Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition

by Elizabeth Knox

  Feeling self-conscious, she tried to pull her fingers free, but he wouldn’t let her. “You are beautiful,” he insisted. “The outside will heal, but it’s the inside that counts and yours is fucking gorgeous. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, you hear?”

  She looked away, then started getting nervous, her fingers trembling in his grasp.

  “Phantom’s dead,” Quake murmured for her ears only. “I made sure you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  She looked at him with alarm in her eyes. Her voice rose sharply, spiked by fear. “What about Khan? Where is he?”

  “Who’s Khan?” he asked, needing more information than a name he didn’t recognize.

  “The Death’s Head President for the Valley of Fire Chapter. He’s been collecting girls to auction off. There’s a sale somewhere tonight.”

  There would be people expecting them. People missing them. Dangerous people who might come looking for a shipment that never arrived—

  If Khan hadn’t already called for help.

  Fuck.

  “Ryder!”

  The Viking came running.

  “I need an ID on the casualties. See what you can find.” Turning back to Magenta, he sought to reassure her. “We’ll protect you,” he promised. “If this Khan touched you, he won’t ever again, I swear it.”

  Ryder was quick to report back. “Sergeant-at-Arms Viper, Vice President Bones, and the driver, a human named Vaughn Kerrigan. The driver wasn’t wearing a cut.”

  “Vaughn was the handler,” she grated. “In charge of keeping the women alive and healthy enough to sell. Bastard.”

  She spat the word. There was a story there but now wasn’t the time to ask to hear it. It sounded like the handler was someone outside the club. An independent contractor? Mafia? Cartel? It’s hard telling how far the ring reached . . . or who’d be coming after them.

  They needed to get the hell out of here.

  Stone and Inferno saw the last of the women into the RV. “Doc, you need to go!” Stone called. “If everyone is mobile, exams can wait. We need to be far away from here when the others come back.”

  And they would. There was no way they were going to let a cargo this valuable slip away without attempting to recover it.

  Doc was already climbing in, ready to take off.

  “We’ll be right behind you. Let’s go!”

  Quake flew back to his bike and caught up with them down the road. Luck was on their side and the darkness was their friend. They were back in Hell’s Fury territory well before moonrise.

  With no better place to go, Doc took the women to his ranch. They needed medical attention. Clothes. Showers. Personal care products. Things that The Order of the Dragon had no experience in. But they could stand guard. Watch the property. Protect the women. See that they stayed safe until someone from their pack or family came for them.

  Alerted to what was happening, Eagle Eye hit the supercenter and came out with a cart full of air mattresses and pumps and a second cartload of sweatpants, sweatshirts, warm socks, flip flops, T-shirts, and yoga pants. Cookie made a grocery run and arrived with half a store’s worth of food, milk, juice, soft drinks, and wine. Without knowing how much refrigerator space was available, the cold stuff was iced down and packed in insulated chests.

  The women went for the chocolates and wine first thing.

  Imagine that.

  Quake could hear them from his station outside. He was guarding the rear entrance. Stone was at the front door. Ryder and Inferno were patrolling the grounds. They would take turns covering eight-hour shifts, with four brothers relieving them at ten p.m. where they’d been searching all day. The second shift would start at six a.m. Quake, Stone, Ryder, and Inferno would be on again at two p.m.

  From where he stood on the back deck of the house, he could hear the women talking, the phone calls being made.

  Magenta went last.

  Maybe it was because she lived so close and was among the last to be taken. More than likely it was because it was only 9:45 p.m., in the middle of business hours for The Pole Barn. Even if Magenta had managed to contact Madam Belle, she wouldn’t be free to collect her until the wee hours of the morning, once the last johns had gone.

  Maybe Stone would let him give her a ride.

  Surely they could do without him for fifteen minutes.

  He got on his cell phone and texted his President, asking permission to offer to take Magenta home.

  Stone’s answer was no.

  Fuck.

