“Why aren’t we just having the meeting here?” she asked, nervous to get on the bike with Steele. It was too intimate. They had been one on his bike, man, woman and machine flying down the open road.
“Steele said you were uncomfortable in the clubhouse and he asked if we’d all go to Czar and Blythe’s home to make you feel more relaxed.”
That was so Steele. He had always paid attention to the little things. He didn’t think he gave her much back in the relationship, but he noticed if she didn’t like something. She didn’t have to tell him. If she did mention something—which was rare—he knew she really didn’t like it and from that moment, she’d never been put in a position to either have to do it or be around it. That was Steele.
She’d learned to be careful before pointing out something in a window she thought was pretty. The next thing she knew, it was hers. Steele was always strange in that he seemed offhand with her in front of others, although very protective. When they were alone, he’d been very different. Now she knew why. She had to continually remind herself of how he’d thrown her out, like a piece of garbage, treating her the way the Swords members treated the club girls—and their old ladies—like trash.
She took a deep breath, feeling the pressure of Maestro’s hand slipping from her shoulder to the small of her back, all but pushing her toward Steele and his bike. As they approached, Steele turned his head toward them and her breath caught in her throat.
He looked the epitome of a dark knight. The outlaw. The man who could ride straight through hell and probably had. Everything feminine in her rose up like a tidal wave. She turned her face away, not meeting those dark, midnight eyes. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t dare, not after what he’d said to her the night before.
She’d thought far too long about his parting shot—she needed to save him. She couldn’t. If it hadn’t been for Zane, knowing she was pregnant with Steele’s child, she might not have made it. She might have humiliated herself and run back to the life she’d known and detested because she’d been so scared. Her victories were small, but they were hard won. She was a mother and she had to put her son before anyone else—Steele included. Certainly before her own ridiculous fantasies. Already, those fantasies had come back full force. She wanted Steele to find a way to make it all right. To find a way for her to take him back. She wanted to be in his arms and have him moving in her body. She wanted him to love her.
“I would much prefer to ride in a car or truck. I can drive, Maestro, if you would return my keys, please.” She’d managed calm when deep inside she was a mass of nerves. She couldn’t get on that bike behind Steele just as she’d done every day for over a year, her arms around him, her body pressed tightly against his while his bike roared under them.
“Babe, are you kidding me?” Maestro said, one dark eyebrow shooting up. “You can’t think that truck is safe.”
“I’ve been driving it for over a year.”
“It’s a mess. Mechanic has it in the shop torn apart.”
That was so like a club. The men didn’t consult, they just did whatever they wanted. She glared at him. “I bought that pickup myself. It belongs to me. No one has the right to touch it without my permission.”
“You have to talk to your old man about that,” Maestro said with a small shrug.
Steele frowned, was off his bike and stalking toward them. “What’s the holdup? Get a move on, woman. We’re going to be late.”
When Steele moved toward her, Keys shadowed him. He looked like a menacing jungle cat, muscles rippling beneath a tight tee, his cut declaring him Torpedo Ink. He didn’t have a sergeant at arms on his vest. He had nothing to declare he was an enforcer, but like Maestro, he clearly guarded the vice president of Torpedo Ink. That made her wonder about Steele and what he did for his club to have two men on him at all times the way Savage and Reaper were clearly on Czar, the president.
Breezy lifted her chin at Steele in pure defiance. “If someone is going in an actual vehicle, versus a motorcycle, I’ll ride with them. I don’t ride on bikes anymore. Ever.”
There was a stunned silence at her announcement. The other members, already on their Harleys, turned toward her, shock showing on their faces.
Steele burst out laughing. “Very funny, sweetheart. That’s good.” He held out his hand. “Come on. You love the bike.”
She did. She had. She’d loved riding with him. She saw the exact moment he realized she wasn’t joking, that she meant it. She also saw the brief flash of understanding in his eyes. He knew why she didn’t want to get on his bike with him. Steele had always been quick. Intelligent. He could figure things out faster than anyone she knew. He put pieces of a puzzle together with only fragments of information, and he was always right.
Her heart clenched hard in her chest. She knew immediately there was no getting around this. She would have to get on his bike with him. If she made a stand, she would lose, and she’d lose in front of most of his club.
Steele moved in toward her, taking up her personal space. His arm slid around her waist and he pulled her into him. She’d forgotten how strong he was. He was careful of her though, cognizant of her injuries in the way only Steele could be.
He bent his head to hers, his breath warm against her ear, moving tendrils of hair as he breathed against her skin. He smelled of leather and man. So Steele. “Bree, get on the bike. We’re going to figure out how to get our son back. I made certain you didn’t have to sit in the clubhouse to do it.”
He was already walking her over to his Harley. He reached into a compartment and pulled out a jacket. She stepped back, her breath coming in a ragged protest that hurt her lungs. He shook it out. It didn’t say Swords. It didn’t say Property of. It simply was a denim jacket. Still, it was his. Steele’s. The moment she put it on she’d do nothing but breathe him in.
