Chrome: With a Heart Forged in Steele (Carolina Bad #4)

by Rie Warren

  I swallowed down a serious load of anger, vibrating inside my skin. “You’re coming home with me, and I don’t wanna here a single word about it.”

  “Okay.” For the first time ever, she seemed completely broken, and that just rankled me more.

  Rayce was made of fire and heat, and no one should ever make the woman feel weak.

  I helped her on with her jacket, getting a good look at what she was wearing for the first time. Baggy sweatpants and a huge sweatshirt. Not the outfit she’d dressed in to go out with me, judging by what she’d said. She’d obviously been made to feel so fucking cheap she’d put on whatever clothes she could find to hide her beautiful figure.

  I bit down on my lip as my nostrils flared, because I swore if it was the last goddamn thing I ever did I was gonna beat the ever lovin’ shit out of her dad for trashing his own daughter so thoroughly she wouldn’t let anyone see how completely amazing she was inside and out.

  In the parking lot, I led her to my bike. We helmeted up. When she straddled behind me, I clasped her arms around my waist and held her hands in mine for a moment.

  “You just hold on to me, princess.”

  I wished like hell I had her on the motorcycle under different circumstances, like the date I’d planned, but the ride was short and smooth, and no matter what, Rayce fit so fucking perfectly against me.

  In the driveway, I gave her my keys. “Go on and get inside. I’m just gonna put this in the garage.”

  A sure shot of confidence straightened her shoulders as she marched up the front porch of the house like she owned it. Shitlock was in for a surprise, that was for sure. He wasn’t used to women on his turf.

  After locking the motorcycle away, I grabbed Rayce’s ever-present backpack and headed inside. She stood in the big open hallway, Shitlock chuffing like a friggin’ steam engine in her arms.

  Fucking tomcat needed to get his own chick.

  “Have you eaten?” I set her pack down on the bench and shucked my jacket.

  “Not hungry.” Rayce looked anywhere but at me. “Kind of lost my appetite.”

  Taking Shithead from her arms, I set the horny bastard on the floor and ignored his meow for more attention. I unzipped Rayce’s leather and plopped it next to mine.

  “I’m starving,” I said, grabbing her hand. “Sandwiches sound good?” I towed her through the snug warm house into the kitchen.

  She stood, looking uncomfortable, while I piled a platter full of fixings from the fridge.

  “You wanna feed Shitlock for me? He won’t shut it otherwise.”

  I hid my smile as she snapped her fingers at the furry beast and finally lost the last of the stiffness in her shoulders as she located the cat food.

  “I thought he was called Sherlock.” She drifted her fingers down his fluffy back, following his pleased arch, and patted his rump.

  “Started out that way.” I divvied out tomatoes, lettuce, ham, salami, cheese, and all the condiments on the cutting board. “Didn’t last long. He is a bit of a pain in the ass.”

  “I can’t believe you even have a cat.”

  “What? Think I’m too tough for furbabies?” I turned, pulling up my arms and flexing my guns.

  Her eyes popped wide. Soon I’d have her eating right out of my hand. Or at least drooling.

  Then her hand flew to her mouth. “You—Boomer big-as-a-truck Steele—did not just say furbabies.”

  “Yup. And I own it.” I grinned at her.

  Relaxing into making a few sandwiches, I slowly warmed her up, making her feel at home, at ease.

  “C’mere and slice the tomato?” I handed Rayce a knife, and she set to work beside me. “You look good in my kitchen, you know that?”

  She knocked her hip against me. “You’re just trying to get me into your bed.”

  “No. It’s not that. Not tonight.” I tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I like having you here. Just wanna take care of you.”

  “Boom—” Rayce swung her head toward me.

  I placed a fingertip on her lips. “Shhh. We’re gonna eat, get you settled, and sleep. I don’t expect anything from you.”

  She nodded quickly. “’Kay.”

  “You want a cup of hot tea or something to go with this?”

  Her lips lifted in a small smile. “No. I want alcohol. As much as you got. Want something to make me forget it all.”

  Damn. How am I ever gonna let her go after this?