  Quake sighed. Maybe it was for the best. If Magenta decided to show her appreciation like the other night, he could be gone for hours, leaving his post unmanned.

  As if his thoughts had somehow conjured her, she emerged from the house carrying a steaming mug. He stayed where he stood, watching as she made her way toward him, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy top.

  “Coffee,” she offered with a hint of a smile, presenting him with the drink. “Careful. It’s hot.”

  “Thanks.” Taking it from her, he cradled it to his chest. “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine . . . good, I guess. Doc wants me to stay awake for another two-and-a-half hours. Head injury rules or some such shit. Goddamn Phantom . . .”

  “If you want to talk about it . . .”

  Magenta shrugged a slim shoulder. “No . . . I just want to forget about it. I’ll deal with it when I’m ready. Thanks for riding to my . . . our rescue.”

  Quake tilted his head in acknowledgment. “There was no way we were going to leave you in the hands of those jackals. I’m just sorry it took so long to find you. We had no idea where to start looking.”

  “Are you sure Phantom’s dead?” she questioned softly, her gaze searching his.

  “He won’t be coming back. You don’t need to worry,” he promised her.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, Magenta released a deep breath. “Good.”

  Quake could only imagine what had been done to her. What she had endured. Perhaps one day when she was ready, she would tell him.

  “We’ll keep an eye on things, make sure the Death’s Heads don’t retaliate or try to snatch you or any of the other women again.”

  “I doubt Madam Belle will allow a jackal within a hundred yards of The Pole Barn now. If she doesn’t have a magical barrier erected yet to keep them out, she will by breakfast,” she told him lightly, wrapping her arms around her chest in a protective gesture.

  Acting on impulse, he curved his free arm around her slender waist and tugged her into the haven of his side. For one brief moment, she resisted before melting against him.

  “I got you,” he murmured, his mouth pressed against her forehead. He’d always seen her as strong and feisty. The lost, vulnerable expression he glimpsed on her face was a crack in her tough-act facade.

  “Your coffee will get cold,” she whispered, not moving from her position.

  Quake smiled. “If Doc made this, it won’t get any worse even if it does.”

  Magenta’s soft laughter was music to his ears. “Is it really that bad?”

  “Trust me, paint thinner tastes better.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t try any then,” she chuckled.

  “I’ve got fifteen minutes before someone comes to relieve me. Why don’t you go back inside and see if you can hunt down any wine and chocolate that might be left?” Giving her a little squeeze, he loosened his grip on her waist. “I’ll come find you when I’m off.”

  She seemed reluctant to go but stepped away from him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That might be a difficult challenge, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  Quake watched her walk back inside, disappearing into the safety of the interior. He wanted to spend time with her but it would have to wait. His first duty was to ensure that they weren’t attacked.

  Fifteen minutes crawled by at a snail’s pace. By the time Wraith came along for the shift change, he was a ball of anxious energy. Hurrying into the house, he searched for
Magenta but was unable to find her in any of the rooms. Wondering where the hell she’d gotten to, he found her alone in a back storage room, curled up fully dressed on an inflatable mattress. Half a bottle of wine was beside her with an unopened bar of chocolate.

  Breathing a sigh of relief at finding her, Quake shook his head and grimaced. She had to be exhausted but her head injury made it dangerous to sleep. Toeing off his boots, he joined her on the mattress. Her scent enveloped him, reminding him of the last time they’d been this close. The night she’d given herself to him was one he would never forget.

  Lying on his side, he wrapped his arm around her waist and nuzzled her hair. “Hey, sleepyhead. You’re not supposed to nod off yet.”

  A soft murmur of protest rose from her throat.

  “Come on, open your eyes,” Quake crooned. “You hit your head. Two more hours and you can sleep.”

  “Tired,” she grumbled, her speech slurred, her voice thick with drowsiness.

  Quake pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “I promise I won’t disturb you after you’re past your time, but I need you conscious right now. Come on, duchess. Wake up.”

