Busted Steel: An Age Gap Stand Alone Romance (Steel Crew Book 6)

by Mj Fields

  “Don’t judge. We are now, too,” I whisper back, scowling.

  “Excuse me?” Kiki gasps quietly.

  “You all might remember Ranger. He was on Convicted Ink’s first season,” Cyrus announces.

  Oh, dear God … I sink down in my seat … at the kids’ table.

  Ranger raises his hand in a wave. “Thanks for the invite, and sorry about the face. Had a rough night.”

  And it’s about to be a worse day, I think.

  “Have a seat, Ranger.” Momma Joe smiles. “You’re just in time.”

  “Thanks, ma’am.” He nods as he sits at the grownups’ table.

  Momma Joe stands to remove the foil from the pans of lasagna. “Joe is fine. Why don’t you all introduce yourselves to our guest?”

  For a moment, I consider sliding all the way down the chair and hiding under the damn table.

  After table one’s intros are complete, he looks over at ours.

  Brand introduces himself, and Ranger asks, “You the kid on the radio?”

  Brand nods.

  Ranger smiles. “Not a huge country fan, but I dig your music.”

  Brand looks at Kiki and laughs.

  “I remember this one.” Ranger points at Kiki. “Tags told us all her name was Jailbait. Looks like someone didn’t get the message.”

  Silence falls over the room, and then Kiki raises her finger and flips him off. Everyone laughs.

  Brand raises his hand. “That would be me.”

  “And you’re still breathing, huh?”

  Brand smiles. “Right beside her every day, for the rest of our lives.”

  “Cool, man, cool. Hope it works out for you all.”

  He looks at Truth, and she quickly says her name so he doesn’t beat her to the punch like he did Kiki. “Truth.”

  He smiles with his lips, but his eyes, they aren’t sparkling or smiling anymore. “Always prefer that to a lie.”

  “My name. Justice’s sister. Cyrus’s daughter, and Tara’s, too.”

  He nods and sits back. “I got you.” Then he looks at me. “And how about you?”

  I open my mouth, but no words come out, and not just once but several times.

  We. Are. So. Fucked.

  Dad clears his throat and, in a deep, protective tone, tells him, “My oldest, Brisa.”

  “Interesting,” he says then immediately looks at Patrick.

  “Patrick,” he says quickly.

  “My boy,” Xavier adds.

  “Got it.” Ranger smiles stiffly. “Totally got it.”

  “We’re missing a couple,” Jase informs him. “Our youngest, Max, and Z’s youngest, Amias, and Tris, should be here soon. They wanted to finish their game and walk over from Z and Bekah’s place.”

  “You have any kids?” Aunt Carly asks him.

  “Never plan on doing so,” Ranger answers, his eyes sweeping around the table, stalling briefly on me, before looking back and smiling at Momma Joe. “But I sure do appreciate you allowing me to borrow yours for a Sunday afternoon.”

  After dinner, he leaves quickly. Then I hide in the bathroom and send him a million messages; some apologies, some asking for forgiveness, and others telling him I know I am in love with him and I know he feels something, too. And yeah … he blocks me.

  Present

  Now, years later, I still find myself wanting to hide, but I can’t. I need to face it. I need to truly apologize and make peace, because goddamn, he makes me all kinds of … uncomfortable.

  Up the stairs, legs heavy with dread, I slowly walk toward the room that I’m sleeping in alone for the first time on a family trip. Normally, there is a girls’ room and a boys’ room. I happen to be the only girl who is minus a plus one. I will certainly lay awake for way too long, overthinking my apology alone, instead of laughing and talking with my sister and cousins as planned. Oh, and it’s only ten o’clock at night, Italy time.

  Walking by the wall of windows, I see the light from the second-story terrace still lit up. The night air and the sound and scents of the sea air will calm my nerves, so I turn around and walk to the doorway.

  Stepping out, I hear the distant sound of the water slapping against the shore as I inhale deeply while looking up at the stars. Exhaling, I whisper my greeting to them, “Twinkle, twinkle angel lights,” as I walk toward the half wall, hoping to look over and see the reflection of the moon on the water, and possibly snap a few pics on my phone.

