Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition

by Elizabeth Knox

  Stone launched himself at the arena. Seeing him, Maverick and Mason grabbed the two humans by their collars and hauled them to the door of the cage. Quake and Rock were there ahead of them, clearing the way for them to get the hell out.

  Stone had done a partial shift, adding six inches to his height, turning his brown eyes green, and making his hardened skin impervious to blows and blades. Following his example, the rest of the Dragons did a partial shift as well, forming an impenetrable wall around the humans as they hustled them out of the building.

  “Beast,” Quake rumbled. “Get the cage.”

  Long ago, they’d learned to travel together, a show of strength in numbers. The cage was a more comfortable transport if someone got his ass kicked in the ring. The ATF agents should be grateful. They were in no shape to be riding on the back of a bike.

  Quake surveyed the humans under their protection. The Death’s Head jackals had gone to town on them. One had a bruise the size of a fist darkening on his cheek. The other had been beaten severely. One eye was swollen shut. Shoulders hunched in pain, he cradled a broken arm.

  The sound of an engine roared to life. A moment later, Beast skidded to a stop in their blacked-out van. “Get in,” he hollered.

  Shouts came from behind them. Quake turned in time to see Maverick and Chaos take down a couple of Death’s Head jackals and race for the vehicle. Opening the passenger door, he helped bundle the humans inside.

  “Who the hell are you guys?” one of the men asked once he was seated.

  “Robin Hood but without the tights,” Mason grinned.

  Beast grunted. “He never wore tights, and he stole from the rich to give to the poor. I don’t think he kidnapped people.”

  “Batman,” Maverick muttered. “We’re Batman.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Stone growled, eyeballing them from his seat then turning his attention to the humans. “We’re the good guys. The ones who stopped you from being executed. Now keep quiet and sit still.”

  “We need to get back to our van. Can you take us?” the man with the broken arm asked. “It’s not far.”

  “The unmarked white panel van about a mile that way? It’s toast,” Chaos replied, pretending to make an explosion with his hand to give them a visual aid. “Gone. Blown up and burnt out.”

  “Fuck,” the guy breathed out. “What are you going to do with us?”

  Mason rubbed his jaw and looked at them thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t know. What do you think, Beast?”

  “They’re too scrawny to eat,” the other biker rumbled, watching his rearview mirror as he sped them away from the scene. “I’m not sure anyone would pay to fuck their lily-white asses.”

  Both humans paled, eyes widening in fright.

  “Cut it out,” Stone snapped, rolling his eyes. “If they piss their pants, you’re going to be cleaning it up.”

  “They’re just having fun with you,” Quake told them, ignoring Mason’s scowl. “We’ll drop you off at the hospital to get checked out. You’ll be on your own from there.”

  From the look they shared between them, he wasn’t certain they believed him. Settling into their seats, they remained silent for the rest of the trip.

  Knowing they couldn’t linger at the Emergency Room entrance, Beast pulled up out front but kept the engine running. Maverick and Quake bundled the humans out and guided them to the automatic doors.

  “Go on,” Quake motioned when they stopped at the threshold.

  “Thanks, man,” one of them croaked, the relief on his face clear.

  Hurrying back to the van, Maverick slapped Quake on the shoulder. “Our good deed for the day is done. Hopefully, our Prez will recognize our efforts and let us celebrate. We fucking deserve it. Hey, Stone! I vote we all go to The Pole Barn for some cold beer and hot tail. What do you say?”

  They needed to work off some of the lingering energy from their shift. A good fight would have helped, but so would a good fuck.

  Stone was dragging his stubborn ass, taking his time to respond.

  “It’ll be okay,” Rock assured him. “We’ll protect you from Amos. If he tries to cop a feel, that bear shifter’s gonna find himself declawed.”

  Everyone knew that Amos had the hots for their President. Stone wasn’t homophobic but he was most assuredly hetero. He’d never done anything to make Amos think he’d be interested in a little hide-the-sausage but that hadn’t stopped the bouncer from hoping Stone was a gay-for-you kind of guy.

