Twisted Steel: An MC Romance Anthology

by Knox, Elizabeth

It was rare I wore anything to cover my breasts because of the inconvenience my wings would cause when trying to remove a bra or something of similar annoyance. Today was no different— the only piece of clothing I wore now was a snow-white thong.

  I didn’t waste my time when taking the stage to assess tonight’s crowd. It was easier to justify myself if I disconnected from the crowd, as if it made two shits of a difference if my eyes connected with someone else’s, because it didn’t. At the end of the day, I was nothing more than a virtually naked body standing before a bunch of horny assholes. Despite all that, my curiosity usually got the better of me as my attention would occasionally float out into the crowd. Time after time, an immediate pang of regret churned within my stomach and disgust overtook me while each set of eyes glossed over with fantasy.

  I would regret it. I was aware of this. I did every time I let myself feel a glimmer of hope that someone different would be out there watching with interest and, well, anything other than landing themselves balls deep inside me. I was a hopeless romantic working in a strip club. The cliché saying about love in the wrong places resonated true in every portion of my body, but I couldn’t stop any of it.

  Just one peek wouldn’t hurt, considering I didn’t expect to find anything different. A quick scan across the crowd’s faces as I bent to take their money reminded me how primal men are. Some tried being discrete, letting their rough hands linger a little too long as they showed their gratitude in the form of bills. Whereas a few were blunt with their intentions, landing their palm on my ass cheek as they proceeded to give it a firm squeeze. I would be a liar if I said I liked their touch, but I knew it would be easier to avoid commotion on my part.

  Frank, our bouncer, would promptly remove the grabby customers and probably ‘teach them some manners’, as he had referred to it on the frequent occasions he had beat somebody behind the building with his broad fists. Despite how often he used someone’s face as a punching bag, he was actually very gentle and respectful to all of us dancers.

  After one last twirl, my stomach coiled with a feeling of indifference as my gaze landed upon a man who stood out from the others in the audience. His gaze was unbreakable as he watched me intently, but unlike the rest, his eyes blazed with pure curiosity. His head slightly tilted as if what I was doing in front of him confused all of his senses. I looked away, not wanting to draw more of his attention to me. Nothing good could come from me connecting with a stranger sitting in the shadows of a strip club, even if it happened to be where I worked. Regardless of logic, our eyes locked as I stilled, and the lights faded into blackness.

  This was my cue to exit the stage and allow Ivy to start her act. As I quickly gathered my skirt and took the stairs off the stage, my heart pounded fiercely with excitement. Maybe it was fear that constricted and forced the walls of it apart, hell I had no clue, but I sort of liked the feeling. I felt alive. Just as my foot left the last step, large fingers wrapped around my ivory arm, and my body was pulled into a firm wall of muscles. Both intrigued and scared, I breathlessly looked up from his chest and to his face as the lights came to life. His pale-blue eyes were the kind of eyes that made most people question if the color was a result of contacts. They were gorgeous, but I couldn’t let myself fall into their beauty like I wanted because the pain behind them was so strong and unmistakable.

  His bottom lip quivered as he uttered the one word capable of stopping the beating of my heart.

  “Camille?” he whispered, as he carefully brushed his rough knuckles down my cheek. Fear strummed through me and I froze where I stood. I wanted to run as far away from him as possible, but I couldn’t. Not a single muscle would move.

  “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong girl. If you’ll excuse me,” I offered in an unsteady voice, breaking the trance and pulling free from his grasp. I rushed through the beaded curtain and as far away from the man who could ruin everything. Dropping to my knees, tears of regret flooded from my eyes and trepidation overtook me. I thought I was safe, that no one would find me here. The fucking problem was someone did, and I hated the world now more than I ever had. The number of people who entered and left this world was beyond me, but there was only one who mattered. It was him.

  2

  Slayer

  We’d been on the road for almost a week, stopping only when it was absolutely necessary. When we crossed the West Virginia state line, it was nearly midnight and I saw a neon sign calling my name. It said, “Bikers Always Welcum.” I’m a dirty biker, something I never forget, and hygiene isn’t high on the list on a cross country run, but even I cringed after reading the sign. Directly after my momentary lapse in judgment, I laughed and motioned for everyone to pull off, trusting the owner of the joint and I shared the same fucked up sense of humor.

