Marked Steel: A Stand Alone Dark Romance (Steel Crew Book 8)

by Mj Fields

  “Patrick,” Momma Joe whispers.

  “Fine.” He nods firmly then walks out the door.

  As I hurry to charge my phone, Momma Joe begins cleaning up the mess I made.

  “I’ll get it. I’ll do it in just a minute. It’s my mess. I’m sorry.”

  “I say this with all the love in my heart. This is not a mess, but yours and Patrick’s relationship could easily become one.”

  “He just needs to stay out of this. And why did you tell him where I was? I trusted you … Fuck!” I say as I try to plug my stupid phone charger into the phone while my hands are shaking.

  Momma Joe takes the phone. “You do trust me, and I trust you.” She plugs it in then hands it to me as I stare down at the black screen with the image of a battery outlined in red. “You’re tired and obviously hurting.” She pulls back the blanket. “Climb in and rest, bella regazza. Let the phone charge and try to relax.”

  I kick off my shoes then climb onto bed as she quickly puts everything back in my bag. The only thing that remains are remnants of the black roses.

  “It’s a mess,” I whisper as I look at them. Hell, maybe I’m talking to them. At this point, who the hell knows?

  She walks over and pushes my hair back then kisses my cheek, one then the next. “Life can be at times, but it doesn’t stay that way for long.”

  “It feels like it has forever.” I pull the covers up to my chin and lay back.

  “And it will feel that way until it isn’t anymore.”

  I sit up. “Can you go make him understand?”

  “Who, dear?”

  “Patrick. Can you just, like, tell him this is part of my journey, and I’m sorry, but only if he stays out of it?”

  She cocks her head to the side in question.

  “I know he’s hurting over that bitch,” I explain.

  “Tris Steel,” she tsks me.

  “But I’m not sorry if he keeps meddling.”

  “Rest. I’ll go check on Patrick.”

  I close my eyes and roll to my side, but as soon as she closes the door behind her, I grab my phone and am prompted to enter my passcode. I do just that, tapping out, 4-E-V-E-R-S.

  When my phone lights up, I see his name and hit accept immediately.

  When his face appears, my chest tightens, but not the kind of tightening that I feel when yellow clouds my vision. This is more a hug kind of tightening, and it’s a soft pale pink.

  “You’re okay,” he sighs out.

  “Of course, I am. Why—” I stop the question when my phone notification sounds off and see I have several missed calls, as well as several texts, all from him. “Well then.”

  “I was concerned,” he says, setting the phone down so that I see the ceiling of wherever he is as he takes off his sweater.

  “That’s about five messages above the normal level of concern.”

  He picks up the phone and quirks a brow. “Is that so?”

  I nod as I sit back against the headboard and nod. “Borderline obsession level. Maybe even stalk—”

  “I’m not obsessed, Tris,” he says sternly.

  I spit facts, “You will be.”

  He fights a smile then sighs loudly as he sits down on a bed that looks an awful lot like mine. “You’re in the same hotel again? See? S—”

  “We have similar tastes. It’s not obsession or stalking; it’s—”

  “I was going to say serendipitous. The other S-word.”

  We say nothing as we look at one another. He looks at me like no one ever has, and God, he sees me. I feel it to my soul. And he keeps looking.

  After a few moments, he clears his throat. “I’ve accepted my fate.”

  “I suppose fate has a way of making you do that.”

  “I can’t marry you, have children with you, love you—”

  I hold up one finger. “You can.” A second. “I don’t want children.” And a third. “You already do.”

  His brows turn inward. “For a year, I’ve been at peace with my circumstance. I have worked to protect the future of all those I care for. I make it a point to do a holiday with my nieces, and—”

  “As much as it hurts to say this, and it does, Matteo, the thought of you …” I shake my head and look down.

  “Tris,” he whispers my name.

