Justified Steel (Steel Crew Book 4)

by Mj Fields

  “I’ve got this!” Gabrielle shouts at me.

  “You’re part of my crew now!” I shout back.

  “Everything you ever dreamed of? He your dream guy, Gabrielle?” Nina says condescendingly. “A boy who looks at you like you’re the sun and treats you like a queen?”

  Two steps forward, and a backhand that would bring a tear to my eye, brings Nina to her knees.

  Two steps forward, and I have Queenie around the waist, because she’s ready to pounce.

  Nina stands up. “You’re insane! This isn’t you! He’s ruining you, just like he threatened to do at your party, and you’re falling for it!”

  Kai and Miles are at Nina’s side in seconds, holding her back as they pretty much drag her to her car.

  “You don’t know me!” Gabrielle shouts at her. “You don’t know me at all!”

  “Not anymore, I don’t!” Nina screams back. “I’m done with your shit, too!”

  “Get the fuck out of here,” I growl at them all as I tighten my grip on her because she’s trying to get to Nina again.

  “You can get the fuck out of here, too!” she yells at me.

  “Not gonna happen, Queenie,” I hiss.

  “Stockholm much!” Nina screams as Kai blocks her from running back over, and Miles slides in on her driver’s side.

  “Whatever, ménage à twat!” Gabrielle screams at her, and I have to try really fucking hard not to laugh.

  “At least I don’t change what I want overnight, like you!” Nina seethes.

  They all pull out of the parking lot, leaving Miles’s car here.

  Until she stops fighting, I don’t feel her body shaking.

  “Put me down,” she says, voice also shaking.

  “Okay, just chill,” I say as I set her on her feet.

  “Let go.”

  “You good?”

  She looks over her shoulder at me and bats my hands away. “I’m fine.” She steps away as she turns, hands visibly shaking as she reaches in her cross-body and pulls out her keys to lock her car. Her hands shake so badly that she drops them.

  I reach down and grab them, unlock her car, and tell her to get in.

  “I have to buy the alcohol.”

  “I’ll get it—”

  Shaking her head, she says, “You have a fake ID?”

  “Do you?”

  “I don’t need one. I have a rapport with the woman working on Fridays from three until seven.”

  “You think I need one?” I laugh. “You said I look like a twenty-something year old, and I’m good with older women.”

  She shakes her head.

  I open her door. “You’re shaking. Get in your ride and—”

  “I need specific labels.”

  “Great, I can get them.”

  “She gets a two-hundred-dollar tip,” she says, reaching in her purse and pulling out the wad of cash.

  “I can handle that, too.” I take the money and shove it in my pocket. Then I pull out my cell. “Give me your list.”

  As she rattles it off, I hit up Snap maps and see Truth is about ten minutes out from here. I shoot her a text to see if Tobias is with her, and she replies yes. I tell her to come get my ride, and she doesn’t ask any questions, just replies, okay.

  I get a text from Queenie, too. A list. Same shit she just told me.

  “Lock the door and stay put.”

  “I could have handled that,” she snaps, reminding me that she just shit on our little fake relationship in front of all those assholes.

  I hold back the tongue-lashing for now, because her hands are still trembling, and her eyes look all sorts of sketched out.

  “Now you don’t have to.” I shut her door, a bit more aggressively than need be, but shit happens.

  I stand at the counter, behind six bottles of vodka, five bottles of rum, five bottles of scotch, six bottles of bourbon, five bottles of tequila, five bottles of gin—thirty-two bottles total—looking at a petite Hispanic woman who stands five-foot-nothing, in her forties, or maybe thirty rough-ass years, with her arms crossed in front of her. I nod, and she makes no attempt to move toward the register.

  Cringing internally, I do what I have to do, and I swear I will take it to the grave.

  “Gabrielle isn’t feeling well. She’s in her car right outside.” Then I slap two hundred dollars on the counter.

  “You a cop?” she asks.

  “Hell no.” I smile.

  She doesn’t smile back, and then she looks out the window. “What’s wrong with her?”