  Iggy and Zart pulled up beside me as I killed my bike’s engine and undid my helmet. “You all go get us a room. I’ll check to see if the fucker is over here. Caroline said he’s a regular.”

  “You got it, brother,” Zart agreed, winking, and Iggy’s eyes nervously shifted between the two of us. He was about to be patched-in and if he wasn’t Zart’s little brother, would have never come along because he wasn’t wearing leather yet. He was fucking clueless when it came to most things, but the kid was a genius when it came to fixing shit. He could repair anything from bikes to blenders, a trait we would definitely put to use in and out of the clubhouse. In fact, we had. During his probationary period, he had fixed so much broke shit for each of the brothers, I actually wondered if we all just had a lot of non-working shit laying around or if we broke stuff just to give him something to do.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Ig. Just go with your brother.” I laughed, flipping out my kickstand with the tip of my boot and stretching as I climbed off my ride.

  * * *

  When I entered, I could tell this shithole differed from most bars I visited. Every woman who passed wore a costume as if it were Halloween year-round in here. The black and red lights thudded along with the beat of the goth music as they poured onto the stage, and then the music died. Complete silence filled the bar for only a moment before all the drunk assholes started yelling. Of course, I was one of those assholes— I didn’t care. No respectable woman would ever work in this dump, and coming from me, that was a lot to be said. I’ve had my share of pass-arounds.

  A blonde-haired woman in a pirate getup took my drink order and delivered it as the lights zeroed in on the beaded curtain at the back of the stage. One blood-red heel attached to a very long ivory leg parted the beads as the stripper announced to be “Chaos” stepped into the flood of lights, quieting all of us assholes. Dressed in a devil outfit, she took the pole in her hand and spun around it, hooking the silver metal behind her leg. She dropped to the stage floor as she let the pole divide her ass and my eyes were glued to her. This obviously wasn’t her debut performance, she clenched the post in both hands and brought her heels above her hands, sliding down face-first.

  When she flipped upright, she glanced in my direction. I had seen that hungry look before. It was in the way her eyes slightly closed and her painted lips jetted outward in my direction. I knew she wanted me, and I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit she made me hard as fucking steel. A dick cold wasn’t one of the things on my list for this outing, so despite how stiff my cock may be at the sight of this bitch, I could guarantee I wouldn’t be burying it in her tonight.

  I tipped the whiskey to my lips and downed it, slamming the empty glass to the tabletop, reminding me and my dick this was a business trip, not one of pleasure. A sharp laugh left my mouth as the she-devil bent in front of me, no doubt expecting a tip. The only tip I would give her is to get a real job and quit being a slut, but considering the bouncers in here are the size of gorillas, I was sure that wasn’t in my best interest. I shook my head when she peered over her shoulder at me and shook her ass in my face. This earned a glare from her, but I didn’t care at all. I smacked her on the ass and as soon as
my fingers met her skin, her body edged forward from the force behind my hand. I flipped the second drink down my throat and growled as the burn traveled my insides.

  After she gathered a few bills from the audience in her G-string, the song ended, and she collected the few pieces of clothing along with her dignity from the stage. Her auburn hair swirled in a frenzy as she flew through the beads and the announcer said, “Give it up for Chaos.” My eyes remained zeroed in on the red handprint across her left cheek.

  A few of us yelled and one guy beside me tried to climb on the stage after her. A brawny bouncer wearing a cut-off shirt lifted the drunk by his shirt collar and hem of his pants, carrying him out of the bar. I quickly remembered my decision against calling the girl a slut and I was thankful I’d kept my mouth shut. Of course, I would beat the bouncer’s head in if I had to— it’s kind of my nature— but that guy might be my match. Oddly enough, I wasn’t in the mood to fight. I would’ve rather spent my time drunk as I walked across the street to the motel infested with cockroaches. My feelings aside, Nightmare would have by balls in a showcase back at our clubhouse if he got wind of me blowing all the money in a strip club.

