Steel My Soul (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club Book 4) (9 page)

My mother beamed. "I think I finally figured out what I was doing wrong, the oil wasn't hot enough."

Ada saw her moment. "Mama, how is Tia Izzy's shoulder doing?"

I shot her a grateful look as my mother launched into a heated spiel about doctors and incompetence and no one having the good sense to listen to her advice. Relieved to have the attention away from me, I ate the rest of my food in silence.

She wasn't right about me. I wasn't lonely. I was young, was having fun, I was in the prime of my life.
I would never ever admit that my mother could be right about anything when it came to my life.

But my mind kept harkening back to this morning, and my simple joy at having someone to cook for. Having Crash stay the night had made me pathetically happy.

I didn't have his number. Didn't know where he was now. But I wanted to see him again. I wanted him to do those amazing things to my body, and then I wanted to make him breakfast. But there was one small problem.

I had no idea how to find him.

Crash

The people at the rest home seemed to have this shit sewn up. I wasn't really sure what I was supposed to do other than nod at everything the funeral director said. I went through the motions, nodding where it seemed appropriate, and all I could think of was heading back to Gabi's.

Maybe grabbing a drink first, then heading to Gabi's.

"There's one more issue, Mr. Nelson."

God, I hated that they kept calling me that. It was bad enough that I didn't share a name with the people who raised me. "She was my mother's mother," I told them over and over. "Or some shit," I didn't add.

"And what's that," I growled. I was utterly done with all of this. The specter of death had always hung over us when we were in the MC, but not death like this. Not a slow decline, a life withering away until there was nothing more than a shell before it all ended. It made me deeply uncomfortable.

"Mrs. Hunt's estate has yet to be finalized," this suit said, looking through a clipboard. "But for what I can see, you are her sole heir."

I blinked. "You're shitting me," I said.

The suit seemed appalled at my use of harsh language, and I resolved to use even more of it.

"I am not," the suit said. "All of her money and personal effects look like they will be transferred directly to you, once the tax man gets a hold of his share of course." He chuckled uncomfortably and looked back and forth on his clipboard, as if he was trying to make sure he was reading it right. "It looks like that includes a piece of real estate as well."

"Real estate? What the fuck does that mean?" I snarled. Before I went back to Gabi's I definitely needed a goddamned drink.

"Her house, Mr. Nelson."

"Stop fucking calling me that."

"I'm sorry," he practically squeaked. I could see a fine sheen of sweat starting to collect on his upper lip. "Would you like me to call you Benjamin?"

"No," I stalked away. Standing this long on the linoleum floor was making my leg lock up. I tried not to limp as the suit gaped at me.

"Ben..er, sir, well, I can give you the address if you'd like?"  He was starting to edge towards the door.

"Sure, whatever." I held out my hand. The suit scribbled hastily on the bottom of one of his many well-organized papers and tore it off, looking back at the ragged place with regret in his eyes.

******

The shutters were still yellow. Peeling, but yellow.

It made me feel strangely proud to see that, because I remembered those yellow shutters. I remembered thinking they were hideously ugly and telling Marion so. And I remembered the woman with the iron-gray hair to match her iron demeanor telling me to knock it off because they were "cheerful."

But those were the extent of my memories. As I stood on the cracked and broken sidewalk, I tried to summon something, anything else to feel some connection to this piece of shit house I now owned.

This part of Lenape huddled along a steep creek bed. I'd say it looked like it had seen better days, but I'm pretty sure it never actually had.

The key felt heavy in my hand. Part of me wanted to throw it to the ground and walk away. Owning a house, dealing with neighbors, all that white-bread suburban bullshit made me want to puke or fight someone.

But this solved my homelessness problem pretty nicely. As appealing as the idea of parking myself in Gabi's bed was, I wasn't about to make myself her problem.

"I'll figure this shit out tomorrow," I decided. I was all full of restless thoughts, the feeling of my dysfunctional brain going into panicked overload was imminent. The suddenness of Marion's death, the expectations of the nursing home staff, all those pitying eyes looking at me all confused, like I was supposed to know what the hell to do with this bomb they had just thrown in my lap. I was risking a hardcore seizure if I didn't take it easy, right the fuck now.

