Laced Steel: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Steel Crew Book 3)

by Mj Fields

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” he roars, stalking over to me, towel in one hand, covering his dick. He grabs my arm and pulls me up.

  “She’s a little late for a threesome.”

  “The fuck do you not get about leave?” He starts pulling me toward the door.

  I yank away from him. “My phone!”

  “Let her get her phone Tobias and find me a damn towel so I can grab my clothes.” Dee, the naked blonde peeking around the door, says.

  I look around and spot my phone. I yank it off the charger and turn around.

  Standing in front of me is a butt-ass naked Tobias Easton and a wrapped-up walking Barbie.

  “Jesus Christ.” I shake my head.

  “Impressive, right?” Dee asks.

  I look at her and wave my hand in his general direction, which happens to be the entire path to my exit. “That … It’s a lowercase D, at best.”

  I don’t wait for him to respond, or even for him to move. I jump up on his bed, run across the mattress, hop down and out the door.

  “Come on, Brisa.”

  “I can’t find the keys!”

  I look back at her and see she’s crying.

  “Little bit, don’t cry,” Manbun says from outside.

  “What the hell is going on in my fucking house?” Tobias booms from behind me.

  “Trust me; we don’t want to be here, but we need our shit, and then we’ll be out of your hair, button.”

  “Button?” Frank asks.

  “The fuck are you doing here, man?” Tobias asks him.

  “The girls needed an escort to get their belongings,” he tells him.

  “I can’t find the keys.” Brisa sniffs.

  “Don’t cry over lost keys, Brisa. I’m sure Dad has a spare set.”

  “You can’t call him! He’ll flip!”

  “Steel, your cousins are at my place; lost their keys.”

  I look back at Tobias, who’s now wearing basketball shorts and glares at me as he continues with his phone conversation.

  “Come get them, or I’m calling the cops.”

  Still glaring at me, he listens to who I assume is Patrick.

  He sighs. “I’ve got shit to do tonight, and you know it.”

  “We can get the girls home,” Manbun says from outside.

  Tobias looks over at the door. “You bring Ranger to my house before a fight?”

  Frank answers, “Girls said they were having—”

  “You bring him to my fucking door, Frank!”

  “I found them!” Brisa yells as she holds up the keys.

  I grab her hand and pull her toward the door.

  As we run past Manbun and the other two long hairs and toward the street, he calls out to us, “Only gonna take ten minutes, ladies. Stick around.”

  Almost to the vehicle, I hold out my hand. “Keys.”

  “Um, fuck no, you’ve been drinking,” Brisa says, hurrying toward the driver’s side of my Rover.

  “I’m pretty damn sober now.”

  “Tell that to a breathalyzer,” she says, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  I hop in the passenger side as she hits the start button.

  “Call Patrick and warn him not—”

  “Right.” I hit my favorites list and read the screen. “Why the hell do I need WIFI to make a call?”

  “Oh, shit, it’s on airplane mode.”

  “Lord God in heaven, please let my father not be freaking the fuck out.” I scroll and turn airplane mode off.

  My phone blows up with messages from Dad and notifications from the stupid app.

  When my phone rings in my hand, Brisa answers on the hands-free, “Hey, Patrick, we found the keys. No need to come get us.”

  “Good fucking thing. I’m fucked up, and Savannah here doesn’t wanna drive my Jeep.”

  “Text us your address, and we’ll come get you.”

  “Sweet,” Patrick says before asking someone, “What’s the address here?” while hanging up.

  “Brisa, are you insane? What if we get pulled over?”

  She stops at the stop sign and looks at me. “Then I’m Katherine Steel.”

  I laugh. “That will never work.”

  She hits the gas. “It has before.”

  “You’re so bad,” I sigh as I sit back.

  My phone rings again, and Brisa answers it again.

  “Hey, Uncle Cyrus,” she sighs exaggeratedly as she winks at me.

  “Brisa, where’s my daughter?”

  “Right here, driving.” She grins and wags her eyebrows at me. “Which is why she hasn’t answered the phone.”

