by Franca Storm
Contents
Title
Copyright
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
EPILOGUE
Next Book in Series
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About the Author
STEEL TITANS MC
BOOK 4
FRANCA STORM
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
RIDING DIRTY. Steel Titans MC. Book Four.
Copyright © Franca Storm (2021). All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover Design by Clarise Tan at CT Cover Creations
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The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed”. Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book”.
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1
~Slade~
UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE.
I was pissed.
Nah, beyond pissed.
Being called down here, basically summoned weren’t something I was down for. People came to me. I sorted shit on my terms, when and where I chose. I didn’t cater to nobody else.
It angered me that I’d had to make an exception here.
I didn’t like being railroaded.
Fuck, I’d earned the right not to be, not to have to tolerate that kind of bullshit.
Problem was, I needed this business sorted ASAP. I didn’t have time to negotiate or get the person I was meeting with to budge on their way of doing things and make them submit to me and my way.
I cased the old brick building in front of me, followed by the surrounding area.
It was set off from the rest of the businesses in the area, everything around it basically dilapidated and deserted, leaving it alone, all to itself. Privacy, I liked that. With what I was caught up in, the way I lived as the President of Steel Titans, it had to be that way all the time.
There was no sign, no details at all, to give away what the building was all about.
Just the number.
666.
I rolled my eyes.
A bit heavy-handed.
I swung my leg over my Harley and made my way up to the entrance, constantly scanning the area as I went. All clear.
The door was locked, but just as I was about to step back, a harsh buzzing sounded and I heard the lock release. The door opened in that creepy-ass horror movie way.
I shrugged it off. Weak try at intimidation. For a guy like me, it weren’t nowhere near easy. Fear weren’t a part of my life, or me. It took a fuck of a lot to cause that in me. Hell, my life was a goddamn horror movie.
Figuring that had been all in the past when we’d destroyed the Strikers MC and finally put down Nik had been a fool’s mistake. Living the life I did, all there could ever be was horror, pain, and death. It was a part of me and nothing was ever gonna change that.
The second I stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind me. I heard the lock clang.
I looked out at the rundown lobby. A brown leather couch that looked the worse for wear and a worn wooden side table were the only pieces of furniture, outside of the unmanned reception desk. A half dozen top-of-the-line surveillance cameras were positioned strategically all around the space.
There was a door to my left.
Nothing else.
Figuring there was no other route to go, I strode over there.
But, a second before I got there, the door flew open and a shadowed figure filled the doorway.
I tensed as they stepped into the light.
Goddamn it.
As much as I’d willed against it and hoped even harder than that, just the sight alone had me reacting.
After all these fucking years, it affected me.
She affected me.
I took her in.
Her curvy body was made to torment and built for sin. In her late thirties now, her added years barely showed. She was still in impressive shape since the last time I’d laid eyes on her, packing toned muscle on her five-five frame, carrying herself like the warrior that she was. And she was still dressed to kill. Not in the hot, fuckable sense. Nah, literally dressed to murder somebody. She was covered head-to-toe in black. She had two Desert Eagles holstered at either hip of her tactical pants. A worn leather jacket was zipped down low enough to reveal a nice handful of tits stretching out a tank top. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. I watched her piercing blue eyes taking their time roaming over me while I did the same to her.
“Shadow,” I spoke, using her codename in an effort to put a distance between us and keep things strictly professional.
“Prez,” she returned, evenly.
That sexy rasp of her voice went right through me. It took me a second to shake it off, and then I told her, “This place is a shithole.” Especially compared to the last place we’d met at those few years back.
“Then you should feel right at home,” she shot back.
I took a step forward, not bothering to check my aggression as I did. I’d hit my limit with this whole thing. She didn’t react one bit. Just like usual. She was the first person I’d ever come across who hadn’t pissed themselves at the flare of my temper.
“I don’t take well to being ordered about. You know that, woman. Jumping through them hoops of yours—”
“Was necessary. A test.”
I stilled.
She’d cut me off.
I was all too ready to lay into her and tell her how it was gonna be from this moment out, when she stepped up to me instead.
She got in my face, that sweet vanilla scent that I remembered all too well wafting from her and distracting me for a second.
She told me all calm and collected, “If you failed to carry out the precise instructions to reach me, there would be no hope of any business deal existing between us, Slade.”
