GIVE IN: Steel Phoenix MC

by Paula Cox

  Blue was pushed against the edge of the ring and the men around Chelsea were fighting and screaming for Blue to hit him. They were practically foaming at the mouth as they begged for the real violence.

  Then Blue gave it to them. He took one last hit from Jimmy and then like a flash of lightning he hit Jimmy with an uppercut that sent the other man flying. Blue advanced on him and hit him twice in the stomach and again in the face. She could hear the crunch as Blue destroyed Jimmy’s nose and then it was over and Jimmy fell to the ground.

  The crowd screamed and Chelsea strained to see and she sighed with relief as she saw that Jimmy was still moving. He was struggling to get to his feet. Cries of “finish him” and “end it” filled the basement and tears came to Chelsea’s eyes as Blue stood over the defeated but alive Jimmy. Jimmy was trying to stand he was on his hands and knees and struggling to get up, but he kept slipping in the dirt. It was tragic and wrong and Chelsea didn’t know how to stop it. Blue stood over Jimmy and watched the man struggle as the men in the basement screamed at Blue to kill his opponent.

  “FBI! Get on the ground!”

  Chelsea turned her head towards the stairs and watched as a wave of men dressed all in black came racing down the stairs. The men around her began to panic, but there was only one way out; they were all trapped. Chelsea hugged the wall and tried to get to Blue. She fought through the rushing crowd of men as they shoved and pushed past her. She was at the ring only steps from Blue. He was turned away from her and she reached for him, but suddenly someone had her arm.

  “You!” Terrance hissed, as he pulled her close. “You ratted me out? I’m going to end you!”

  Blue’s fist came out of nowhere. It connected with Terrance’s cheek and the man’ whole body rocked to the side as he fell to the floor.

  “What are you doing here?” Blue demanded.

  ‘“Rescuing you,” Chelsea answered as the FBI corralled the fight goers and one by one they dropped to their knees in defeat.

  Chapter Forty Seven

  “Do you ever look up from those anymore?” Chelsea teased Blue as she gave him a peck on the cheek. His face was buried in a textbook with some incomprehensible title about integration and electronics and motherboards. It was a beautiful California day, but Blue, sitting at a table under a patio umbrella, might not have noticed at all.

  “You leave him alone,” Jamie chided as she gave her sister a shove. “He’s studying so stop distracting him and get in the water already.”

  With one tiny step Chelsea was off the stones that surrounded her pool and submerged into the cool waters. It had been a particularly hot summer in California and her family had been over almost every day to enjoy her new digs. She came up from the water and shook her head and swam over to the edge of the pool where she rested her head in her hands and looked at her family.

  First there was Blue, he was sitting at a table and was surrounded by books and notepads and a calculator. He had finished his first semester at CALTECH with straight As and he was determined to not get cocky and let his GPA take a dive. Next to him stretched out on lounge chairs were Colleen and Jamie. They both looked better after some time in the California sun. Colleen had just finished taking her real estate license and was taking a well-deserved break. After her first album went platinum Chelsea had bought her mother an apartment on Rodeo Drive and Colleen had taken to California very well.

  After everything Jamie had been through, she decided San Francisco was just too far away and she moved to LA and into Chelsea’s new house. Chelsea refused to let anyone call it a mansion, even though that’s what it was. There were over ten bedrooms and Jamie had her own suite in the basement. It was three floors below and on the other side of the house from where Chelsea and Blue slept and Jamie was constantly joking about how much she appreciated all that space. “It muffles the sound of you two going at it twenty-four hours a day,” she said, when Chelsea asked why she lived in the basement.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” Jamie asked as she swam up next to her sister.

  “How hard it’s going to be to leave all of this and go on tour.”

  “Come on now,” Jamie chided. “You love to perform. Besides, don’t complain like you aren’t excited for a twenty city arena tour. There are girls in this town who would give their left arm for that chance. Blue’s summer courses will be over soon and he’ll have a month long break before the fall semester, so you won’t be totally alone the whole time.”

  “That’s true,” Chelsea admitted. And it was true she was excited for her tour. Every time she thought about it butterflies erupted in her stomach and she would have the stupidest grin on her face. “It’s just…I came so close to losing all of you, it makes it hard to leave.”

  “Well Terrance is doing twenty to life in San Quentin, so I don’t think you have to worry about him. And, besides, look at this house,” she said, sweeping her arm to encompass the main house, the pool house, the pool, the garage, the fire pit, the two acres of freshly cut grass, “none of us are going anywhere, okay?”

  “Okay,” Chelsea said, smiling at her sister.

  THE END

  Read on for your FREE bonus book – Unthinkable

  UNTHINKABLE

  Chapter One

  Rev

  Goddammit! I completely forgot what night it is.

  I pace into the living room, being careful not to disturb the snoring bulldog on the rug, and grab the TV remote sitting on the armchair. The massive flat screen TV hums on, and I flip through the channels until I come to the local news.

  Luckily, I haven’t missed it.

  Commercials play in the background while I head back to the kitchen for snacks...

  What the hell is this?