  When I see movement on the beach below, I lean over the wall to get a better look. Several people are below with flashlights, combing the beach.

  “Brisa.” My name whispered from behind me startles me, and I nearly fall over the wall, but luckily, a hand grabs me and yanks me back.

  When they pull me into the shadows, I yank my arm away and stare at the mess before me. “What are you doing here?”

  “She doesn’t love him. She can’t marry—”

  “Marcello, the two of you broke up a long time ago and—”

  “She doesn’t love him, Brisa.” His tone is angry but also pleading.

  “Are you on … something?” I ask cautiously.

  “High on fucking heartbreak. Been clean a few months.”

  “Well, that’s good, but—”

  “Brisa, I fucked up.” He runs his hands through his now much-longer hair then up his face until he pinches the bridge of his nose. “But she can’t, okay? She can’t, and we can’t let her. We have to protect her from—”

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Matteo does love her, and she’s happy. I’m sure she wants you to be happy, too.”

  “Yeah, well, I call triple bullshit on all that. And I’m telling you, if she makes a mistake again because I don’t stop her, she won’t fucking get through it this time. She won’t, and I … We have to stop her.”

  “No, if we love her, we don’t try to stop her. We let her be happy.”

  “Brisa, I swear to fuck!” He snaps his mouth shut then begins to pace. “I fucked up. I did. I didn’t know she was—” He snaps his mouth shut again and looks at me, clearly holding something back. “I am what she needs.” He pokes himself in the chest. “I am who she has and will always love. I mean, for fuck’s sake, B, she left the country to get away from me yet, on stage, she sings of all the things I did to hurt her. As much as we—she—loves pain, she’s stopping me from making it go away, and I can’t do it anymore. I can’t let her marry some asshole, knowing it’s me in her heart and on her mind. Me. Not the fuckin’ sculptor. Not him.” He pokes himself in the chest again. “Me.”

  I’m honestly not afraid of him hurting me, but I need to do something to get him out of here, for Tris, and yes, for him.

  He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  “Where’s yours?”

  “I left it back at the house. My parents track it. They’d pull my fucking keys, credit card, and probably put me in rehab or some bullshit if they knew I was here. But if I can get her to snap out of this, they can have everything, because I don’t need it. I just fucking need her, Brisa.” He grabs his shirt over his heart, his face exuding pain. “And she needs me. She needs me more now than ever. I won’t hurt her again. Help me help her.”

  “I can’t get—”

  “Have they told you yet? Have they told you why she is the way she is?” He starts pacing again. “Of course they haven’t.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, feeling my anxiety—his anxiety—rising.

  He walks over to me, grabs my shoulders, and shakes me. “Either give me your phone so I can call her, or you call her and tell her I’m here.”

  “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  “How the hell do you think I found my way past the fucking guards, Brisa?” He pulls his hands away from my shoulders when he realizes he’s shaking me. “I’m sorry. Christ, I’m sorry, but you have to do this, and not because I’m asking you to, but for her.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Yeah, well, tha
t figures. You are the perfect one,” he huffs.

  I glare at him, and he squats down, hugs his knees, then knots his hands in his hair before sputtering, “Fuck.”

  “I think you should leave.”

  “If I had my damn phone, Brisa, I’d prove it to you. I’d show you the screenshots of all the messages on SnapChat she sends. The one from this morning telling me the garden didn’t have a fence, and that the spare key is under the fucking potted plants at the old servants’ quarters. I’d show you the pictures of the fucking map she took from the vacation rentals’ website and the red line she edited on it to show me how to get right here. Then I’d show you where she told me just a couple hours ago that it was too late, that she was sorry. And the last RIP Us and asking me to pray for the man she loved to never see the monsters in her head.”

  “I don’t understand why you’d make this up, but I’ve been with her most of the day, and she’s happy.”

  “Call her,” comes from behind us.

