Iron Fury MC Boxed Set

by Bella Jewel

  I raise my brows. “I’m not entirely sure Mason likes anyone. In fact, I’m starting to think the man is incapable of doing anything but grunting, let alone feeling anything, but do share why you think this.”

  “Well,” she tells me, leaning in, “he said hello before in the hallway when we were waiting.”

  I blink at her, then give her a wicked grin. “My lord, sounds like he wants into those panties. He said hello? Wow. That’s big, Chan.”

  She shoves me, laughing. “Okay, well, he was probably being polite. But my God, my knees went wobbly. I’m visiting you every day, I swear. And I want photos. If you see him without a shirt, at any point, I want a damned photo of it. God. I can only imagine how he looks naked. Better yet, imagine how he fucks, all angry like that. He’d be an animal.”

  I sigh and roll my eyes. “Only you would be thinking about sleeping with him. Mind out of the gutter for five minutes and let’s focus on me not killing him before I make the month. He said my painting was hideous.”

  Chantelle stops then bursts out laughing.

  “What?” I mutter, putting my hands on my hips.

  “Honey,” she giggles. “It is hideous. So freaking hideous.”

  I sigh.

  Bunch.

  Of.

  Amateurs.

  ~4~

  MASON

  “Quit callin’ me,” I growl into the phone, fists clench, back tight, neck aching from stress. I’m sick to death of this fucking woman and her shit.

  It’s been five years.

  Why the fuck is she still fighting me?

  “I won’t stop any of this until I get what’s mine, Mason. Mom was out of her mind, we all knew this, so her giving everything to you isn’t fair and I’ll fight it until someone sees I deserve at least half, or at least all that expensive antique jewelry she left you.”

  “Over my dead fuckin’ body will you get your hands on Mom’s jewelry. You did nothin’ to help her when she was sick, not a fuckin’ thing. You’re entitled to fuck all.”

  “I’m her child too, Mason. I’m entitled to things purely because of that.”

  I growl, low and deep. “When the fuck did you become such a cold-hearted monster? It makes me cringe knowin’ I call you sister.”

  She laughs, low and bitter. “I couldn’t care less what you think of me, Mason. I honestly don’t give two fucks. I care only about what’s mine. You have the house, and the car, and everything that came with it. I’m here, working two jobs, trying to survive while you’re out there riding around on your motorcycle in your pathetic little club, living the dream.”

  I scoff, and my blood fucking boils. Fuck her. Fuck her so fucking hard. “Livin’ the fuckin’ dream? Who the fuck took care of Mom for five fuckin’ years when it got bad? That would be me. I saw you only a handful of times durin’ that, and you decided it was too hard, now you want a cut of it. Fuck no. Not my problem you spend all your money on makin’ yourself look better. If you saved it, you wouldn’t struggle.”

  “Fuck you!” she spits. “I’m entitled to do things that make me happy, too. Not everything comes easily; some of us actually have to work for what we have.”

  “If you didn’t fuck everythin’ that moves and found yourself a decent man, probably wouldn’t have that problem.”

  “Get stuffed, Mason,” she snaps. “If you didn’t take half of what was rightfully mine, I wouldn’t have any problems, but you’re greedy and selfish, and my lawyer will get what I’m entitled to. We will fight this until there is nothing left to fight.”

  “Go for it,” I growl. “Fuckin’ enjoy wastin’ more of that money you don’t fuckin’ have, because you’ll never get a thing of me, and you’ll never get the satisfaction of havin’ anything of Mom’s. Not a fuckin’ bit of it.”

  “If Dad didn’t leave it all to her when he died, you wouldn’t have any of it. He loved me the most. He would have given it all to me.”

  I laugh, low and so fucking bitter even I feel the emptiness radiating through my soul. “Dad didn’t love you the most. He fuckin’ loved Mom the most.”

