Steel Crew : Books 1-3 (Steel World Box Set Book 7)

by Mj Fields

  He bounces up and down on his toes, rolling his neck. He flexes his hands at his sides, wrists wrapped in white tape, knuckles bare. He stretches one arm across his body, and then the next, as he continues to bounce to the beat of the music. His hair isn’t slicked back on the sides, and the top isn’t perfectly placed like it is at school. It’s a mess, like it was when he walked out of his bedroom and caught me red-handed having snuck into his house to get my phone.

  The lights must be hypnotic, because I can’t look away from him.

  I didn’t look at him then, afraid to, but right now, I literally have ringside seats and an invitation to look at his half-naked form.

  He is … exquisite.

  Chapter Five

  Idiom

  Don’t add fuel to the fire.

  Truth

  Why not? It doesn’t necessarily cause further destruction …

  Sometimes it just heats things up.

  “At six-foot-two, weighing in at one hundred and ninety pounds … Ranger the Wrecker!”

  I look to Brisa, and she pats the spot beside her as her knees bounce up and down excitedly.

  I look back at Harrison, and he nods toward her. “Go enjoy yourself.”

  I didn’t ask permission, but right now, I’m not half as pissed off at him as I was earlier.

  As I start to walk away, he grabs my elbow and stops me. “I’ve trusted you with a lot tonight; don’t make me regret it.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not the kind of girl to kiss and tell.”

  He flashes me a wicked grin.

  Shit.

  I roll my eyes and try to dig myself out of the hole I seem to continually be putting myself in. “Meaning, I can keep a secret. I’ve kissed and told plenty.”

  He winks. “I figured I could trust you when your cousin didn’t try to drag me into the ring. Go. Have fun.”

  I hurry past the other two horsemen without a glance. I’m not naïve enough to think any one of them has gotten over the earlier happenings. I’m not even sure I trust Harrison, either, but he did extend the mecca of olive branches and obviously wants to trust me. I don’t look at the woman, either. I’ve yet to get over the embarrassment of not only sort of breaking into Easton’s house but hearing then seeing them right after they had sex … naked.

  I sit on the other side of Brisa, look at both her and Patrick, and smile. “This is kind of cool, huh?”

  “It’s something to do, I suppose.” Patrick leans back and stretches his arm over the back of the couch.

  Brisa looks at me, grinning from ear to ear. Then she leans in and whispers, “He’s so fucking hot.” She grips my chin and turns my face toward the ring. “Look. At. That.”

  Lean, muscular arms covered in sleeves of gray and black tattoos dance up his arms and across his chiseled chest. His hair in a messy bun, and his face, admittedly very handsome, but when the music changes and the announcer begins, it morphs from playful to anger and rage.

  “At six-foot-one, weighing in at two hundred and one pounds … Easton the Experience!”

  The crowd cheers louder and louder as he makes his way ringside and slips through the ropes and into the ring. Unlike Ranger’s, Tobias’s face is completely void of emotion.

  “I hope he knocks the fucking chip off his shoulder!” Brisa yells in my ear so I can hear her over the crowd.

  My stomach turns at the idea and, for the first time since we got the invitation, I’m really not sure if I actually want to see a fight.

  “Yeah,” I say as I take in Tobias Easton who, until tonight, I didn’t even know the color of his eyes, and in seconds, they’re sure to be black, blue, and bloodied.

  Such a shame that the man with Persian blue eyes is about to get raged on by Manbun.

  I take him in as he stands in his corner, alone, no coach or companion unlike what Ranger has in his corner. He stretches his arms, swinging them in circular motions, making his muscles flex and his tattoos dance atop his skin. The work is exquisite.

  My father has stressed to me since I can remember that what someone puts on their body has to mean something deeper than the ink penetrates, something you want to carry with you for your entire life. I wonder if Tobias’s father taught him the same. And I wonder why exactly I wonder such a thing.