  I shrug. “Maybe cramps.”

  “You her boyfriend?” she asks.

  I nod once.

  “You nice to her?”

  I nod again, lying.

  She looks at the bottles. “This will not make her happy.”

  I put another hundred on the counter. “Maybe not, but I can handle it.”

  She holds back a smile, but I see amusement in her eyes as she bends down and places two boxes on the counter. “Let’s hurry.”

  Take A Pill

  Gabrielle

  When Truth pulls up beside me, I roll down the window and ask, “Everything okay?”

  Tobias steps out of the drivers side and lifts his chin as he walks toward the liquor store where Justice is walking out with one box.

  “You good?” Truth asks again, sliding over into her driver’s seat.

  “Of course. Why?” I ask.

  “Justice messaged us to come get his Hummer. Just thought maybe—”

  I gasp. “He what?”

  She shrugs and doesn’t even try to hold back a smirk.

  Digging through my purse, looking for my keys, I realize that asshole has them. “This is bullshit. He’s such a—”

  “Trunk, Queenie, pop it!” Justice yells.

  “Do it yourself. You took my damn keys,” I snap.

  “Could you just stop being such a pain in the ass and pop the trunk?” he grumbles.

  “No, I won’t.”

  Truth laughs, which is annoying as hell.

  In the rearview mirror, I watch him bend down and set the box on the ground, pull my keys from his pocket, and open the trunk. I continue to watch as he and Tobias set the boxes in the trunk and then Tobias walks toward Justice’s Hummer.

  “Oh, no,” I call after Tobias. “You can ride with Truth; Justice is not riding with me.”

  He keeps walking.

  “Hey,” I call after him as I step out of my car to get in Truth’s and notice she’s already pulling away.

  Shaking his stupid head, Justice walks toward me then past me and slides in my driver’s seat, where he adjusts it as he grumbles, “Tiny ass car.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Get in and shut it down for thirty minutes. You’re giving me a damn headache.”

  “I’d rather walk,” I snap and see Tobias start the Hummer.

  “You will be in ten … nine … eight—”

  “Get out!”

  “Seven … six … five—”

  “Not happening, Justice. I drive!”

  “Four … three … two …” He shrugs and starts my car, shutting the door.

  “You slide over.”

  “Get your ass in here, Queenie. This isn’t an election; you won’t get a recount.”

  I cross my arms.

  “Fuck it.” He smiles menacingly. “One.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Never gonna happen,” he says as he puts my car in drive and hits the gas, peeling out of the parking spot.

  I flip him off, hoping he’s looking in the rearview mirror. When he doesn’t stop and pulls onto the road, my blood boils.

  “Oh, no, he didn’t.”

  I stand in near-shock, watching as he takes off down the road. When he passes the second entrance to the plaza and turns, my eyes burn as I reach in my blazer for my phone to call a Lyft and realize it’s in my damn car.

  Pissed when my eyes begin to tear up, I look around and try to figure
out what to do next. It feels just like being hit by an unsuspecting wave, dragged under, not knowing which way to swim and not being able to breathe.

  When I hear a horn, I look left and see my car pulling in from the opposite side of the parking lot.

  He went around the block. He went around the fucking block and is smiling. He thinks this is funny. It’s not fucking funny.

  He comes to a stop beside me, reaches across my car, and opens the passenger side door. “You need a ride, Queenie?”

  I say nothing to him, not one word, as I lean in and push the ‘gift’ he gave me at school on to the floor. A gift some sick part of me desperately wants to open, while the rational side of me chose not to, not when he’s spending time ‘not fucking Quinn.’

  “How the hell do you know that’s not breakable, Queenie?” He chuckles, thinking this is some damn joke.

  I slide in, shut the door, and buckle up.

  As soon as he parks, I hurry out of the car, into the house, and up the stairs to my room.

  “Queenie, get your ass back down here. I don’t know where this shit gets set up.”

  “Leave it and go away!”