  “You know I love you, Brisa, but I call bullshit. Her phone was on airplane mode.”

  “Dad, it was dying. We put it on airplane mode because it charges faster and forgot.”

  “You good, Truth? For real?” he asks.

  “Of course, Dad. I—”

  “You picking Patrick up?”

  Shocked, I ask, “How the heck do you know that?”

  “He shot me a text to let me know.”

  “Dad, how many times did you call him tonight?” I groan.

  “If you were better with your phone, maybe took your charging case, we wouldn’t have this issue.”

  “I will next time, Dad, I promise.”

  “Love you, kid. Don’t let him drag you all over Jersey.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I huff.

  Dad sighs. “I trust you, Truth. It’s the rest of the world I don’t.”

  And there we go … the guilt trip. “I know, Dad. Love you, too. Tell Mom—”

  “She’s in bed, but she knows.”

  Brisa laughs. “No kids in the house, your wife’s in bed, and you’re on the phone? Uncle Cyrus, this should be adult play time.”

  “Christ, Brisa,” he groans.

  “Well, tell me I’m wrong.” She grins.

  “What I will tell you is I’m sorry your father got dropped on his head one too many times as a kid.”

  Chapter Four

  Idiom

  Curiosity killed the cat.

  Truth

  Cats have nine lives.

  “Holy shit,” I gasp, scrolling through my notifications when I see a different kind of alert, one from The Sound.

  “Stop with that nonsense. After tonight, do you really want to be in bed with any of those assholes?”

  “It’s the code! Well, a code and—”

  I feel the vehicle take a hard left and grab the dash, squealing, “Brisa, what part of don’t bring attention to your unlicensed ass don’t you get?”

  She throws the vehicle in park then turns toward me. “You’re no more licensed than I am when buzzed.” She holds out her hand. “Lemme see.”

  I lean over, and we both read the prompts together. “Click the link, enter your phone number, wait for the next text with your one-time authorization code and link for tonight’s event.”

  I tap in my cell number then hit send.

  We both hold our breath until the text comes.

  When it comes, we both recite it aloud, “Zero, three, eight, two, zero, seven, nine.” And then repeat it as I type it in, “Zero, three, eight, two, zero, seven, nine.”

  “Get your phone and take a picture of the screen so—”

  “I lost it on the beach, remember?” She scrunches up her nose. “Zero, three, eight, two, zero, seven, nine.”

  “Then we better both memorize this shit like it’s the periodic table.”

  “God, I hate chem.”

  “Focus, Brisa, focus.” Just then, Patrick calls. “Shit!”

  “I’ll answer on the Rover, you keep your eyes on—”

  “No! We’ll call him back.”

  She holds her hands up. “Fine.”

  My heart starts beating harder as I stare at my screen. Come on, come on, come on, I plead in my head, at the same time wishing that I didn’t give a damn.

  When I hear a different ringtone than mine, I look at Brisa, wh
o jumps in surprise.

  She turns and leans over the console to pull her duffle bag from behind us. “Apparently, I didn’t lose it.” She unzips her bag, digs through it, and then pulls out her phone. She hits accept and then speaker. “Hey, Tricks.”

  “B, everything chill?” he asks.

  “Yeah, we’ll be there in a couple minutes. Truth just got an invite from The Sound.”

  “Tell her fuck them. I found a bunch of chill people to hang with.”

  “You’re on speaker.” Brisa laughs. “She heard you.”

  “Well, come on and get me. I called Uncle Cyrus and—”

  “We know,” I tell him.

  “Did I tell you when you come get me I’m gonna call him and ask if he minds us going to an early breakfast so we have a couple hours more?”

  Brisa and I look at each other, both knowing this could work in our favor. Then reality kicks me in the ass.

  “Sounds like fun, but Brisa is driving and—”

  “You drunken tonight, T?” He laughs.

  “Clearly you’re drunken more than me.” I laugh, eyes still glued on the screen.

  “We’ll be there in a few, mmmkay?” Brisa asks.

  “Cool. Savvy and I’ll chill.”

