Iron Fury MC Boxed Set

by Bella Jewel

  I flinch and anger bubbles in my chest. “Boston still there?”

  Mal sighs. “You know he is. What happened wasn’t his fault.”

  “It was his fuckin’ fault,” I bark.

  “Gotta move on from it, Mav, it’s eatin’ you up. He fucked up, but he didn’t do it on purpose, and you fuckin’ know that.”

  “If he was followin’ orders, it wouldn’t have happened. I can’t be in that club with him and not rip his fuckin’ head off.”

  “You can’t be out there forever, either.”

  I exhale, searching for calm. “Listen, you’re my brother, I respect the hell out of you and the club, but I need more time.”

  Mal sighs. “Fuck me. Alright, but you gotta come home eventually. I need you here. Shit has been goin’ down, and I trust nobody like I trust you.”

  “What shit?”

  “Drugs crossin’ our turf, causin’ wars, causin’ issues.”

  “Same shit that was goin’ down months ago?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “Find out who’s runnin’ it?”

  “Fuckin’ not even close. Whoever it is, he’s smart, and well hidden.”

  “I’ll come back, just give me more time, and when I do, I’ll find the motherfucker and slit his throat.”

  Mal goes silent. “Ain’t goin’ to bring her back, brother.”

  I flinch and growl. “Very fuckin’ aware of that.”

  He sighs. “Stay safe. Where you at now?”

  “L.A.”

  “The fuck you doin’ in L.A.?”

  I pull the phone from my ear and mutter, “Chasin’ a fuckin’ rainbow.”

  Then I hang up.

  -2-

  SCARLETT

  The roar of the crowd alerts me to the fact that my fans are getting more and more excited that I’m about to enter the stage. I stare at Remy, the man doing my hair and make-up, in the mirror. He meets my eyes, and he understands. He knows I’m tired, he knows I’ve had enough and need a break. He’s been with me from the start, making sure I always look my best on stage. He’s the best at what he does, he always takes the sadness from my eyes, and replaces it with a shine I’ve forgotten how to fake.

  “You’re tired, Scar,” he murmurs, holding my eyes still.

  “I’m tired, Rem. But I have a good lot more shows on this tour before I get a few months off. I’m looking forward to that.”

  “Have you spoken to Susan? Told her you’re feeling the strain?”

  I look away, staring at my tight, glittery dress that is perfectly matched with pimped-out sparkly boots. I don’t look naturally country, not anymore. I look fake. Like a popstar who is trying to sing a country song. When I started, they would let me wear cowboy hats and gorgeous white dresses with brown leather boots. I’d sit on the stage, guitar in hand, loving the way it made me feel. Now I bounce around, flicking my hair, singing mostly pop songs that have country mixed in.

  Country rock, they call it.

  I sigh. “I’ve spoken to Susan, you know what she’s like. I have shows, she’s going to make sure I’m on every single one of them. There is no escaping this for me, Rem, I have to do it.”

  “Then at the very least, get some rest. Take some time out for yourself.”

  “I can’t take too much time out, you know why. I can’t go anywhere alone, I feel like I can’t escape.”

  His brown eyes narrow, and he frowns. “That’s not fair, of course I understand the reasons, but everyone should have alone time. You’re wearing yourself down to nothing, you’re going to burn out. Have you spoken to Susan about going on a holiday? I’m sure she can have some protection for you, that isn’t going to fully interfere.”

  I laugh, softly. “Even if that were the case, I can’t go anywhere without being noticed. It’s fine, Remy. I promise I’m okay.”

  He mumbles something low in his throat as he finishes spraying my hair so it sits perfectly in place. One of the stage workers pops his head in my dressing room. “Twenty minutes and you’re on, Scarlett.”

  I nod, sighing, and stare at the mirror again. Well, here goes. I take a deep breath, let Remy do his finishing touches, and then I stand and walk out of the dressing room. I’m instantly surrounded by people, clipping on microphones, tucking things into my back, making sure I’m set. Susan is beside me, rambling off things I need to remember, asking me if I know my song list.