  With lights, distance, and movement, it is hard to see or read most of the art on his incredibly hard and muscular body that rivals the definition and size of my brother’s. How I didn’t get swept up in seeing him earlier is baffling at the moment, but being half terrified and fully guilty about doing something I knew to be wrong drowned out the remarkable physical form standing before me—I mean all of us—right now.

  Across his collarbone, the words Strength, Love, and Honor mark his body … his soul. If, by chance, he has depth to him, which I find doubtful, it is telling of what’s most important to him. I ponder for a moment why strength is before love and why honor is last.

  My scrutinization of his body lowers and falls upon his pecs, where birds fly free behind roses, stars dancing above them. Feeling a blush pinken my skin, I lower my eyes to his abs, then to the V. Swallowing back the saliva pooling in my mouth, I close my eyes, imagining they are the lenses to a camera, my eyelids the shutter, as I snap them shut, hoping to ingrain his form in my memory. When I open them, I see him standing, unmoving in the corner closest to us, glaring in my direction.

  What. The. Fuck.

  His blue eyes narrow, his jaw ticks, and his nostrils flare … at me.

  When the bell rings, his angry eyes shift to my left, and when I turn to trail them, I expect him to be looking at his girl. He’s not. He’s now shooting daggers at Harrison, who purses his lips in what I know now as his signature antagonistic smirk and raises his rocks glass.

  I look back at Tobias, who points at him, and read his lips over the roar of the crowd. “You’re next.”

  I slink down in the seat and see him look back at me, eyes narrowed as his lips twitch.

  Out of my peripheral, I see Patrick, the chill one of the bunch, lean forward, elbows on his knees. I look over and see he’s glaring at Tobias. He lifts his hand, points a finger into his chest, and says loudly, “How about me?”

  I can’t even look up to see Tobias’s reaction. All I can think is: what have I done?

  When the fight begins, I keep my eyes lowered as I try to figure out how to fix the damage I may have just caused.

  I hear three loud, fast hits, and then a thud. The crowd roars, and I look up to see Ranger on one knee.

  “Get up!” Brisa screams as she jumps up from the couch. “Get up and kick his ass!”

  Both their heads swing toward us. I have no idea how they heard her over the crowd, but I assume it’s to do with proximity. We are closest to them.

  Tobias’s angry yet brilliant eyes are trained on me when, all of the sudden, Ranger pops up and undercuts him.

  “Nooooooo!” I yell as Tobias’s head snaps sideways, and he stumbles back.

  His unfocused eyes land on mine, and he shakes his head before charging toward Ranger.

  I watch as Ranger lands three jabs in a row before covering my eyes and waiting for the sound of a body hitting the mat. Peering through my fingers, I watch as the two men exchange violent blow after violent blow to the head, the ribs, the stomach. Both are bleeding and both unrelenting. Unable to stomach it anymore, I look down and watch their feet—one covered in white, one in red—as they dance around the ring, both awkward and heavy-footed.

  A bell rings, and I look up as the ref splits them apart and sends them to their corners.

  I see Tobias standing alone, watching Ranger’s people care for his wounds and squirt water into his mouth.

  Angry, I look toward Harrison. “Is anyone going to assist him?”

  He shrugs and shakes his head.

  I look at Dee and give her a questioning look. She rolls her eyes at me and looks away.

  Finally, I look at Patrick. “He needs somebody!”

  “T
his isn’t my thing, Truth, nor is it yours.”

  I jump up from my seat and walk to the ropes, staring at him, around him, searching for the missing people who surely stand in his corner. I look back and point toward his friends. “Why are you just sitting there?”

  No one answers.

  Fuckers.

  Patrick and Brisa stand at my sides when the bell rings. Hands gripping the velvet rope, I watch as Tobias comes out swinging. Strike after strike, blow after blow lands on Ranger’s face, head, ribs. Their bodies lock together in what I assume is Ranger’s desperate attempt to slow the assault. Ranger then locks a leg behind Tobias’s, tripping him up, and they fall to the ground. They fight for leverage, throwing painful punches, rolling on the ground.

  “Why aren’t they breaking them apart!” I yell at Patrick, eyes still peeled on the scene before me.