  I look at Brisa from out of the corner of my eye and mouth, “Who?”

  She shrugs as she tells Patrick, “Cool.”

  As soon as she hangs up, my messenger lights up. I hit it to open the message.

  For your QRT code, reply I’M IN to this message.

  I tap in I’M IN, hit send, and then another site link pops up.

  Brisa sighs. “This is a pain in the ass.”

  A Venmo request pops up.

  “Venmo?” I ask as I hit the link.

  “A hundred freaking dollars?” Brisa gasps. “I’m gonna go with what I said earlier on the beach—fuck them—and what Tricks just said, also—fuck them.”

  “They mentioned something about a fight. Maybe we can watch one of those douchebags get their asses kicked by Manbun.”

  “Mmmman bun.”

  I smack her. “He’s old.”

  She grins. “Still nice to look at.”

  “You think we can get Patrick to—”

  “He’s drunken, so yeah, I do.”

  She starts the car while I send the money from the account that Sergeant Cyrus doesn’t have access to.

  My messenger lights up again.

  I read it out loud to Brisa, “2925 Industrial Boulevard, Lakewood. One hour.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is Truth got drunk, you made friends with some bikers, and broke into a house?” Patrick asks.

  I sigh. “First, there were no bikes; and second, the door was unlocked, so we didn’t break into it, just opened the door.”

  “Yeah,” Brisa says then asks, “Now, let’s talk about the girl who didn’t want to come with us or drive your Jeep home. Savvy? What’s the deal with her?”

  I watch his reaction in the mirror as I try to stretch out Brisa’s shirt that I slid on after Patrick asked why I was in a soaked sweatshirt. She’s got perfect Bs where I have a real full C.

  “She’s cool as fuck, like you two.”

  “Ew.” Brisa laughs as she slows to a stop.

  “What’s ‘ew’ about that?” Patrick leans forward and ruffles her hair.

  She bats his hand away. “You compared a girl you’re trying to bang to your cousins.”

  “The fuck, Brisa!” He actually sounds offended. “Told you she’s cool. Not trying to tap it.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Right, because why bang a girl you actually like?”

  “Exactly,” he replies as if it makes any sort of sense at all.

  Brisa and I both laugh.

  He leans forward between the seats. “Not trying to encourage either of you to lose the V-card, but—”

  “Who says we haven’t?” Brisa huffs as I point left for her to turn.

  He laughs. “No guy in their right mind is going to fuck any of you unless he plans to put a ring on it. Trust me.”

  I point my finger in his face. “You know how wrong that is?”

  He flops back and scrubs his hand up his face. “No different than your father letting you stay out later because I’m with you, T. Girls are different. You get in your feels, and then some stupid fuck would hurt you because controlling your dick as a young man is a serious problem. Like taking a shot of mental health issues followed by a chaser of physical need.”

  “But instead of your brains being out of whack, it’s your balls.”

  He smiles. “See? You get it.”

  “No, you dumbass, I was mocking you.”

  “Not dumb, T. Just a reality. You know how many women our fathers had before finding our moms?”

  “Again, ew.” Brisa crinkles up her nose.

  “You don’t fuck a girl who wants you to love them unless you want it, too. It’s that simple.”

  “Well, maybe love a girl before you fuck her,” I suggest sarcastically.

  “Wasted youth,” he sighs.

  “So, if we’re still virgins, then we’re wasting our youth?” Brisa huffs as she pulls into a parking lot where a few cars are parked.

  Patrick leans forward. “You stick to bean flicking and electronic toothbrushes.”

  “What!” I gasp as Brisa puts the vehicle in park.

  “Rather you waste batteries than some punk’s life.” He shrugs then pops a kiss to my cheek.

  Turning off the Rover, Brisa looks back at him in disgust. “What does that even mean?”

  “As blood, it is my responsibility to mess someone up if they fuck with your head or heart. As crew, I got a body to hide.” He leans back and opens his door. “Now, let’s roll.”

  With my “golden ticket,” aka QR code and cash in hand, Brisa and I both hop out.

