words weren’t enough—they’d never be enough.
And when his lips were bloody, and his face was bruised, she stopped.
Ash collapsed on top of him, and Steele shuddered beneath her. They held one another, both wounded—inside and out. It was the best she’d felt in years.
She hiccupped, exhausted and utterly spent. The release left her feeling like a limp rag doll.
And then he ruined everything by speaking.
“I’m sorry, Ash,” he whispered, tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve apologized the day of his funeral. I should’ve begged for your forgiveness. You don’t know how many times I wished I could trade places with Abe. It shoulda been me.”
She couldn’t hear this right now. Ash scrambled off him and bolted again.
Steele paced her, even in his broken and bloody state. He seized her from behind, wrapping his big arms around her and burying his face in her hair.
She struggled in his hold but couldn’t get free. And Ash was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. “What are you doin’?”
“What does it look like?”
His arms felt good—warm and safe. Like the comfy, old zebra-striped fleece blanket on her childhood bed. At night, she’d wrap it around herself and fall asleep, content and cozy.
“Let go.”
“Never.”
“I don’t like bein’ held.”
“Yes, you do, but you’re too stubborn to admit it, so shut up and let me hold you. Besides, it’s what I'm supposed to do. You’re cryin’.”
“I’m not cryin’,” she lied, even as the tears dried on her face. “And I don’t need to be held.” Showing weakness was never an option.
But he didn’t let go, and Ash sobbed as he held her. Together, they rocked. For a moment, she soaked in the comfort.
As quickly as the storm began, it quieted. The wind died down, and the snow stopped swirling. Once more, it was only another crisp, chilly evening—clear and calm.
“I felt him, you know.”
“Abe?”
“Yeah, all the time. When we were kids, we could always tell when the other was sad or scared or in pain. He fell off his bike when we were ten, pitched right over the handlebars and went tumblin’ into the concrete.”
“I remember. He got pretty beat up.”
“Abe scraped his knee and broke his thumb. I was at home, a block away, colorin’ in my room. When I felt his pain, I fell off the bed.” She shuddered.
“I never knew that,” Steele whispered.
“We didn’t tell anyone. It was one of our secrets.” She swallowed and forced out the rest. “I miss that the most, the connection. I was never, ever alone. Not really.” It was easier to say the words when she couldn’t see his face.
Steele squeezed her harder, and she wrapped her arms around his, holding on. “Twins are supposed to be linked—sense when the other is in trouble. We were always close. Our parents said we’d cry if they tried to put us in different cribs, so they left Abe and me together. We held each other as we slept. It was comforting somehow. We’d always been together, since before we were born. Our lives started the very same moment.”
But she hadn’t been able to die with him.
“I know this sounds crazy, but I sensed what Abe went through that night. I felt him die.” Ash could barely choke the words out, so she told the faceless brick wall in front of her instead. “I woke up screamin’ my head off.”
“Ash….”
Her neck was damp from Steele’s tears. “He died in pain,” she whimpered. “Half a world away.”
“I know.”
“I read the report, but I didn’t really need to. I knew what they did. They…tortured him.” All the horror had been laid out in neatly typed sentences describing Abe’s mutilation and death.
“I haven’t forgotten. I can’t,” he said raggedly. “When I…when I got back to the field, I…saw him.”
“Tell me.”
“No. You don’t need those images in your head.”
Steele started to pull away from her, but she sank her fingernails into his skin. “I already know what happened.”
“That’s different than hearin’ it firsthand.”
“Tell me.” She drew blood, scratching him.
“I noticed the fire first. When I left…the tent…I could see it, roaring in the distance. It was hot, and it filled the air with black smoke. I ran as fast as I could, but it was too late. When I got there, I saw….”
She swallowed. “What did you see?”
He didn’t speak for a moment, and then the words came in a flood. “They’d strung him up from a tree. His neck was broken. I remember I remember hopin’ they’d hanged him first because his insides…were on the outside.” Steele’s voice broke. “They’d used a sword, I think. It nearly cut him in two.”
Ash howled, a soul-deep wail. “Abe didn’t deserve to die like that. He never even got to live—no wife, no home of his own, and no children. Nothin’. It’s like he was never even here. He left nothin’ behind…except me.”
Steele held her tighter, and she let him.
“You aren’t alone, Ash.”
“Yes, I am. And I’ve tried, but I don’t know how to live without him.”