  “No problem. Oh, and you’re welcome for saving your ass from your frenemies earlier,” he calls up the stairway.

  I slam my bedroom door shut, lock it, and start throwing off my clothes, in need of a shower after today, because everything around me has made me feel disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

  After my shower, I dress in leggings and a tee to set things up. It’s nearly four thirty, which means, in an hour and a half, the Bayside crew will be here to set up the card games and get staffing in place.

  When I sent out the text about the party, aptly name “HUSH,” I didn’t do it through The Sound app. I didn’t need it. I had every number I needed from when I was one of five with the password up until the hate campaign I launched that got totally out of hand. And I didn’t use the dummy account to collect payment, as it was CATD—cash at the door only.

  Two hundred texts went out to Seashore, and another fifty to Baysiders. Ninety-nine percent typically show, but I’m realistically thinking a hundred and fifty max.

  The stress from school, the whispers, the dirty looks, the way Nina, who has betrayed me and is now not only vying for “it girl” with Harrison, Miles, and Kai, but the way they came at me outside of school, and whatever it is Quinn and Justice have going on, I’m also freaking out about the fact that I may break even from the money I invested in tonight. I am exhausted and need my regular after school nap, knowing I won’t even get thirty minutes of sleep, if I’m lucky.

  Walking down the stairs quietly, I listen to make sure he’s not still here. I’m sure he’s not. He probably has to pick up Quinn.

  Peeking into the ‘lounge’ area, I’m happy to find it empty. However, it’s too empty. The close to four grand worth of alcohol isn’t there.

  I walk to the door and open it to go to my vehicle to grab it and see Justice pacing back and forth on the phone. He looks over and sees me as he says, “Catch up later. Gotta go.”

  Shoving his phone in his pocket, he looks me up and down. “What’s up with the clothes? No skimpy-ass dress tonight because your boy turned stalker won’t be here?”

  I look him over angrily. “You might want to put your schoolboy blazer back on. I hear your old lady likes ’em young.” I walk back in and slam the door.

  It opens back up so quickly it nearly hits me in the ass.

  He grabs my elbow and spins me around. “Last time I’m saying this shit, Queenie. Quinn is a friend.”

  “First time, too.” I jack my elbow back. “Never once heard you refer to her as a friend.”

  He walks past me to the lounge. “I keep my word. Quit questioning it. It’s getting on my last fucking nerve.”

  “You implying I don’t?” I stomp toward him.

  He doesn’t say anything as he walks behind the bar.

  “You don’t need to be here until later, so—”

  “I don’t owe you shit, so don’t think this has a fucking thing to do with you. You came with this responsibility. And becoming friends with Quinn”—he raises his eyebrow— “has opened my eyes to the fact that this isn’t just high school bully bullshit.”

  “Well, bless her heart. Justice has seen the light,” I snap.

  “You need to take a Xanax or something before this thing tonight happens to chill the fuck out?”

  “Fuck you, Justice.”

  He looks up from whatever he’s doing behind the bar—my bar. “Queenie, I get that your nerves are rocked because you had a shit day at school, and then the fact you were just accosted by those motherfuckers, but I’m not your fucking issue here, and I sure as hell am not going to be your whipping boy. You getting pissed about me handling what needed to be handled to get you and the alcohol back here isn’t cool. So, you either chill the fuck out or …” He shakes his head. “No or’s. Chill. Just fucking chill.”

  “Forgive me if I’m not grateful to you for stealing my car and abandoning me in the parking lot, without a phone to call a car or …” I stop before I say friends because, more so now than ever, I realize I have none of them, not real ones anyway.

  “Queenie,” he sighs. “Repeat after me. Thank you, Justice.”

  “I should thank you because you needed to ensure your new friend has a place to earn some money and alcohol to serve? Because I’m pretty damn sure, if you could get away with it, you’d hog-tie me, duct tape my mouth shut, and toss me in the ocean, if you all didn’t need my fucking house.” I place my hand on my heart. “So, Justice, truly, from the depths of my soul and the bottom of my heart”—I raise my middle finger— “fuck you.”