  Then I hang up the phone, tossing it across the room and panting with anger. Fuck her. She’s so god damned selfish. Materialistic bitch. I turn and storm into the kitchen, going straight to the cupboard and opening up a new bottle of scotch, then I walk through the house and out onto the massive back verandah that overlooks the pool.

  I glance down and see Saskia in the garden. She told me she likes gardening and that she’ll tend to it as well as clean my house and make my food—for extra, of course.

  Starting to see it was the best choice I made.

  She’s wearing a pair of tight denim shorts that cup her ass cheeks so hard there is a bulge hanging out the bottom. It looks fucking incredible, the curviest asses are the best, and she’s the definition of curvy. Her tanned legs glisten in the sun, and I let my eyes run up them, fucking slowly. I stop at her slender back and keep going up until I see her thick dark hair pulled up into a ponytail. She’s wearing a cap, but her body, her look, everything about her makes my dick throb.

  She’s a fucking sassy, strong, independent woman.

  Unlike most of the girls I meet.

  She’s not afraid of who she is, and she’s not afraid to let you know it, either.

  She turns after tossing a branch she just cut off a tree and notices me on the deck, staring down at her. She squints her eyes and then crosses her arms. Full of sass. Fucking chock full of it. She starts sauntering over to me, past the pool, and to the bottom of the stairs that lead up onto the deck.

  “What’s with the long face?”

  I grunt.

  Not afraid to say what she’s thinking, that’s for sure.

  “That’s just my face.”

  She grins, and fuck me, those lips, plump and full, I want to fucking push my cock past them, slowly, to feel the way they’d softly glide against it. My dick throbs, and I put my glass against my lap to try and cool it down. I need to get laid, fucking fast. Otherwise, being around this girl is going to hurt.

  A fucking lot.

  “Figures,” she says, uncrossing her arms and throwing her hands onto her hips. Her breasts jut out in her tank top, and her skin glistens with sweat. Fuck me. “You always day drink?”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  She raises her brows. “That wasn’t what I asked you, genius.”

  I glare at her.

  She smiles at me.

  “Have you always been such a happy man? I mean, it’s so pleasant to be around you. If happiness had a face, it would be yours. When I’m near you, it feels like I’m just radiating sunshine, you know?”

  Fucking smart ass little bitch.

  “Does your sass ever fuckin’ get you anywhere?”

  She raises her brows. “What sass? I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is just me …”

  I exhale.

  “How did you afford all of this, anyway?” she asks, leaning her hip against the railing.

  “Do I look like I want to chat?” I mutter.

  She ignores that. “It’s nice, but you’re so young. How come there is no woman here with you? Seems like a woman’s doing.”

  “If I wanted to hire a friend, I would have stated that on the ad.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and she blinks those big fucking lashes. “Oh, we’re not friends. You should see how nicely I treat my friends. If we were friends, I’d be up there drinking with you. No. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t make friends with grumpy people. Too draining.”

  I exhale again. “Do you always talk so much?”

  She smiles again, fucking beautiful, god damn her. “Oh, yeah, definitely. You’ll get used to it.”

  “Rather not.”

  She ignores that and continues on, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  I glare at her again; she is unfazed. “Considering I just hired a maid, I think we both know the answer to that.”

  “Well, I mean, technically we don’t. Y
ou could have a girlfriend who might like to live the expensive life and is incapable of doing anything herself. There are plenty of those out there. Seems like the type of girl you’d go for, too. Considering your lack of communication skills and all.”

  I swallow some scotch and continue to blankly stare at her. “Are you done?”

  “Wasn’t quite finished, no.” She crosses her arms again. “What about kids, do you have kids?”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “That’s a no then, probably for the best. I can’t imagine the world could take any more moody little Masons.”

  She giggles at her own joke, and the sound is fucking lovely. Damn her for being so fucking cute.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re fuckin’ annoyin’? I hired you to work, not to talk.”

  “Often,” she says, nodding. “I’d rather be annoying then bitter, you know? You should try it sometime. Talking is good for the soul and all that.”