  I turn around and see Ranger walk out of the darkness.

  “You put a hand on me, motherfucker, and I will toss your ass off the roof.”

  Ranger doesn’t look at him; he looks at me. “Call your sister and tell her he’s here. Ask her if she wants to see him. If she doesn’t, then tell her you’ll contact me.”

  “But you’re right here and—”

  “Brisa,” Marcello groans, “he obviously doesn’t want her to know he’s out here.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not tricking her.”

  “Call your sister, Brisa, before I drag him out of here by the hair. If he’s lucky, I’ll use the stairs. If he thinks about touching me, he’s gonna want to learn to fly really quickly.”

  I hit her number.

  “Hey,” Tris answers her phone.

  “Hey, I’m out on the terrace and, well, um …”

  “You want company?” she asks.

  “Well, Marcello’s here, and I am calling you before—”

  “Of course I’ll keep you company. Give me a minute.”

  “Tris, if you don’t want to see him, he’ll leave.”

  She hangs up.

  I look at Ranger. “She’s coming, but you need to leave.”

  “You get this is literally my job, right?” He looks at me like I have lost my mind.

  “Fine.” I hold my phone up and start to push call.

  He points at Marcello. “One hair on either of their heads is out of place, you’re a dead man.”

  “He’s fucking charming.” Marcello rolls his eyes and begins to pace.

  “Go,” I whisper to Ranger.

  As soon as he walks toward the terrace doors, in the shadows of the far end, Tris walks out of the same door I used.

  I watch as she fights emotion when she sees him; his hands balling into fists and releasing repeatedly.

  “I’d like you to come with me.” His tone is oddly calm.

  “Can’t do that. I love Matteo,” she says just as calmly.

  “You love me.”

  “You fucked my cousins!” she snaps.

  “I apologize.”

  She stops just out of reach from him. “You gave me black roses once a week for over a year.”

  “That, too.”

  “You made my life hell,” she hisses.

  “You’ve more than returned the favor.”

  They stand there, looking at one another.

  She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “You should be with me.”

  “I hate you so much.” Emotion is now evident.

  “You love me. You asked me to come. Now, let’s leave.”

  “I was having a moment. Then I told you not to come.”

  “You love me.” His tone is softer.

  She bats away a tear, and he steps toward her, but she holds up her hand. “I love Matteo. I love the way he loves me. The way I love you is toxic.”

  “Love me,” he repeats her words like a song.

  “You were my first friend, my first everything. That doesn’t make it a good thing. It just makes it a thing.”

  “A thing.” He nods as if accepting some sort of arrangement.

  “We can’t see each other, not ever again. Do you understand? We can’t.”

  “You messaged me. As long as there’s a chance for us, I’ll never not come for you.”

  “Say goodbye to me. Tell me you’ll stay healthy. Tell me you’ll be happy.”

  My fucking heart is literally breaking as I watch her tears fall.

  “Come with me, and neither of us will have to say goodbye.” He takes a step closer and hugs her.

  A strangled sob leaves her throat.

  “I can take care of you. I can change. I can love you better,” he promises.

  “No.” She sniffs as she pushes away from him. “He knows everything, and he still loves me.”

  “Not more than I do.”

  “You broke my fucking heart,” she sobs. “I’ll never trust you with it again. And that’s why I—”

  “Tris.” My whisper is a warning because he’s barely hanging on.

  She slaps away her tears then holds up her hand. “I’m married. We got married tonight. RIP us, Marcello. I didn’t want you to come.”

  His features turn to stone, and then he looks at me. “Tell me it’s not true.”

  I look down.

  “You fucking married him?” He steps toward her, and she steps back. “You fucking married him!” echoes through the air.

  “Tris.”

  I turn at the sound of Matteo’s voice.

  “Dead man walking.” Marcello laughs maniacally.

  “I’m fine, Matteo. We’re all fine.” She smiles up at him, and he wipes the tears from her face as I stand in front of Marcello to make sure he doesn’t go after him.

  He looks down at me. “Your cousins were pawns. Anytime you’d like to be fucked properly, you let me know.”

