Steel My Soul (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club Book 4) (7 page)

"No, it's not exactly like that," I finally said, moving my hands like I could grab the words out of thin air. Describing to someone what it was like in my head was a monumental task.  "It's like...these videos play in my brain, stuff I know must have happened to me, because why else would they be playing, you know?" I shot a look at her, then ducked away from the intensity of her gaze. Fuck. "I'm just watching them, though. They don't feel like things that actually happened to me. You understand?"

I felt like I was pleading with her.
Stop looking at me like I'm a puzzle you want to figure out. Let's just go back to fucking, that's a whole hell of a lot easier.

Gabi shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. She looked like she wanted to say something, then stopped and hesitated. She bit her lip and took a sip from her coffee cup, then made a gagging face. "Too hot still," she lisped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. A little bit of foam clung to the corner of her mouth.

She was so damn cute I had to laugh a little and some of the tension in the air broke. "Yeah I'm waiting, I think this drink is still mostly steam at this point. What do they even do to these things?"

She exhaled a laugh, and settled more comfortably into her chair. "I think you're right, honestly. The steam condenses into liquid and then we can drink it."

I grinned at her. I didn't know what else to do. The intense scrutiny was over, to my relief, and I was finding that I liked her. I liked her naked body, but I liked her too. "Thanks for thinking of me," I said. "That was sweet of you. "

She grinned archly. "Well, when you left so early this morning…" she said meaningfully.

I hung my head in mock shame. "Clearly that was the wrong move on my part. It's not every day I find a gorgeous girl who will bring me fancy, over-priced coffee on a whim."

Her smile faded from her lips and she pressed them together, biting the lower one in such a sexy way that I couldn't help myself. I reached over and flicked that little bit of foam. "Got something there," I told her, swiping my thumb over her lip.

Just like it had last night, the feel of her lips under my fingers made my pants uncomfortably tight. She let her lip go slack, allowing me to press my thumb further into her hot little mouth.  I had such a vivid flash of her wrapping those plump pillows around my cock that I nearly came into my pants.

"Ben…," she said hesitantly. It came out like a whisper, filled with regret.

I shook my head. "No," I told her with more vehemence than I intended. "You don't call me that, you call me what you called me last night. Before you knew this about me."

She fixed me with those deep brown eyes. Then she nodded slowly, my thumb still in her mouth. "Crash," she whispered, biting my finger lightly.

"That's right."

"Why are you here?" she sucked my thumb.

I knew what she was asking, but I deliberately misinterpreted her question. I didn't feel like talking about the past, I felt like getting into those yoga pants. "I'm here for my wallet." I raised my eyebrows.

She raised hers, a faint smile playing across those lovely lips. "Just for your wallet?" she hummed around my thumb and I wished desperately that it was my cock.

"And you found it," I murmured. "You deserve a reward." She closed her eyes with a soft noise and closed her lips around my thumb. Then she sucked it into her mouth greedily, swirling her tongue around it.

Holy fuck.
I shot up from the chair so fast I knocked it over. Scooping her up into my arms, I forgot all about my limp and crossed the room in two strides, depositing her on the bed. She tore at my clothes, her eyes wide as I fumbled for my belt buckle "I need to see you," she gasped. "I didn't get to see you."

"Fuck, baby, if I look at you too long I'm going to lose it entirely. You have any idea how beautiful you are?" I asked, as the golden light streaming through the window hit her incredible skin. She was so golden and perfect she practically glowed.

"I want to see," she pointed, "that."

I looked down at my crotch and lifted my hands in surrender. "Look all you like, baby, it's all yours."

Something about this girl was making me much more eloquent than I normally would be in bed. She made me want to talk, to make promises I wasn't sure I'd keep. I just wanted to make her smile that perfect smile again.

Gabriela's little hands fluttering around the zipper of my jeans was enough to make me bite down hard on my lip. I tasted blood for a second, and for just that moment my raging hard-on dwindled enough to allow blood to rush back to my brain. What was I doing? Last night was fun and all, but I had just had shit go down pretty spectacularly because of a chick. A chick I thought I had feelings for. Hadn't I learned my lesson yet?

But when Gabriela's lips closed around my cock, all that doubt washed away. I sank my fingers into her hair, feeling that mass of curls. If she didn't stop with that sweet moaning, I was going to come right in her mouth, and as hot as it was, I didn't want to waste it. Being inside of her, making her scream, making her come so her pussy tightened around me, that was what I was after. That was the stuff I was back for.

"You're so good baby," I told her bending down to lift her by her armpits. "But I can't let you do all the work."

She raised her eyebrows and wiped her mouth across with the back of her hand. "And why's that?" she asked me, eyes twinkling.

Damn this girl gave as good as she got. "Because I have a reputation to maintain now," I told her.

"Yes, you do," she purred. "You have a fan right here."

