The further we got from the center of town, the slower Sammie drove. The slower she drove, the more anxious I became. It was eerie how empty the dark streets were of people. I would have felt completely alone if Sammie didn't pierce the tense silence by loudly cracking her knuckles over the steering wheel.

"Turn right here
," I pointed excitedly. Then I saw the narrow, darkened street through her eyes and gritted my teeth.

My best friend's eyes went wide
as she made the turn so slowly I felt like we had a giant arrow pointing at us.
Look at us! We don't belong here!
the arrow shouted. "You want me to take you into this neighborhood? In the middle of the night?"

"You said you'd help me."

"I didn't know I had signed up for a one way ticket into the ghetto of North Philly."

I shifted in my seat and sat on my hands. We didn't have time to debate this. "It's up ahead. See? That brick building with the big parking lot."

Sammie sucked in her teeth. "Looks like a good place to get raped and murdered."

"They're the only ones who can help me, Sam. Just leave me on the corner here."

"Like fuck I'm leaving you here," she snarled and popped her old station wagon into park. "I'm sitting right here with my cell phone out. If you're not back in five minutes, I'm calling the cops."

I tasted panic. "Don't call the cops! Don't you understand that's the whole problem here? Haven't you been listening?"

Sammie clenched her steering wheel her knuckles white with tension. I could see she was fighting her best instincts. "Fine. Go talk to your bikers. But I'm fucking staying with you."

I was about to argue when I remembered everything J. said about having people in your corner. I had gone it alone for too long and look what it got me.

I sighed and looked at her. She stared ahead fiercely, but I could see the tears glittering in her eyes.

"Thank you Sam," I whispered, cupping my hand over hers. Then I took a deep breath and leapt from the car.

I picked my way down the dark sidewalk. My thin-soled ballet flats offered little protection from the rough and broken pavement. The useless shapes of shot-out streetlamps hulked over me. The yellow haze of the city at night was my guide instead.

I reached the chain link fence with the barbed wire at the top. Immediately the guard dog sounded the alarm. The huge Rottweiler came snarling and snapping out of the dark, with slavering jaws already hungry to sink into my flesh.

"Hey Bonnie," I called into the dark.

The barking stopped immediately.

"Who's out there!?" Crash called, his voice strained and muzzy with sleep. I had to smirk.
Napping on guard duty again. Teach would be pissed.

Bonnie trotted over to the fence and pulled herself up onto her hind legs to give my face a sniff.
Her hot breath blasted my face with the smell of dog treats. "Ooof, girl," I muttered as I scratched her through the links. She whined and wagged her tail.

"It's me,” I called out
to Crash. "Emmy."

I heard Crash stagger and shuffle, moving as quickly as he could. He emerged from the shadows, dragging his weak leg behind him as he ran for the fence. "Emmy! Where the fuck is J.?"

"Can you let me in, Crash?"

"What the fuck happened to you two? You just...disappeared." I could see him working, trying to force his damaged brain to
make sense of my sudden appearance in the night.

"J.'s in jail, Crash."

I clenched my fists at the memory of his shocked face as the policeman ground his head into the gravel. I had wanted to go to him, to cover him with my body and scream at them to let him go. He didn't do anything wrong. He was framed. Framed by the man who had held me down and forced me to watch. He had held my face so I couldn't look away as the man I loved was dragged away in handcuffs for a made-up crime.

"J.'s in jail and I'm going to get him out. But I need the rest of the Sons."

I could see he wanted to ask more questions. But when I invoked the name of the club, he snapped into focus. "I'll raise the call. What do we need to do?"

I looked back at Sammie, poised and ready to help. I had my back-up, now I was getting J.'s.

"Tell them it's time to ride out."

Chapter 1

Emmy

(Two weeks earlier)

I rooted through the back of my closet, a lump already forming in the back of my throat.
Shit shit shit
, I swore, swallowing back the panic.

"Emilia?" Robert's voice was tinged with impatience, and I dug faster. My fist closed around one spiked heel in triumph. But I was still missing the other shoe.

"Emilia!" He was coming back up the stairs. I was going to have to tell him I couldn't find the shoes he bought me. The ones that matched this dress perfectly. The dress he also bought me.

