FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Vivian Lux

  "Proves what?" Lexi asked, her voice breaking.

  He shook his head at her. "That I'm a fucking joke." He swung his hands wide, indicating all of the watching bikers. "To all of you. I'm just an idiot, here for you all to laugh at me. Who gives a fuck about what Crash wants?”

  "And you," he pointed at Lexi, "I could have been good for you, you know that? I might be a bad guy, but I'm a good fucking man. I would have treated you right. But you never gave me that chance."

  Lexi made a strained, gulping noise. Case couldn't stand it. "It's not like that, Crash. Lexi and me, we..."

  "I don't want your fucking explanations," Crash bellowed as his eyes bulged. He took several gasping breaths. "I'm gonna show you. I'm gonna show you you were wrong about me. Because what I want to do right now is tear your fucking head off, you understand? But I'm not gonna do that. I'm not going to fight you."

  He lowered his arms. Slowly his cut slid down to the floor where it lay there in a heap. He turned on his heel and with a deliberate motion, he stepped firmly on it. With a little twist of his foot, he ground it into the floor, before stepping over it and walking through the silent crowd to the door.

  Epilogue

  Lexi

  "He's here." I flicked the curtain aside as I watched the dull-gray Jeep pull in front of the house.

  My mother tried to make it seem like she wasn't rushing to peek out the window, but failed miserably. "Are you positive he won't come in? I would love to see him again."

  My lips twisted into a grin of their own accord. She was being polite, but I appreciated the gesture. "Soon, Mom. I promise."

  She blinked at me as I kissed her cheek but when I turned to go, she held me fast by the wrist. Her gaze bore into me, just like it always had, but for some reason I didn't mind it. "Alexandra," she breathed, her words coming out in a sigh.

  "Mom?"

  She folded me into a hug. "You've grown into a remarkable young woman. I'm really proud that you're my daughter. I want you to know that."

  "I do."

  She pulled back. Her eyes were filling with tears and she turned away before they could spill over. My father entered the living room. "Don't keep him waiting, I'm sure he's nervous enough as it is."

  "I can't imagine Case ever admitting to being nervous," I said.

  "Well either way," my Dad leaned down and pecked my cheek. "He's been waiting for this for five years. Don't make him wait any longer."

  I flung my arms around my Dad and hugged him as tightly as I could, hoping he could feel my gratitude. "Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for finding them."

  "I can't say it was the easiest thing," he boasted. "But I still have quite a few friends in the department. Favors I could call in. Your old man's still good for something."

  "Yes, you are Daddy."

  "I always did want to be a detective," he mused.

  I squeezed him tighter and kissed his cheek one more time. "I gotta go."

  "Yes you do," he agreed, patting my shoulder. "Take pictures!" he called after me as I flew down the porch.

  Though it was only February, the air had a softness that signaled the coming of spring. The air smelled different, like things were stirring under the surface.

  I jumped into the passenger seat and Case's lips were immediately on mine. In a million years, I would never get used to the ferocity of his kisses. They surprised me every time. Just like the man who gave them.

  I laughed as I pulled away. "You look...different," I teased.

  He ran his hand ruefully over his newly trimmed beard. "Cut the shit out of my neck," he complained. "Shaving sucks."

  "You didn't have to do that."

  "Hunter and Jonah knew me clean shaven," he said, regarding himself in the rearview mirror. "I wanted to look as familiar as I could."

  I looked him up and down, taking in the black button down shirt that hid his full-sleeve tattoos from view but couldn't hide the bulging muscles underneath. His faded jeans looked cleaner than I had ever seen and his boots were shining with polish. The normally floppy blonde hair was combed straight back from his head, but his natural part was already asserting itself. "You don't look familiar to me," I complained. "You look like an accountant."

  He grimaced and slid his hand roughly up the skirt I wore for the occasion. "You ever been fucked in a Jeep by an accountant?"

  The thought was appealing. But the meeting was at 3pm and traffic was always a wildcard. “Sweetheart, we have to go. They're waiting to see you."

  He paused and some of the color drained from his face. "Jesus," he exhaled. "I can't fucking believe it."

  "Let's go, so you can," I encouraged him. I slipped my hand into his and he held it tightly for the entire ride out to Norristown.

  It was a normal suburban house. Split level, big yard, a minivan in the driveway. But when Case saw it, he slammed on the brakes so hard my head nearly hit the dash.

  "What's wrong?" I gasped.

  He didn't say anything, only raised his hand and then let it fall to his lap. "Look at it. Look at where they're growing up."

  I stared at the house, trying to see it through his eyes. I took in the neatly trimmed hedges and the shoveled sidewalk. Squinting, I could see the frilly curtains in the window were opened wide enough to let us see inside the living room.

  Right to the family picture hanging on the wall.

  "You did this," he whispered, squeezing my hand. "You made this possible for them

  He raised my hand and pressed it to his lips as the front door opened and two gangly blond teenagers peered across the lawn. They looked sloppy as only teenaged boys could look. But they also looked healthy and well cared for. They pummeled each other for a better vantage point and Case made a noise that could have been laughter. or could have been tears

  "Go on," I urged him. "Go meet your brothers."