He stood there unmoving, holding out the jacket to her. Breezy lowered her lashes and took it, telling herself she was doing this to get her son back. She just had to get them all moving to find him. Once they did, she knew Steele. Once he’d made up his mind to go after Zane, nothing would stop him until he had his son. Then she’d have to figure out how to get Zane away from him and disappear again.
Swallowing her protest, blood thundering in her ears, she stepped close as Steele slipped the sleeve over her left arm, wrapped her up and then she found herself sliding her right arm into the other sleeve. That put her squarely in front of him. His hands dropped to the metal buttons.
Breezy wanted to protest, but no sound would escape. She should have remembered the way he did this. He always held her coat or sweater for her, and when she was in it, he was the one who buttoned it. Before, what seemed a million years ago, his actions had thrilled her. Now she could barely breathe.
He couldn’t touch her like this. He couldn’t bring back those memories. She knew she was weak when it came to Steele. He was in every dream. Every waking thought. Zane had his eyes and his smile. He was already showing bits of his personality. Steele said he needed her. Breezy knew herself very well, and she needed to be needed. It was that simple. She wanted to make a difference in someone’s life. She thought she had to Steele.
“Don’t, baby,” Steele whispered, cupping her chin in his palm. He brought her head up, so she was forced to look into his eyes. “Don’t think about anything but the two of us getting our son back. That’s our first priority. We can do that. We’re a good team. We always were, and I know you remember that. Let’s get him back and sort out the rest later.”
She could drown in his eyes. That deep, deep, dark blue. So blue one could get lost there. She nodded mutely because Zane was the only thing that mattered. She’d die if she had to in order to get him to safety. She’d do anything to get him back.
Steele bent slightly to brush a kiss over the top of her head. She had thick hair. Very thick. It didn’t matter. She felt that kiss, that soft touc
h, all the way down to her toes. She told herself she had no business feeling anything but stark terror. For the first time in three years, since the last time she’d been in Steele’s presence, she remembered what it was like to feel feminine. Like a woman. It was the last thing she wanted or needed.
He caught her hand, led her to his bike and swung his leg over in the casual way he had, the one that she’d always thought was so cool. “Use the helmet, Bree.”
It was her helmet. He’d bought it for her. She hesitated, wondering how many other women had used it. She hated feeling jealous, even just a momentary flash. She didn’t want to be that woman. She should be a decent ex; after all, they shared a son.
“Haven’t had another woman on my bike, sweetheart. It’s never going to happen. That’s your place. Put the helmet on and let’s go. The sooner we hash out how to find him, the faster we get him back.”
His voice caught at her. She wished she could see his face as she pulled the helmet over her head and tucked in her hair. He caught her hand, put it on his shoulder and waited. She slid in behind him, closing her eyes when her bottom settled on the seat. It felt natural. Right. Like she belonged.
Steele’s body was warm. Too warm. They were surrounded by cool air—fog coming off the ocean—but it didn’t matter. The moment she settled behind him, heat was there, warming her as nothing else could. She didn’t know where to put her hands. She’d always wrapped her arms around him and gotten as close as possible. Now, she was afraid to do that. Afraid it would be too much, and she’d never recover.
Steele reached for her hands and brought them around him. “Hold on, babe. Tight. I’ve lost my son, I’m not chancing losing you. We’re going to get him back.”
That was firm. She laid her cheek against his back, allowing her body to settle against his. That was a mistake. Her body knew his. It knew his bike. The moment he started down the road, the others riding around them, the sound of the pipes, the wind tearing at her body, his heat, the feel of his finger stroking the back of her hand, was all too much. Her body melted into his of its own accord.
Breezy had forgotten what it was like riding in the wind. Riding in a pack. Feeling freedom. She had ridden with Steele when he was pretending to be a member of the Swords, but each time they’d gone out, these very men had surrounded him. They’d been wearing Swords colors, but they had been there to protect Steele. She knew that now. Even then.
She made herself look at the world, the ocean going by, whitecaps high, waves splashing against cliffs. Trees and sometimes homes. The fog touched them, a dense mist that rose like a darker cloud from the great expanse of water much farther out and traveled like a reaching hand with fingers outstretched. A little shiver went through her and she pressed closer to Steele. Immediately his hand dropped down to cover hers.
Everything she did communicated her emotions to him. It had always seemed to matter to him just how she was feeling, and that had been one of the reasons she’d thought she meant so much to him. She’d noticed that he was very observant. He caught details, even small ones, others seemed to miss. The thing was, she had to keep reminding herself, it wasn’t just her he was like that with. She wasn’t anyone special. Her son was. He wanted her son. She had to keep her guard up and tell herself a million times a day, if necessary, that she wasn’t anyone special to him and she couldn’t save him at the expense of herself. She had Zane. He was the most important person in her life.
She’d forgotten how much she loved to be flying down a road, a highway, anywhere, on the back of Steele’s bike. He seemed to own the road. He drove with complete confidence, inspiring immediate trust in him. Her body moved with his, as though it was born to be there. Each movement was perfect together, as if the three of them shared the same skin and were one entity, not three separate ones. Man. Woman. The Harley.