  “It’s underground fighting, Truth. They don’t stop till one of them taps out or is knocked out.”

  I hold my hand over my chest, stopping my heart from its inevitable escape.

  They continue grappling until the bell rings, and the ref pulls Ranger off Tobias.

  “Isn’t this wrong? He’s clearly older and more experienced than some senior in high school!”

  Patrick grips my shoulder and pulls me into his side. “This is their thing, T. You gotta let them do it.”

  Round after round, I watch as two men fight, blood and sweat coating their skin, and tears fill my eyes.

  I feel Patrick wrap his arm around me and pull me against his side. “Why so emotional, T? It’s just a fight.”

  “He has no one in his corner.”

  He chuckles, and I look up at him, scowling.

  “You see him in school, right?”

  “Of course I do,” I snap.

  He nods to the guys. “He doesn’t even hang with his boys in school. Clearly, it’s what he wants.”

  I look back at him. “Then he’s an ass.”

  Patrick laughs. “If that’s how you feel, then enjoy the show.”

  I look at Brisa, and she nods toward the couch.

  “Brisa and I are gonna sit,” I tell Patrick.

  “It’s about time. Wish there was a pillow and blanket around. I’m beat.”

  I look past him and see the women eye-banging him, even Dee. I glare at the posse before catching Harrison chuckling behind them.

  My finger itches to flip him off, but that would probably not be helpful if I’m deciding to be at least cordial to him over the next fourteen months until graduation.

  I give him a tight-lipped, semi-smirk as the bell rings again.

  It feels like it should be round seven billion, eight hundred and fifty-five million, four hundred fifty-four thousand, five hundred and forty-three, but the girl in the barely-there bikini, holding the sign high above her head, tells me it’s only round three.

  I lean back, cross my arms, and look at Patrick. “I’m with you.”

  Ranger strikes first, and I see the pain flash in Tobias’s swollen eyes as his whole body twists to the left. He raises his arms above his face, shielding himself from blow after blow.

  I look down and watch his feet stagger as he tries to gain his footing. When he finally does, a light bulb goes off in my head. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the notes. I try my best to void the emotions and focus on the mechanics.

  Ranger’s arms are longer, giving him a farther reach, but Tobias is stronger. Each jab he lands rocks Ranger. Neither have their footing right, though. If they did, they would be able to hold a stance better, take a harder hit. Where Ranger clearly hits to inflict pain wherever he sees an opening, Tobias strikes with intent to bring him down. Ranger is quick to find a way to take them both to the mat. He’s more flexible. Tobias, being stronger, can maneuver them so he’s only down for a few seconds.

  The bell rings, and I look up at his face as he spits blood onto the mat, his eyes meeting mine, disdain evident. They shift, and I see he’s watching Harrison walk toward me.

  Harrison squats down in front of me and asks, “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s shit that he doesn’t have at the very least one of you up there in his corner,” I snap.

  “Do you think we haven’t offered before every one of his fights?”

  Patrick leans forward. “Told you, T. Some guys need to be inside their own head.”

  “Well, when his eyes are swollen shut and he can’t see after the bell, and he steps out and gets annihilated, you’ll wish you’d have fought harder for him to change his damn mind.”

  He stands and holds out his hand. “Then let’s stand at the rope and cheer him on, shall we?”

  When I don’t take his hand, he tilts his head. “Thought you wanted him to feel not so alone? Brisa and Patrick should come, too.”

  “Brisa is sitting right here, cheering for Ranger,” she replies, talking about herself in third person, and looks at me. “Just like you should be after tonight’s crap.”

  I look at the ring and see Tobias in his corner, back to the crowd, holding the ropes, head hung low. My chest aches.

  I sigh loudly and reach out my hand to take Harrison’s. “Fine.”

  “Truth, are you kidding me?” Brisa calls to my back.

  I look over my shoulder at her and yell, “I’m a sucker for an underdog!”

  Standing at the rope, Tobias turns back toward the center of the ring. I may be imagining things, but he seems to look at the couch where I was sitting then scans the area until his eyes find mine then Harrison’s then back to mine.