Steele turned her around until they were facing one another. He looked as bruised as she felt inside, but she couldn’t apologize. She didn’t even want to
—he deserved it and more.
They’d never, ever be even.
“No, you aren’t alone. You have me. I ’m your friend.”
“With friends like you….”
“I’ll never be your enemy, Ash. I have a piss poor way of showin’ it, but it’s true.” He cupped her face in his hand and ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.
Ash wanted to slap him, scream at him, but instead, she closed her eyes, relishing the touch instead. She should pull away, but she couldn’t. In fact, she barely resisted the urge to open her mouth for him—letting his thumb in further.
Once again, Ash was sixteen, ready to be kissed by the boy she’d been dreaming of. She remembered every single detail of that day. Her parents had thrown a big birthday bash. While she’d had a basement sleepover, Abe had hosted his friends in the backyard for a campout.
Later that night, she’d bundled up in a hoodie and jeans and snuck outside. Steele had been the only one still awake. He’d pushed her on the old tire swing in the backyard, and they’d talked for hours.
When she’d been about to go inside, he’d sauntered around to the front of the swing and held her suspended in midair instead. And then he’d stolen a quick kiss before leaping out of the way, sending her flying through the air, breathless and blushing.
To this day, it’d been the best kiss she’d ever experienced.
And now, in the present, Steele dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers, slowly, learning her once more.
Mindful of his split lip, she returned it. Damn him—it was every bit as good as the first one. Sweet and soothing, their lips brushed, a kiss born of comfort. Slow and sensual, and oh, so welcoming.
Funny. They hadn’t kissed in twenty years…and he still left her breathless.
No. No. No!
This was wrong. She shouldn’t be here with Steele, kissing him. Forgiving him for a betrayal, he couldn’t make right.
Ash thrust him away and ran to the hotel room as fast as her legs would carry her.
Steele didn’t follow.
***
Steele limped into Perdition and flung himself down onto a bar stool. Ash had left him bruised and bloody in the parking lot, and he’d dragged himself to his motorcycle and headed straight for the bar.
After barking his order at a hellion, he sat with a full bottle of Eddie’s moonshine, the straight up kind—no fruit infusions and no glass fucking necessary tonight. The cuts on his chest had ripped open again. He could feel his face had puffed up like a melon, and he could taste the blood from his split lip.
He tipped the bottle back and took a long swig. It stung, but the liquid fire slid down his throat and settled into his stomach, numbing the pain—the physical injuries at least. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to pull his shit together.
Steele didn’t know what the hell to think.
He’d fucked up another chance to get Coyote back, but in some ways, he felt better than he had in years. Letting Ash take her anger out on him had felt good. Right, somehow. He’d been craving absolution for a long time, and she’d given him a taste of it. They weren’t square, and they never would be, but he’d made a dent in his debt. Sooner or later, a man must pay for his sins.
But he shouldn’t have kissed her—started this crazy obsession of his again.
Abe had made it abundantly clear the day after he’d kissed Ash the first time. His best friend had tackled him to the ground, and they’d rolled around in the dirt and scrubby brown shit that passes for grass in Texas. Steele had walked off with a black eye and a stern warning to stay the hell away from Ash. He’d gotten the message, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone.
Steele knew he wasn’t good enough for Ash and never would be. Her parents were professionals, and they lived a nice middle-class life. The last thing Ash needed was his poor, white trash hands on her. She deserved better—someone from her world.
Steele had nearly destroyed the Calhoun family single-handedly. Ash and Abe should’ve gone to college, followed in their parent’s footsteps. After watching the horrors of 9/11, Steele had signed up. He’d also talked Abe into joining the Marines with him.
Steele had fucked up his future in football, and he couldn’t think of a better cause. But Ash had followed right behind her big brother. Now Abe was dead, and Ash wanted to join him. His death had shattered her too. Before her brother had been murdered, she’d been strong and independent, a fighter.
In many ways, Daisy reminded him of Ash. Those two were cut from the same warrior woman cloth. If Daisy hadn’t found Rose alive, she would’ve become like Ash—a loner hell-bent on vengeance.
A hand settled over his, taking the bottle from his grip. “I think you’ve had enough, brother.”
Steele turned to see Voodoo sitting next to him at the bar.
He snatched the moonshine back. “Didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Got it anyway.” Voo watched him with his creepy, take-a-gander-at-your-soul mojo. Talking to his brother was a lot like a poke in the eye with a sharp stick—painful and unnecessary. Steele preferred action over words any day.