  It was funny as shit, watching the two of them dance around each other. Because of it, Stone seldom visited The Pole Barn, sticking closer to home and patronizing their Dragons’ Den.

  Their President swept his gaze around the van, taking the measure of everyone’s interest. “Fine,” he growled, vastly outnumbered. “Beast, take us to The Pole Barn.”

  They made Amos’s night when he spied Stone in their group. Welcoming them all warmly, he kept his gaze latched on Stone’s crotch, his fingers itching to get in his jeans. Quake could commiserate. He was in Amos’s shoes when it came to Magenta.

  Or he was until last night when he’d finally gotten to touch her. Had finally gotten to taste her.

  He was already hard, just thinking about it.

  The hostess smiled broadly and showed them to a table in a quiet corner in the back. Typically, they let the humans have the tables up close and seated shifters farther away, knowing their keen senses would allow them to enjoy the show just as much.

  They ordered drinks and watched the dancers. The wolf shifters took turns on the stage, performing, resting, and returning for more. They’d been there close to ninety minutes when some of the Death’s Head MC came in with Phantom in the lead.

  They sat two tables over, close enough to easily eavesdrop on their conversation.

  Phantom leaned to whisper in his President Atilla’s ear. “I need me a piece,” he growled. “Ain’t had a prime cut since before prison. Save my seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Quake sat straighter, his senses on alert, his gut twisting to think Phantom might try to buy Magenta. The reinstated Death’s Head Sergeant-at-Arms wound his way through the crowd until he reached Madam Belle.

  Unpleasantries ensued.

  He did try to buy Magenta, the motherfucker. Belle told him no. He tried to buy Candy. Was told no again. Same thing with Cinnamon. Belle finally told him his money was no good here, but there was a cathouse down the road.

  “Bitch!” he spat. “Whore! Think you’re so goddamn better than us? You should be down on your knees worshipping my cock.”

  Madam Belle motioned with her hand and two mountain-men bouncers appeared. “This one’s leaving,” she told them. “His friends can stay if they mind themselves. First wrong word, first wrong move, and they’re out the door too.”

  Phantom slid his gaze to where Magenta was waiting in the wings, getting ready to go on. She paled when he made the sign of the jackal, marking her as his. “This isn’t over,” he promised Madam Belle.

  Sneering, he shrugged off the bouncers’ hands and stalked toward the entrance door. The rest of the jackals remained.

  So much for pack solidarity.

  Quake could fucking feel Magenta’s fear. The jackals were notorious for taking what they wanted, and Phantom wanted her. He wouldn’t stop until he got the burgundy-haired beauty.

  From Stone’s expression, he wasn’t happy with what he’d seen. “Damn jackals act like they own the country.”

  “They’re gonna make trouble for Belle,” Mason grumbled. “My dick doesn’t like the idea of all the girls getting frightened away.”

  “You mean, Candy,” Quake corrected him drily.

  “We’re hanging here this evening.” Rock scanned the room, his attention hovering on the other bikers. “We can watch for trouble.”

  Magenta did her set, swaying her hips to the music and pivoting around her pole. Quake kept getting distracted by the way she moved and those lips that just kept on calling to him. She made eye contac
t only once. One brief flash of awareness that crackled in the air between them before she looked away. By the time she finished dancing, his cock was as stiff as the pole she’d been using.

  Swaying her hips and jiggling her breasts, she worked the crowd with a smile, collecting cash and offering nothing more than a sultry look or a fleeting touch to the paying customers. Quake tracked her path before she vanished through the door to the back, headed either to her dressing room or one of the private rooms above them.

  Her room was number 9.

  “Candy’s up next,” Mason announced like a kid after a sugar-filled treat.

  Attention swinging to the Death’s Head jackals, Quake was in time to hear a text message alert and see their President check his phone. Raising his head, Atilla nodded at his men around the table. In unison, they leaped up from their chairs and attacked the nearest customers, fists flying and tables turning over as the bar fight ensued.

  The Dragons responded with a partial shift, hoping the humans here wouldn’t notice how they’d grown.