  THE END

  STEEL

  MY SOUL

  Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club

  #4

  Vivian Lux

  Copyright 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  This book contains adult themes, explicit language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature audiences.

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  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Please respect the work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any similarities to events or situations are also coincidental.

  The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks and locations mentioned in this book. Trademarks and locations are not sponsored or endorsed by trademark owners.

  (C) 2015 by Vivian Lux and Velvetfire Press

  All Rights Reserved.

  Chapter One

  Gabriela

  I was almost done. Just one more row of goofy white monstrosities, and I could punch my time card and get the hell out of here for another night. My nerves were jangling. My head was buzzing. I was exhausted.

  And then the bell over the door jingled. "Oh for fuck's sake," I said out loud.

  My manager shot me a look and hurried to the front of the bridal salon. I felt like collapsing into the pile of wedding dresses in front of me. They would probably make a pretty nice bed. I could sleep here all night.

  Instead I straightened up. I was $500 away from making my commission cut-off for this paycheck and of course I desperately needed the money. I pasted on a smile, wiped my hands on my slacks, and rounded the corner to go greet the starry eyed bride.


  And then I stopped short when I saw Kathy Vollmer.

  My stomach sank right down to my toes and I'm sure my practiced salesperson grin took on a bit of a snarl. Kathy looked at me and I saw several different emotions play across her face. The first was the frantic scrambling to place me. The second was the recognition that yes, indeed, Gabriela Ortiz was standing in front of her. And a third was the evil glee when she glanced down at my bare left hand.

  "Gabi!" She trilled, and the three overly made-up girls with her whipped their heads around. Yep, they had all gone to Lenape, though I could only remember two of their names. Lauren, and Hannah and Miss-Blonde-Extensions, but they all looked interchangeable anyway.

  "Hi Kathy!" I sang out, rushing over to her in simulated glee. "Oh my gosh, congratulations!"

  This job really made me hate myself sometimes.

  "Do you work here?" Kathy asked.

  Of course I work here, you stupid bitch. Why the hell else would I be in a bridal salon? I just saw you look at my hand, you know damn well I'm not here shopping for myself. "I do!" I said instead of punching her. Then I widened my eyes and used the line I must have used a thousand times before. "Hey, that's something you're going to be saying soon!"

  Kathy and her interchangeable maids started giggling wildly as I shot a glance at the clock. Closing time was in fifteen minutes. How quickly could I hustle her in and out of here?

  "So what if you been up to since graduation?" Kathy asked me as I settled her into her dressing room.

  "Oh, you know," I hedged. Spinning my wheels and dodging commitment I didn't say. "Adult stuff."

  Kathy's eyes widened for a second, and I realized I had made a grievous error. The image of Gabriela Ortiz doing adult stuff was never far from the mind of any of the graduates of Lenape High. And no matter how many times I tried to dispel the rumors about my overactive sex life, I kept doing things to prove that they were all right about me.

  Like sleeping with half the town out of sheer boredom in a series of unfulfilling escapades that only left me feeling worse about myself. I knew it should bother me that I was helping a high school classmate pick out her wedding dress. I knew I should be concerned that someone my age had already found love and commitment.

  But all it did was make me feel annoyed.

  They didn't need to judge me, I was good enough at it for all of us.

  The instincts that I had honed over the past few months at this crappy job proved to be correct. The third of the dresses I slid over Kathy's head had her weeping and taking multiple selfies. I wrote down her information, smiled at her plans, asked all the right questions and hustled her away, out of my hair. Of course she wasn't going to buy today, girls like her never do. She had to go try on dresses at as many salons as she could, fulfilling all of her princess fantasies at the expense of the overworked consultants.

  By the time I got her out of there, it was in half an hour after closing time and I really needed to drink. But the idea of going back to my studio apartment was too depressing. One drink at Jokers. That's all I was going to do. One drink and then I would go home. Tomorrow was my day off, I'd sleep in, maybe sign up for one of those dating websites?

  Making empty promises to myself was a specialty of mine. I knew I wasn't going to do any of this, but it felt good to think that I would.

  I shoved Kathy's discards back in to the rack, not really caring if they ended up where they didn't belong. They could deal with it in the morning with fresh, coffee-sharpened eyes. I was too damn tired.

  I escaped into the chilly late February air, feeling the hollow pride at completing another day of selling the dream of love and commitment to others, when I didn't even believe in it myself.

  Chapter Two

  Crash

  Fuck it was cold.

  Of course it was cold, it was the end of February and the whole Northeast was blanketed under six inches of crusty brown snow. It was cold, and yet I was riding a motorcycle.

  That seemed about right.

  I should be driving south. Heading somewhere warm, somewhere dry. Somewhere else but north on I-287. But it was like my bike was driving itself, like a goddamned homing pigeon zeroing in on its roost. I was riding without thinking, tearing up the miles between Philadelphia, and me. Between me and the humiliation I was leaving behind.