I'll admit it, though I've always prided myself on my pussy licking prowess, that little vote of confidence was exactly what I needed. So I decided to make this visit worth both our while.

Gabriela

Crash's arm was flung up over his eyes, blocking out the late morning sun. I couldn't tell if he was asleep or not, but he was still and relaxed; the tension around his jaw had dissolved away.  There was a snake, brightly colored and boldly outlined, winding its way down his side, so lifelike I could almost hear its hiss. More tattoos adorned his torso, and part of me wanted to ask what each one meant. The other part of me wanted to leave him to his secrets.

The bedsheets were tangled into ropes and I was cold. I shut my eyes and sighed deeply, a slight tinge of unease rustling through my body. I had fucked him again...and again right after that. The man had stamina, but apart from that, what the fuck was I doing?

I had picked up an amnesiac at the bar last night. And I seemed I knew more about his past than he did. All of that filled me with a defensive sense of foreboding. This was not a complication I needed in my life, and though I would definitely miss that magical tongue of his, the fact remained that he was a wild card in a deck I had shuffled exactly to my liking.

I rolled over and pressed my lips to his shoulder, then licked him, tasting the salt of his sweat. He stirred and smiled, those lips curling happily upward before he lifted his arm from his eyes and blinked like a cat.

"Hey," he whispered softly.

I had meant to tell him to go. A lie was ready on my lips, a story I had spun about needing to go into work, about how I would see him soon. But when he rolled on to his elbow and lifted my hair into his fingers, all of my lies fell away. I answered his soft kiss, delighting in how warm and pliable his lips were.

"So I need to ask you something," he said, pulling a serious face.

My heart fluttered. "Yeah?"

That bashful look, the one that made him look so much like the Ben of old, reappeared on his face. "I'm thinking," he said slowly, and I held my breath waiting for a declaration. "I'm thinking that you gave me a pretty good workout and I must not be smellin' too pretty," he finally elaborated.

I let out my breath in a whoosh of frustration, but he didn't hear it. "Any way I might be able to use your shower?" he continued.

I swallowed hard as my traitorous brain immediately leapt to images of Crash's well-muscled body slick with soap and lather. "No problem," I told him, hoping that the excitement would stay the hell out of my voice.

He kissed the tip of my nose. "Thanks," he said simply, then stood up and stretched. I took in every bit of him as he stood there in a shaft of light, from the muscles on his torso to the scars on his head. I hadn't seen them properly until just now, the network of fine lines that ran like a spiderweb down the right side of his forehead, dragging the lid of his eye down with them. There was a deeper one, heavy and thick, running up the outside of his leg, from his calf all the way up to his thigh, but I hadn't noticed it until he stood in the light because it was intertwined with an intricate tattoo. The menacing, hooded figure of death, reaching for a man on a motorcycle who was just out of his reach.

It made me shiver.

Crash padded to the bathroom, completely and unashamedly naked. I lay back down in bed and contemplated joining him. The ever-present dilemma of curly-haired women -
is it worth getting my hair wet?

My stomach decided for me. In all of the fucking, I had forgotten to eat, and the digital clock on my bedside table told me it was close to two in the afternoon. I decided to surprise Crash with a late lunch, figuring he had to be at least as hungry as I was since he had done most of the work in bed.

I pulled on my clothes and padded over to my miniscule little wall kitchen. Poking around in my refrigerator yielded me some
habichuelas
my mother had sent me home with after the last family dinner. I quickly set about steaming some rice, and warming the beans, filling my little apartment with the rich scents. I hoped Crash wasn't afraid of a little Puerto Rican home cooking.

I hummed a little as I looked out of my kitchen window onto the slushy main street. Lenape wasn't so busy that I regretted living on the main road, but I still sometimes felt like I lived in a fishbowl, especially when I had to find on-street parking. I was zoned out, mindlessly enjoying the novel pleasure of preparing food for someone besides myself, when I saw the car slow down in front of my place.

The loud noise of the water in the pipes shut off and I knew Crash had finished his shower, but I was too caught up in the man getting out in front of my house. He looked down at a clipboard and back up to the house several times before he started up the walk.

I was at my front door before he had a chance to walk. Seeing me seemed to startle him.

"I'm looking for Benjamin Nelson?" he asked, looking down at his clipboard to double-check.

Crash emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. His face darkened when he saw the man at the door, suspicion clouding his features. "Who are you?" he barked, his voice laced with leathery menace.

"Are you Benjamin Nelson?" the man asked with no small amount of trepidation.

Crash didn't answer, only staring at him. I looked between the two of them, wondering if I should speak. "He is," I finally said.

Crash shot me a murderous look and I swallowed hard. But the man only nodded.

"I'm here from Morgan County Elder Care. Marion Hunt had you listed as her next of kin, and our log had you residing at this address." The man looked up at both of our shocked faces. "We had no contact number, so I had to come out personally," he added, sounding aggrieved. "I regret to inform you that Marion passed away about a half an hour ago."