  The cabinets are practically barren. I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, but I expected to find a little more than opened boxes of pasta and a browning banana in a ziplock bag. The dude who lives here is just sad. But then again, that’s addicts for you—they’re all about the blow and never about a healthy appetite. It’s a damn shame, and my mouth is already watering at the thought of some beef jerky or pork rinds or a nice juicy medium-rare steak. Yeah, that’s the shit—any one of those would make be a happy man, indeed.

  With a frown, I settle for the handful of slightly stale, off-brand graham crackers and a can of cheap light beer from the fridge. As I shut the door, the picture tacked to the outside of it catches my eye. Standing dead center in the crumbled picture is a girl with a long blonde ponytail. She’s wearing a light pink bikini and holding onto a paddleboard. Hmm, I can think of another long and wide object she could hold in those pretty little hands of hers. She has smokin’ hot curves and perky tits that are a perfect handful size. Despite her eyes being concealed by a pair of dark, oversized, fashionista sunglasses, I’d bet ten grand that her face matches her body, especially with that cute, sexy smile she’s flashed for the camera. She stands next to a guy, the dude I assume I’m here for, with her free arm draped around his neck. Boy, did he get lucky with this stunner—she’s way out of his league. Who knows, maybe if he ends up being bumped off, I’ll snatch up blondie for myself—now there’s old lady potential if I ever saw it.

  I snatch the photo from the magnet, tear it in two, and toss the half with the guy onto the floor. The girl, on the other hand, I slip into the pocket of my jeans. I might need to use this later, and I’m all about collecting mementos.

  The TV catches my attention again. Loud intro music for the local news station blares like trumpets. I make my way back into the living room, but just as I’m about to sit down in the armchair, I halt in my place.

  “Yesterday, tourists shopping and dining on Chicago’s Magnificent Mile got a treat when a group of veteran motorcyclists formed an impromptu parade. The group, members of the United Eagles Motorcycle Club, were in town to...” the newscaster says in that rehearsed, put-on voice.

  I turn up the volume as I head upstairs to scope the place out, for curiosity more than anything
else. The rickety old stairs screech under my weight, forcing me to walk a bit lighter. I don’t want to disturb the neighbors next door. They already gave me a suspicious once-over as I walked up to the apartment building. Any wrong move and I’m sure they won’t hesitate to call the cops on my ass.

  That happens to me a lot. Big guy, covered in tattoos, driving a souped-up Harley—I’m not exactly the stranger people want roaming their neighborhood at night. Fortunately for me, I’ve got most of the cops in the entire city of Chicago on my side. They know me by name and understand my story. I’m even friendly with a few of the detectives; though I’ll admit that a little hush money has certainly helped those relationships develop.

  The two bedrooms at the top of the stairs are just as empty as the fridge. A mattress covered in a thin gray sheet rests in the master and a sleeping bag with a patchwork quilt is the only thing in the second bedroom. By the looks of it, no one lives here. The only sign of real life is the few pictures in dusty frames that line the hallway. I blow off the thin, gray layer of it from a few of the ones at my eye-level.

  “And tonight, we have reports of an armed robbery at 29th and...”

  I jump at the newscaster’s change of topic. Sprinting back down the stairs, I practically trip over that damn dog. He follows me to the couch, jumping up beside me as I lean forward in my seat to watch the rest of the coverage. Well, I always did have a way with mutts.

  “Detective Ashcroft reports that a man in his late twenties, wearing a black T-shirt and dark wash jeans, entered the pawnshop and pointed a long-barrel gun at the owner. Michelle Rodriquez, our reporter at the scene, talked to him tonight.”

  I try not to laugh as the small, balding man shakes before the cameras. In the overhead lights, he looks even smaller than when I saw him this morning. His voice trembles, “I was on m-my way into the shop. I didn’t see anything ou-out of the ordinary until I got behind the c-counter. He ca-came out of nowhere! I-I-didn’t know what to do. I’m lucky he didn’t kill me!”

  “Ha! Bastard!” I laugh, speaking to the dog. “This little pussy can barely get out a word. I bet he doesn’t mention how he nearly pissed his pants when he saw me. Or how the only reason why I was there was to steal back the diamond watches he took from Vic and the Blazers! That little bitch got what he deserves.”

  The report flashes back to the studio where the newscaster woman in a red pantsuit looks mildly interested. She stares deadpan at the camera to say, “Detective Ashcroft and the 24th ward police warn the public to be on the lookout for a man fitting this composite sketch. If seen, do not approach. He should be considered armed and dangerous.”

  “Damn right I am, lady!”I shout back, flattered by the comment. The suspect pencil drawing of me looks just as I expected—no resemblance whatsoever. My connections with Ashcroft have definitely paid off tonight. Even the tattoos are all wrong, and the scar on my cheek is missing altogether. Besides letting the public know I rode a Harley with an Illinois license plate, there was nothing that could indicate I was the guy they were trying to find. Nice.

