Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition

by Elizabeth Knox

  That nearly made her smile. “Alright, but I still want you to call Richard. Dr. Steele. He needs to be prepared.”

  He was. He brought handcuffs to the door, put them on her, and led her to a room in his finished basement.

  His private dungeon included a cage.

  “It’s better than being cuffed to the bed,” he assured her. “I just need to pump up the air mattress. Pillows, sheets, blankets, and a camping toilet are inside. I can sleep over there.”

  On a four-poster bed built for kink, she noted, realizing the man had more fetishes than spanking. There was a cage underneath, stocks on the end, restraints on the corners, and overhead beams for bondage and suspension. “But first, I’ll let you shower. There’s an ensuite through that door. I’m going to take off the cuffs. Let you get clean. Ask for permission to enter the dungeon when you’re done. I’ll know you’re not shifted. And if you are, well, you’re no match for me in my animal form. Very few shifters will attempt to tangle with a lion. I’m betting your maned wolf is one of them.”

  Rory hoped so. She’d be no match for him in a fight in human or animal form.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she murmured, the honorific slipping out before she realized it.

  Showing mercy, he refrained from remarking on it. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  He removed her cuffs at the door and shooed her inside. The ensuite was built like a spa, with a jetted garden tub, a commode and bidet, a double sink, and a steam shower with rainheads and body jets. The shelf beneath the vanity held stacks of plush white bath sheets and washcloths. Grabbing one of each, she brought the water to temp and stepped inside, lathering up and scrubbing every trace of the jackals from her skin.

  She dried her hair rather than make her pillow wet. Done, she studied herself in the mirror, wishing she’d brought in her purse so she could take out her contacts. Then again, Magenta had violet eyes. Magenta was strong. She’d escaped the Death’s Head clubhouse. She’d survived a night in the pit. She’d been through hell and back.

  She would survive this too.

  17

  Quake smiled down at the text message he’d just received. Magenta was resting until she felt up to having a breakfast date, but that hadn’t stopped them from staying in contact. As eagerly as he was looking forward to it, he understood she needed time to process what had happened.

  It bummed him out that he wouldn’t get to see her before they left tomorrow. Once he fulfilled his obligations to his cadre, he intended to focus on his personal agenda. He was determined to make the Death’s Heads pay for kidnapping Magenta.

  Khan was on the top of his hit list.

  Lifting a hand, he cradled the fang that was hanging around his neck on a piece of cord. He’d made the jackal tooth that he’d ripped from Phantom’s mouth into a pendant. Khan’s fang would be joining it by the time he was done with the bastard.

  “Hey, lover boy,” Rock called across the gym. “Are you planning to train with me or stand around mooning over the piece of tail you’re banging?”

  Quake gave the other gargoyle a one-finger salute.

  Ryder chuckled from the treadmill where he was pounding away the miles. “He’s got it bad.”

  “Don’t we know it,” Mason sighed, shaking his head from the weights machine.

  Quake scowled. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Mason returned his dark look with a smirk. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of her while you’re away.”

  Quake knew he was joking but it still pissed him off. “Like you could afford her. Prick.”

  “Lighten up.” Rock shook his head, lips twisted in a wry grin. “Mason isn’t gonna touch your maned wolf. Besides, Candy is more than happy to keep his cock satisfied.”

  Not just Mason. She was more than pleased to service every member of their cadre when they walked through the doors of The Pole Barn but not Quake. Not anymore. All he wanted was Magenta.

  He spent the morning sparring with Rock and preparing himself for what was to come but his mind remained on the woman he now had in his life.

  “Hey, Quake!” Beast called across the table at lunch. “A few of us are headed to The Pole Barn. You wanna come with?”

  “No sex for those of you who are fighting!” Stone boomed.

  Quake nodded. “You heard the man. I’ll take a rain check. When I come back loaded with prize money, ask me again.”