  I expect him to lose his shit. I’m pretty sure I want him to lose his shit. But all he does is nod then lifts his chin.

  “Go take a pill, a nap—something. Just go.”

  “What did you take?” I hear Tobias ask before I feel hands on my face.

  “Her eyes are opening.” The voice is shaky, but I know it’s Truth.

  My head is heavy as I start to lift it from the pillow and decide to take a moment more.

  “I’m fine.” I smile as I open my eyes.

  “What the hell did you take?” Tobias hisses.

  “A nap,” I say, forcing myself to sit up so he stops looking so damn worried.

  “Justice said to come get you and …” Truth shakes her head. “You sleep like the dead. I couldn’t wake you up, and I”—she lunges at me and hugs me— “I was scared.”

  “Sorry. Haven’t slept that much in a few days, and I guess—”

  “You didn’t take anything?” Tobias cuts me off.

  I shake my head and gasp, “No!”

  “Why do you sound shocked?” he snaps.

  “Because I am. Like I said, I’ve had a hard time sleeping and—”

  “Well, get ready. It’s after eight. Our guests are pretty much all here, and you’ve yet to present.”

  “Present?” I almost laugh.

  He rolls his eyes. “Gabrielle, you know damn well what I mean. Being invited to a party by you is like an invitation to tea with the Queen. You have about a hundred who’ve never been invited, so give them what they want—present for them.”

  As he walks toward the door, Truth calls behind him, “Be nice.”

  He looks back. “I hate these things.”

  “Me, too,” I grumble under my breath as I slide across my bed and put my feet on the floor.

  “Then why do you have them?”

  I shrug and tell her what everyone else assumes. “I like nice things, and Daddy’s allowance doesn’t quite cut it.”

  She smiles and slides off the bed. “I get that. The shirt you wore the first day when … well, you know.”

  Yep, I certainly do. One of the top five worst days of my life, I think.

  “I begged my dad for that same shirt, and he laughed at me.”

  I walk into my closet, looking through my rack of
shirts. Finding it, I carry it out and hand it to her. “It’s all yours.”

  She shakes her head and holds up her hands. “Not the point I was trying to make. My point is you look just as beautiful in that tee-shirt and leggings as you do any one of your two-thousand-dollar dresses.”

  I set it on my bed then walk back into my closet. “Yes, but as Tobias mentioned, one must present.”

  She scoffs, “Yeah, well, he and I will discuss that later.”

  I walk out with an Alexander McQueen, with the twenty-four-hundred-dollar price tag still on it, and toss it to Truth. “If I’m going to present, so are you.”

  “Oh, no, I’d get something spilled on it or—”

  “Secret?” I interrupt her.

  She nods.

  “It’ll still sell on my Poshmark account, simply because I’m selling it. And I’ll get close to how much I paid, sometimes more.”

  “How?” she asks, looking it over.

  “If I wear it in a picture, the old pervs will buy it for cost and beg for the shoes.”

  She laughs like I’m joking. I’m not.

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re being serious.”

  “I am.” I answer as I walk back into my closet to grab another dress, a Valentino, and walk back out.

  “You could wear this one if you don’t like that.”

  “Is that …?” She pauses as she looks at the tag. “Holy shit! That’s almost eight grand.”

  “Throw in whatever thong I pretended to wear, and it’s good for at least that.”

  “Seriously?” She barks out a shocked laugh.

  “Yep, and the shoes will bring in even more.”

  “That’s freaking insane.” She continues to laugh. “And creepy as hell. Do you ever worry that one of them will come and like—”

  “I have a great security system, and a P.O. Box a few towns over. It’s never gonna happen.”

  “Well, shit.” She laughs again and, for the first time in a few days, I laugh, too.

  As I zip her up, she looks in the mirror and shakes her head. “I know I think it’s crazy to spend that kind of money on clothes, but the black silk feels like fingertips against my skin, and the embroidery on this bodice feels nothing like lace. So freaking soft.”