  But my eyes train in on something else.

  Commotion happening backstage with one of the introduction bands that play before me. They’re often upcoming music stars, wanting to get their name out there, so they come on tour with me and play a few sets before I come on. I know the group, though I haven’t spent any time with them, I don’t get the chance. Two girls, and two men. Country music. Good singers.

  There is a girl, standing with her head down, long black hair flowing over her shoulders, arms wrapped around herself. Someone is yelling at her, just screaming in her direction. He’s telling her she can’t play anymore, she can’t be part of the group, because she can’t hear properly and she missed the intro to his song. She’s not looking at him, but she’s shaking. If she can’t hear, then how does she know what he’s saying? Maybe she doesn’t need to. Maybe she knows that she did something wrong and is getting punished for it.

  I’m fascinated, though.

  She can’t hear, but she’s in a band?

  I find myself moving in her direction, Susan is yelling in my ear that I’m on in five, people are trying to grab me and pull me back, the roaring crowd on the other side of the stage are like rolls of thunder ripping through these back rooms, yet I can only focus on the girl. There is something about her, something that fascinates me, yet I’m not entirely sure what it is.

  When I reach them, the man yelling at her stops, his eyes go wide, and he stammers, “Scarlett. Wow. I … wow.”

  I don’t focus on him, I just look at her. “Can she hear me?”

  He looks to me, blinks, and then glances at the girl, who still has her head low. “She can hear, but it’s not the best. Very minor.”

  I reach over and tap her shoulder, and her head jerks up. I stare at the beauty that hits me. She is, without a doubt, one of the most stunning girls I’ve ever seen in my life. Sky-blue eyes set in milky porcelain skin. A soft face, rosy cheeks, delicate features, big beautiful lips. Her eyes are framed with dark lashes that match her raven-black hair that’s thick and stunning. She’s only little, petite and tiny, but she packs a punch that nearly knocks you off your feet.

  Her lips part, and her mouth drops open as she stares at me.

  “Hi,” I say, and her eyes drop to my lips.

  “She can lip read if she struggles to catch what you’re saying,” the man mutters.

  “I’m Scarlett,” I tell her.

  She nods and says in a soft tone, so soft it’s hard to hear, “I know.”

  Her voice is slightly off-pitch, but it’s soft, like honey. It’s the softest voice I’ve ever heard.

  “Scarlett!” Susan barks. “You’re on, right now.”

  I ignore her, which is something I never do.

  “Are you okay?” I ask the girl. “What’s your name?”

  She looks to the man, then back to me. “Amalie.”

  She pronounces it “Am-A-Lee.” It’s a beautiful name. It suits her.

  “You’re in this band?”

  She nods but then quickly shakes her head.

  “We can’t have her on anymore,” the man explains, cutting in. “It’s not her fault she can’t hear that well, but she missed the intro and threw out our whole set.”

  I ignore him. “What do you play?”

  Amalie is looking at me again, her eyes moving back and forth between me and the man, reading our lips to follow the conversation. She raises her hand to sign at me, but then lowers them, and says, “Piano.”

  She can play the piano, even though she can’t hear well? I’m fascinated. Completely blown away. That’s incredible. I need to
see it. I need to watch her do that.

  “Scarlett!” Susan screeches.

  I flinch and say, “I want to watch you play, after my set. Please don’t leave.”

  Amalie looks at me, then to the man, then back to me.

  “It isn’t up to him, it’s up to me. Will you wait?”

  She nods.

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I put a hand up, cutting him off. “It’s not up to you, she doesn’t belong to your band anymore. Now, I have to be on stage.”

  I glance at Amalie once more and mouth, “Wait for me.”

  She nods.

  I turn and make my way to the stage, walking right past a fuming Susan and out into the bright lights and the screaming crowd. I stride over to my microphone, pick it up and yell, “Good evening, Los Angeles!”