  Ryder hooted. “Three guesses where that cash is going and the first two don’t count.”

  Quake was pretty sure Magenta would be open to having sex with him but she was also a working woman. If it was Madam Belle’s call, he might have to pay for her time but it would be worth every blessed penny and then some. Meanwhile, he needed to leave her with something to remember him by.

  What kind of shit did women like that he could get on such short notice?

  Flowers? Doable. He foresaw a trip to town in his near future.

  Chick flicks? It was probably safer to wait. He needed to know more about her tastes, learn what she liked, see what she had and what was on her wish list.

  Chocolates and sweets? Again, doable.

  Jewelry? She liked it but he’d feel better if she was along to pick it out.

  Books? Maybe. Several possibilities wove through his thoughts. He caught the thread of one and followed it. Magenta cooked. Maybe he could find a breakfast cookbook and personalize it with a note. Looking forward to cooking some of these with you on our breakfast dates. Perfect. Or almost. One more thing.

  Music. A gift from the heart. Another idea formed. Returning to his room, Quake found his favorite guitar pick and tucked it in his pocket. Making sure he had cash in his wallet, he grabbed his helmet and headed for his bike, a man on a mission.

  He visited the bookstore first, picking out a breakfast cookbook and a blank greeting card with a fox on the front. He wrote a personal message in the card, promising to play anything she wanted—even if it was Country—and tucked his guitar pick inside before sealing it. Where it was November, it was safe to get the chocolates next and tuck them in the saddlebag with the book and card. The last thing on his list was flowers, which drove him nuts. There were so blessed many to choose from. How the hell did he know what she liked?

  In the end, he picked a country bouquet that was mostly sunflowers. Something that would hopefully brighten her day. Tucking them inside his saddlebag, he headed for The Pole Barn.

  It was early enough the girls would still be at home. In another two hours, that would change. They’d be opening up, starting work, dancing, stripping, and fucking the night away.

  Except for Magenta. Madam Belle had given her the week off, she’d told him in one text. At least she wasn’t pushing her into going back too soon.

  He’d rather she didn’t go back at all.

  Sighing, Quake reminded himself that was her decision, not his to make, but God bless it, he didn’t want to think of other men seeing her body, let alone using it as a vessel for their lusts. The spike of possessiveness drove him to speed up. The sooner he could see her face and give her his presents, the better. He planned to watch her reaction . . . , savor every moment, and carry the memory with him on the road, taking them out to relive whenever he found himself missing her.

  God, did he miss her.

  Instead of pulling into the main graveled lot, he parked his bike behind Bee, got out his goodies, and strode up the walk and onto the porch, ringing the doorbell like a gentleman caller.

  Faces appeared at the window. The women stared at him, looking up and down before exchanging glances. They looked surprised to see him.

  It wasn’t Magenta who opened the door but Madam Belle herself.

  “Yes?” she questioned, eyeing the gifts he had clutched in his hands. “Can I help you?”

  Quake cleared his throat nervously. “I’d like to see Magenta, please.”

  “I’m sorry, she can’t come down right now.” Her smile was strained. “She’s not been sleeping well at nig
ht. Bad dreams. The doctor gave her something to help her sleep and when she takes it, she’s out like a light for hours on end.”

  The news made his excitement dim. Damn it. He should have called ahead first. The thought of Magenta having nightmares was disturbing. Quake only wished he could be there to give her comfort, offer his arms to keep her safe when she woke from them.

  “I’m flying out tomorrow,” he explained to Madam Belle, hoping to soften her. “We won’t be back until after Thanksgiving and I wanted to give her these.”

  Belle shook her head, denying his request. “You can leave them with me. I’ll make sure she gets them.”

  It wasn’t the answer Quake wanted, but from the Fae’s determined expression, it was the only one she was going to give. He grudgingly handed them over into her waiting hands.

  When she went to close the door, he stopped it with his foot. “You are taking care of her? She’s being looked after?”