  Before I can even react, he looks over my head. “I’m going to fuck your husband, too. I heard he goes both ways.”

  “Marcello, that’s—”

  “But you’ll never touch my dick again. You’ll never come on my tongue. You’ll never beg nearly enough for even a fingertip in your tight, little, needy asshole.”

  “Okay, yuck! Shut up. It’s time—”

  “I’m going to ruin everyone you love. I’m going to strip you bare, but not the way you like to be stripped. And I’m going to start where it hurts.”

  He looks down at me again. “She’s hated you her entire life.”

  “That’s enough!” Tris snaps.

  “But don’t blame her when she acts out. It can’t be helped. Your sister is mentally ill.”

  “Ranger!” I yell for him, hoping he comes and gets Marcello out of here.

  “Tell her, Tris, tell her!” he demands.

  Ranger slips out of the shadows and grabs him.

  “Go with them,” Tris pleads.

  “Tell her!”

  “I’m fucked up, okay? I don’t hate you specifically. I hate everyone, including me. I’m fucking bipolar!” She walks in front of Ranger, stopping him, and pokes Marcello in the chest. “And you’re going to be happy one day. Just not with me. Our monsters don’t dance well together. Matteo knows how I feel about you—”

  “He has no clue how fucked up you are, does he?”

  “Tris”—I grab her elbow—“come on. Let’s get you inside.”

  “I’m not like that when I’m with him. I’m happy. Be happy.”

  “Fucking ruined! You hear me, Tris? Your whole fucking Crew is going to be ruined!”

  As Ranger drags him to the doorway, he lunges at Matteo and, as promised, Ranger grabs him by the hair and jacks him back.

  Tris begs, “Go with him. Make sure he gets back to Sabato and Mel. Tell them I’m sorry. And, Brisa, cancel tomorrow. I just can’t.”

  “Tris,” Matteo says her name softly.

  “I just want us. Me and you. Just us,�
� she replies.

  Unable to completely wrap my mind around everything going on, I run toward Ranger and Marcello. Thankfully, he let go of his hair. I mean, he did warn him, but still …

  Above My Fucking Pay Grade

  Ranger

  As soon as I get him inside, he stops fighting, thank God. Handling a seventeen-year-old kid isn’t something I enjoy. Handling someone as fucked up as him, I enjoy even less.

  Halfway down the stairs, I hear someone padding down the hall behind us. Then, at the bottom of the stairs, Brisa pushes past me and grabs Marcello’s hand.

  “You taking me up on my offer already? You need confirmation you won’t have to get yourself off like you did with Miles when he’s done? Or that I won’t be a two-pump chump?” His tone is … pompous as fuck.

  “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t hear that and still make sure you get back to your parents in one piece.”

  “You think I’m afraid of anyone in this fucking Medieval shithole?”

  I open the door and see all of my team standing there, ready to pounce.

  “Nope, nuh-uh, not today.” Brisa pushes past them all, hand still in his.

  “I can fucking walk.”

  “Not happening, kid. It’s five miles.” I nod to Zack then the vehicle.

  “You want me to drive?” Zack asks.

  “No,” Brisa answers, even though she’s not talking to him.

  “You gonna behave, or do we need a couple of the guys to sit with you?”

  “Go fuck yourself, street trash,” he spits at me then looks at the guys. “You’re all nothing but bottom feeders.”

  “Marcello, that’s enough.” Brisa smacks him in the back of the head with one hand and opens the rear door with the other. “Get in.”

  He slides in, saying, “You like it rough like your sister does, huh?”

  “You show some fucking respect, or your ass is riding in the fucking trunk,” I tell him as I walk around the SUV.

  “There is no trunk, you imbecile.”

  “That motherfucker needs his ass kicked,” one of the guys says as I slide in the driver’s seat.

  I look back. “Listen, punk, I don’t make threats. I could easily get a ride with a trunk.”

  I look at Brisa, who is looking at me, heartbreak all over her damn face. “You good?”