  “You do know that any doubt that we can take care of ourselves should be washed away by tonight’s happenings,” I call from behind Patrick.

  “Yeah, and we saved your drunk-ass tonight,” Brisa agrees.

  He looks back. “And you will again, ’cause that’s how we do.”

  “That’s how we do.” Brisa laughs at his choice of words.

  “Damn right, it is.”

  After hurrying to catch up to Patrick, I see he’s leading us to a guy who’s stepping out of a car.

  “Sup, Tiggs,” Patrick says, giving him some bro handshake.

  A guy in his twenties, covered in ink—Tiggs—asks him, “You in tonight or spectating?”

  “Told you all, this face is too pretty to be used as a punching bag.”

  Apparently, Patrick knows way more than he’s been letting on about The Sound announcements.

  “JT ever gonna play?” he asks, referring to my freaking brother and I assume fighting.

  Now I’m annoyed, very freaking annoyed.

  I step toward Tiggs and show him my phone. He looks at me and shakes his head. “Newbie, huh?” I narrow my eyes at him, and he shrugs. “I don’t make the rules.”

  “This is JT’s sister and our cousin; they’re cool,” Patrick tells him.

  Tiggs raises a shoulder. “Still gotta do me, you know. One of you is paid for, only two of you have access.”

  “She’s chill, man,” Patrick assures Tiggs about Brisa being here.

  Tiggs looks him over. “She runs her mouth, it’s on you.”

  “I don’t run my mouth,” Brisa huffs.

  “Okay, okay.” Tiggs holds up his hands. “So, she’s got a receipt; you two gotta buck up.”

  Patrick reaches in his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. “How much?”

  “A hundie each,” Tiggs answers.

  Patrick peels two hundred bucks off his stack and hands it to him. “Those are Pay-Per-View professional fight prices, man.”

  Tiggs shakes his head. “Bigger picture, Tricks.”

  “Meaning?” Brisa asks.

  Tiggs answers while tapping out a message, “Supporting local entreprene
urs that otherwise wouldn’t be able to support other locals. Both of which would never be seen in Hollywood or on Pay-Per-View, where big money makes shit shiny and lessens the sport and opportunity.” He looks up at Patrick. “I’ll personally hand you back your cash out of my cut if you’re disappointed.”

  Following Tiggs’ directions, we make our way through some sketchy, darkened back alleys, passing several rundown, graffiti covered buildings and warehouses to where the “event” is to take place.

  A new surge of energy courses through my body in a steady current of adrenaline, caused by a mix of three new experiences. Those three being the dangerous situation earlier, the thrill of this moment, and the excitement that I finally received the coveted notification. One look at Brisa, who is smiling from ear to ear, and I know I’m not alone. Then I look at Patrick, expecting the same. It’s … not so much. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere in the world but here. I’ll let it go for now, but I plan to chew him and Justice out, knowing they’ve already been informed of The Sound’s secret and not shared it with us.

  When we turn a corner that spills into a parking lot filled with vehicles of all kinds, we all pause.

  “Jesus,” Patrick says as he takes in the scene in front of us. “There’s gotta be fifty cars and at least that many bikes.” He shakes his head. “Who the hell rides bikes in March?”

  “I’m guessing bikers,” I quip.

  “It hasn’t snowed in weeks, and it was sixty-five today.”

  I laugh at Brisa, who is obviously sticking up for her new crushes.

  She looks at me, wide-eyed, and whispers, “I bet he’s here.”

  We both start to hurry toward the building.

  “Hey, ladies, slow it down.” Patrick laughs as he jogs up to us, and then we all make our way to the large, double, steel door.

  “Is there a secret knock?” Brisa jokes.

  I point up. “There’s a surveillance camera.”

  “So, we just stand here and wait?” As Brisa pulls her jacket around herself a bit tighter, I realize I am wearing one of her shirts that is extremely tight on me. Well, tighter than what I normally wear when I don’t have on my navy Seashore Academy blazer.

  “You know what?” I say, trying to hide the hues of insecurity that threaten to surface. “This is lame. Let’s go get breakfast.”