  “Don’t wanna,” she whined. “Tired. So tired. I just wanna go home.”

  Quake felt a stab of jealousy strike at his core. Home for her was The Pole Barn. A center stage with spotlights and a numbered room upstairs. Men who watched her. Men who paid for her.

  None of them deserved her.

  None of them would cherish her like he wanted to.

  Sliding his hand beneath her top, he cupped the mound of her breast and felt her nipple harden beneath his hand. Her hips shifted, restless. The air grew thick with the scent of her arousal. Despite everything she’d been through, she was responsive to his touch. Hopefully, remembering what they’d been like together would chase away the specters that haunted her eyes.

  She didn’t object when he pushed down her sweatpants. Didn’t say no when he kissed his way from her ankles to her thighs. Instead, she spread them wider in welcome, making room for his shoulders when he settled between her legs.

  He tasted her, a long, languorous stroke of his tongue that made her pant and whimper for more. She gasped at the feel of his tongue on her clit, skin to skin with no dental dam to keep them apart. Parting her pussy lips, he made love to her with his mouth, bringing her to the edge of oblivion and fastening his mouth over her to send her hurtling into it. She came with a cry, pussy gushing, wetting his face and the flocked surface beneath her. He lapped up her juices, drinking his fill before reluctantly pulling away.

  “Please,” she whispered, still hurting.

  Quake shook his head. “It’s too soon, duchess. You need to heal.”

  “I need you,” she told him, fingers scrabbling to ease off his cut, revealing the ruined shirt underneath it.

  “What the . . . ?” she questioned, poking her hand through one of the holes.

  “Bullets. And wings. You know what we are.”

  “Gargoyles. I know,” she breathed, dropping her hand to his crotch. “Rock hard and ready for me.”

  “Magenta . . .”

  “Hush,” she crooned. “I need this. I need you. You can’t deny you want it too.”

  God help him, he couldn’t.

  He could never say no to her.

  13

  Rory needed Quake.

  She needed him to wipe away the memory of Phantom and Khan. Needed to know that someone valued her for who she was, not what she could do for them. This man saw her. All of her. Not just the outside but what was inside, too.

  He’d called her beautiful.

  Tears stung her eyes, remembering the sincerity in his gaze, in his voice. He hadn’t been feeding her a line.

  He’d meant it. Every word.

  She wanted to thank him for that. For being who he was. For seeing her as more than a whore he could hire. Right now, he was looking at her like she was the most desirable woman in the world.

  He might say no, but that was lip service, doing what he felt was right.

  He’d rescued her twice in as many days. Who the fuck did that? Most people couldn’t be bothered to keep to their half of the sidewalk, and Quake had searched two days to find her.

  Rory knew how to seduce him. She’d done it before. Pulling off her top, she stripped for him, wanting nothing between them. Pushing against his chest, she undid his fly, pulled out his erection, straddled his hips, and impaled herself on his cock.

  “Shh,” she whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Just let me . . .”

  He did. Sensing that’s what she needed, he let her take control, using him to remind her what it was like to be with someone by choice, someone who would see to both her pleasure and his. She rode him like an Amazon, fighting to reclaim her femininity, reveling in the second orgasm he gave her and the third.

  And then it was his turn to claim what she allowed him to, flipping her onto her back, lifting her hips, and pile-driving into her like a goddamn fucking machine. His respiration grew harsh. His rhythm splintered. When he started to pull out, she locked her ankles around his waist and refused to let him go.

  He grunted his release, breath hissing between clenched teeth. A keening sound almost of pain escaped him when he couldn’t keep from coming inside her, pouring hot torrents of semen into her depths.

  “There,” she crooned, rubbing her palms on his pecs. “There. It’s alright.”

  His body sagged. Grimacing, he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have . . .”

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’m covered. My shot’s good for two more months.”

  He seemed relieved to hear it.

  Not half as relieved as she felt after Khan and Phantom had both taken her bareback.

  “I have condoms. I could have wrapped up,” he confessed. “I could have pulled out, but it felt too damned good to stop.”

