Steel Country Boxset

by Fields, MJ

  He looks at me, and I shrug. Then he shakes his head, whispers something in Mandee’s ear, and then walks back to his office.

  “Can I get a beer?”

  It’s fuck-boy number one.

  “Still out of Monster, so what will you have?”

  “Played this song for you. I can tell you’ll be a fucking treat in bed.”

  “You’re two seconds from getting thrown out,” I warn. “You want a beer, tell me which one. You want to be an idiot, there’s the door.” I point toward the exit.

  “Same shit Blue got.”

  Finally, I think as I turn around to grab a glass.

  Chapter Eleven

  Crazy Bitch

  Gage

  Phoenix, she numbed my anger. Like that song said, she made my world go black.

  I grab my phone and google the song “Black.” The version she and I danced to twice was by Dierks Bentley. The song, three minutes and thirty-one seconds. I hit iTunes and buy it.

  Why the hell am I buying country music? Because life away from here doesn’t give you the same peace as this place does.

  For seven minutes and two seconds, I felt that hurt numbing, clean air breathing, non-constraining feeling that Falcon’s Landing brings me, but wrapped around her.

  Fuck, it felt good.

  Too damn good.

  Could go away in the blink of an eye.

  I lean back and close my eyes. I’m fucking tired. So damn tired of all the shit going on in my life. I know damn well I need to be here, a place Brand, my boy, and I come to all the damn time. A place Mags rode up with me in this old truck, her eyes misting over.

  “This is home, my boy,” she said. “This is home.”

  She had her surgery and was in pain, but I have never seen her so fucking stubborn in the many, many years I have known her. It’s unnerving. Felt wrong. And Mags is all that is right.

  She is my constant and the only peace I have ever met amidst the chaos...until tonight. She taught me to cook what I killed so that I didn’t get angry at myself. She loves the damn garden and taught me to love to play in the dirt because growing something from dirt is miraculous. When I wanted to crawl out of my own skin as a kid, she would take me for long walks, and we would talk about the different types of trees. She loves nature, and she loves everything that comes from it. She also taught me how to make jam and jelly. She did that and so much more.

  Now...Now she baulked coming here, a place that is home to her.

  Juliana. What the fuck is she doing here? Christ, I have given her far more than she deserves, and here she is, trying to take more. She wants to break me. Even fucked with Phoenix, and I have no clue why. Our marriage was a joke. She shopped and read magazines, not even books because they would take too much time and personal investment. We fucked twice a week. Shit was scheduled. Fucking her was work. Bitch was colder than the Arctic. My fucking hand was warmer. Hell, my hand was better than her pussy, and I had a lot to compare it to.

  The fucking worst.

  I didn’t even try to get her there. Does that make me selfish? Probably. But even back then, I had some sort of intuition that we were wrong.

  When we kissed the first time, it was forced on both ends. Mine out of obligation, hers out of manipulation. You can fake a lot of shit. A kiss isn’t one of those things.

  Only reason it worked on my end was because of Brand. On her end, it worked because the bitch likes to shop.

  Break me? That’s fucking laughable. I’m as fucking solid as they come. Unbreakable.

  Brandon and I have a man to man agreement that he will give her a chance to be his mom. I gave him words and actions he needed to be able to look at the woman who gave birth to him, and give her something she, in my opinion, doesn’t deserve—a second chance.

  Fucking sucks making things better for her, knowing someday, some asshole who probably knows about him and doesn’t want anything to do with him could come back in and fuck up his life because of something she did. Not fair. Not fair at all to Brand.

  He may not be mine by birth or blood, he may have been a pawn in her deception to get what she wanted—a man with money—but he is the little guy who I held seconds after he came into this world, made eye contact with and made a silent promise to protect him with everything I am, love him regardless of what things he may do to fuck up in his future, and to show him how to be a man of honor and integrity. I’m not raising some other guy’s son. I am raising a man, and will be raising him until the day I die, because men, real men, stick to their word. A bond is a bond. Your word is your word. He has mine until they bury me.

