Phantom: An Alpha Male MC Biker Romance (Steel Knights Motorcycle Club Romance Book 1)

by Ivy Black

  Phantom

  Steel Knights MC Series Book 1

  Written by Ivy Black

  Copyright © 2020. All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Ivy Black

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Bullet Preview Chapter One

  Bullet Preview Chapter Two

  Your Free Gifts

  Chapter One

  Phantom

  What had started out as the odd passing rumble had become a continuous roar with the setting sun, and the now raucous thundering awoke me from my sleep. I hadn’t meant to doze off, but after nearly a month of running, it was difficult to stay awake if I stopped anywhere for longer than a few minutes.

  I looked up at the setting sun and figured most of the day must have passed while I was out. It was stupid of me to fall asleep in such a vulnerable position, but it beat sitting there all day, just waiting.

  A few tiny critters scattered as I rolled over in the shrubs that shrouded me and dared to poke my face out through the leaves. The bar across the street had been abandoned when I first arrived, but now, with the day giving way to the night, the place was coming alive. Patrons arrived one after the other, slowly filling the parking lot of the establishment and turning it into a showroom of motorcycles and hot rods.

  Hoppa’s Taphouse. It’d been a long time since I last saw it.

  As a bike went roaring past with a familiar silver, dual-bladed sigil on the side, I recoiled into the bush as quickly and quietly as I could. My left bicep pulsated with pain as if the image had summoned it. The tattoo of a pit bull amidst a shattered chain was now hidden beneath poorly wrapped bandages. I should be thankful for the bandage, given that the tattoo would get me killed if anyone within a hundred-mile radius saw it, but it was difficult to be grateful that the flesh was burned nearly to the bone. I pushed the pain to the back of my mind in favor of getting my attention back on the bar. Patience had been the theme of my day ever since I pulled into Hoppa, and now that the Taphouse was open, all I had to do was wait to see the person I’d risked everything to find.

  The bushes rustled as I used my hands to create a small window to peer through. The bike that had sent me hiding was parked in one of the silver-painted parking spots lined along the Taphouse wall. Its rider was already gone, and I whispered, “Fuck,” as I realized that three additional bikes had already pulled in and parked beside it.

  One by one, the remaining silver spots filled up, none of them bringing my saving grace along. There went all hopes of seeing each club member as they arrived. I officially had no choice but to watch the door in the hopes that a familiar face came out. Prayers that it didn’t take all night whispered across my brain, but I didn’t get my hopes up even as they did.

  Time to get comfortable. I winced as I shifted, my left side starting to burn worse with each passing minute. My preference would have been not to move at all, but I’d pass out and miss her altogether if the pain got too much worse. Even though pulling out of my hiding spot while the sun was still in the sky was a bad idea, it was worth the risk. I braced myself on my arms and pushed backward out of the bush but opted to stay on my knees as opposed to standing up.

  I crawled over to where my motorcycle was riskily catching the glinting orange of the setting sun. When the shine slid across my vision, a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges flashed across my brain, partnered with the song of flames crackling all around me. My stomach started to burn, my left side, my left leg. It was as if the fire was crawling up my body once again. It licked over the edge of the bed, ate away at my blankets so that it could bite at my skin.

  With a shake of my head and a crack of my neck, I dragged myself back to reality. Being out in the open, this wasn’t the place to be trapped inside my own mind. I closed the distance between myself and my bike and got to my feet. The cover of the bush was all I had as I reached into the carrying compartment on my bike’s rear and snatched out the small bag within. I snapped the compartment closed and dropped back to the ground. The sudden revving of an approaching bike made me jump, and my head snapped over my shoulder. My heart pounded so hard that I thought it might leap out of my chest. The bike rushed down the street and turned into the Taphouse parking lot. It parked in the last of the silver-painted parking spots, and then the rider climbed off the bike, left his helmet behind, and walked into the bar.

  “Focus, Colin.” I brought my attention back to my bag and started to sift through it.