I pulled myself deeper into the closet
, heedlessly wrinkling the floor length, strapless gown I was poured into. The delicate fabric stretched around my hips and I heard a few stitches pop, which only heightened my panic.

Just as Robert's steps reached the floorboards outside of our master suite, I located the rogue stiletto heel. It was under the hem of another evening gown. How it had gotten tangled into a dress I hadn't worn in months
, I'll never know. I just grabbed it gratefully, and shimmied over to our bed. I was careful to keep my back to the door so Robert couldn't see how flustered I was.

"Are you almost done?" His deep, rich voice was dripping with irritation, and I felt the flush creep further up my pale cheeks. As if the
bright red satin dress didn't make me look enough like a tomato.

"Yes sweetie, sorry!" I sang out, hoping he wouldn't hear anything off in my voice.

"We have to go, the driver is waiting." He drummed his fingers on the door frame as I slid the delicate buckle closed around my ankle.

"There." I stood up, wobbling on the spindly heels. I took a deep breath and turned to face him. "What do you think?"

He bought the dress. He chose the shoes. He had sent me to his mother's salon to get my hair done this morning. All day I had waited to see his face light up when he saw me dressed for his foundation's charity dinner.

I don't know why I expected that.

Robert bit the inside of his cheek critically as my heart sank all the way down to my recently located shoes. "Is that all they could do with your hair?"

I turned to look at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My pale blonde hair was blown out pin straight, all traces of its natural waves beaten back by the stylist's round brush. It was sleek and shiny, falling in ribbons down my bare back. It was chilly for a May night in Philadelphia
, and I was grateful he hadn't made me wear it up for this event.

"She did the best with what she had, I guess," I answered lightly. I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.

Robert rounded the bed and came up behind me, placing his hands on my hips. "You're wearing control top?" he asked, running his hands along the ample curves.

"Yes of course." I tried to see what he was seeing. Yes I wasn't thin, but the dress hugged my curves without being lewd. I would have loved it if it were in a more subdued color. "I look like a fire engine," I complained.

"Oh hush." He dismissed my complaints with a wave of his hand and continued smoothing an imaginary wrinkle on my hip.

I was starting to get nervous that I had forgotten something. "Is everything okay?"

He ran his hand over my whole side, tracing the swooping curve of my breasts, held up as they were by the fiercely armored bodice. Then his hand moved down along my nipped in waist held tightly by two pairs of control top hose. He looked lost in thought for a moment, the sighed. "It'll have to do," he exhaled, and brushed a dismissive kiss across my bare shoulder.

"You look nice," I ventured. That was no lie. Robert Whitestone III, heir to the Whitestone fortune had never looked bad in his life. From his dark chestnut waves and broad shoulders, all the way down to his narrow hips and athletic calves, he had been as blessed genetically as he was financially.

His piercing blue eyes peered at me critically, framed by his dark, heavy brows and high, sculpted cheekbones.

"Thank you," he replied formally, accepting the compliment as his due. "If you're ready, we need to go now, Emilia."

He extended his arm and I hooked my elbow into his. He held me steady as I gingerly negotiated the grand staircase of our penthouse. As we waited by our private elevator, I caught a glimpse of our reflections in the shining metal of the closed doors. The blazing red of my dress clashed with the flushed pink of my skin.

"I look like a tomato," I whispered again.

"Emilia, that's enough. That dress was a gift. You're lucky you have a fiancé who knows how to dress you."

I swallowed. "You're right, Robert."

"God knows what you would have come up with," he continued, stabbing the button again.

"I know colors," I ventured. "It's just, this color doesn't really work with my skin."

"Oh come on, the artist thing? Really?"

"Well..." I sought the words but they just wouldn't come. My thoughts tripped all over themselves, and I ended up saying nothing. Just like I always did.

Robert nodded as if the matter was settled. The door dinged open and he held me firmly as we stepped over the gap and into the elevator. His grip on me didn't loosen the whole ride down.

Chapter 2

Emmy

The minute I stepped back into our penthouse, I tore the dress off of me and let it fall into an unceremonious heap on the floor.

Fuck that dress. And fuck tonight.

