Steel My Soul (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club Book 4) (2 page)

Gabriela

Kathleen Volmer. Why did it have to be her?

My memory jerked back to the graffiti in the first floor bathroom of Lenape High. It had her trademark loopy 'a'.

Gabby Ortiz is a whore
.

She hadn't even bothered to spell my name right. And tonight I had to pretend to be happy for her, prostituting myself for that five hundred dollars to reach my sales goal.

But in the end I had straightened my shoulders and gone to Jokers. Because if there's one thing Gabriela Ortiz won't do, it's let the sons of bitches get her down. "
No deja que los hijos de puta te agobien,"
as my mother put it, over and over again, spitting out the words as she hotcombed my mass of curls. "You show them,
hijita,
you hold your head high and show them that they can't break you that easily."

So that's what I did, though I was pretty sure my mother wouldn't approve of my methods. Getting drunk on a weeknight wasn't exactly the height of self-love. But I was here and I wasn't going to leave until I had alcohol in my system.

Jokers was a dump. There was no denying it, and tonight it seemed even worse than usual. Only a few seedy characters remained, the best of what Lenape had to offer. As I walked in, I spied Sergio, our small town's ancient tailor. The tiny little old Italian man was the only game in town when it came to prom alterations, and as such, every single kid who grew up in Lenape knew him by name. "Evening Mr. Marcozzi," I smiled at him, waggling my fingers in greeting. He raised his head at me and gave me a tired nod. He was looking more disheveled than his usual pin-neat  dapperness.

Maybe Serge was as dispirited as I was.

Two booths over from Mr. Marcozzi was a group of guys who made my heart sink. Fitch, Harlow and Tucker all insisted that they be called by their last names, as if it lent them some sort of respectability they couldn't find anywhere else. The three had graduated from Lenape High the year after me. Fitch has started a rumor that I had gone down on him behind the bleachers in the goose-shit strewn football field. Though I tried to defend myself, it was the word of a white football star versus the "exotic" known slut with her dick-sucking lips and Latin temper. People seemed willing, even eager, to believe him, even after I had punched him in the nuts in the hallway and lost the right to walk with the rest of my graduating class.

Sometimes I wondered what the hell I was still doing in Lenape.

But if I left that would be letting the sons of bitches get me down. I lived here, I belonged here, my grandparents settled here back when Lenape was mostly farms. They chose to raise their family away from the choking bustle of New York City, not realizing that New York would soon come to swallow us up out here. We had the weird distinction of being a small town where everyone knew everyone in the shadow of one of the biggest cities in the world. I hated it, and I loved it, and I still needed that drink.

"Hey Sal," I smiled at the bartender.

"What's going on, Gabi?" Salvatore Perroni lived down the block from my parents, moonlighting at Jokers to fund the various classic cars he had strewn across his lawn. Nothing made him happier than to work outside shirtless, gut blazing, as he tinkered with them, but my family had concluded that he actually didn't know a thing about car repair.

"Shit day," I sighed. "Can I get a shot of Jack, and uh, what do you have on draft tonight?"

"Girl after my own heart," he smiled.

"I don't fuck around when it comes to my alcohol," I grinned.

"Then let's make it two," Sal smiled as he lifted a shot glass. "To shit days," he called.

I grinned and knocked back the whiskey, feeling the burn spread through my throat and down to my stomach. I sighed as it unknotted something deep inside of me, then coughed into the back of my hand. "Shit, should've asked for Maker's, that stuff burns," I coughed.

Sal slid me a pint glass and I gulped the contents. "Pussy," he smiled.

I drained a third of the glass. "I'm not a pussy, I just have standards."

"Then why are you sucking down light beer?"

"Ew!" I pretended to be horrified. "How could you do this to me, Sal? I thought we were friends?" The shot was doing the trick, releasing some of the anxiety of the day. Fuck Kathy Vollmer. Fuck her maids.  We had never been friends in the first place, why should I pretend now?

I never got along well with girls anyway. Give me a guy friend that wouldn't be shocked when I swore and was vulgar. Girls were too damn touchy.

Sal grinned and rapped his knuckles on the bar, the heavy gold ring on his hairy knuckle nearly denting the wood. "It's on the house, Gabs," he grinned and his eyes briefly wandered down to my tits. 