  Another drink slid in front of me as slick boobs pressed against the back of my head and I pulled a hundred out of my pocket.

  “This should cover what I’m drinking tonight. Go make yourself useful,” I said in a disinterested tone, disgusted by the sweat trailing down my neck. I fought the urge to vomit right in my glass as I tried not to think of how hideous the owner of those tits must be. It wasn’t worth ruining a perfectly good glass of liquor over, so my skin shuddered instead.

  A noise of repulse came from her as she took the money and left me alone. I was an asshole to her, but what I said wasn’t nearly as rude as I could have been.

  Heels clicked as a new girl took the stage, but I didn’t look up at her. I was too busy wiping my neck off with my shirt to be bothered. I groaned as I rolled my shoulders, wishing I didn’t just wipe boob sweat from my skin. My set of standards for women was pretty low, but I guess even I had a breaking point. Boob sweat apparently was mine.

  One of my favorite songs overtook the speakers and I was immediately intrigued by the choice of music. This was a song I didn’t expect to hear when I walked into Bermuda’s Triangle, where bikers were “welcum” and the strippers were sticky.

  The blonde in angel attire had her back to me and her body melodically swayed with the bass. She ran her hands down her face and then dropped to her knees, which gave me a full view of her plump ass. My mouth watered and I knew I might go back on my reason for this trip. One round of strange couldn’t hurt as long as I used a bag.

  I scooted to the edge of my seat and gripped the table’s edge in anticipation, waiting to see if her face was as immaculate as the rest of her body. As if she could feel my gaze upon her, she spun around and her eyes landed on me.

  My mouth went dry and my hand fell limp to my side. Hate and sorrow eroded my veins and pierced my heart. It couldn’t be her. Not here. I was frozen, or so I thought. As the song’s conclusion neared, my feet carried me to the back of the stage before any conscious thought was made. Our eyes remained locked until the lights dimmed and my hand sailed up on its own accord, clutching her arm. Even in the darkness of the room, I could see her shame. It radiated out of her every pore. Her head momentarily dropped as she tried to cloak the emotion from me. When the lights came to life, I cursed the world and everything that brought me to her. I knew as soon as she looked into my eyes it was her.

  “Camille?” I whispered and I ran my knuckles down her angelic face. Desperation surged from my words. It was clear what I expected her answer to be, but I wanted her to lie to me. I needed deception to blind me from the devastating truth before me. Blood rushed into my face, by the gallons it seemed, showing the shame I felt for her. Nightmares were the only reality I knew, and this instance didn’t differ. We were in hell once again.

  Her mouth opened and sounds flowed from her lips, but I didn’t hear them. They weren’t necessary. I knew what she was planning— to run. Panic masked her eyes as they smothered me. I was incapable of granting her the freedom she wished. I stood motionless in place, trapped beneath my own guilt, as she ran from me.

  “Get a move on, buddy,” the man-carrying bouncer shouted as he shoved at my shoulders.

  “There’s a no touching policy here, asshole,” he said as his hand grabbed at my leather and I pushed his hand away.

  After a huff, I laughed. “No touching policy. Asshole.” I purposely repeated to him through gritted teeth. I was an asshole, and him calling me that was warranted, but no one other than my brothers touched my cut. I was immediately on point and ready to fight.

  I landed my elbow against his mouth and then swung my opposing fist at his cheekbone. He dodged the punch, cupping his bottom lip as blood fell down his face. This was my cue to get the fuck out of there. Holding my injured elbow, I made a beeline for the exit.

  * * *

  My eyes slowly crept open and I groaned as they batted. I drank enough to put an ox down last night. Images of someone that looked eerily close to her flashed through my mind and I buried my head underneath the pillow. “Fuck me,” I grumbled. I did it again. This wasn’t the first time I mistook someone else for the ghost of my past. Hell, it wasn’t even the second. I’d lost count how many times I thought I had found her without actually looking for her.