  I hold my hand over my heart. “If you are, in fact, one million percent sure, then why would you deny spending time—”

  “My death would come much earlier if I had to see you saddened and consumed by the thought for, as you said, every beat that remains. The thought of you not taking comfort in whatever this”—he shakes his head — “unexplainable connection we have would weaken me. Knowing that I did that to you, I would surely spend an eternity in a place far worse than hell.”

  “Marrying her would be a fate worse than that. I have one concert left. One, and then you and I can rest, breathe, love. God, Matteo”—I close my eyes — “I don’t want to waste time.” I open them. “And I truly don’t want to say this, but I have to.”

  “What is it?” he whispers as he looks between my eyes.

  “It’s so horribly cliché, but apparently, this is the day for them to all ring true.” I think about what I said to Patrick minutes ago and look back up. “I’d rather be loved by you and lost than never to be loved by you at all. Simply meeting you has brought a calm to me that I’ve never felt. Being loved by you …” I sigh as I shake my head then whisper, “and being allowed to love you, I can’t even imagine what that will be like. I never believed in fate, Matteo, but this feels a lot like it.” I feel tears brewing and, knowing they are going to fall soon, I smile. “You sleep well.”

  “Tris.”

  “After my show, I want you to tell me and my heart if we get to love you for the rest of—”

  “You’re making this incredibly difficult.”

  “That’s the plan.” I blow him a kiss then hit end. I even manage to plug my phone in before I lay down and cry.

  A light knock on the door stops me, and I wipe my eyes before looking back.

  “You okay?” Tricks asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the doorframe.

  “Yeah, of course. You?”

  He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, sitting on the bed and crossing his arms over his chest. “Momma Joe—”

  “Made you come in and make up with me.”

  “No,” he huffs.

  “Without saying the actual words go in and make up with Tris, she totally did.”

  He looks back and adjusts his body so he’s facing me. “You can’t do this to yourself, Tris.”

  “Oh my God, Patrick,” I groan as I flop back. “Can’t you see this as the good thing that follows the bad?”

  “Not sure, Tris. Because, when we were back in the States at My’s game, you and shitbag seemed tight.”

  I roll to my side and prop my head up on my hand.

  “What? You did. And he fucked you over, so how the hell do you just …?” He crosses his arms again. “You are getting drunk and flipping out one minute, and in love the next, Tris. Come on.”

  “Are we supposed to fight or make up?”

  “I can’t do this right now.” He stands up abruptly. “I can’t watch you just—”

  “I made my peace with Marc. He fucked up, but I played a role in that, too.”

  “Oh, come on, Tris,” he huffs.

  “Someday, Patrick, we’ll write songs about it.”

  “Yeah, well”—he stands up straighter — “I’m thinking of taking a break for a while. Thought I’d tell you, so you didn’t hear it through the grapevine.”

  I sit up again. “I’m sorry if I—”

  “The road’s been rough.”

  I pull my knees up and hug them. “One accident after another, and you just can’t bear to watch it anymore, right?”

  He shrugs then shakes his head.

  “I get it. I don’t enjoy being that for anyone. As soon as I’m eighteen—”

&nb
sp; “Tris, when you’re eighteen, the same shit will be staring you in the face. Maybe you need help.”

  “Maybe you do,” I accuse.

  “I’m standing here, telling you I need a break; I’m not hiding it.”

  “Probably should have taken one after she—” I snap my mouth shut, realizing what I’m doing.

  “Touché, Tris.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to find someone who makes me never want to kiss anyone else again.”

  We are both getting agitated, and all I want to do is sleep, get through the concert, and come back to him.

  “Forever Steel, Tricks.” I flip him off.

  “Yeah, Tris.” He flips me off, too, yet still stands there.

  I pat the side of the bed that’s empty. “You look like you could use some sleep. I mean, unless you have a date waiting.”

  “Cut the shit.” He toes off his sneakers.

  “You first,” I mumble.

  “I hate fighting with you.” He sits on the bed and leans against the headboard.