I smiled and threw back my head, downing the rest of my beer and letting him have an eyeful. It was only polite. "Thanks Sal," I sighed. "Now can I buy a decent beer or are you going to make me drink ricewater again?"

Sal laughed and shook his head as he ran the tap from a local microbrewery. "That's more like it," I nodded, and swiveled in my stool to look out onto the bar.

Fitch darted his head up from his booth and shot me a lascivious grin, then ducked his head to his cronies, gesturing animatedly.  I saw his fingers point in my direction and I sighed, turning back to the bar again. After this beer I really should go home. I didn't want Fitch getting any ideas about getting me alone. 

I swiveled back to the bar and grabbed my beer, fishing around in my purse for my wallet. As I did, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror behind the bar again.

Fuck, I look exhausted
. I should be home getting my beauty sleep, not drinking alone in bars. I could almost hear my mother's voice in my head, raised in rapidfire indignation. "You drink too much, you spend too much time alone. Flitting from bed to bed. I didn't raise you to be a cheap
puta,
Gabriela. When are you going to make me an
abuela?
"

The familiar self-loathing had almost reached its peak when I saw the reflection of the door opening. I sipped my beer more slowly now, watching the stranger who walked in. He walked with his shoulders thrown back, dragging his left leg in a slight limp that gave his hips a sexy rolling gait. It made me look a little closer.

Turning my mother's shrieking Spanish off in my head, I swiveled around so I could get a better look. My sister always said I had a guy's brain, direct and to the point and that was doubly true when it came to sex. I didn't play the shy game, waiting for a guy to come up and talk to me. No, when I saw something I liked, I made sure I was blatant about it.

I came by my reputation as a slut honestly.

The man sauntered up to the bar, slowly, like he was still deciding if he wanted to be here or not. I turned back to the bar and caught his reflection in the mirror as I lifted my beer. He raised his eyebrows in greeting, his lip curling into a smile that was half boyish mischief, half dripping in sex.

Oh holy shit.

I sat there pondering as I watched him order. His voice was a low rumble, too low to make out what he was saying, but loud enough to ripple up my body from my toes. He was wearing a leather jacket, and I could smell the scent of it from here. It smelled like rain and sun, like he wore it every day, like it was molded perfectly to fit his muscular body.

Holy shit Gabi, you're really drunk, calm down girl.

He wasn't my type, I tried to tell myself. Shorn head, deep set blue eyes, that leather jacket...he looked like more trouble than he'd be worth. My tastes gravitated towards awkward nerdy white guys with an ethnic fixation. I'd taken a few virginities in my day, taught a few tricks here and there, but I mostly just used sex as a means to an end. A warm body, that feeling of connection, maybe a sad little orgasm or two, that's all I really looked for in a man. 

It helped that I was never actually attracted to them.

This guy...
holy shit, I was really attracted to him.
But there was something else there too. A flash of recognition, something familiar in the way his jaw tensed as he swallowed. I felt like I knew him, but I couldn't place him anywhere. I would have certainly remembered him; all leathery and looking like a badass biker.

He caught me staring again and shot me that lopsided smile once more, raising his pint glass in a silent toast. I lifted mine in response, and then knocked the rest back.
I really needed to go home. I really needed to get to bed.  I really needed to stop staring at this guy.

He shot me another smile as he lowered his glass and then turned to face me.  There was no recognition there, no familiarity. However I thought I knew him, he didn't share my feelings. I ducked my head, awkwardly grabbing for my purse. Fuck, I don't usually get all blushing-virgin with guys, but this one had me all off-kilter. I didn't like feeling this out of control.

"Have a good night," I smiled to him.

He nodded, not registering anything like surprise or disappointment. Just nodded and watched me go. I felt his eyes boring into the my back, the heat from his gaze so distracting that I didn't even notice Fitch until he was right in front of me.

"You could at least say hi," Fitch wavered drunkenly directly in my path. "I'm just trying to say hi to you, Gabi."

Tucker and Harlow moved to flank me, a move they must have perfected a while back. Harassing girls was like an instinct for them. They reminded me of a pack of wolves culling a herd.