  Belle’s eyes lightened with compassion. “I promise you, she’s getting the best help possible.”

  Quake nodded. “Tell her . . . tell her I’ll see her for breakfast when I get back.”

  “I will.”

  The drive home was fast. Ignoring the posted limits, Quake let loose, trying to expel the pent up energy inside him. His disappointment at not getting to see Magenta was acute, but he’d make up for it when he got back from New York.

  They left the next morning, headed for fights in three states where he and Rock would compete. The first venue was on the south side of Chicago. From there, they went to Pittsburgh, feeling right at home with all the gargoyles they saw on the city’s architecture. They spent the day sightseeing and the next day flew to New York, taking a cab from the airport to upper Manhattan and the former military academy known as the Citadel, home of The Order of the Phoenix.

  They arrived in time for dinner, which proved to be a fancy French chef’s version of Tex-Mex, tasty enough for the others but far too tame for the Dragons. The Citadel’s superior Tobias was pleased that three other cadres were in town for the fight, providing a rare opportunity for them to commune together and strengthen their brotherly bonds.

  Each order was uniquely different, yet they were all gargoyle shifters who’d taken on robes of flesh as part of The Eden Foundation’s Next Genesis Project. The Phoenixes were artisans. The Dragons were bikers. Gryphons were former soldiers now in private security, and the Sphinxes were thrill seekers who competed in motorsports.

  The Dragons were staying at the Citadel. Members of The Order of the Gryphons and The Order of the Sphinxes had rented a house to stay in. Tonight, after the fight, everyone was invited to a party they were hosting. From the sounds of it, they planned to have female shifters there, groupies who enjoyed watching them battle in the ring and kissing their bruises when they were done.

  The Citadel’s fighters left ahead of everyone else. Zac and Aiden had an appointment tonight. Emmett, Theo, Elijah, and Gael were staying behind to keep the Citadel manned and the property secure. The eight who were going were divided into two Jeeps. Stone rode with Tobias, Malik, and Iosefa. Quake, Mason, and Rock rode with the Persian poet, Zana.

  They arrived at the hangar-sized building forty-five minutes early. Stone and Mason found their seats. Quake and Rock made their way to the back, waiting with the competitors for their turns in the ring. An official reminded them that no one was permitted to shift due to a mixed crowd of spectators, the humans and supernaturals who always found their way to these events.

  “Pesky humans,” Quake growled.

  “Damned jackals,” Rock retorted. “Look.”

  Quake didn’t recognize their faces, but sure as shit, there were Death’s Head MC bikers in the bunch. One of them was gracious enough to slap the male fighter he had with him, affording them a look at his cut. The Tempe, Arizona, chapter had come a long way to be here. They’d brought two fighters with them, a lean, mean dark-haired young woman and a welterweight male who resembled her, probably from the same pack, possibly the same litter.

  The two wolf shifters were wearing collars. Quake couldn’t tell if they were there by choice or by force.

  Knowing the Death’s Head MC, it could be either.

  He studied them warily, noting how docile and submissive they were. Something wasn’t right about them. Why would wolves be fighting for jackals? They should be handled by shifters who shared their values, not lowering themselves associating with scum.

  Their situation became clear when the boy got in the ring with a bear shifter. He took a beating. The girl barely reacted, showing no sign of worry or emotional response when he got his arm broken and kept on fighting.

  Mason was pissed. With their supersensitive hearing, they could hear him above the crowd. “He’s doped,” he snarled from his seat beside the ring. “No way is he not hurting from an injury like that. That’s fucking illegal.”

  The protests grew but the referees let the injured fighter continue.

  “Fuck this,” Mason growled. Bolting out of his seat, he roared, “Stop the fight! Can’t you see he’s doped?”

  All hell broke loose. The crowd turned ugly, demanding that the fight be forfeited to the bear. The official who stopped the fight ordered the wolf boy out of the ring, directing him to the back where a medic was standing by.