The sun was dipping below the trees and without its warmth, the cold was knifing through my leathers. I heard the far off honk of geese migrating. "Yeah, I'd get the fuck out of here too," I muttered to them, remembering my Florida plan with some regret.

I started up the walkway. The house was dark, of course, because no one had paid the utilities, but at least it was shelter.

I unlocked the front door, pressing my shoulder to it, and stepped into the gloom. 

A memory like an echo called out in the gloom, hollering at me to take my damn shoes off and stop tracking on the floors. But it slipped away before it could lead me anywhere else, leaving a restless, hollow feeling in its wake.

The house was left exactly as it was the morning Marion's neighbors had found her in their backyard in her nightgown, staring at the ducks in their pool. When the police came, she went willingly, like she was relieved she didn't have to be alone any more.

The nursing home staff had told me this as I signed paper after paper, but it didn't really register with me. Now that I stood in the time capsule of her home, I could see it for myself.

"She must have been waiting for you, Mr. Nelson," the orderly declared, her eyes glimmering with emotion. "You came to see her and she could finally die in peace."

"Uh huh." One thing I had to say for Marion. She had shit sewn up. The funeral shit was paid for and the cemetery plot was waiting for her like a creepy stalker. There was nothing for me to do but accept it.

But I still needed that drink though.

I turned on my heel and stalked back out of the dark house. One drink at the bar to calm my nerves. That's all I needed.

I got back on my bike and headed to Jokers.

Gabriela

I slid behind the wheel of my beat up old hatchback, and leaned my head against the seat. After the overwhelming heat of my parents' house, that chill of my car's interior felt strangely welcome.

My nerves were jangling harder than they did after a Saturday full of brides. My mother's observations about my life, however unwelcome, shook me to the core. She had gotten me into my head, and what she left there was going to take a long time to shake loose.

The last thing I wanted to do was go back to my empty apartment. It would be like admitting that she had a point.  That I was alone, and that I'd didn't want to be.

No, what I wanted to do was find Crash.

I put the car in reverse and backed quickly out of the driveway. I felt rather than saw, my mother's silhouette at the window, and I very consciously did not lift my hand to wave goodbye. Let her stew. Let her think I was angry, maybe that would buy me a few days where I didn't have to call her. She could pretend that I had injured her and that I deserve the silent treatment.

That sounded lovely.

I looked down and realized I was driving to Jokers. It was a wild hunch, but it was the only thing I had to go on. I was embarrassed at how desperate I was. As I drove, the old words they used to hurt me came back into my mind.

Will spread her legs for anything.

Total whore.

Blew every guy in the senior class at least twice.

I smacked the steering wheel in frustration. It still wasn't fair. I should be over it now, six years later, but the rage still simmered under the surface.

I was the only mixed girl in my class. A mutt, not wholly part of any crowd, not Latina, not Black and definitely not pale and blonde. I was a little too much of something for one crowd and not enough of something for the other.

I hovered on the edge of everything until my body started to develop. Then it just kept developing, my breasts spilling out over a too tight bra, my ass getting rounder and rounder. Maybe they were jealous? Maybe they actually did think I was beautiful, the way my mother said?

They sure had a funny way of showing it.

The ghosts of old hurts were still swirling around my brain when I closed the door to my car and headed into Jokers.
One drink
I promised myself again.
And don't look for him.

But of course I looked for him. I stopped right in the doorway and scanned the room, my heart growing heavier and heavier with disappointment. Until my eye alighted on a leather-clad figure sprawled out in the corner booth.

Crash was sitting like he owned the place, his leg splayed straight out across the booth, his booted foot stuck straight out into the aisle. His arm was slung over the back of the booth like he was waiting for someone to join him.

So I went to do just that.