I brushed my pocketbook up to my other hand and slid it in, closing my fist around the pepper spray I kept in there. Just in case. "Hi Fitch," I sighed, trying to sound as bored as I could. "Bye Fitch."

I tried to sidestep him, but Fitch lurched back into my path. "Come on Gabi," he leered, reaching for one of my curls. "Why you gotta be such a bitch all the time, huh?"

"I'm not a bitch
all the time,
Fitch," I clarified. "Just to you."

"You still mad at me? After all these years?" He moaned like I had cut him deeply and his minions snickered.

I rolled my eyes. "Honestly, I don't spare a thought for you much one way or another," I told him flatly. "Now will you get the fuck out of my way? I'm tired and I want to go home."

"You still living down on Rofrits Ave.?" he asked and I felt a sinking sensation in my chest. He knew where my parents lived. He must have followed me home at some point.

"Nope, no idea what you're talking about," I snarled. "Get out of my way, Fitch."

"Little yellow house, all that Mary shit in the front yard?"

I seethed inwardly. The Virgin of Guadalupe was my mother's personal saint.
How dare he.
"No Fitch, I never lived on Rofrits, why don't you drop it?"

"I could have sworn..." he said, tugging on one of my curls and watching it spring back.  I felt a shudder of revulsion at how intimate the gesture was, "that I saw you there just the other day."

"I don't need this shit right now, Fitch, seriously. Get the
fuck
out of my way."

His genial drunkenness faded and his face darkened. "Gabi, you are a real bitch, you know that? You really need to be taught a lesson, shut your filthy little spic mouth." He leaned in so that his rank breath brushed against my ear. "You won't have much to say when I jam my cock down your throat..."

I felt my heart hammering so hard in my chest that I was afraid it would explode. I balled up my fists and raised to swing at him, when I heard a voice behind me.

"Baby, these guys giving you a hard time?"

The man from the bar had slipped his arm possessively over my shoulder. Fitch gaped open-mouthed as the man in the leather jacket slid next to me with a sexy glower. He took in each one of us in turn, then looked me in the eye and flashed a megawatt smile. I inhaled sharply as he pulled me close to him.

Then he ducked my head backwards and planted a possessive kiss directly on my mouth.

Crash

I knew those guys were trouble from the moment I walked into the bar. They were staring at the sexy little Latina chick like they were trying to formulate some plan and it was taking every brain cell they had.

I lifted my hand to run it through my hair, a nervous tic, but my fingers touched bald skin.

Oh yeah, I remember now.
  I kept my head shaved because the hair didn't grow over the scars. I tried growing it, but it looked like someone had ripped fistfuls out in a fight. I'd looked even worse.

And with my brain and my legs already in the minus column, I didn't need one more reason for people to regard me as a freak. 

Being part of the MC gave people a real reason to be afraid of me. I had liked that part. But now all I had to go with was my fucked up face. I threw my colors on the ground a few hours ago, making sure to step on them for good measure. But I was still in my riding leathers and that counted for something. If shit started with these assholes in the booth, I had the intimidation factor on my side.

I wasn't wearing my cut though.  I rolled my shoulders from side to side, feeling different. Feeling like a weight had been lifted. But without that weight, I might easily just float away.

I sat down at the bar and that floating feeling continued. In fact it grew worse.  The pretty little
chica
was making eyes at me, but I couldn't summon the focus to talk to her. "Beer, whatever you got," I told the bartender as the colors of the neon signs behind him blazed with an unnatural vibrancy. The whole bar was blazing with colors, glowing so brightly that I could feel the colors in my teeth.

"Shit,
fire
," I grimaced. Or maybe I didn't say it, I wasn't sure. I could have just thought it.

I was never really certain.

Panic rose into the back of my throat, the awful clarity singing through my  nerve endings, setting them on fire.

You pushed yourself too hard. Sit. Relax. 

This isn't really happening. It's your brain.

I tried to listen to my gut, the only part of me that actually worked properly. The fire was roaring through my body, burning me from the inside out, leaving me hollow and in danger of collapse.

It was a delayed reaction to the day, several hours in coming. I should have expected it; after all, this had happened before. "Crash's freakouts," they called these back at the clubhouse. Giving me shit, as always. But at least when I was there I had Doc.