  I took two beers from the fridge and popped the caps. Sliding one toward her, I lifted the bottle to my lips and drank about half of it in one swallow. She wasn’t the only one in need of a drink.

  Before we sat down, I grabbed two more beers by the necks and cranked off the tops.

  We got cozy, sitting at the bar in the middle of the kitchen. One huge sandwich for her. Two for me. I kept it casual, but I definitely held her hand loosely in mine throughout our makeshift dinner.

  Despite saying she wasn’t hungry, she wolfed down her sandwich and drank the second beer in record time.

  I approved.

  I finished up, tossed shit into the dishwasher, and guided her upstairs with her backpack in hand.

  “You want a bath or something?” I asked as she nervously eyed the door of the bedroom.

  She snorted. “Remember what I said before? About porn and baths and massages?”

  “Watch a lot of porn, do you?” I grinned, my eyebrows arching up.

  She rolled her eyes and slapped me on the chest.

  “Hey. That’s fine by me. Means you know what you want.”

  “I already know what I want.” She sent me those sexy, sultry hazel eyes and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

  Shit.

  I’d made a vow to be hands off with her tonight. I cleared my throat and tried very, very hard not to adjust my very, very hard cock.

  “I could use a shower though?”

  My sigh of relief turned into a tormented groan as I imagined her in my new bathroom, naked, soapsuds slipping and sliding all over her body.

  I handed her clean towels and one of my soft old flannel shirts. “You can wear that to bed if you want. Not my bed.” I coughed into my hand. “Spare rooms and shit, like I said.”

  Bullshit. I wanted nothing more than to get her into my bed.

  “Mm hmm,” she murmured, and the look in her eyes felt like the kiss of a promise.

  After watching her backside disappear into the bathroom, I did everything in my power to stay away from her, the bathroom, her kickin’ curves foamy and slick-hot to the touch.

  I found myself in my office. Sitting in my chair. As far away from Rayce as possible. The photo of my parents stared at me. I leaned on my elbows, raking my hands through my hair.

  That always-pain, that never-diminishing guilt, chewed new holes into me.

  I’d returned to the bedroom by the time Rayce emerged. She was sweet-smelling and soft-haired, swathed in my flannel shirt that was far too big for her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She’d rolled up the sleeves and only buttoned the middle of the shirt. Treating me to a prime visual of bouncy, glowing cleavage.

  I stood from the bed and huffed out a breath. I wanted nothing more than to be with her, to be her man, but maybe I wasn’t good enough for her.

  She had to know the truth.

  I paced back and forth. “I get that you’re reluctant to start a relationship. I was too before you came along.”

  I heard her surprised intake of breath.

  “But there’s something I need to tell you,” I continued.

  I’d held it inside for so long with only Cat and Brodie aware of the events of that night, the car crash that took our folks’ lives.

  It was why I never trusted myself. Why I’d tried to forget by fucking nameless broads by the dozens. Trying to numb the pain. Lose myself. Find solace.

  Peace.

  Reprieve.

  Redemption.

  I’d never found it.

  Didn’t really dese
rve it.

  “Boomer? What is it?” Rayce tugged on my arm.

  Sweat popped out on my forehead but I felt chilled to the bone.

  I freed myself from her grasp. “I killed my parents.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Crash and Burn

  RAYCE IMMEDIATELY FROZE. “WHAT did you just say?”

  “I killed them.” My voice barely made it past my lips. “I’m the reason they’re dead.”

  She sank back. “You couldn’t have. I know what happened.”

  “Do you?” My lips curled up in a sneer. “No one really knows except me, Cat, and Brodie. And we don’t talk about it.”

  I glanced at Rayce. She sat on my bed, her arms curled around her knees. Then I looked away. I kept my face averted. Couldn’t see her in my room, on my bed, trusting me. Not with what I’d done hanging over me.

  I hurt people without meaning to.

  I’d never talked to anyone about this, not even Cat and Brodie. Fact was we all blamed ourselves. But I was the most culpable.

  “You can tell me, Boomer. I can take it.”

  My eyes slammed shut. My shoulders punched up. I turned my back.