He looked up from messing with the label on his beer bottle. When he caught sight of me walking towards him, his face broke out into such a wide-open grin that my heart did a queer little dance. He slung his leg off of the booth and leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

I slid in across from him. "Hey," I said.

He didn't say anything for a moment; he was too busy looking me up and down in the way that made me absolutely positive he was undressing me with his eyes. In fact I already felt naked.

"Hey," he finally said, still staring at me the way a dog stares at a piece of meat. I felt myself blushing from the inside out.

"How are you?" I asked him. "You had all that...stuff... With your grandmother…?"

He sat back, waving his hand like he was shooing the question away. "I don't want to talk about that depressing shit," he exhaled. "What are you drinking?"

"High Point. Lager." I told him.

He nodded, and lifted his chin towards Sal behind the bar. Some sort of unspoken, manly communication happened, and suddenly Sal was at my elbow. He looked between the two of us, and then he looked at Crash more closely.

"What's up Gabriela?" he asked me, quite pointedly using my full name. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting your, uh, friend here."

I glanced at Crash, who was regarding Sal with something in between irritation and amusement. A twitch of recognition curled his lip. "You're the guy with the cars," he said slowly.

I looked up at Crash sharply, but he was too busy staring at Sal's face.

Sal narrowed his eyes. "I know you from somewhere, where do I know you from?"

"I don't know, where
do
you know me from?" Crash answered. It sounded belligerent, but I thought I could hear a note of pleading in his voice.

I decided to intervene. "Sal," I said slowly. "This is Ben Nelson."

Sal blinked. "No shit," he said, and then his eyes went wide with recognition. "Goddamn man, it's good to see you. How you feelin'?"

Crash shot me a look. "Doin' good," he said. "Got my eye on this hot chick...."

Sal looked back at me. "Who, her? Gabi's is not a chick."

I laughed out loud, draining a third of my beer in the process. "Then why are you always staring at my tits?" I shot back.

"What can I say? Tits are tits."

"I'll drink to that," Crash laughed raising his glass.

I grinned. "You're both a couple of pigs, you know that?"

"Oink oink, baby," Crash smiled, shooting me such a lascivious look that I swear I must have turned red from head to toe.

"Well Ben, real glad to see you again. Sorry about your grandma, Marion was a hell of a broad," Sal declared, clapping Crash on the shoulder.

"Damn, word travels fast, huh?" Crash muttered into his beer. I shot him a sympathetic look.

"My wife works at Elder Care," Sal explained. "Marion was one of her favorite patients."

"For real?" Crash said, and I was surprised to see the actual interest in his eyes. So far he seemed to want to treat his grandmother's death as if it were nothing more than a passing irritation. I wondered what had changed.

"Oh yeah," Sal went on, leaning against the table with his beefy forearms. "Man, the stories she'd tell me about Mrs. Hunt when she was first admitted. She had the whole center hopping, ordering people around like they all existed to serve her."

Crash nodded slowly. "That sounds like her," he said softly, sounding very far away.

"She sure didn't let anyone step out of line, did she?" Sal went on.

"Guess not," Crash answered vaguely. He shifted in his seat, looking kind of uncomfortable.

"Sal, you have other customers here," I told him pointedly.

He looked up, "Oh shit, yeah guess I do. Real nice to see you again, Ben," he rapped his knuckle on our table with that heavy gold ring, and shuffled back behind the bar.

Crash looked up at me. "Hey, thanks."

"For what?"

"For getting rid of him," Crash paused. "Some of that stuff did actually sound familiar, you know," he said quietly.

I leaned forward eagerly. "Did it?"

He traced his finger down the line of condensation on his beer glass. "Like, it's right there. I can see it, I just can't hold it. It's this...vague thing. More like a sketch than a photograph.

I sat back in my booth. "That was kind of… beautiful, Crash."

He shot me a grin. "You're kind of beautiful."

I squirmed again. "No, I'm serious. It's like, I don't actually understand how it must be for you, but when you put it like that, I almost do."

The grin faded from Crash's lips and he stared at me. The silence between us grew so heavy that I felt my stomach twisting. Had I said something wrong? Was he angry?