  Satisfied, I reach over for the remote and turn off the TV. The clock hanging on the wall above it hits seven. This loser is making me wait, and I hate when anyone makes me wait. It’s a stupid game of cat and mouse, but it’s a game I’m way more experienced at playing. And I’ll be honest, the power trip is kinda worth it.

  I take out the creased, white piece of paper I wrote his information on earlier. It says it right in the center—I even circled it for emphasis—Gets home at 6 p.m.

  So, where the hell is he? And why is he an hour late? Tsk, tsk. The dog looks up at me and then at the door. Well, it sounds as if I’m about to get my answer.

  I stand up and position myself right at the door’s opening. Patting my pockets with the palms of my hand, I try to decide what to use this time around. I settle on the long, thin army-issued knife my dad gave me when I was fourteen.

  I don’t expect this Mark guy to put up a fight—people rarely ever do when I surprise them like this. But if he does, I’ve got the clear advantage given that I’m probably over a half-foot taller than him. The damage would be minimal, and I’d be able to end it quickly and with little mess.

  As I hear him twist the handle of the door, I take a deep breath and steady my feet. It’s go time baby.

  ***

  Jenna

  Ugh! I can’t believe I forgot the stupid dog food again. I’ve meant to pick it up from my house for three days now, but it keeps slipping my mind with all the other stuff I’m struggling to remember. Whatever. The dog will just have to eat this leftover hamburger I brought back from the bar.

  It’s been a long day. Then again, the days are always long when you’re working at a rehabilitation center for sex addicts, alcoholics, and drug abusers. It’s like watching the worst of someone’s life play over and over again without any sign of stopping. Just when I think I’ve seen or heard it all, more come through my office or join the group sessions.

  I don’t exactly get a break from it when I get home. Well, it’s not my home. I have to remind myself of that. I’m just housesitting for Mark while he’s out doing... I don’t know what. He called nearly a week ago needing my help keeping the place safe, and I came running—like I always do.

  I’m the good sister, the one who looks away when you break the rules or don’t play fair. Some of that’s because there’s just none of us left. As the only living people in our family on both sides, there’s always a part of me that feels like I have to put aside my training as a rehab counselor and addiction specialist and just be Mark’s sister when he gets up the courage to ask for my help—no matter how hard that may be.

  Mark’s entire apartment is a reminder of just how low he has fallen over the years. As I park my car in his spot, I see the litter piled up on the concrete. It’s all empty beer cans and red solo cups. There are scraps of plastic baggies too... I can only guess what they held. I watch as one of the pieces of dirty plastic flies off in the wind, landing at the wheel of a motorcycle parked a few spots down.

  I roll my eyes at it. I hate those things. Noisy and smelly—they’re just ways for men like Mark and his friends to overcompensate for their insecurities. This apartment building is no place for a person like me or my brother.

  Okay. Done being Jenna, the counselor. It’s time to focus on being Jenna-after-work. A long walk with Bugsy and a few drinks from the bottle of wine I bought on the drive here will clear my head from the disastrous day I’ve had.

  Not only did I deal with abusers, like Mark, I also had the unfortunate luck of another miserable date with Teddy. I don’t know why I give him any chances. It’s so taxing to pretend like I’m enjoying myself as I sit silently in a cheesy, dim lit bar with some smug, arrogant jerk who apparently only wants one thing from me.

  I stumble a little in my kitten heels, finally giving in and taking them off as I get up the stairs to Mark’s second-floor apartment. I don’t know why I bother dressing up for these pointless dates with Teddy.

  He’s just like all the rest. In my entire twenty-six years of life, I have yet to date more than one guy that’s made me not want to dig my eyes out with my salad fork. And that guy ran off with our history professor before I could figure it out. I have zero interest in trying it all over again with a man like Teddy.

  At the door, I fish out the keys from the bottom of my handbag and scold myself for not just putting them on the chain with the rest of my house keys, but then this situation would feel too permanent. I have to have hope that Mark was going to come back any day now and pay his rent, water the few plants that are still alive, and at least buy some damn bedroom furniture so his guests wouldn’t have to sleep on a borrowed sleeping bag in the middle of the floor.

  Still reeling from my angry thoughts, I gasp when a strong hand suddenly grabs my waist and a knife presses against my throat.

  Even in the half shadow, I see it’s a man, and he pulls me inside, his husky voice threatening something
that I can’t quite make out.

  He pushes me towards the couch where I land with a small thud. I force myself to look up at him, staring into his large, emerald green eyes. Eyes that, despite the context, are captivating. The small scar etched on his cheek is another road mark; something to remember when I look back on this.

  I memorize the shape of his strong, chiseled jawline and the small dimple in his chin. This man might be devilishly handsome, but on instinct, I curl my knees up to my chest, making myself as small as I can.

  “Please! Please! Don’t hurt me! You can have whatever’s in my purse. Take the TV. I don’t care! Just please get out of here!”

  He doesn’t react to my pleas. He only stares back, appearing both bewildered and annoyed. I can’t hold my eye contact with him or his face any longer. Instead, I pick a light spot on his brown leather boots and focus on that. Every part of my body tenses in what feels like waves traveling the length of my toes to my temples.