Steel Cobras MC Complete Box Set: Books 1-6

by Evie Monroe

  A month later, and I was still pulling bullets out of my fucking hot tub.

  The warehouse was good. Quiet. On the end of the pier in Aveline Bay. We could park our bikes out there, make all the noise we wanted, and not have to worry about the Fury sneaking up on us.

  “Guys,” I said, pacing in front of them. “Just because they’re quiet doesn’t mean they’re not planning something. And we can’t just go in there, guns blazing. They showed us they had the numbers. Even if they’ve lost half their guys, they’re still bigger than us.”

  Drake shook his head. “They’re planning something. But we need to strike while their numbers are down and put an end to them for good.”

  Hart looked up from his computer. “I haven’t seen any chatter at all online. Not a single one. But I don’t want to dare think they’re done.”

  “Hell, no, they’re not done,” Zain said. “They’re biding their time. You can bet on that.”

  I looked at Zain, who was holding his side, having just recovered from a serious gunshot wound. Zain was one of the newer members of the club, but a man I could trust. He had the most intelligence on Hell’s Fury, because he’d almost been a part of them. That was, until Blaze fucked him over by stealing his girl. After that, he came to me. Though I’d kept his dealings with the Fury secret from the other Cobras, I trusted his point of view on them.

  “Right. But it doesn’t mean we got to go out and fight without knowing what we’re up against.”

  “Yeah, it does,” Nix said, not looking up from the text he was thumbing in. I’d bet a thousand bucks he was texting his girl Olivia. “We get ‘em now, while they’re weak. We made the mistake last time of not stamping them out, and they grew. We need to take them out.”

  “I’m not running out there blind,” I said. “We need to know what we’re dealing with. Come on, assholes. Let’s vote.”

  They all gathered in the circle.

  I said, “All in favor of retaliation right now. Show of hands.”

  Nix, Jet and Drake all raised their hands.

  “All for waiting it out until we got some real info?”

  Hart and Zain lifted their hands. I raised mine to join them.

  “Three v. three. But the final call goes to me.” As president, the final call always went to me. But I needed to know where they stood.

  I looked them over. Jet had a face that could do no wrong. Hart was our tech guy. The babies of the club. “You two,” I said. “I want you to go out and snoop around. Go to their clubhouse, and the places they usually hang out. Ask questions. See what you can find.”

  They both nodded.

  “I’ll call church again later this week, and we’ll make a final decision then,” I said, standing up. “All right. That’s it. If no one has anything else, I’ll talk to you all later.”

  They stood up and started to disperse. I called Nix over as he was pulling his leather jacket over his thick arms. “How’s your girl?”

  He lifted his chin, baring the tat at his throat. “Liv? She’s good. But you know her. She’s out for blood when it comes to the Fury.”

  I smirked. “That’s why we like her.” I flicked the ashes of my cigarette away. “You moving in with her now?”

  He nodded.

  “Man. You’ve gone soft. Never thought I’d see you fucking whipped.” I shook my head. “Who am I gonna go out Friday nights with?”

  He crossed his arms. “Hunting pussy? Last I saw, you didn’t have to hunt. I thought all the gingers in the world just lined up for you.”

  “Nah. Not just that.” I waved him off. Still, I was bummed I wouldn’t have him on Friday nights. Of all the guys, he was the one I could chill with.

  But those days were coming to an end. I knew they would—Nix may have talked a good game, but he’d wanted a woman, and found her.

  Easy pussy—that was what I wanted, and that was what I’d always want, ‘til the day I died. I might’ve been thirty now, but I showed no signs of change on that front. I had too much else on my mind with the Cobras to deal with any of that.

  Which reminded me. I really could’ve used some easy pussy right now. My muscles were tight with tension. It wasn’t one of the best times for the Cobras. We’d almost lost a few men after the skirmish with the Fury, and I wasn’t so stupid to think this was the end. Something was brewing, and I needed my club to be safe.

  Phoebe. I’d call Phoebe.