  They go crazy, screaming and cheering, bellowing my name. I can feel the pounding of their words and their screams in my heart. It starts beating harder, faster, as my band begins to play my first song.

  “Are y’all ready for an incredible show?” I call out to them.

  They get louder.

  I start singing, and my eyes zone in on a man standing in the front row, right over to the left of the stage.

  He’s not wearing sunglasses this time, and his dazzling green eyes penetrate mine, making the words feel like they’re stuck in my throat. My palms sweat. My heart races. And I can’t look away from the most breath-taking face I’ve ever seen.

  He grins at me.

  And raises his hand in a peace symbol.

  ~*~*~*~

  MAVERICK

  She’s fuckin’ perfect.

  I can’t look away. The crowd screaming in my ear is making me want to pull out my gun and shoot the lot of them, just so they’ll shut up and let me hear her sing. I hate people on a good day, so why I’m standing here, in a crowd that’s pushing and shoving to get a better look at the angel on the stage, is beyond me.

  But then she smiled at me and raised her delicate little hand in a peace symbol, and the crowd slipped away. Those brown eyes made my stomach flip and that smile made my dick so fucking hard I can’t concentrate on anything else. It’s been a long time since a girl has had any effect on me; I fuck them and I leave. But this girl … This girl has captivated me somehow.

  Her loneliness spoke to mine.

  Her voice drove the knife home.

  She doesn’t know it was me she spoke to at the fountain that night or that I followed her bus, curious to watch her sing, curious to hear more of that voice. Now I’m here, getting poked by screaming girls and men that probably go home and jack off to the breathtaking beauty they see on the stage right now. Can’t say I blame them.

  Scarlett Belle is, without a doubt, the best-looking woman I’ve seen in my life.

  Tiny, soft curves that have just enough extra to make a man’s dick instantly hard. Long blond hair that’s thick and curled. Eyes that are big, wide, and say so much more than those pretty, full lips do.

  I growl as I watch her pace the stage, singing, leaning down and touching her fans’ hands. She strides over to my side of the stage, her brown eyes locking on mine again. I wink at her and love the way color rises in her cheeks as she flashes me a killer smile. She walks closer, leaning over, her breasts poking out the top of her dress, making it fucking hard to focus on anything else. She extends her hand and I realize she’s extending it to me.

  People push and shove to get closer, to touch her hand. I’m right on the barrier between the stage and her, and I find myself extending my hand before I can even think. Her fingers graze over mine, her voice fills my ears, and I swear to fucking god I can’t move. Her skin is like silk, smooth and soft, delicate as a fucking flower. I want to curl my hand around hers and tug her off the stage and into my arms, so I can taste her once.

  She keeps singing, flashes me another smile, and stands back up, continuing her show.

  I don’t take my eyes off her, not for a single second.

  Not until she’s done and she disappears off the stage.

  But not before her eyes lock on mine again and she flashes me one more peace symbol.

  Then she’s gone.

  And fuck, I know it.

  I’ve got to see her again.

  -3-

  SCARLETT

  He was there.

  At my show.

  The biker from behind my bus.

  When he raised his hand in a peace symbol, my heart nearly fell out of my chest. It was hard for me to focus on my songs when all I could see was the gorgeous stranger staring at me from his spot in the crowd, piercing me with those intense green eyes, making me feel things I’ve never felt before. I didn’t think, I just wanted to touch him, to feel his rough fingers.

  When they grazed over mine, I thought my heart was going to stop.

  Rough and calloused, but so big, so manly, so safe. I wanted to climb off the stage, tip my head to the side, and let that big hand cup my cheek, let his fingers slide over my skin.

  I’m fascinated by this stranger, this man who appeared out of nowhere and won’t leave my head.

  Who is he?

  Why is he following me?

  What’s his name?

  I want to know it all.

  I need to know it all.

  Will he come to my next show? Will I ever see him again?

  “Scarlett!”