  Knowing he was close and hurting won’t break me like she wants. She had to throw in the fucking Daddy Gage, and then “When you know why I’ve kept his father’s name a secret, you’ll be sorry you said that about him!”

  And I supposedly know this fucking man? Brand’s sperm donor, the son of a bitch who dumped cum and ran?

  I feel my blood boiling, just like I did when she said it to my face, and then that little shit came out swinging.

  “Christ, Phoenix,” I say out loud.

  In her chaos, I found calm, I think to myself. Then I shake my head, trying to erase the fact that my draw to her is similar to mine with Mags.

  Strong women.

  Seems like those two words shouldn’t be strung together. Men protect, provide, they are the ones who carry the responsibility of doing whatever the hell it takes to take care of their family. Women, they are supposed to be the caretakers, the nurturers, the ones who make sure all the hearts are tended to, knowing their man has the rest of the shit covered.

  I suppose that takes a hell-of-a-lot of strength if done right. Yet to fucking see it, through Mags, and now...Fuck.

  Phoenix.

  How in the hell am I so twisted up that I’m ready to fuck her one minute and pissed off the next at Juliana?

  I run my hand over my hair and try to calm the fuck down, seeing three carloads of guys walking into the bar. I need to pull my shit together and get back in there. I know the type. Fuck, I invented the type.

  I grip the wheel, shake my head, and grumble, “What the fuck are you thinking?”

  I consider starting up my old truck and tearing ass back to the Landing, but that would be wrong. I told her I would give her a ride, and I’m damn sure going to hold true to my word, in more ways than one.

  Too fucking much going on for a man like me. It takes a lot to have me questioning myself. That doesn’t happen.

  When I step out of my truck, I hear the song “Crazy Bitch,” and it causes me to smile a little because Phoenix Star, she’s kind of badass and kind of crazy, in a good way. She exudes strength, which is sexy, but when I’m touching her, that control shits the bed. And that, that’s a really good fucking thing.

  I walk in to fists flying, barstool falling, and Phoenix with a small bat in her hand, running toward the two fucks going at it.

  I rush to get there first, but she’s a fuck of a lot closer and in the damn middle of it. Her fist is flying and the bat a swinging.

  I pluck her ass out of the fray and deposit her safely out of the fight. “Squirt, get the fuck out of the way.”

  I have no clue which of these assholes I’m supposed to side with. Right fucking now, I want to throw them both through a wall. I grab the asshole who likes her tits. It’s a fucking good excuse to get my hands on him. I shove his ass back, then yoke the punk up from behind who’s going after him.

  “Settle,” I snap at him.

  I see the bar owner coming out of the back. ’Bout fucking time.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he yells, looking at Phoenix.

  “She was trying to break up a fight between this asshole and that one.” I point at the tit admirer.

  “Pete, what the hell?” he says, looking at the guy who now has a fucking name.

  Pete.

  I hate that asshole.

  “He was being disrespectful to Phoenix,” pervy Pete says.
/>
  Now I hate him more.

  “She’s a bitch,” the punk whose arms I have jacked behind his back spats, and I jack him up a little more. “Fuck, man, back off.”

  “He’s the boyfriend I was warning you about.” Pete points at me. “Should have listened, man, should have listened.”

  I look at Phoenix, who rolls her eyes.

  “You’re out,” I tell the kid as I march him toward the door, and shove him out it. Half a dozen punks rush to the door and I step back to let them pass.

  When I walk back in, I see Phoenix talking to Pete, who’s now sitting at the bar where he always does.

  “Thank you,” Phoenix says, giving Pete a hug, which doesn’t sit right with me, so I walk to the other end of the bar and sit.

  “Guy’s a dick. I didn’t even want them to come,” a kid says as he turns to me. “Names Blue.”

  I nod. “Gage.”

  “You from around here?”

  I nod. “Sometimes.”

  “My old man owns the Marina. These guys are college friends.” He looks back. “Well, some of them. They came up to fish.”