Doc would know what to do right now.

The world slid sideways and I gripped the bar. I was definitely going to float away. The singing, swirling colors intensified, making me sweat.

Fuck.

"You're having micro-seizures,"
Doc had explained the first time he saw this happen to me. He sat back in his camp chair, lacing his fat sausage fingers over his impressive gut.  His beard nodded into his belly as he peered at me while I sweated and cursed
. "Shit's still trying to heal up there and things are getting crossed."

"Like colors and shit?"
I panted as Doc seemed to melt and swirl.

"That's right, Ben."

"Like how shit doesn’t taste how it should?"
I smacked my lips against the taste of pennies in my mouth. It tasted horrible.

"Precisely.  Don't let those other guys give you shit. They weren't the ones who gave the finger to death, you are."

Doc wasn't here right now, but his words were.
I gave the finger to death
.
I can survive my burning brain for a bit.

I stared at the neon sign on the bar wall. It was glowing as brightly as the sunshine, haloed and trailing out little fingers of light into the dimness of the bar. It was kind of beautiful as I counted back from ten, consciously slowing my breathing.

The seizure was over.

Gradually the world righted itself. The fingers of light receded, the haloes dimmed until finally the sign was just a normal sign. The vibrant colors dimmed and for a moment I almost missed them. There was always that sense of seeing something special, something normal people weren't privy to. It almost made the agonizing weirdness worth it.

I did it. I survived. And I did it alone.

I'm going to be okay.

I looked back up at the pretty
chica
, hoping she wouldn't mistake my panicked breathing for me being a creeper. I wanted to talk to her, maybe just look at her. She had a sweet face, but the way she was sitting with her shoulders straight and her tits all jutting out like perfect little melons had me thinking there was a wildcat lurking underneath. She had these lips, soft and pillowy, made for kissing until they turned bright pink. I put my hand flat on the bar, feeling the steadiness. I was okay now. I was me again. Time to do my thing.

But she seemed to be having her own little freakout, fishing through her bag and throwing money on the bar. "Have a good night," she smiled to me.

Well shit,
there went that idea.  I nodded at her, regretting the lost opportunity. She was gorgeous, but the timing was pretty shitty.

Chicks come and chicks go though. No sense crying about anyone specific
, I reminded myself. But then I thought about Lexi's freckled tits and hated myself. Hated her and hated Case. But mostly myself.

"Fuck this," I growled. I grabbed some money from my back pocket and threw it down on the bar, ready to stalk out of there.
Florida
, I reminded myself.

But when I got up, I saw that the three assholes I had my eye on were surrounding the pretty
chica
and giving her a hard time. Fuck, I hadn't been paying attention. I knew those idiots would cause a scene and here they were doing exactly that.  I should have trusted my gut.

The little firecracker seemed to be holding her own though. I sidled forward, listening, and chuckled when she put the tall dickish guy in his place. Damn, she had a temper on her. Listening to her tear him a new one was getting me kinda hard.

The tall dick's manner suddenly changed. He resented the hell out of this chick, thought she owed him her pussy on a golden platter or some shit. That rapist shit, I couldn't stand guys like that, won't listen to a chick when she says no. I may be an asshole, but I always make sure whoever I'm fucking is properly enthused about the idea.

He wasn't going to let up until he had her, wasn't listening to her when she told him to fuck off.  I saw him bend low and get in her face, the two lackeys on either side of her moving in. Fuck, this was going to end badly, that guy seriously wanted to hurt her.

I took a quick risk assessment. I could fight them, but three on one was shit odds even when I was feeling top notch, which I decidedly was not. Or I could fuck with them. And have some fun in the process.

I made my move. "Hey baby, these guys giving you a hard time?"

She turned to me, startled and the three assholes stepped back. Good, they saw I wasn't someone lightly fucked with. I slung my arm around the chick's shoulder possessively, putting on a show.  I stared them down in turn, my hand brushing the smoothness of the skin on her upper arm.  I was enjoying myself a little too much.

Fuck it; let's go for broke.
 

I swung her backward and planted a kiss directly on her soft, pillowy mouth.