  I told Nix I’d see him later, then got on my bike and took off down the pier, toward home. I drove past The Wall, our local watering hole, but was too tired to even stop in and hang with the other Cobras I knew would be there. I went straight home, still thinking of the Fury.

  We would eventually rumble again. It was only a matter of time.

  I rode up to my house overlooking the Pacific and the garage door opened automatically to let me in. The guys had joked once that this was my own Bat Cave, and I liked that. That was, until the Fury ripped it apart a few weeks ago. I pulled off my helmet and walked into the living room of the darkened house. The carpet was ripped up everywhere, and the furniture covered in tarp and piled in the center of the room to allow for painting. So I navigated around the mess, turning on lights as I went.

  I strode into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a Coors. Taking a swig, I put my phone on speaker on the center island and dialed up my interior designer.

  She answered on the first ring. “Cullen?”

  “Yeah baby,” I said. “What’re you doing?”

  “Nothing much,” she said. “I’m—”

  “Then you’re doing it with me. Get your ass over here.”

  I ended the call and frowned at the stack of mail brought in from the housekeeper. Decided to ignore it. Phoebe would be over in ten, probably, in some little get-up that she’d bought at the lingerie store with lots of ribbons and lace. As if I cared about any of that. She was a hell of an interior designer, a hell of a good fuck who was up for anything, and she had red hair.

  She’d be good for what ailed me.

  Other than that, I didn’t give a shit.

  Yawning, I climbed the stairs up to my bedroom, ripping off my t-shirt so I could change into a different one.

  As I did, the doorbell rang.

  I looked at my phone. Three minutes. Phoebe was just a few doors down, shacking up with her doctor husband, but that was a new world record, even for her.

  I reached for the door handle and pulled it open. “Hey, baby, you excited or—”

  I stopped. It wasn’t Phoebe, with her pale skin, hair all done up, dressed in her hot little outfit.

  The only thing the same was that this girl’s hair was red.

  She was probably the only redhead whose name I’d never forget.

  Grace Wilson.

  And she was holding a kid.

  My eyes went from her big blue ones, to the baby, and then back to hers again. I couldn’t find the air to breathe.

  “Oh fuck,” I said.

  Chapter Two

  Grace

  When I pulled up at the house that belonged to my ex, my stomach dropped.

  He was such an absolute dickwad.

  A spoiled, rich, hot-as-fuck dickwad.

  And the house? Gorgeous. Overlooking the Pacific cliffs, with a wall and turrets, lush landscaping and sprawling wings. Cullen McKnight, rough, dirty, no-good biker with a penchant for cheap women and loud parties lived here?

  I checked the address I’d gotten from a friend of a friend and asked the cabbie, “You sure this is 1212 Riviera Way?”

  He nodded.

  Hmm. Maybe the friend of a friend had been playing jokes on me. “There isn’t some other 1212 Riviera Way, is—”

  “No,” the man said to me in a heavy Spanish accent. “This is it.”

  I took a deep breath, remembering the last time I saw Cullen. His living arrangement a little over two years ago had been a dirty basement apartment where his master bed was also the living room sofa.

  The
n I remembered reading something about him in the newspaper. He’d never said as much to me, but his father was Brent McKnight. Yes, the Brent McKnight, lead guitarist for the 80’s hair band The Fritz. He died in a drug overdose about two months after I’d left and his only heir? Just happened to be Cullen.

  Or so the story went.

  I couldn’t be sure. All he’d ever said was that he and his dad weren’t on speaking terms. And one thing the dickwad wasn’t, was verbose.

  But this? It could’ve been a millionaire rock star’s house. It looked flashy enough.

  The cab driver cleared his throat. “You gonna get out, or you just gonna sit there staring at it all day?”

  I gnawed on my lip as I checked the meter. $18.30. Stay or go, that was the question. It’d have been a tough decision, if I didn’t have only twenty dollars to my name.

  I forked over the crumpled bill, studying the house, really hoping the jerk was home. It was a long walk back to the homeless shelter downtown, and my feet already hurt from pounding the pavement, looking for work.