My heart stood still and I looked back at Crash. I waited for his cry, his shock and grief.  But the only sound was the water dripping from his body to a puddle at his feet. His face showed nothing at all.

Declan

A belch bubbled up into my beard. I dug my fist into my chest, and tried to suppress it, but it snuck out anyway.

This fucking indigestion wasn't getting any better. I could chew Tums like candy and it still wouldn't be able to stop the acidic fire in my chest.  Fucking shit food, shit conditions, it was no wonder my stomach lining wanted to eat itself.

I was miserable, and everyone else needed to suffer for it.

I burped again and right on cue, Case walked right into the cloud of acid fumes. "Jesus fucking Christ, Doc, " the asshole complained, waving his hands disgustedly in front of his nose.

It made me feel marginally better to know that I'd pissed someone else off too. I grunted and swung my aching legs down off the sagging cot and looked out into the crowded common area of the safe house.

A fucking safe house.  This was insane.

No one was allowed in or out. Storm MC guards seemed just a happy to keep us locked up as they were to keep watch for cartel spies. There were guards at the front door, guards in the upstairs windows facing the lonely highway, guards in the back of the house watching the field that stretched back to the Pines. The place was crawling with guards, and after only twenty-four hours in here, I was ready to punch something into oblivion.

There was nothing to do but play cards, drink and get on each other's nerves while we waited to find out the plan.

As far as I was concerned, they could all go fuck their plans. I was old, I had seen shit, and I was tired of it all. I signed up to ride bikes and party with my best friends, not to squat in a safe house like some pussified coward, waiting for the fight to blow over.

We had been stupid. So stupid and careless, that it made me sick to think back on all the mistakes of the past forty-eight hours. We got complacent, used to our tiny little corner of Philadelphia, safe and out of the thick of things. The years of sticking to Teach's code, of keeping our heads down and our noses clean, had made us complacent. We had forgotten basic safety procedures and it had almost cost us our lives.

We acted like amateurs, heading right back to the clubhouse after that dustup with the low-level cartel members that nabbed Case's girl. They had followed us - because of course they did -and we led them right to our front door.

The firebomb had hit the front of the clubhouse. The store, the legit front for our legit business. The sum total of Teach's livelihood had gone up in flames.

But the metal garage hadn't burned. And the garage was where we were all congregated, bickering like schoolgirls over Crash's exit.

When the noise and confusion had died down, we had stood coughing, and choking in the huge clubhouse parking area, watching with dismay as the storefront burned. But we were all alive, and for that I silently thanked Crash. If he hadn't left like he did, then we would have awakened like it was another morning, taking our breakfast in the common area adjacent to the store.  Those of us who hadn't burnt in the initial explosion would have been trapped in the smoky aftermath. Instead we were clear of the bomb, and suffered nothing more than the loss of everything we had.

And for that I was grateful. My life might not be worth nothing, but I liked living it.

I made sure not to voice this opinion to the rest of the guys though. Crash was now public enemy number one, with Case deciding that the bomb was somehow his fault. The rest of the guys seemed to agree. And I understood why. A sworn brother taking off like that was a deep offense, made worse by the fact that it was over a chick.

But I still couldn't manage to harden my heart against the kid. It was Crash who had made me quit medicine. Up there at North Jersey, up there in my old life, I had been in charge of the boy's rehabilitation. And I had banged my head against brick wall after brick wall in trying to get him the care he needed. His grandparents seemed to think that a traumatic brain injury was something he should be able to just shake off, as if then had suffered nothing more than a couple bruises.

Their refusal to follow the treatment plan was made worse by Ben's amnesia. Finally, running out of options, I had come to Teach, my old neighborhood friend from before I went to med school and remade myself as a fancy-pants doctor. But all the fancy-pants degrees couldn't help me when it came to getting Ben that treatment he needed.

I came to Teach with my hat in my hand and in his implacable, fair way, he gave me a price that was the easiest to pay. Leave medicine entirely and come work as the club doctor.

I had no trouble leaving the high stress world behind. I grew out my beard and began reveling in the freedom of living outside of society's expectations. It wasn't a heavy cost, but it was a lifelong one.

Ben never knew who paid for his treatments. And I made damn sure he never had reason to ask. He was my mission, my life's work, the one thing I could point to and say, "There. I made that. And I am proud." I had done a damn good job of giving him a new life after his old one was shattered.

Good enough that he was now out there on his own, making his way by himself… I hoped.

But was there was still that nagging worry. A seizure, a mood swing. The wrong thing said to the wrong person in an emotional outburst. For six years I had been there to smooth out the rough edges of Ben's life. If he needed me now, how would he find me out here at the edge of nowhere behind armed guards?

How could Crash come back now?