She pressed herself deeper against Steele, biting back a little sob. Her emotions were all over the place. She couldn’t allow herself to think too much about Zane. If she did, she’d lose all control. She was terrified that her father would beat him the way he had her. She could only hope that whatever woman he’d forced to care for her baby would do her best to protect him.
Breezy tried to shut it off, that flow of terror that left her unable to breathe properly or think. She wanted to scream. Just open her mouth and scream out her hatred of the Swords, of the clubs, of the men and women who allowed such ugliness to be perpetuated against children.
Before she realized it, they were off the main highway and going through ornate gates to what appeared to be a very well-manicured farm. Through a flood of tears she desperately tried to control, she caught glimpses of a house in the distance off to her left, but they continued on the winding road in the direction Steele had set.
Eventually he slowed the bike, and she found herself looking at a very large two-story house with a wraparound porch and a large parking area. There were six bicycles parked neatly under a roof that enclosed the space between a garage and the house.
Her heart clenched hard. There were children here. There were children’s bikes among the adult bicycles. One of the roll-up doors on the garage was open and she could see three small dirt bikes parked inside, along with a sporty little car and a larger RAV4.
Steele shut down the bike and she took a deep breath, struggling to get herself under control. It was one thing to sob like a child going down the highway in the fog, it was another to face him and his brethren doing it.
She put her hand on his shoulder and forced her legs to hold her up after the experience of riding. Turning away from him, she removed the helmet.
“Bree. Look at me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t lose it in front of everyone. Give me that, Steele. I need you to give that to me.” Her voice trembled because she was trembling. Her baby. She wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling sick. He was alone. Scared out of his mind. Did he think she’d abandoned him? “He’s so little. He’s never known anyone but me. I’ve never even raised my voice around him. Not once. He has to be so scared. He saw them hit me. He saw them, Steele. What if they—”
He dragged her into his arms and pressed her face tightly against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, so steady, so strong. She couldn’t help herself, just for that moment she needed his strength or she wasn’t going to get through what had to be done. Most of the time, she’d learned to push the terror to the back of her mind, so she could function, but at times like this, it pushed through the gates and took her over. She wrapped her arms around his waist and sobbed.
She hated that the others were silent witnesses of her breakdown. Steele kept her wrapped up tight in his arms but walked her away from the house, down a little path that meandered through an overgrown garden. Through blurry vision, she could see the neat little pavers that made up the trail through vines climbing up and over archways and a mixture of grasses warring for room in a variety of colors of green, blue and even pink.
“I’m sorry.” She hiccuped. Tried to pull herself together. His arms were strong. His body warm. It was impossible not to cling even when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t—not ever again.
He stopped in the middle of a round circle, surrounded by neatly carved wooden benches and covered with a small roof so one could sit, even in the rain. Roses of several varieties were planted around the little sitting area. Climbing roses, tree roses and bush roses, all different colors, some exotic. The place was ringed and shielded by very large grasses, tall ones, that made the area extremely private.
“Bree, you have every right to fall apart. I feel like falling apart.”
“But you don’t. You hold it together.” She detested that she couldn’t stop weeping and he was so stoic.
“Only because I’ve had a lot more practice shutting off emotion when I need to. You’re supposed to be emotional. You give that love to him openly. You make him fee
l it. I know you, sweetheart. You always were good at that. Every child in the Swords club felt it from you, and they needed it. I know Zane felt it every minute of his existence. He’ll feel it again because, baby, I swear to you, nothing will stop me from getting him back for us.”
She believed him. She had to believe him or she was going to lose her mind. She let herself cry it out because no matter how hard she tried to stop, she couldn’t close the door on terror. She had to take back control one minute at a time until she managed to find a way to breathe again.
Very slowly she became aware she was clutching his jacket in her fists. His colors. She had the leather bunched tightly. Immediately she let go and tried to step back. “I’m such a mess, Steele, but I can do this. I just get so scared sometimes, afraid for him. Bridges isn’t a good man. Unfortunately, Junk follows in his footsteps. My hope is, Bridges hates being around children so much he’ll have someone else watching Zane.”
She stepped back, and he let her, his arms falling to his sides. She turned away before he could see her red, swollen face. She wasn’t a pretty crier. She’d read about women who wept in front of men and just looked all the more beautiful. That wasn’t her. She pushed at her hair, hoping she didn’t have helmet hair. It shouldn’t matter how she looked, not when her son was missing, but this was Steele. Her Steele. He’d crawled out from under three women, and she could describe each of them. They didn’t look anything like her with her red face, swollen eyes, messy hair and stretch marks.
“I’m counting on you. I know you’re tenacious. I know once you make up your mind, you won’t stop. I’ll help. I won’t keep falling apart.” It had happened every hour the first day. Then she’d managed to let it happen only at night. She hadn’t thought she’d have a complete breakdown in front of him.
“Stop apologizing, Bree. I would think it was strange if you didn’t have a meltdown once in a while. Just take some deep breaths and we’ll go join the others and come up with a plan to get our son back. You’ll love Blythe, Czar’s old lady. She’s an amazing woman.”
Vengeance Road Page 10