  As I grabbed the handle and pushed open the car door, a light in the foyer went on. I could see the shape of someone moving through the sidelights by the door.

  That was a good sign.

  He was home. Maybe not alone, but still home.

  I didn’t care if he had a dozen girls living with him, which frankly, I wouldn’t put past him. I just needed one of those bedrooms. Maybe a little cash. That was all.

  The cabbie gave me my change and I hoisted my bag onto my back. Then I reached beside me and bundled Ella into my arms. She looked up at me through the shadows like, Shouldn’t I be asleep already, momma?

  I kissed her forehead, savoring her sweet smell. Yes, soon. We’re gonna find you a safe place to rest.

  I didn’t just want that. I wanted her to have safety, permanence, love—all the things I never had growing up. But right now, I’d settle for sleep.

  “Thanks,” I said to the cabbie, bumping the door closed with my hip.

  I wavered on my feet with the weight of the heavy backpack containing everything I owned, and the eighteen-month-old baby in my arms. She was all I cared about in this world. I walked up the winding path to the front door and pressed the doorbell with my elbow.

  Cullen never did anything fast. He always had this easy, fuck-it-all way about him. So I was surprised when he ripped open the door, right away, a surly smile on his face. He said, “Hey, baby, you—”

  And then he stopped. His smile faded.

  Didn’t take a genius to know he’d been expecting someone else. Someone female, probably red-haired, built like a thoroughbred, with curves to kill for.

  Same old Cullen.

  Those killer silver-blue eyes went from me, to Ella.

  “Holy fuck,” he breathed out.

  I wished he looked like a piece of shit. But no, these past two years had clearly been good to him. He was tattooed, built and sexy, with a full beard and a brooding stare. He’d let his hair grow out a bit, a lock of his dirty blond curls sweeping down the center of his forehead.

  “Holy? You flatter me. The fuck wasn’t all that good,” I said, adjusting Ella in my arms as she tugged on my no-frills ponytail. “Hello, Cullen.”

  He turned away from me, showing off his strong, muscular back. Just what I didn’t need to see. His gorgeous, ripped abs and hard chest, covered in tattoos, which was what got me in this trouble in the first place.

  Me? I was a hell of a lot softer, and, well, chubbier than he’d last seen me. Despite going to bed hungry a lot more, I still hadn’t been able to lose the baby weight.

  It just made me hate myself more as I stood in front of him, opening myself up to his inspection.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. He scrubbed both hands through his dirty blonde hair and turned back to me. “What are you doing here?” His eyes fell on Ella. “And what the hell is that?”

  “That?” I was hit for the first time since I left him with a feeling I’d almost forgotten. The inexplicable rage only he could light in me. “Damn, Cullen, you are such a charmer.”

  His upper lip curled in a snarl.

  “She’s not a that. She’s a she. Her name is Ella. And I’m not sure. But I think she might be a baby.”

  “Funny. Yours?”

  “Actually, she’s the latest fashion accessory. Everyone’s carrying one around these days.”

  Typical, he never reacted to any of my quips. He looked her over, from her chubby little toes to her pretty bow lips, to her bright blue eyes. No one could say that Ella wasn’t gorgeous. Complete strangers stopped me in the street to tell me how beautiful she was. She had a magnetism people just wanted to be around.

  Well, except for the dickwad in front of me.

  He took a step back.

  “Why are you here, Grace?”

  I was pleased he remembered my name. That was a feat for Cullen. There was no doubt in my mind he’d probably had a hundred girls in the two plus years since I stormed out of his apartment, each one with bigger tits than the next. I bet he’d never even found out their names before fucking them. He probably didn’t even make it into bed with most of them; he probably just fucked them in an alley somewhere.

  I knew this, because I knew Cullen. We had a relationship that lasted six whole months, and that was the longest he’d ever been with the same woman.

  He was more than a player. He was the champion of the game.

  It was starting to get cold outside, and the wind off the ocean was whipping up something fierce. Everything I was carrying was slowly and surely weighing me down, so much so I was about three seconds away from falling into an ugly heap on the floor. I pointed into his white foyer, complete with fancy crystal chandelier, which seemed so, I didn’t know. Anti-Cullen? “Can I come in?”