  Susan’s voice snaps me from my thoughts, and I swivel around in my chair, staring at her as she comes into my dressing room. She’s wearing a scowl, which doesn’t surprise me. She’s angry because I started my show a few minutes later than normal. Susan is always on time, always.

  “I know,” I say, my voice slightly hoarse from all the singing. “But that girl … She needed someone.”

  “She could have used anyone, anyone but you. You know I don’t like you starting late. It gives you a bad reputation. It gives us a bad name.”

  I want to roll my eyes, but I refrain. I don’t think she’d take that well.

  “I understand,” I say, keeping my voice calm and placid. The only way she’ll accept it without losing her mind. “I’m sorry.”

  “That girl is not your concern.”

  “Actually,” I say, “I’m about to go listen to her play.”

  Susan’s eyes bulge, and she blinks a few times before crossing her arms. “May I ask what for?”

  “I need a piano player, it hasn’t been the same since Samantha left. She’s a piano player. I want to see if she’ll fit the part.”

  “She’s partially deaf, Scarlett.”

  I stare at her, my face blank. “And?”

  “You’re the number one country music star in the country.”

  “And?” I continue.

  “You can’t afford to have anyone make mistakes on your set.”

  I shrug. “I’m watching her play.”

  “Scarlett,” Susan warns.

  And for the first time, I’m tired of hearing it. I’m tired of being told what to do. I’m tired of not having one single say so in my life.

  “I’m watching her,” I say, my voice firm, but not cruel.

  I stand and walk out of the room, past my fuming manager and down the hall.

  I’m doing this. And I’ll be damned if she’ll stop me.

  I find Amalie sitting in one of the main dressing rooms, staring at nothing in particular, her blue eyes wide and curious. There’s something that draws me to her, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. All I know is that she deserves a chance, she deserves to be noticed. I’m going to be the one to give her that chance, and I have a good feeling it’ll pay off.

  I walk over and her eyes follow me, her lips parting just slightly, as if she’s still shocked I’m in the same room as her, let alone speaking to her. I don’t want her to see me like that, I want her to feel comfortable. I’m so tired of always being the spotlight, it would be kind of nice to have a friend who just saw me as me. I have a feeling Amalie could be that person. I feel it down to my ve
ry bones.

  “Are you ready?” I ask her.

  She nods and stands and meekly follows me out to a practice room in the back that has numerous different instruments set up. She looks to me nervously, then to the piano. I nod, and for a moment, she hesitates. “Will you play with me?” she asks, her voice so low I can barely hear it.

  I nod. “Of course. What do you want to play?”

  She picks one of my best-selling songs, a slow, romantic tune. It has a lot of instruments in the long, beautiful introduction. I reach over, picking up a guitar, and then I take a seat and watch her move to the piano. It’s just us, but she looks so incredibly nervous, so I decide to just start playing. I don’t look at her, or put pressure on, I just stare down at my guitar and play.

  I strum it softly, humming low under my breath, closing my eyes and letting the music take over. It’s a song that I loved once, whole-heartedly. It reminded me of home, and falling in love, and everything perfect with the world. I miss this kind of music. I’m so lost in myself, I don’t realize that Amalie has started to play. Her fingers glide over the keys, softly at first, and then with more ferocity then I could have ever imagined.

  My head jerks up and I watch her, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide. She has her eyes closed, and her feet are both oddly touching the base legs of the piano, as if she can feel the vibrations. She’s focused, her fingers moving with ease over the keys, and for a long moment, I’m stunned. I can’t move. Or speak. Or even breathe for a few seconds.

  She.

  Is.

  Incredible.

  I’ve never heard anything like it in my life. Never heard the beauty, the passion, or the intensity coming from the instrument she’s so passionately playing. Her head moves a little with the music, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape. She looks like an angel and she plays just like one. Only when she realizes I’ve stopped playing do her fingers come to a grinding halt. She looks up at me, and her cheeks grow pink.

  “Don’t stop,” I say, making sure she can read my lips. “That was … Amalie, that was incredible. I’ve never heard anyone play so beautifully in my entire life.”