  The Death’s Head jackals were pissed that they’d lost their purse. They were doubly pissed when they had to wait for the kid’s arm to be set before they’d release him into their custody.

  His sister just sat there, numb to it all.

  The jackals shot daggers at Mason, mumbling about revenge and swearing to get even. Quake knew from experience they weren’t about to let it go. He could feel trouble brewing. He didn’t think the jackals would risk trying something in here with witnesses, but they would need to watch their backs on the way out.

  As soon as the referee got the crowd under control, two new fighters squared off against each other. Rock went four rounds before pinning his lion shifter opponent to the mat.

  Quake was pitted against a wolverine who went down in the first round. Lukas from The Order of the Phoenix, a local favorite, fought next to last. Five rounds with a vicious badger shifter left both fighters bruised and bloodied, but the decision went to Lukas.

  The last match paired one of the Order of the Sphinxes against their brother in the Order of the Gryphons. The gargoyles were nearly equally matched. The Gryphon was faster and better at reading openings, but the Sphinx had the strength and endurance needed to withstand the punishment he was dealing out. Exchanging blow after blow, they pounded away at each other, not stopping until the final bell was rung. In the end, the win was awarded to the Gryphon.

  The crowd erupted, some cheering, some booing, as split as the judges’ decision.

  This venue was well-organized, paying out after each fight. Free to leave as soon as the last match was over, Quake and Rock rendezvoused with their group and headed for the door. Turning on his cell phone, Quake checked to see if he’d had any response to his last text to Magenta, wishing her a Happy Thanksgiving tomorrow.

  Halfway to the exit, Tobias halted his steps with his phone pressed to his ear while he listened to a voicemail. Before it ended, he had tossed a set of keys to Stone and his crew. “Take the jeep.”

  The local cadre’s superior looked at his men, his expression grim. “We’ve got to fly. Back to the Citadel, now!”

  “What’s happened?” Stone questioned with a frown.

  “There’s been a fire,” Tobias clipped, already moving for the exit, stripping off his shirt as he went. The rest of the Phoenixes followed suit.

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Stone called before turning to his men. “Get your shit together. We’ll drive back and help them out.”

  Quake wondered what the hell had happened at the Citadel to cause such a thing. Grabbing their gear, he and Rock rejoined the others and made their way outside.

  They were nearing the Jeep when shadowy fig
ures approached them from all sides. The Death’s Head jackals leered at them, anger burning in their eyes.

  The Dragons did a partial shift, prepared for whatever was coming.

  One of the jackals puffed his chest and spat, “Because of you, we had to forfeit both fights, you sons of bitches. Those purses you’re carrying should be rightfully ours.”

  Mason growled, straightening to his full height. “You’re doping your fighters. That’s against the rules.” He looked at the pair of siblings they’d dragged out with them. “You two should find new management. Wolves shouldn’t be hanging out with jackals. Where’s your pride?”

  The lead jackal snarled at the insult. “You should learn to keep your nose out of business that’s not yours. Now, hand over the money or we’ll start breaking legs.”

  Stone laughed. “If you keep running your mouth, the only thing here that will end up broken is your nose.”

  They didn’t heed his warning. Fists flying, they came at Quake and the others, ready to do serious damage. He shook his head when one of them hit him with a tire iron. It bent on impact with his hardened skin.

  Snatching it from his attacker’s hands, Quake wrapped it around the jackal’s neck. “There. Let’s see how you like wearing a collar.”

  The skirmish didn’t last long. It ended with the Death’s Head members on the ground, nursing bruises and cracked ribs.

  “You’re gonna pay for this,” the first one who threatened them spat.

  Quake’s answering grin held no humor. Maybe it was stereotyping but Death’s Head jackals were all the same. Worthless pieces of shit who doped fighters and kidnapped, raped, and sold women.

  Killing Khan was going to be a pleasure.