  He ran his tongue over his top teeth and gazed out the door, past me. Then he scratched at the back of his head and flattened himself against the door to let me pass. “Yeah. For a minute.”

  I walked inside, gnawing on my cheek as I moved much too close to his chest. I didn’t want to do it. I hated being at Cullen McKnight’s mercy for anything. I’d been there before, and it was like extricating myself from a massive spider web. But I had no choice, now. Nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

  I looked around—the foyer was sparkly. Through an arched doorway, I spotted a granite kitchen countertop, covered fully in all the kinds of bottles I’d expect from Cullen—Tito’s Vodka, Patron, Fireball, Jack, as well as an assortment of empty beer bottles. He didn’t talk much about his past, but he had told me he’d grown up with his father having parties all the time. I bet this was just normal for him. “I heard about your dad. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not.”

  “I thought you’d go and sell this place. It’s not really you, is it?”

  He studied me. “How do you know what I am?”

  I frowned. Correction: I’d known Cullen. Maybe I didn’t know him anymore. “I guess I don’t.”

  He let in a breath, as Ella stopped looking in wonder at the chandelier and started to whine. He pointed to the door. “All right, well, nice catching up, but—”

  “How about if I stay a little longer than a minute?” I blurted.

  He closed the door and turned to me, eyebrow raised.

  My eyes trailed to the floor. And then it all just poured out: “I had a place to live. A reliable sitter. A car. But then I lost my job. I couldn’t afford rent. I sold my car and have been staying in a hotel, until I couldn’t afford that. I stayed one night at the shelter, but I don’t want to go back. It’s not safe there for Ella. I wouldn’t ask you unless I really needed it, Cullen. Please.”

  I swallowed the bile in my throat. I hated begging Cullen for anything.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me you got nowhere to go?”

  I nodded. Ella blew a raspberry with her cute little lips and gave him one of her killer smiles.

  Obliviou
s, he stalked past us, into his kitchen. I followed behind him. Jesus, every surface was covered in bottles. I plopped Ella down on his clean white floor and let the backpack drop to the ground with a thud. Then I lifted Ella back into my arms. When I joined him in the kitchen, he was chugging a beer.

  “So, is that a yes?”

  He just stared at me, mouth full of beer, lips still wrapped around the bottleneck.

  He finally swallowed. “I don’t know, girl. I’m in the middle of things.”

  I looked around. He sure was. The kitchen showed he was in the middle of drinking himself to death. The living room had been gutted, and everything was covered in tarps. It looked like he was doing some serious renovations. “I don’t care. You can put me and Ella in one of the rooms upstairs and I swear, we won’t make a noise. Or if not, call me a cab and give me cash for a hotel room and—”

  Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

  Cullen tossed his beer bottle in the sink with a loud crash that made Ella jump and she let out a yell. He didn’t notice. He strutted in his fine jeans, slung low on his perfect ass, back to the front door. I tried not to salivate over that tight waist and little curved area with the two dimples, right above the swell of his ass as he pulled the door open.

  I was expecting either a girly little giggle, or a sexy purr. Cullen didn’t discriminate. I got both. A giggle-purr. I watched as his flavor of the week—or maybe just the night?— strutted in, throwing her arms around him. He murmured something to her, and she said, “Oh? Then why did you . . .”

  “Come on,” he barked.

  I heard her heels clicking on the floor as she came closer. When she appeared, clinging tight to Cullen’s side, she wasn’t too far off from what I was picturing. Too much red hair. Big boobs, pushed up to her chin. Legs for miles. Practically no clothes.

  She took one look at me and frowned. “Cullen. I don’t do the threesome thing.”

  “Whoa,” I said, looking at Cullen. “Neither do I.”

  “That makes three of us,” Cullen said under his breath. Ugh, I couldn’t believe I’d wasted an egg on this guy. He cleared his throat. “Phoebe, this is Grace. Grace, this is Phoebe, my interior designer.”