  My voice, when it leaked out, was rusty and thick and low. The same old pain cut right through me. Pain I never let show.

  Pain I dealt with alone.

  “Five years ago. About this time of year.” I yanked up the blinds, stared out the window, into the black depths of the river beyond the backyard.

  The road that night had been just as black.

  Black ice.

  “But it started before that.” My smile twisted on my face as I rubbed my fist against the window. “Brodie and I, we found out Cat had gone off the rails, big time.” I shook my head. “That woman does not do anything by halves.”

  I saw Cat, the night we found her, high as a freakin’ kite after dancing at The Southern Belle.

  “She got into smack. Started shooting up. Stripped to support her habit.” My sister, the only other woman I’d lay my life on the line for.

  “Oh my God, Boomer. I had no idea.”

  “Not many do. We try hard to keep it that way. Protect her.”

  “At your own cost?”

  “It isn’t like that.” I turned around. “When I think about Cat now . . . fuck. Happy, married, pregnant.” I pressed my knuckles against my lips. “We almost lost her too.”

  Rayce moved to the edge of the bed, her bare toes sinking into the carpet.

  Rolling up my sleeves, I showed her my ink. “See these? I told you Brodie and I did it for our sis. So she wouldn’t feel ashamed. So she could cover up the track marks she hated so much.”

  “They’re beautiful. Haunting,” Rayce murmured.

  “Haunted. I think that’s what I am.”

  “Boomer?” She rose from the bed, walking slowly toward me.

  “Don’t.” I warded her off. “Don’t touch me. I want to be good for you, princess.” I looked at her through lowered eyes, my chin ducked down. “I’m not sure I’m good enough.”

  She halted in her tracks, and her hands fell to her sides.

  “It got worse with Cat. But we didn’t rat her out. Not until she was arrested.”

  That night. One of the most miserable of my life. The deluge of icy rain. The flooded roads. The bad news I received on my cell phone.

  Brodie went down to the station. I stayed home to break the news to our folks.

  “Ashe Kingston, Brodie’s missus, was the arresting officer.” I half smiled at that.

  Rayce clapped her hands to her mouth. “No freakin’ way.”

  “She cut Cat a deal. Rehab for no record. Brodie didn’t give Cat much of a choice about that. He transported her to the rehab center, and I filled our parents in.”

  Approaching me, Rayce linked her fingers through mine, her head resting on my chest.

  I caressed up and down her back as I steadied myself.

  “Mom and Dad insisted on being there for her intake. I couldn’t let them drive. They were in shock.” I tucked my face against Rayce’s soft hair, holding in the cries that had never broken free. “They’d had no idea what sort of trouble their beautiful little girl had gotten into.

  “I drove them.” Pressing Rayce away, I stared at the floor. “It was dark, so late at night. On the way to Summerville. The dead of winter. Raining in slashes that pounded on the roof of the car. And my mom sat next to my dad in the back. I heard her sniffling, wondering where they’d gone wrong.

  “Just one second. That was all it took.” I swiped beneath my eyes. “Oncoming headlights blinded me. They were in the wrong lane, heading straight for us. I remember stomping down on the brakes. Cranking the wheel.”

  I spun toward the window. “I remember the sound. Screeching tires. The smell of burnt rubber. The car skidded sideways. The impact on the passenger side sending us crashing into trees after we tore through the guardrail.”

  The deep ravine.

  My heart pounding.

  Broken glass and the scream of metal on metal.

  Blood in my face.

  The truck smashed on top of us.

  Doors I couldn’t open.

  Seatbelts that stuck.

  The thick sounds of breaths from crushed chests.

  Broken cries.

  Cold rain.

  Dark night.

  “The flashing blue and red and white lights finally arrived,” I uttered. “Cops. Firemen. Paramedics. My mom. They got her out of the wreck first. And she held onto my hand and cried, ‘Get my boy out!’”

  Rayce bit into her lip, large tears rolling down her face.

  “Don’t cry, Phoebe.” I tried to smile through the wetness on my own cheeks, cradling her face.