More disrespect with that attitude. It was becoming real clear that she was doing it to try to get a rise out of me. She was still testing me.
“I’m the client here,” I growled down at her.
“And I’m the one who’ll be shouldering mos
t of the risk.”
“You don’t even know why I’m here, darlin'.”
A know-it-all smile spread over her face.
“Let’s talk.” She headed back through the door and down the corridor there. Just before she disappeared through another open door, she called out, “You coming?”
She might as well have crooked her fucking finger at me.
Swallowing down my growing anger, I followed after her.
The business I’d come here to take care of was bigger and more important than my pride.
I strode down the corridor, then turned left through the door that she had, finding myself entering an office.
It was nothing to write home about, even smaller than my office back at the clubhouse. It didn’t fit with her high standard of living, all the luxuries she liked to surround herself with.
What the hell was going on? Shadow was a big gun. Operating in a rundown shithole like this didn’t fit in with none of that.
She’d already taken a seat behind the desk, so I took the one in front, staying on the edge, ready for anything, on high alert.
“You just moved in here? Bit of a dive compared to that penthouse we met at last time.”
She sank back in her chair and eyed me with amusement. “Same old Slade, asking way too many questions.”
“And you’re clearly the same old Willa Rose, with a hell of a mouth on you, asking for a shitload of trouble.”
“Actually, it keeps trouble away. I make it clear upfront that I’m not somebody to mess with.”
Scoffing, I shot to my feet.
I’d had enough.
The cryptic bull. Her major attitude. It was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. I didn’t have the patience for it, or the time.
As I strode to the door, she called out, “I was mistaken.”
“What?” I grunted over my shoulder.
“I didn’t think the notorious Slade Mitchell ran from anyone.”
“Ain’t running. I’m cutting my losses, woman.”
“Due to a bit of adversity? That’s extremely disappointing.”
I stopped short and growled low in my throat. “You’ve been pushing my buttons on purpose,” I realized.
“Yes.”
I turned back around and stormed over to her desk.
She rounded it as I did and stood there, leaning against it, like there weren’t a pissed-off biker president coming her way.
Getting in her face, I slapped my hands down either side of her hips and seethed, “Fuck with me again and you’ll regret it.”
In a move so fast and unexpected, she grabbed hold of me, spun me around and slammed me down face-first on the desk. Her elbow dug into my back, her hand fisting tightly in my hair.
The woman had some major skill to be able to put me down, even for a moment.
It had my cock waking up and taking notice.
“Why aren’t you responding?” she asked.
“I don’t hurt women, darlin'.” I chuckled nastily. “Unless they beg me for it. You know, when I’m fucking the living shit out of them?”
Her grip loosened a bit, letting me know my words had gotten under her skin.
“No, I don’t know,” she snapped back. “You made sure of that.”
There it was.
“I did you a favor.”
She tugged at my hair, trying to hurt me physically for the emotional hurt I’d apparently inflicted upon her. Hell, she couldn’t have been more wrong about that. I’d honestly done her a favor. I weren’t gonna offer up an apology, no matter what she did. It was gonna take a lot more than just ripping some of my hair out.
Pain and me were real old friends. I didn’t let it get in the way. Actually, these days, I welcomed it. Sometimes it even got me off. I was a sick fucker, way beyond damaged.
When time ticked by and I didn’t offer up anything else, she got the message that it weren’t gonna happen and she released me roughly and stepped back.
As I got up and turned around to face her, I caught her eyes roaming over me. She bit her pouty bottom lip, then snapped out of whatever sexual fantasy had clearly been taking her over. Glaring hard at me, she said, “Don’t threaten me again.”
I tossed her a look. “Sure, let’s pretend it’s about that. Just like you making me jump through hoops for this meet.”
“I had no choice after the last time. I had to make sure you really wanted to go down this road this time.”
“Things changed with that last job. I improvised.”
“And cut me out without any warning.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“Spoken like a true wildcard. Your recklessness, your penchant for going off-book when the mood suits you, instability, resistance to following orders… that’s why I’m being extra cautious and intense this time around.”
“Don’t do me no favors, darlin’. You don’t want my business, just turn me away.”
Our gazes clashed, eyes locking.
Intensity flared between us.
Heat, too, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.
I pushed through that and focused on what else I was seeing from her, what I knew real well about her.