  The old cliché line—Was it as good for you as it was for me?—ran in her head like a closed caption. She nearly smiled because there was no way it felt better to him.

  Gargoyle dick was damn addictive.

  “I didn’t want you to. But I’ve made us messy. Doc offered to let us shower. I was letting the others go first. Let me see if the bathroom’s free. If it is, we can clean up.”

  Rory unlocked her ankles and let him pull out. He fished out a neatly folded bandana from his pocket and tucked it in her crotch to plug the cum leaking out. Slipping on her sweatpants and top, she slipped out of their room and tiptoed down the hall, listening for sounds from the bathroom.

  It was blessedly quiet.

  She knocked on the door just in case.

  No one answered.

  Hurrying back, she caught Quake’s hand and pulled him after her, feeling almost like a pubescent teen sneaking out to meet a boy. Except he was a man. More than a man. He was a badass biker. A gargoyle shifter whose code of honor compelled him to help, not hurt. To protect the innocent, not prey on them.

  He thought she was beautiful.

  She felt it in his hands as they stood beneath the shower and he washed her body with such exquisite care. She felt it in his fingers when he insisted on shampooing her hair for her, massaging her scalp and working the lather through her waist-length locks, making certain he’d rinsed out the suds before he conditioned it. She saw it in his eyes while he was drying her hair and their gazes met in the mirror.

  God bless it, he seemed like everything she’d ever wanted in a man and there was no way she could have him. He belonged to his club. She belonged to Madam Belle.

  For now.

  Things wouldn’t always be this way, she told herself. One of these days, she’d leave The Pole Barn behind and start the next chapter of her life. If Quake was still interested . . . , if he hadn’t already moved on or found someone else . . . , she’d be open to hooking up again and seeing how things went from there.

  “You can stay if you like,” she offered. Pulling up her sweatpants and reaching for her top, she flashed the gi
rls at him as added incentive, reminding him of what could be his for the night.

  Quake zipped up his jeans and tried to find the openings in his long-sleeved shirt amidst all the rips. Flexing his pecs to tease her back, he gave her a panty-melting smile. “Or you could come with,” he countered. “I guarantee my bed’s more comfortable than that air mattress. We just need to let Doc know I’ve got you and tell Madam Belle you’ve got a ride home in the morning. Besides, I owe you breakfast.”

  She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Can you cook?”

  He grinned unapologetically. “Come with me, and you’ll find out.”

  She didn’t know if he could cook, but she didn’t really care, the way he was turning on the charm.

  “Bed and breakfast? Tempting. Just so you know, if I agree to come, it’s because you promised me a comfortable bed.”

  Quake dipped his head and kissed her senseless. “Say yes,” he breathed.

  Rory smiled against his lips. “Alright. I’ll come. Let me call Madam Belle.”

  She had to leave a message, but Belle would get it eventually. Quake made a quick call to Stone and let him know he was headed out. “I’ve got a one-plus,” he told him, giving him a head’s up without telling him more.

  His President seemed to know anyway. Half the clubhouse was waiting for them when they opened the front entrance door and stepped inside what looked to be a common room that the members shared.

  One of the younger ones nudged the Viking-looking one and whispered, “You owe me ten.”

  Quake slipped his arm protectively around her waist and tucked her against his side. “Magenta, meet the Hell’s Fury MC—also known as The Order of the Dragons.”

  She’d heard they were Dragons, but not the story behind the name. Their club patch on the back of their cuts was a black dragon’s head on a red ground with Hell’s Fury MC above it and Las Vegas Chapter below.

  “You’ve probably seen us all at one time or another,” he continued, “but this is our President, Stone. Our Vice President, Inferno. Ryder, Maverick, Mayhem, Smoke, Chaos, Blaze, Cookie, and Eagle Eye. Oh, and Chaya, Eagle Eye’s wolfdog. The rest of the guys are at Doc’s, keeping things safe.”