I wobbled there in our living room, alone in my underwear. My head was spinning. I was too keyed up to sleep, even though I knew it was best if I was in bed when Robert got home.

I kicked off my stupid shoes, flinging them across the wide expanse of floor. One slid under the sofa, the other shot into the gourmet kitchen we had never once cooked in. In the back of my head I knew I would forget the shoe was under the couch. I should retrieve it, I told myself, but was too drunk to risk bending over.

Instead I padded barefoot into the kitchen and ran a glass of water from the tap. Robert would have been appalled to see me drink tap water, but he wasn't home from the benefit dinner yet, so I was allowed my small lapses. I gulped the cold water greedily, hoping it would stop my head from spinning. And then out of habit I opened the refrigerator.

I sighed when I saw the options.
"Fucking rabbit food," I muttered and my stomach growled in solidarity. Desperate for carbs, I defrosted a baguette I found in the freezer and dribbled it with olive oil and salt. Robert didn't let me keep butter in the house. He claimed it was too much temptation and that he was only looking out for my health. I was lucky to have a fiancé who cared as much as he did. The thought made me feel guilty and I hastily threw out the rest of the bread before I could spoil my diet any further. My stomach growled in protest, but I took a few deep breaths. I had already made enough of a spectacle of myself tonight. What would Robert think if he walked into the penthouse right now and caught me eating frozen bread in my underwear?

Chastened by the thought, I carefully picked up my wayward shoe and went back into the living room. I leaned over, reaching under the sofa. The water in my stomach sloshed around with the wine and my head spun.

I couldn't let Robert be the one to find the shoe there.

They needed to go back up onto the proper shelf. I gritted my teeth and swallowed back the nausea that was already setting in. Yanking the shoe back out from under the couch, I bundled everything up in my dress and hurried up the stairs. Every sound of the street below sounded like Robert coming home and catching me. He had explicitly told me to go home and go to bed. I had drunk too much wine and was embarrassing myself and him. I was too drunk to protest when he shoved me into the car and shut the door. In actuality I was slightly grateful to be allowed to leave the benefit dinner early.

The speeches had droned on and on. I could feel the wives of the other board members looking at me with disapproval as I knocked back glass after glass of white wine. But I couldn't stop. The wine calmed my nerves. It also prevented me from cringing every time someone asked me a question.

And what do you do?
I never knew how to answer that. I went to college for art. I was a student at The University of the Arts. Or at least I was until I met Robert. Now I spent my days waiting for him to come home.

"I'm an artist!" I would sing out, hoping the financial wizards of Robert's boardroom would find that boring enough to leave at that.

Really?
But they never did. They would look at me incredulously instead.

How did you two meet?
This was my least favorite question.

The truth was mundane and unflattering. I was moonlighting as a waitress - oh who am I kidding, waitressing was my career - and Robert came in for a drink one night. He had let me know almost immediately who he was and then absorbed my flattery as I flirted to get more tips. He was gorgeous and I was astonished at his attention. The night had ended with him bringing me home to his penthouse in Rittenhouse Square - and then I never left.

"At a bar!" I would laugh, self-deprecatingly. Then their eyes would move to my left hand.

When is the wedding?
I didn't know how to answer that either. The wedding was something that loomed on the horizon but never materialized. If I ever pushed the issue, Robert would shake his head at me for being a "typical woman," and tease me about being 'Bridezilla.'

"Haven't set a date just yet, it depends on my father's health." That usually shut them up. No one wanted to be the rude person to inquire about my family's heath problems. No one needed to know that my dad's health would greatly improve if he put down the bottle.

Well then, aren't you lucky to have met a man like Robert?
This was my favorite question because it let me off the hook.

Usually they would launch into some story about Robert I had already heard. How wonderful Robert is, or how good at sports Robert was, or how they'd known Robert since he was young. 'Such a bright boy.' Then I could lean back and nod, and gulp my wine while they sang my fiancé’s praises. All I needed to do then was smile adoringly at him, wherever he was.

Because he usually wasn't sitting next to me at this point. The pattern rarely changed. From the minute we walked into the door at these functions, Robert would abandon me. I was left at our table to stare at whatever power couple was seated there. He would be off pressing the flesh and making backroom deals.