He turned away. “Leave me the fuck alone. Ain’t in the mood for your shenanigans. Can’t a man drink in peace around here?”
“We both know you aren’t at peace.”
Steele kept right on drinking and hoped ignoring Voo might make him go away.
“Axel wants to see you first thing tomorrow mornin’.”
“I figured.”
Maybe Axel would finally let Steele have it for his series of fuck-ups. Steele was overdue for an ass-kicking.
“And I’m thinkin’ you be havin’ woman troubles.”
“Yeah? And I’m thinkin’ you can kiss my ass.” He’d gone through enough trauma for one day, fuck you very much.
As per usual, Voodoo didn’t give a damn what anyone else wanted.
“Everyone is talkin’ about you and Ashton Calhoun. As the club’s VP, I’m responsible for vetting all potential old ladies.”
“She ain’t my old lady.”
“From what I heard, you declared her yours in front of everyone at Perdition the other night.”
Steele hissed a breath out. “Oh, fuck me. I did.”
“I think you need her.”
That was up for debate, but Ash certainly didn’t need him. She’d be better off if she’d never even met him. If Steele had a time machine, he’d try to set this mess straight. But tonight, he’d have to settle for a beating and some moonshine.
Hmph. Time machine.
Coyote would be all over the idea. Steele could imagine Yo spending hours scouring for parts on eBay. When he finished piecing the thing together, Coyote would do crazy test runs with the gadget he’d made. After making Steele watch a Back to the Future marathon, of course.
Tears pricked his eyes, and he blinked them away. Both Abe and Coyote had paid in blood for their friendship with Steele. It was the second time he’d teared up tonight. He was on his way to becoming a character in a bad country song.
Steele cleared his throat.
“Ash is doin’ a job for the club. That’s pretty cut and dry, brother. I only made sure the other brothers didn’t hassle her. Don’t read more into it.”
“Few things are.”
“What?”
“Cut and dry.” His lips twitched. “Especially when women are involved. You should see Duke tonight. Have him look at those bumps and bruises. Who beat you?”
Oh, fuck no.
Admitting to getting a beat-down from a woman? No way. He’d take the info with him to the grave. The brothers would never let up if they found out. As far as Steele was concerned, Ash had a free pass to clean his clock any time she damn well pleased.
“I’m fine, brother. Don’t worry about it.” Besides, Steele didn’t want Duke to look at the wounds. He’d earned every bit of pain she’d caused.
“Who hit you?” Voo repeated.
“I fell.” Yep, it sound
ed lame, even to his own ears. He should’ve thought of a better excuse.
“Don’t lie.”
“You callin’ me a liar?” Maybe a bit more violence would make him feel better. That’s what’s wrong with the world—too much yammerin’ and not enough knockin’ heads together.
A long moment passed.
Voo didn’t rise to the bait, and Steele couldn’t take a swing at the VP without good cause.
“You lie to yourself all the time.”
Perceptive fucker.
“Oh, yeah?” He took another swig. Might as well crawl deeper into the bottle while he listened to this touchy-feely crap.
“No, ‘lie’ ain’t quite the right word.” Voo tapped his chin. “I think you obfuscate the truth.”
“I ain’t cloudin’ the truth.” Oh, hell. He’d stepped in it now.
When Steele turned, stool creaking beneath him, his brother looked like he was about to break an arm from patting his own back.
What an asshole.
Steel fumbled for an excuse.
“Don’t. You understood exactly what I said. You know,” Voodoo began, all wise man imparting knowledge. “Lex has been showin’ me all these Shakespearean plays. Different productions. When she visits, we stream ‘em on the Roku player, and while we were watching one night, I noticed somethin’.”
“Good for you, asshat.” Steele tipped the bottle back.
“Shakespeare usually puts a fool into his plays. Do you know why?”
“He was plumb out of ideas?”
“Because the fool is never foolish. He’s usually the one tellin’ you exactly what the play’s about—the moral. My question is, brother, why do you play the fool?”
Enough poking at old wounds for one evening.
Steele stood, ready to call it a night in one of the crash rooms.
“I ain’t playin’. You’d best believe I’m ten kinds of fool.”
Chapter Thirteen
My life’s a mess.
Steele lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, even though he didn’t truly see it. He was exhausted—mentally, physically, every way possible. Between dealing with his past, Coyote’s disappearance, and Ash’s trauma, he was spent.
Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2) Page 28