Finally I could stand it no longer. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm just...," Crash seemed to lose whatever word he was trying to find. It died on his lips with a soft sound, then he lunged forward, catching my chin in his hand and covering my mouth with his.

I met his kiss with everything I had, leaning into the table so hard I bruised my ribs as his tongue met mine.  The hungry yearning in his kiss took my breath away, my stomach dropping out as he cupped his hand behind my neck possessively, holding me still so that he could kiss me more deeply.

He broke the kiss with a growl and reached into his pocket, throwing a twenty-dollar bill on to the table and grabbing my hand. "That's way too much money," I squeaked as he pulled me to his side of the table.

"Don't give a fuck," he rumbled. "Need you now." He pulled me to him so that I landed on his lap, and held me there, pressing his desire against me and gathering my curls into his fist. "Now," he repeated, his breath in my ear as he licked and sucked my neck.

I forgot we were in public. I forgot that Sal was five feet away. I forgot everything except how Crash made me feel, how he opened parts of me that had been locked away for so long. Parts of me I never even knew were missing.

I clutched at him with my thighs, grinding my sex into him, those few centimeters of fabric the only thing that stood between ecstasy and me. He growled again, swearing under his breath.

"Let's go back to my place," I urged him as he crushed me against his chest.

"Can't wait that long."

I grabbed my purse and practically sprinted to the door, Crash in hot pursuit behind me. The winter air hit my flaming cheeks like a bucket of icy water.

Crash grabbed me from behind, pulling me against him again. I moaned, arching my back to reach his lips again, and I felt his fingers delving below the waistband of my jeans. "There are people around," I groaned as he found my clit.

He yanked me back into the shadows behind the bar, a dark alleyway by the dumpster, out of sight of the parking lot. I yelped as he threw me against the brick wall, pinning my arms above my head with one hand while with the other he unfastened my jeans

The cold air hit my thighs as he yanked them down, pulling them right over my boots. He sank to his knees before me, shoving my panties to the side. That first flick of his tongue sent me backwards, flat against the brick wall. He growled, moving his head, burrowing into my cleft, then growled again. "Fuck it," he snarled, then lifted my legs up over his shoulders. "There we go," he sighed, sinking his tongue into my pussy.

I gasped, half in surprise, half in frantic ecstasy. He had me pinned against the wall, my whole body weight on his shoulders, his fingers sunk deep into my ass cheeks as he licked and sucked at my clit like a starving man. "Holy...fuck..." I gritted out, clutching his shorn head. There was no stopping the freight train. He wrenched the orgasm out of me by force, a guttural cry tearing from my throat, drowning out his own rumbling growls of pleasure.

I had barely finished coming before he pulled away. I sank forward onto his chest. "Crash. Now," I shuddered.

"Hang on baby, I'm getting the rubber on."

"Now!" I demanded, grabbing his cock.

He whirled me around against the wall. When I felt the sharp upward thrust of his unsheathed cock, I almost stopped him. But it felt too damn good to feel him there, the real him, the smooth, silky skin of his cock as he impaled me from behind. He reached around my throat, bending me back to kiss him as he pumped into me hard and fast. When his fingers found my clit, I exploded again, moaning into his mouth.

"Fuck, aw fuck Gabi, God you got me all crazy, fuck," he panted as I ground myself back into him, "shit, we need to stop, baby girl, stop, I'm gonna blow...."

He yanked himself free with a savage moan. I whirled around and sank to my knees just as he came, closing my lips around him. He gave a moan of appreciation and sank his hands into my hair.

"Shit honey, I'm sorry, I should have warned you," he moaned as he shuddered to a stop.

I stood back up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I wanted to," I told him. Then I kissed him, hard. He tasted like me and I tasted like him.  "Okay. Now let's go to my place?"

He nodded and followed me home.

When we fell into bed once more, it felt different. For the first time we did something that I could almost call
making love
. It was slower. It was sweeter. We fell asleep in each other's arms.

And in the morning, I made him breakfast.