  I took the off-ramp too fast, my back wheel skittering out of control and for a split second I thought it would happen all over again - I would wake up in a hospital bed with my mind wiped clean. I would be born again into a new life, with new mistakes to make, and new fuck-ups to regret, and I wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath of what I left behind.

  It sounded so inviting. I almost wished it would happen.

  But riding is one of those things I'm really good at. Like fighting and fucking and getting confused. I righted my bike on instinct, swinging my weight to my left side to yank myself out of the skid. I rumbled to an uneventful stop at the end of the ramp, and I turned right just like nothing had happened.

  Lenape.

  Why the hell had I come to Lenape?

  I was just going to pass through, I told myself. Just look at the place, satisfy myself that there was still nothing here for me, then I would head out. Maybe fill up my tank with cheap Jersey gas, and turn tail and head down south.

  Florida sounded especially nice.

  Riding down the darkened main drag, I waited for the memories that I knew would never come. Being here was like purposefully giving myself the worst sense of déjà vu. Lenape was full of things I could never forget, because I could never remember them in the first place.

  Forgetting everything still seemed like a really good idea, and there was only one thing for certain that would give me that pleasure.

  A bar. It looked like a real piece of shit. But I stopped anyway.

  The snow-threatening sky was tinged with orange, the whole sky blinking with busy aircraft zooming overhead. I heard the low groan of trucks downshifting on the highway and the noise of traffic in the distance, but here in the parking lot the silence was deafening. The heavy, staticky silence, the kind that can only come in winter. When everyone else is snug inside, and you have the world to yourself.

  Reminds you pretty bluntly that you have nowhere to go.

  There were only a few cars in the parking lot, a big pickup that reminded me sharply of the one I had left in Philly, a small beat up looking hatchback that was either white or silver, I couldn't tell, and a handful of other ones. I wasn't really sure I wanted to deal with this many people at once, but the cold was really setting in.

  I swung my stiff good leg over the seat. My boot crunched in the freezing gravel, my whole leg pins and needles. The cold had seeped into my bones and I braced myself for what I knew was coming next.

  My bad leg hit the ground as thick and dead as a log.

  Fuck, it had locked up.

  I massaged the muscle above the kneecap angrily. Riding so long in the cold without moving or stretching had robbed it of any feeling. I knew this would happen. I knew better than to go so long without a break, but I had forgotten.

  I forgot everything. Always.

  My fucking knee refused to bend, no matter how long I rubbed it through my jeans. I sighed, my frozen breath wreathing around my face like I was a dragon.

  I was going to have to walk into this shit place like a fucking cripple.

  For some reason that struck me as funny. I'm in fucking Lenape for no fucking reason, and now that I want a drink, my fucking leg refuses to work.

  "Fuck you then," I muttered.

  I limped stiffly to the door and yanked it open.

  Chapter Three

  Gabriela

  Kathleen Volmer. Why did it have to be her? The graffiti in the first floor bathroom had had her trademark loopy 'a'.

  Gabby Ortiz is a whore.

  She hadn't even bothered to spell my name right. And tonight I had to pretend to be happy for her, prostituting myself for that five hundred dollar
s to reach my sales goal.

  But in the end I had straightened my shoulders and gone to Jokers. Because if there's one thing Gabriela Ortiz won't do, it's let the sons of bitches get her down. "No deja que los hijos de puta te agobien," as my mother put it, over and over again, spitting out the words as she hotcombed my mass of curls. "You show them, hijita, you hold your head high and show them that they can't break you that easily."

  So that's what I did, though I was pretty sure my mother wouldn't approve of my methods. Getting drunk on a weeknight wasn't exactly the height of self-love. But I was here and I wasn't going to leave until I had alcohol in my system.

  Jokers was a dump. There was no denying it, and tonight it seemed even worse than usual. Only a few seedy characters remained, the best of what Lenape had to offer. As I walked in, I spied Sergio, our small town's ancient tailor. The tiny little old Italian man was the only game in town when it came to prom alterations, and as such, every single kid who grew up in Lenape knew him by name., "Evening Mr. Marcozzi," I smiled and waggled my fingers in greeting. He raised his head at me and gave me a tired nod. He was looking more disheveled than his usual pin-neat dapperness.

  Maybe Serge was as dispirited as I was.

  Two booths over from Mr. Marcozzi was a group of guys that made my heart sink to see. Fitch, Harlow and Tucker all insisted that they be called by their last names, as if it lent them some sort of respectability they couldn't find anywhere else. The three had graduated from Lenape High the year after me, with Fitch starting a rumor that I had gone down on him behind the bleachers in the goose-shit strewn football field. I'm still not sure how many people believed him. After all, it was the word of a white football star versus the "exotic" known slut with her dick-sucking lips and Latin temper. People seemed willing to believe him, even after I had punched him in the nuts in the hallway and lost the right to walk with the rest of my graduating class.