  “Rather cut my own tongue out.”

  “I’d pay to see that.”

  I growl. “Get back to work.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at the club or something?”

  I run my hand down my face and groan. “Fuck me. Do you do anythin’ you’re told?”

  She blinks at me. “I’m getting to it, keep your shirt on.”

  “Yes, I’m supposed to be at the club, I’ll go soon just to get away from your excessive talkin’.”

  She flashes me a killer smile. “Good, your attitude is draining, I won’t lie. But, I think so far our time together has been rather successful.”

  I deadpan her.

  She keeps smiling.

  Always fucking smiling.

  “First time I’ve had a conversation with you, hardly counts as successful.”

  She shrugs. “Well, you haven’t complained yet about my work, so I must be doing okay.”

  “It’s your second day.”

  “Goals, Mason. Goals.”

  She spins around and saunters back to the garden, continuing her chopping and tossing. I stare at her for a few moments more then shake my head.

  Pain in my ass.

  Big time.

  ~*~*~*~

  SASKIA

  “Seriously, Sas, don’t go and visit him again.”

  I sit down on Mason’s massive sofa in just one of his three living rooms and look to Chantelle. “I’m just informing him that I have a new address, and that I’m working somewhere else.”

  “He doesn’t care where you live, or where you’re working, and we both know it.”

  I purse my lips. “It’s the right thing to do, in case he needs something.”

  “The only thing he needs is a swift kick to the face, and the balls, if you’re asking.”

  I shrug. “No doubt, but I’m still going. Speaking of, I have to head in now as Mason will be back later and I want to finish up the house.”

  Chan sighs. “Fine, go to that fuck boy, but know that he is a waste of good, solid oxygen.”

  I laugh. “Love you, Chan. But it’s time to go.”

  She mutters something under her breath, and we both stand up and leave. When she’s gone, I triple check I’ve locked all the doors, because my god there are so freaking many. Who needs this many doors? Honestly. And half of them are glass sliding. I spend half of my day wiping the damned things.

  I could think of better things to put in, but anyway.

  Maybe Mason likes doors. Who knows?

  I get in my car and start the drive to the prison. Enzo is allowed visitors most days, of course he doesn’t have to see me when I arrive, and there have been a few times he has turned me away, but when I told him I was going to pay his debt off to make it up to him, he’s mostly allowed me in.

  Money talks, folks.

  Only my heart is constantly being abused by my brain over this fact, because, well, let’s face it, it’s pretty obvious Enzo is only dealing with me because he knows he’s getting his debt paid off. I know this. He knows this. But a small part of me kind of hopes that maybe if we spend a little time together, we might be able to get past this and talk, finding that old connection and letting this go so we can both move forward.

  If I can forgive him, which I’m not entirely sure I can at this point, then he can forgive me.

  Right?

  When I arrive at the prison, I go through all the security checks and sign in, then I go into the visiting room, which is a large open area with more than one set of tables and chairs. Usually, there are two or three guards in at a time, watching everyone. Contact is not acceptable, and we have to sit across from each other at a table. I find one and sit down, waiting for them to bring the prisoners in.

  There are only two other people here today, and that makes me a little sad, I guess. I mean, sure, it’s a prison, and these people are in here for doing the wrong thing, but unless you murdered or raped someone, don’t you deserve to be at least visited by someone? Out of the hundreds of prisoners here, only three of us are visiting. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it? And it begs the question, what did these people do to make everyone that is supposed to love them turn their backs?

  I think that’s an even scarier question.

  The door buzzes and opens, and I turn to see three prisoners being escorted into the visiting room. My eyes fall on Enzo, and I hate the way my heart beats. I hate the dull, throbbing ache, because as soon as I look at him, I see the moment I walked in and saw my sister on top of him, her hips rocking, his hands clutching them, his head back in ecstasy.

  I don’t think I’ll ever not see that image.