She couldn’t pass up a challenge. Ever.
Breaking eye contact, and slumping back in her chair, she told me, “I promised Ricky I’d hear you out.”
“Rick Vale? You two know each other?” That was something I wasn’t up on. Both of them had played that real close to the vest.
“We’ve worked together once or twice,” she answered evasively.
“Against Nik Stone?”
She nodded. “Rick needed assistance with reining him in more than once over the years. Ronny was our first official job together.”
“Their old VP. You must’ve got there late, because he was with the club until his last breath. He had a heart attack.”
She grinned. “Thank you for the compliment.”
Realization hit me. “Jesus. Made it look natural. Damn, that was fucking good.”
“It’s what I do, how good I am. You would’ve experienced that firsthand if you hadn’t ridden roughshod over me with your own conflicting strategy against our target back then.”
“You gonna move past that and the… other thing, or are we dead in the water here?”
The seconds ticked on by, stretching like a bitch of a thing.
Then she steepled her fingers, eyeing me. “Fill me in. What’s this all about?”
“The Strikers.”
She cursed under her breath.
Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t go over well.
“Lovely,” she groused.
2
~Willa~
LIFE AND DEATH.
Those were the stakes of my business.
I accepted it, respected it, and I had measures in place to protect myself and my clients from succumbing to the latter.
I played it smart.
I had the codename, Shadow, for a reason. I stayed in the dark and kept my clients’ involvement rooted there too, so that neither party’s involvement was detected. There was also a deeper meaning to it. I worked in darkness, committed dark acts, but all for the greater good, for the purpose of unveiling the light. I cast out evil with darkness, to bring in the light, to make the world a better place. Unfortunately, only darkness could conquer darkness. You had to get down to that level and mix around in the dirt in order to plant the seeds that would breed life and a better day for all.
Basically, my role was to broker peace between enemies. Just not via diplomatic means. No, I was the one who was called in when all attempts at the peaceable route had failed, when there was no reconciliation, or resolution through natural means. I took out the problematic elements to force a peace. I selected my kills in a very logical and safe way, in order to protect my clients and myself.
Mine was a dangerous business, I had to ensure I employed safeguards.
One of those safeguards meant avoiding unruly, reckless elements.<
br />
Another was forgoing emotional involvement and never making a decision, or a mission, personal.
Right away, that put two strikes against Slade Mitchell.
Informing me that the job he wanted me to take on involved the Strikers Motorcycle Club made it all a hell of a lot worse.
Because of what he’d done recently.
He’d taken down a club, committed a massacre. Going anywhere near that right now was dangerous. The situation was still hot. He’d managed to cover up his involvement due to his impressive resources and calling in a ton of favors that he’d earned over the years. But he could only maintain that state by lying low and ensuring he and his club remained on their best behavior for a long time to come.
“The Strikers MC is decimated. The war is won.”
“They ain’t all gone, darlin'.”
“They went their separate ways with no intention of reviving the Strikers. You’re monitoring them as well, as I understand it.”
“I don’t wanna be monitoring them.”
“Why not?”
“Why’d you think? I don’t want any threats out there, nobody who’s gonna make a comeback a few years down the road. I want it done.”
Something wasn’t right here.
It just didn’t make sense, not from what I knew of Slade.
“You’ve never shied away from trouble coming your way before. What’s changed?”
I could see him starting to get agitated again by my probing. He was a leader, he didn’t like having his decisions and reasoning questioned, especially not to such an extent. Unfortunately, he’d have to suck it up if he wanted my help, because it was the cost of doing business with me.
Blowing out a breath, he looked me right in the eye and revealed, “I’m tired, darlin'.”
Oh.
I hadn’t expected that.
The guy was a machine, nothing seemed to slow him down, to stop him. He steamrolled over any and all obstacles that stood in his way. Besides, he was still young, especially for a MC president, only forty-seven, just ten years my senior. The shape he was in, I would have pegged him as at least a decade younger, if I hadn’t already known a great deal about him. He was tall, standing a few inches over six feet. His black leather jacket stretched across his linebacker shoulders. His broad chest and pecs filled out his black tee in an impressive way, the outline of his six-pack visible through the thin material. I could see some of his ink peeking out from the right side of the tee, stretching up to just below his neck. He gave off quite the intimidating edge.