  “Then stop.”

  “You look like hell again,” Brisa grumbles as she paints the dark circles under my eyes. “I mean, you’re beautiful, of course, but damn, Tris, this whole tour thing is taking so much out of you.”

  “Last show,” I say as I look toward Patrick, who looks just as bad as I do.

  “You and Patrick okay?”

  I shrug. “He hates me.”

  “Oh my God, no, he doesn’t.” She taps my nose with a brush. “He’s worried, that’s all.”

  “He should be worried about his penis falling off and not about me having found my soul’s mate.”

  “It’s soulmate.”

  “I’ve made enough cliché statements in the past few days to make me want to hurl. Soul’s mate just sounds better.”

  “Then soul’s mate, it is.” She smiles.

  RFC, Italy

  Matteo

  I attempted to talk myself out of doing this over a hundred times since she walked away from me, but it keeps coming back to the feeling, the ache that those talk about when their heart breaks. In a sense, my heart is already broken, so it’s not my heart that feels the pain. It’s my soul. It feels like it’s being ripped from a place inside of me in which depths I never knew existed. If I don’t get it back, what then? Will peace ever truly come? Will I be able to leave a part of it to her when I am no longer here so that, whatever it is I give to her, that she needs to able to rest her worries, would be forever gone, forever no more?

  In essence, I would give it to her now and risk eternal unease just to allow her peace and tranquility.

  Carlos is not happy with me, and it’s not because he truly wants me to marry Gabrielle, and when he said to me, “I want you to have peace, my old friend,” it was on the crux of my thought of leaving her my soul so that she may garner the same.

  I shouldn’t be here, standing amongst a sold-out crowd of thousands of people, knowing it could jeopardize my health, which I only do when necessary. Examples are holidays with my nieces, and when it is necessary for gallery openings.

  Her father has accepted the fact we will be friends, and yes, I needed that sort of permission. However, he doesn’t know of my health issues. But Tris does. She knows, and she still persists. She feels it, too. She mentioned fate, and I have felt the same since the second I pulled her from Hugo’s direction and my lips touched hers.

  So, here I stand, amongst the crowd, testing this theory of fate. If she sees me, if she’s drawn to me, I won’t deny her again. If she doesn’t, God help me, I will walk away … or at least try.

  She thinks she’s a mess, but what a beautiful mess she is.

  Just like the previous concerts, I am enthralled. Throughout the entire performance, I find myself entranced by her act, of her shyness, pain, sadness, and anger.

  Knowing now that the emotions she radiates are real and deeply felt make it so much more than just a performance. Emotions I was once addicted to, the upsweep and the downpour that I want to even out for her, to help ease the pain that bore them, to drink from the serenity that comes while we lay entwined in each other’s arms, bodies touching, hearts beating together, two souls connected in a way in which I have never felt and, I know after meeting her, I never will again.

  Not ever.

  I know her show. I know that her last song is approaching, and the sadness of the reality that she hasn’t once looked to where I stand in wait, in desire, in need for it to happen, settles above me like a lightning bolt threatening to strike me dead. I look around and see her entire family … and him.

  I have never hated before. Hate is born of ignorance. I have read a thousand books on all subjects that lure me to them so that I may understand and become knowledgeable about where hate derives from. Therefore, I understand that it’s wrong on more levels than the earth, the atmosphere, or the ocean itself. So, I will settle on: I do not hate this Marcello Effisto, but it does not make me happy to see him, standing a few rows back, with dozens of others I have seen or, as she said, stalked on social media, surrounding her family.

  Having not been raised with religion and only finding it later in life, I feel ridiculous that I want to drop to my knees and pray for her to see me. Instead, I stand, eyes closed, knowing the hurt my soul will feel when the realization that this may possibly be just something I have secretly yearned for all my years and ignored until her, something I have manifested in recent weeks.