  “They peeled me from the wreckage. And Dad? Dad succumbed at the scene, s’what they put on the paperwork. He just . . . he was gone.

  “My mom never stopped holding my hand. Not once. Not until she coded in the ambulance. Not until she died right in front of my eyes.”

  I swallowed heavily, sliding down the wall to plunk on the floor.

  “Succumb. That’s not what my dad did. No. His neck had snapped in half. No one else knows what it really looked like. Not Brodie. Not Cat. I can’t tell them, couldn’t ever tell them.”

  Rayce kissed my chest. She kneeled in front of me, and I tore my gaze away.

  “I woke up the next day. Alone. In the same hospital where my parents’ bodies were in the morgue. Brodie had to inform Cat. Take care of her.” My eyes rolled back. “The funeral was brutal. I never cried for them. Just mourned.”

  “All these years. On your own?” Rayce inched closer.

  The deep scars on my face—the jagged white tissue like a lightning bolt above my left eyebrow and the other one deeply embedded in my jawline—were nothing compared to the ones in my heart.

  “I guess you could say I been broken.” I clasped Rayce’s hand to my cheek.

  “Me too,” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know. If I hadn’t been driving . . .” I raised my head. “They’d be alive. I killed them, Rayce.”

  “No. Dear God, my big beautiful man, you did not kill them.” She pulled me to her. “Come here. Come here.” She rocked me back and forth. “Don’t you think you’ve suffered enough, Boomer?”

  “No.” My jaw hardened.

  “Are you kidding me?” She straddled my lap. “You’ve lived with all this guilt all these years, Boomer?”

  “Did what I had to do.”

  “You look at me.” Tears made her eyes glisten. “It wasn’t your fault. Jesus. You were driving your parents to meet your sister and some fuck plowed into you!” She turned my face to hers. “Tell me their names.”

  “Rebecca and Vaughn Steele.” I remembered every instant, every happy memory the moment Rayce made me say their names.

  “Strong people. Just like you. But my God.” She traced my scars, took my lips with hers. “How did you survive, baby?”

  “Du
nno.” I kissed her back. Deeper. Longer. Harder. “Just waited for you to save me.”

  She wrapped her arms around me. “Take me to bed, Boomer.”

  I moved against her, the mood suddenly shifting to intense sexual heat.

  “Don’t want to take advantage of you.” I caressed her sides, my fingertips brushing the bottoms of her tits inside the soft flannel shirt.

  “I think it might be me taking advantage of you tonight.”

  “That’s not even possible since I already want to give you everything I have.”

  “And I want you to have me.” She leaned back and started unbuttoning her shirt. “Fuck me, Boomer.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sexual Healing

  RAYCE STOOD IN FRONT of me, the sides of the shirt gaping wide around her soft tits as she flicked open the last buttons.

  I rose to my feet.

  “Not sure this is a good idea.” Watching hungrily, I was barely restrained.

  “Why not?” Her head tilted, and her tiny nose ring caught the bedside light.

  “I’m not really in control of myself, and I don’t wanna hurt you.” My voice was hoarse, my cock throbbing.

  The old soft flannel drifted off her shoulders, down her arms, and slipped from her fingertips.

  Her sexy daring immediately fled, and she cupped one arm across her amazing breasts and one hand over her pussy.

  I approached her, my nostrils flaring, wanting to catch the tang of her arousal. “Not shy with me, are you?”

  Dropping her hands, she cocked her hips. “No. I’m just more comfortable being one of the guys.”

  “Hate to break it you, princess, but I could never see you as one of the guys.” I pulled her to me, my big rough hands capturing the full swinging mounds of her tits.

  Her head fell back, and I followed her, bending over her. My heart hammered in my chest, an echoing beat pumping all the way up the thick pole of my cock.

  I kissed her. Kissed her forever. Soft and slow and deep. Hard and raw and fast. Her juicy lips clung to mine, and she made the most insane sounds—low whimpers, husky moans. Nothing but our mouths sucking, biting, our hands grasping, kneading.

  I could kiss her the whole night long. I would’ve too if she hadn’t broken free, begging, “Oh, God, Boom. Please, suck my tits.”