  “Fishing’s a better idea than drinking, I suppose.” I look down the bar, hoping Phoenix comes down this way.

  “She your girlfriend?” Blue asks.

  “Nah. Friend.”

  I hear him chuckle and look at him.

  “What?”

  “Let me get you a drink,” he says and waves toward Mandee, Will, and Phoenix who are huddled together talking.

  When she glances over her, eyes meet mine. She looks a little annoyed. With me? Her eyes narrow. Yep, definitely with me. Then she walks toward us with purpose and that damn bat in her hand.

  She stops in front of me and holds it up. “See this?”

  “Yeah, I see it.”

  “I don’t need you to fight my battles. This is my job.” She puts her hand on her hip.

  I can’t help chuckling and shaking my head.

  “It’s not funny, Gage,” she says, even more determined.

  I hold my hands up, still laughing. “Okay, I give.”

  She glares at me, and fuck if it doesn’t make me laugh harder.

  She leans in. “It’s not funny.”

  So I give her something to think about. “Says the girl who just popped my ex in the nose outside.”

  She gets that oh shit look on her face, but comes back really damn quick with, “That’s different.”

  “Not really, but fine,” I concede...for now.

  She holds the bat up and points it at me. “Fine is right.”

  Jesus Christ, she’s making me stiff, the little shit.

  She looks at Blue. “What can I get you?”

  “Draft and whatever Gage here wants,” he says, trying not to smile.

  She raises an eyebrow at him, and he holds his hands up in retreat.

  “I just want a drink.”

  She grabs his empty glass and spins around.

  “She’s a trip,” he says with a smile in his voice.

  I look over at him, wanting to see what the fuck the smile’s about.

  “I’m just saying, she’s feisty.” He holds his hands up at me like he did her.

  “She’s not on the market,” I whisper-hiss.

  “I get it, man.”

  Now the fucker is smirking at me.

  Christ, I need a drink.

  I sit and watch her work as I sip on my third Jameson double. It’s going to take a fuck of a lot more than three to calm the anger I feel when I look at the guys checking out her little ass. No clue how the fuck a man could want his woman behind the bar to get eye-fucked by every goddamn dick in the joint.

  No fucking way.

  No.

  My head is heavier by the time those neon lights start to get shut down.

  Apparently, whisky dick is a term my cock doesn’t understand. Watching her smile, laugh, and yeah, be bitchy to assholes for the past four fucking hours has been some kind of torture I have never felt.

  I watch as she throws stools up on the bar, making her way to me, and stand up, throwing mine up there, too. Then I throw some more.

  “It’s my job, Gage,” she scolds me like a petulant child.

  I look around, making damn sure no one’s watching, and give it to her straight. “You need to act like a badass in front of your patrons, I get it. But let me school you on a few goddamn things.”

  She looks around, and then back at me, pissed.

  I give no fucks.

  “I ever walk in here and you’re in the middle of two fucks fighting, I’m gonna yank your ass out every goddamned time. I’m sitting here at closing, I’m gonna fucking help toss stools. I’m a fucking man, Phoenix; that’s what a fucking man does.”

  I look past her and see the bar owner sitting on his ass, counting the cash drawer.

  She looks over, and then back at me.

  I point toward him. “That guy’s a dick.”

  She covers my mouth. “Shh, you’re drunk.”

  “Then take me fucking home, bartender,” I mumble into her hand.

  She sighs and a cute, little smile reaches her eyes. “Give me ten.”

  When I nod, she pulls her hand away from my mouth.

  “Behave.”

  “Will do...for ten minutes.”

  In the truck, rain falls down, making that sound that could put me to sleep. Won’t happen, though, not with her right there.

  I start to tell her how to drive stick again, and she shushes me, then a look of concentration appears on her face as she starts it up. She fucking nails the reverse, and then pulls out of the parking lot. The smile she’s repressing is totally sweet.

  “Good job, squirt,” I tell her, patting her knee.

  “Thanks.” She lets herself smile.