  When the music ends and the crowd goes wild, I stand in a purgatory of my own making. I force my eyes to open so that I can watch the abolishment of the charade that I have construed, so that I can visually see its demise and be able to accept the reality that she was not a gift to my soul as I have allowed myself to believe.

  I look at her frozen on stage, tension rolling off her in waves as she looks at him, at Marcello Effisto. Her eyes then shift in the general direction that I stand in until the moment they meet mine.

  She smiles, and I release a breath. In the span of moments that feels like a lifetime, she is standing in front of me, looking up and waiting.

  “Are you gonna kiss me or what?” She beams, eyes a rainbow of greens and yellows and browns, energy as white as snow and light as air.

  “Yes, Tris.” I take her face between my hands. “And God help me, I can’t promise I will ever stop.”

  She sweeps her tongue across her lips as I lean in and take them as she intends on giving them to me and making them mine.

  Backstage, we hold hands and, even amongst the sea of glares and obvious discontent, the heavy doesn’t penetrate the feeling of wonder, peace, and belonging that surrounds us, just us.

  Bodies facing one another, impervious to the negative energy, I feel peace at a different level than I have ever experienced.

  “I’ve drawn and painted your face a dozen times since the day I met you. Your smile today is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Then you’ll draw it again and, while you’re doing that, I’m going to write hymns about how fast my heart beats when you’re close.” She laughs. “And totally fuck up the man-hating brand I’ve built.”

  “I’m not sure how, but I’m going to have to get used to seeing an angel use vulgar language, aren’t I?”

  She laughs louder now, and it’s from deep inside. “I’ll see if I can change that.”

  “I’d rather you not change a thing.”

  “Tris,” a not-so-happy voice booms from behind us. “You have a line of fans waiting for you a mile long.”

  She looks around me. “Yet only one that I’m at all—”

  “This is the last show on the European tour. You’re contractually obligated.”

  “Really, Patrick?” she huffs.

  “Go, greet the people whose hearts you touch in song.”

  “But I—”

  “If it were my nieces, I wouldn’t want them disappointed.”

  “And you’ll be right here when I get back?”

&n
bsp; “If I have to leave, I’ll message you.”

  Her brows knit. “But my phone’s not charged.”

  “Yes, let’s not allow that to continue hap—”

  “You can charge it there, Tris. Come on.”

  I turn and look back at Patrick. “I can promise that she will be loved.”

  “And I can promise you she already fucking is,” he snaps.

  “Patrick!” Tris yells at him in my defense.

  “Please, don’t. He loves you. He’s being protective in the way your family—”

  “As men protect people they love—family.” He’s angry, so very angry.

  “Enough!” she yells at him. “No more!”

  I take her face, turn it back toward me, and whisper, “Tris, go.” I kiss her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her smile, a gift.

  I want so much to say the words that easily fall from her lips, the word love. I feel it beyond my decaying heart, deeper than I have ever felt and ever will again.

  “I have so much to tell you.”

  “I’ll charge my phone, I’ll hurry, I’ll—”

  “We have time.”

  Her smile changes a bit, sadness in our reality, and I repeat, “We have time.”

  Walking away, her band and her sister surrounding her, her cousin Patrick behind her, she is a vision.

  I wish I had a sketchpad with me now. I wish that …

  My thoughts are interrupted by a throat clearing, and I look beside me.

  Her bodyguard is standing there, arms crossed, right next to me, looking at her. “You know what you’re getting yourself into?”

  “I do.”

  “And you think her family is going to allow this?” he asks, putting a wooden toothpick in his mouth.

  “That is something she and I will handle together.”

  “She’s seventeen; you get that, right?”

  “I’m aware of her age in years; however, her soul—”

  “Fucking piece of shit.”

  The words come from behind me right before I feel fists upon my back, pushing me to the ground like some rabid animal.

  I quickly stand and turn to face him.

  “Marcello, that’s enough.” A man I assume to be his father grabs him and holds him back.