  “Get ‘em,” Stone roared, launching himself up and over the tabletop, sending their glasses smashing to the floor. Fanning out, they each took on a Death’s Head who seemed eager for battle.

  Quake found himself pitted against a skinny male with beady eyes. Dodging his punch, he countered with his own, his fist cracking ribs, making the jackal howl with pain. Not quick enough to miss the second blow, Quake took a hit to the jaw. With skin as hard as granite, he broke the guy’s hand.

  Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, Quake hauled him across the floor. “Get the fuck out!”

  Avoiding the bottles of beer being thrown through the air, he dragged him to the front door and tossed him out on his ass.

  A stream of swear words erupted from the fallen jackal but Quake was barely aware of them. His gaze was glued on the bike he recognized as Phantom’s.

  What the fuck was it still doing here? After getting kicked out, he should have been long gone. A sense of foreboding crawled up his spine when he remembered Atilla’s text message.

  Fuck.

  The bar fight had been a decoy.

  Phantom was still here.

  But where?

  Recalling Phantom’s unspoken threat, Quake followed his instincts and went back inside, threading his way through the brawlers and heading for the bordello stairs. The bouncer at the bottom shook his head, refusing to let him pass when his name wasn’t on the list.

  Quake hoped like hell he was wrong, but tuning into the upstairs, his supersensitive hearing confirmed that he wasn’t.

  “Get out,” Magenta’s voice warned, “or I’ll sic Madam Belle on you. Unless you want a pixie-sized dick, I suggest you do as I say.”

  “Bitch.” Phantom’s word was followed by the sound of flesh striking flesh and a feminine whimper of pain.

  With no patience for fools, Quake threw the bouncer aside, ripped open the door, and flew up the stairs. Breaking down the door to Room 9, he rushed inside.

  Phantom had Magenta pinned to the bed as she clawed at his chest. One hand fisted her hair. His other was raised to strike her again.

  Quake saw red. Anger pulsing through him, he launched himself at the jackal, grabbed his cut, and tossed him across the room.

  Phantom hit the wall with a thud. Magenta scrambled over the mattress, growling low in her throat, purple eyes flashing.

  “You son of a bitch!” she seethed, glaring at the fallen biker. “You ever touch me like that again, and I’ll kill you!”

  “I’ll be happy to kill him for you,” Quake assured her.

  Brushing a finger across his mouth, Phantom glanced at the red stain left from the cut on his lip. “First blood to you, Quake, but the next one will be mine.”

  Clenching his fists, Quake stepped between him and the bed, shielding the female from another attack. “Bring it, asshole.”

  “What’s going on up here?”

  Hearing a familiar voice, he darted a look at the door. Madam Belle stood on the threshold, her bow-shaped mouth dipping in an unhappy pout.

  “That piece of shit was waiting for me when I came upstairs,” Magenta informed her tersely. “Thought he could have a little fun even though he was told no.”

  “You’re a whore,” Phantom laughed. “You’ll fuck anything if it’s got a cock.”

  “Not yours,” Belle clipped. “She has better taste than you. None of my girls want you after what you did at The Scratch Post. You almost beat one of their cat shifters to death.”

  Quake growled low in his throat at the news. He’d visited the place several times. The feline females who worked there were playful and sensual. This bastard had raised his fists against one of them. He’d be lucky to get laid in any of the local places now. Things like this spread like wildfire. The owners of the bordellos wouldn’t put their employees at risk.

  Phantom’s gaze slid to meet Quake’s. The jackal’s eyes were cold and soulless when he turned them on Magenta. “This isn’t over,” he promised her.

  Madam Belle clicked her fingers. As if by magic, two hulking bouncers appeared behind her. Wordlessly, they stormed across the room and grabbed hold of Phantom.

  “You’re gonna regret this,” he spat at Belle, shaking off their hands to walk unaided. “No one treats a Death’s Head member this way. No one.”

  Quake heard the underlying promise, unspoken but there. Phantom would seek revenge for tonight. It was only a matter of time.

  4

  “Are you okay, hon?”