  Ever.

  My eyes lock onto his ice-blue eyes, and the ache grows deeper. His hair is long, but nothing like Mason’s. It is just past his shoulders and a light, honey brown. He’s got stubble that is verging on turning into the beginnings of a beard. Something about being in a prison, I think. It’s like if they’re clean shaven, they’re weak? I don’t know, but it seems most of them let them grow out, giving them a more rugged appearance.

  Enzo, compared to the bikers I’ve been spending the last few days with, is seemingly a great deal smaller. I always considered him to be quite a well-formed man, well-muscled and toned, but he appears almost … weak to look at. I give him a small smile, to which he simply nods his head. That hurts. All the years we spent together, the moments we shared, it makes me sad that this is what it has come to. It really does.

  He sits down at the chair across from me, and for a moment, we just stare at each other in silence.

  “Don’t know why you’re here, Saskia, but I’m hoping it’s to share some good news about my debt, otherwise you know I have nothing to say to you.”

  “It is about that,” I say, my voice not wavering, because no matter how much it hurts, I’ve never been one to crumble with weakness or pain in front of anyone.

  Hell, when I found Enzo in bed with my sister, I never let him see my pain. I lost my mind, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t cry in front of him, I simply told him what I thought, and then I turned and walked out. When I got home, then I cried. Then I rang Chan, and I cried some more, but never to him.

  No.

  Never to him.

  “I’ve got a new job,” I continue, and my chest aches. It aches because he’s so cold, and while I understand it, I’m trying my hardest. I wish, maybe, that he’d put his pride aside and see why I did what I did. It might not have been right, but neither were his actions, and yet I couldn’t escape them and had to deal. I wish he would, too. “It’s double the pay, extra if I work harder, and I’m going to have the money by the time you get out.”

  He stares at me, then nods. “Good.”

  Good.

  God. Why does that hurt?

  Why can’t I find the balls I’ve come to love so dearly and tell him to shove it? If it was anyone else, I would. So, why the hell can’t I do it with him?

  Frustration grips my chest.

  “What’s the job?”

  I exhale. “Ma
id. Cleaning a massive mansion-like house. It’s really easy, and I can earn as much as I need, really.”

  “Anything worth taking, maybe that’ll get the money quicker?”

  I narrow my eyes. “I’m not stealing, Enzo. I’m not a damned thief.”

  “Mansion would be full of good stuff; if you truly wanted to help me, you’d be looking at every option.”

  “Listen,” I say, my voice firming up because stuff him. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a criminal. I never have been, and I never will be. “You’re in here for another five months, understand? That debt isn’t touching you in here, it’ll only touch you when you get out. I said I’d have it paid by the time that happened, but I will not steal.”

  His lips tighten, but he gives me a sharp nod. “Do whatever you want, just make sure it’s done. Have you spoken to Yolanda?”

  “Why in the actual hell would I speak to her?”

  He looks away and, for a split second, I’d almost say he looked a little guilty. But, after a moment, he looks back, face stony again. Does he actually feel bad about what he did, or has something else happened? Is he speaking to Yolanda, hell, are they starting some sort of relationship? That thought makes my chest clench and my stomach turn.

  “Has she been visiting?” I ask, my voice harder than I would like.

  He says nothing. “I was asking a question, Saskia, not looking to answer them.”

  Jerk.

  God damn it, why does this hurt so much?

  Why in the hell can’t I just stop loving him?

  Damn you, Enzo. Damn you.

  ~5~

  SASKIA

  I’ve been working here for a week.

  So far, so good.

  Mason is hardly ever here. He comes in at night, usually after I’ve gone to bed. I hear him rummaging around for a bit before everything goes quiet. Then, by the time I wake up in the morning, he’s gone. I’d almost think he doesn’t like his own house; it feels as though he’s uncomfortable here, like being in it makes him want to rip his own hair out. I don’t know why, it’s a freaking beautiful house.

  I love being here.