  Realistically, I was too far away from home for there to be any chance that it was her. I wasn’t a fucking dumbass, and neither was she. If she was still alive, which there was a huge possibility she wasn’t, she was too smart to be within driving distance of our home state. Camille was clever and could run with the best of the brothers in the club. Ash taught her everything he knew before he shot up too much and went fucking ballistic.

  I hated how bad I wanted the woman from last night to be her, but couldn’t dwell on it. I was here for a job for the club and I wouldn’t let my brothers down. Ever. I would die first. Because I was a glutton for punishment, I would come back after my mission and do some digging to make sure it wasn’t her. I’d chased her ghost for so long I would like to say I wouldn’t do it anymore, but it was a fucking lie. The truth was, my search for Camille in other people had both become my weakness and my strength. When I wanted to give up, it gave me a purpose to keep going. Yet each time I confused someone else for her, I broke apart a little more each time. I’d been at it so long, I truthfully wasn’t sure how much fight I had left in me when it came to her, but every time someone who closely resembled her crossed my path, I somehow discovered a microscopic bit of hope still lying within me.

  Sucking in a huge burst of air, I chucked the pillow across the tiny room and rolled out to the edge of the bed, snagging a cigarette out of my pack and lighting it. Filling my lungs with smoke, I propped my elbows on my knees and ran my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, boss,” I answered my cell on the first ring as the sound broke into the silence of the room and cleared my throat. “Just got up.”

  “Everything is in place,” he reported, skimping on the details in case someone was nearby or by the faint possibility our lines had been tapped.

  “Ten-four,” I plainly said, butting out my cigarette as I ended the call.

  “Wake up, fuckers. Time to get some shit done.” I kicked Iggy and Zart’s boots on the way to the shitter, thankful they agreed to book our room and be the look-outs last night when I went to the strip club “to investigate”.

  The plan was simple. Critter, our chapter’s vice president, was going to meet up with us today along with whoever else was thrown into the mix at the last minute before he got on the road. It wasn’t at all a hard task, but not one that should be done alone either. I could handle the shit myself, but it was always smart to have some backup in case a situation went shit fuck sideways. It had a couple times and I was thankful to have my brothers by my side every time.

  Preach, our Prez, made it clear to all of us
before I left that he wanted the piece of shit left alive, because this would be the first of many times we visited him. Wherever he went, we would find him, just as he had done to Preach’s daughter. The son of a bitch had to have a set the size of a small country because he wasn’t daft— he knew exactly who she was. He preyed on her and sought out revenge in her flesh. She hadn’t directly done anything to him apart from fall in love with him. However, Preach killed his dad in the eighties, served his time in the clink for involuntary manslaughter, even though it was abso-fucking-lutely intentional, and got out. The sick fuck apparently followed Preach throughout the years and watched Caroline grow into a young woman. It was then he struck. Once Caroline told us what happened, the plan was immediately in place and we got on the road to scout out the area and locate him.

  I wish he had at least made it a bit hard to find him, but he hadn’t. Not even a little. He was still in the last place Caroline left him. Stupid fucking idiot. I guess that was to be expected from someone who was too much of a pussy to face Preach, so he took it out on Caroline. Don’t get me wrong, most women are nothing more to me than a piece of ass, but I treat them with respect . . . usually. Okay, I have not and never will lay a finger on a woman. I might have been raised in a biker clubhouse for the most part, but I went home to my southern momma every day and nobody had the balls to stand up to her. Not even Preach. She never let the fact she only stood a mere five-foot stop her from anything. She once marched him out of our house and onto his Harley for cussing at the dinner table, shaming him the entire way. Fuck, I missed her.

  Rolling my head from one side to the other, the vertebrae in my neck cracked and some of my built-up tension released. “Fuck, I need to get laid,” I griped, pulling the curtains back and looking across the parking lot to make sure his car was still where it was parked a few hours ago. I guess it was a few hours ago, but really I didn’t know. I watched his room and downed whiskey until his light went off and then I passed the fuck out, leaving the night watch up to Zart and Ig.