  Harrison leans in and whispers in my ear, “He’s pissed.”

  I watch Tobias’s eyes home in on our hands and realize I’m still holding Harrison’s hand. Something unspoken tells me to release it. When I attempt to, though, Harrison lifts it and places a kiss to the back of it.

  I look at him in confusion. His response is the smugness of the lips pursing.

  The bell rings, and I pull my hand from his, quickly looking back at the ring, where I see, at breakneck speed and perfect precision, a left, a right, and an uppercut lands on Ranger’s face. I watch as he hits the mat, out cold.

  Brisa is at my side, yelling for him to get up.

  I watch as Tobias circles him like a jungle cat stalking its prey while stretching his arms across his body.

  “Fuck yes.” Harrison grins then cups his mouth and yells, “Fuck. Yes!”

  Tobias doesn’t even react to Harrison, or any of the crowd; he continues to circle until the referee raises his arm and announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you tonight’s winner by a knockout, Easton the Experience!”

  He lets out a breath, probably more like a sigh of relief at knowing the fight is over.

  Same, Tobias Easton, same, I think.

  When he kneels down beside Ranger, I see Frank and another guy from earlier slide into the ring. Oh, shit, I think as Tobias taps him on the side of the face a few times.

  Expecting he may get jumped, I slide under the rope, knowing at the very least that Patrick will come to my aid if shit goes down.

  “Truth!” Patrick calls from behind me as I hurry toward the ring, and I am not alone. Half the damn spectators are doing the same.

  When I see Frank and the other man smiling down at Ranger, and then I see Ranger open his eyes, smile, and flip Tobias the bird, I stop.

  Tobias stands, reaches out his hand, and Ranger takes it. When he pulls him up, they do the whole bro hug thing.

  I get pushed into the ring, and although I’ve never been afraid of crowds, right now, fear—no, scratch that; panic—sets in. I try to turn and push my way back through the crowd to get to Patrick, but I get knocked back against the ring, my head hitting something, and I start to lose focus.

  “This is not how I’m going out!” I yell as I lunge forward, only to be pushed back, twist my ankle, and start to fall.

  When I feel myself being jacked up by one arm and my feet hit the mat, I cringe as a sharp pain shoots
up my leg. I look up to thank whoever helped me and into very angry, very swollen blue eyes.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I feel my eyes start to burn and my bottom lip starts to quiver.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he growls as he looks over my head.

  I watch as he scans the crowd, puts two fingers in his mouth, and nods toward the back. I think it’s the back, anyway. Being disoriented, one never knows. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me to follow him, but I pull back.

  “I don’t have time to babysit you!”

  I force myself to limp across the ring behind him.

  Once at the ropes, he looks back. “Climb through and stay up on the mat.” He holds the ropes apart as I slide through, feeling dizzy as I look down. Then he jumps down and looks up at me. “Come on!”

  When I hesitate, he holds out a bloodied, bruised hand. I take it and jump down, crying out when I land.

  “The fuck is wrong with you?”

  “I don’t feel very good,” I tell him as I try to move forward and stumble. Pain and I have never been friends, but never have I ever felt like I was going to throw up because of it.

  He catches me, sweeps my legs out from under me, and lifts me up. Then he jogs as he carries me toward the back of the building and away from the crowd.

  Please put me down, I internally plead when my stomach begins to lurch.

  “You throw up on me, and I’m going to drop you on your ass,” he hisses as he turns and slams into a door, pushing it open.

  “Just put me down!” I yell, holding my stomach with both hands now.

  When he finally does, he grabs the back of my head, forcing it down and toward a sink. I begin to throw up.

  His hands gripping my hair roughly, he starts blasting me. “You feel like a badass now, huh?” he snaps as my stomach lurches again. “Getting drunk and acting like a little thug tonight.”

  I throw up.

  “Breaking into my fucking house and sneaking around like some entitled, little rich bitch who wants the shit she left behind on demand?”