You would think I would be able to relax because of this. But I still had to be on my guard. I needed to be wary just in case he appeared at my shoulder to hiss at me.
Sit up straight, I can see right down your cleavage, what're you doing, putting yourself on display like that? Don't you think you've had enough to drink; you're just like your father, aren't you? Talk to people; don't just sit there like a lump. Did you spill on your dress? Are you kidding me?

Tonight it had been a triple whammy. I was self-conscious about making sure my ample cleavage was contained
in my strapless tomato dress. My embarrassment made me even clumsier than usual. When I spilled the wine that I had been sucking down like a floozy, Robert had swooped over me in a flurry of apologies to our dinner companions. Clapping his jacket over my shoulders with an exasperated grin to my tablemates, he hustled me out of the glittering ballroom. Before I could think I was in the back of our hired car.

Go home and sleep it off. You're embarrassing yourself.

I hung the dress over my closet door and smoothed my hand over the wine-stain. I would need to take it to the cleaners tomorrow. I was oddly elated at the thought of having something to do.

I brushed my teeth woozily, staring at myself in the mirror. My round, pale cheeks were still flushed from the wine, giving the illusion of cheekbones. The pink set off the pale blue of my eyes that were still shiny with drink. For a moment I felt pretty, there in our huge en suite bathroom. I turned my face to the side to take in my profile. My silly little turned up nose made me look younger than my twenty-one years. My white-blond, baby fine waves made me look even younger.

I was regularly mistaken for a high schooler when I fell back into my old habits of slobbing around in jeans and a concert tee. As I scrubbed the lacquered on makeup from my face, my reflection looked back at me. Once I clean of the artifice, I looked just like the big-boned, big breasted, Pennsylvania farm girl I was. I had been playing dress-up tonight. I wasn't made for ball gowns and benefit dinners.

It was Robert who made me pretend.

I slipped into our giant bed and ran my fingers over the thousand thread-count sheets Robert insisted we buy. Once again I tried to tell the difference between these sheets and the sheets I had grown up with. When we officially moved in together, Robert shoved all my old clothes and bedding into a box and left it in the trash room. I had dared to go back down there and retrieve the old, threadbare blankets that had been my comfort through my childhood. I had hugged those blankets as I listened to my father rage at my mom and then go silent as she sobbed. I would hide under those blankets in my closet as my mother vented her anger on my younger brother. If Robert found them secreted high in my closet, he would be furious with me. But I couldn't let them go.

I still felt like I needed them.

I rolled onto my back and willed myself to sleep, but the room was still spinning. I drifted in and out of a fitful, dreamless sleep. The noise of the street below was far off, but every slamming door made me jump. I wondered how much longer he would be. He had been coming home late from the office all week; I don't know why I expected him home on a weekend.

Just as sleep finally overcame me, I heard the bell of our private elevator and my eyes flew open. I mentally went over my checklist. The frozen baguette was stashed deep in the trash; he'd never find that. My dress was hung carefully. I had retrieved my shoes; did I put them back in the closet? I clenched my fists, unable to remember if I had or not. I decided to hope I had and moved on. Teeth were brushed so my breath wouldn't offend him. Face was washed so I wouldn't look slovenly in the morning. I was in bed like he had told me to be.

I might be okay.

I rolled onto my side, facing away from the door just as his footstep creaked in the doorway. I heard him sigh and then the rustle of his clothes as he took off his suit. The light of his closet came on as he opened it to put away his shoes and I squeezed my eyes tighter. I held my breath, listening, trying to discern his mood. A couple splashes of the tap and then I felt his side of the bed dip down as he sat and removed his watch and laid it on his bedside table.

Then he slipped under the sheets next to me.

His breath was slow and relaxed and I felt my fists unclench. He didn't seem angry. I inhaled deeply.

There was a scent to the air. Floral, yet spicy. Perfume.

And it wasn't mine.

I ran my hand up the sheets. I still couldn't feel the difference. Hugging my pillow, I squeezed my eyes shut. I thought about anything and everything else until Robert's breathing slowed and I could tell he was asleep. When I was finally sure he wasn't going to talk to me, I was able to relax enough to fall asleep too.

BOOK: Steel My Heart

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