  Madam Belle brushed past Rory’s gargoyle savior and flitted to her bed. “Do you need me to get Doc up here to check you out?”

  Rory raised a hand to her cheek, letting her boss be her mirror. She wouldn’t be fit company until she could hide her bruises with makeup. She’d been smacked around before. Thankfully, Quake had stopped Phantom before he could do worse.

  “I’ll survive,” she told her, managing half a smile. “I don’t think it’s bad enough to need Doc, is it? My face is all he had time to mess up, thanks to Quake.”

  Madam Belle was relieved to hear it. “Take the rest of the night off,” she ordered. “Full pay. It’s cheaper than you filing Workman’s Comp on me. Not that you could, this being the part of the business that’s under the table. Quake, you’ve got an open tab tonight, you and your club. They threw out more jackals than my boys did. Magenta, go home. Relax. Try to put this out of your mind. Jackals are full of hot air. Pieces of shit shifters. If I could find a way to ban them from the club, I would.”

  “Thanks,” Rory told her, relieved that she wouldn’t have to fake normalcy with however many johns Belle had lined up for her. She was keeping it together but just barely. Phantom had marked her. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d taken his fill.

  She needed protection—more than the blade she carried. More than Amos or one of the other bear shifters could provide. They were strong but vulnerable if guns came out.

  Not like a gargoyle.

  Thinking fast, Rory formulated a plan that should keep her safe, if only for the night. “Let the girls know I’m headed out, please. I’ll catch up with everyone later.”

  Sliding off the bed, she made her way to the door and stumbled into Quake. “Sorry,” she lied. “I guess I’m more shaken up than I realized. My knees feel like rubber.”

  Quake had caught her by the elbow to keep her from falling. “Here,” he rumbled, steadying her. “Why don’t I see you downstairs? I can carry you if you need me to. It’s nothing for us. Really.”

  Yum. He had gargoyle strength to go with that stamina. If she played her cards right, she might just get a taste of it herself.

  “If you’re sure,” she hedged, hoping like hell she was fooling him with her damsel-in-distress act. If Madam Belle noticed, she was keeping quiet. It’s not like Magenta was trying to get out of work. She just wanted a safe escort home and some gargoyle cock if she could talk him into staying.

  Quake swept her up in his arms
like she was milkweed fluff and carried her downstairs, not stopping until he’d exited the front of the building and reached the far end of the parking lot. Across the way were the ranch house where she and four other girls lived with Madam Belle and a bunkhouse the rest of the girls shared.

  With her sensitive hearing, keen sense of smell, and sharper eyesight, she was picking up nothing. That didn’t mean the jackals weren’t lurking in the dark. Predators knew how to hide themselves.

  “I’m scared,” she told Quake, burying her nose in his neck and breathing deeply, inhaling his scent. It was nice. Clean. Manly. Earthy musk, a woodsy note, and a hint of his favorite medicinal herb. “Would you take me home? Make sure I get there okay and check out the big house with me? I’m sorry. Belle doesn’t seem to understand that Phantom’s not through with me. I wouldn’t put it past those jackals to break in and be waiting for us when the club closes.”

  Quake cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was a half-octave lower than normal. “Sure,” he rasped. “I’ll see you get home safe and sound.”

  He carried her across the property, not letting her feet touch the ground until he was on the front stoop of the house. Bending, he lowered her to let her stand and open the door. “Before we go in, do you hear anything?” she whispered.

  Quake went all quiet on her. Not that he was chatty before, but for a second, he seemed to become a gargoyle, a sentinel who’d spent centuries watching, listening, and protecting humankind from the forces of darkness.

  “Your heartbeat,” he quipped. “And . . . water . . . falling . . . and . . . bubbles . . .”

  “The pool and the hot tub out back,” she breathed, aware that her pulse was racing. He might hear, but she could smell, and the air was thick with his scent. “We use it to unwind.”

  Dipping his chin, he met her gaze.

  Rory stared back, mesmerized by his obsidian eyes. They were dark brown, almost as black as his hair.

  “Do you want to try it?” she asked.

  Raising one eyebrow, he tilted his head. “It?”