  “Lips like those should be wrapped around my cock. Phenomenal lips.”

  “I’m driving here,” she says, trying to sound annoyed, but her voice did that octave higher shit, and she shifted her little ass in the seat.

  I sigh and lean back, resting my head against the glass and closing my eyes. “I know.”

  She laughs, and I open an eye.

  “What?”

  “You’re the one who wanted me to learn, and you’re also the one who drank a half-bottle of Jameson.”

  “Shit.” I sit forward.

  “What?” she asks, tensing up, eyes darting around the road.

  “Didn’t give you a tip.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “Oh, it is. That’s why you’ll just get the tip,” I tell her.

  She looks over at me, and I wink.

  “Oh, my God, you’re—”

  “Turning you the fuck on.” I reach over and rub the back of my hand over her tee-shirt where her nipples are poking out. “Doing the same shit to me, Phoenix; have been all damn night. Watching you fucks with me”—I take her hand from the wheel and put it on my covered cock—“hard.” I push down on her hand and drag it back and forth a few times. “Feels fucking good, too.” I then pull my hand away, giving her the opportunity to do the same. She doesn’t.

  I reach over and pull her tee up, pop her tit out of her red lacey bra, cup her in my hand, and give it a squeeze. She takes in a quick breath. Then I rub my thumb across her tight, little nipple, and she takes in another one.

  She begins to move her hand up and down my length.

  “You have any idea how fucking good that’s gonna feel the second time it’s inside your little pussy?”

  “Second?” she whimpers out when I pinch and roll her nipple between my thumb and finger.

  “Yeah, the first time, it’s gonna fucking hurt, babe. Your pussy was strangling my goddamn tongue. And my cock”—I use my other hand to cover hers and wrap it around my dick, stroking it up and down—“is a lot bigger than my tongue.”

  “Gage,” she whispers.

  “I’ll get you nice and wet first. Swear to you, I’ll lick you till you soak my beard. But then...Then I’m gon
na fuck the hell out of you.” I lean over and lick from her shoulder to the back of her ear. “Guarantee none of those fuckers in that bar staring at your ass all night will ever get you off the way I’m gonna.”

  “Stop,” she says when I pinch her nipple a little harder.

  I lean back and let go, expecting her to cover her tit. She doesn’t. The dashboard light illuminates it, and I harden even more.

  I am going to bust denim.

  I lean back and close my fucking eyes again before I lose control and eat her damn tit.

  I may be a good man, but I’m not that fucking good.

  Chapter Twelve

  Driving Stick

  Phoenix

  Men lie about their size. I hear it every day in the bar. Their dates often roll their eyes when they brag, but him...He’s not lying.

  I am in fourth gear, and I know I will need to downshift soon but I don’t want to move my hand from him. I am excited and terrified about the possibilities of what’s to come.

  I have never been around anyone like him. He’s an ass at times, a giant, tree-sized ass, but sweet mother of all things real, he’s wonderful, too.

  How will this work?

  How will I recover, and I’m not just speaking physically? I have never had someone look at me the way he does, say the dirty, filthy...sexy things he has said to me that would totally repulse me if it wasn’t coming from him.

  It’s not just his look, albeit unbelievable. It’s him. It’s his honesty, his work ethic, his care for Mags. Add all those to everything he’s already done to me physically and what I learned about his character tonight, and I’m done. Totally freaking done.

  He’s honest almost to a fault, and he wasn’t exaggerating his size. He’s huge, and I want him so bad, but it’s...huge.

  He hisses when I squeeze him, trying to not only wrap my hand around him, but my damn head around the situation I am in with this man.

  “Shift, baby,” he groans as he holds his hand over mine so I don’t take it off him.

  “I can’t,” I say in a breathy voice, one that is foreign to me.

  “Don’t you move that hand, Phoenix,” he demands. “Hit the clutch. I’ll shift, but don’t you move your fucking hand off my cock.”

  I don’t. I stroke his covered dick as I drive, and he shifts as I stroke some more.