  Pushing past the old and bloodied bandages that I was hanging onto for safe disposal later, I dug to the bottom of the bag in search of the pill bottle I’d managed to save on my way out of my house. A few rolled wads of cash—what was left of the reason I was running—faked me out a few times. Much like the pills that I was in search of, my cash supply was running short. Lack of meds and money in my condition wasn’t good, and maybe that was why I convinced myself that coming back to Hoppa was a good idea when it clearly wasn’t.

  “Shit, where is it?” My fingers raked through the bag’s contents until they slid across the gloss of the only picture I’d managed to grab. I carefully pinched the unburned corner of the photo and pulled it free of the bag. The entire bottom-left corner of the photo was charred and curling, but the important part remained untouched by the char. I smiled down at the reflection of my own face, though feebler and weaker.

  Identical in the face but not in our circumstances.

  The person in the picture was lying in a hospital bed with numerous IVs stuck into him, making him look remarkably similar to a marionette doll. Despite this, he had a huge, bright smile on his face. He always was better at being happy than I was.

  “Hey, Caid,” I huffed out loud, touching the face. “How’s Germany?”

  Caid’s raspy voice snuck into my mind as I imagined him responding to me. He was
probably blown away by the different landscapes or lamenting that he couldn’t understand anyone around him. I hadn’t heard from him yet, which was terrifying, but I had to have faith that he was getting the help he needed.

  “Hey!”

  A sudden voice barking out made me jump so hard that I dropped everything in my hands. The pill bottle I’d been searching for fell out of the bag and went rolling across the grass, just out of arm’s reach. The wind started to push the photo of Caid away in the opposite direction, but I didn’t move. My chest cavity had to be cracking from how hard my heart was pounding. I threw a hand to my mouth and slowed my breathing. I watched powerlessly as the Arizona desert winds pushed my photo in one direction and drove my pain meds in another. I bit the inside of my cheek until metallic swill filled my mouth.

  “Squared!” another voice said.

  The voice that had called out, startling me, responded, “Come on in here, you ass. I’m gonna kick your ass all over this pool table.”

  I took a deep breath in and held it while turning my head at a snail’s pace over my shoulder. The fear that I may meet a set of eyes watching me made me sick to my stomach, but the Taphouse came into view, and whichever loud individuals had grabbed my attention were gone. As fast as a bolt of lightning, I crawled on my hands and knees over to the picture and snatched it up, then I crawled over to the bottle. The latter took me totally out of the bush’s shade, but I didn’t stop to see if someone was watching. I steadily moved until I collapsed back on the ground at the tires of my bike. I untwisted the lid of the bottle, dumped the remaining three pain relievers into my hand, shoved the empty bottle and picture back into my bag, returned my bag to the holding compartment of my bike, and then crawled back over to the nook I’d been bunkered in a few feet away from my bike.

  With a sigh, I tossed the pills back and then fell down to my back. Sweat that wasn’t from the heat dripped down my forehead, and my vision blurred and threatened to give out. I wanted to give up. I even considered just crawling out to the road and lying flat until something turned me into roadkill. I’d made it so far, though, and I’d been through so much. Just one more push was all it would take, and hopefully, I’d be home free.

  Rolling to my stomach, I balanced myself, perched my face in the small window I’d made, and kept my eyes on the bar, patiently waiting for the one I needed to see. People flowed in and out, some hanging in, some hanging out, all with different drinks in their hands. I was grateful for the reprieve from my pain that the few pills I’d just popped would bring me, but I was jealous of the patrons’ drunkenness. It’d been over a month since I’d tasted booze or experienced the forgetful naivety it could bring. I’d do nearly anything for release from the prison of fear in my own mind now, but I couldn’t afford the risk.

  Minutes bled into hours that felt like days as the sun descended further toward the horizon before it was hidden beneath it. Stars dotted the sky, and for as hot as the desert could get during the day, it could get just as markedly cold at night. I clung my leather jacket closer to my body in an attempt to negate the chill settling in my bones. I could imagine my old favorite jacket hanging in my coat closet back home, at least until it went up in flames. That jacket could keep me warmer than a seal’s coat of blubber, but it also had the Unchained Dogs’ emblem stitched on it. The warmth wouldn’t have been worth the risk, but God, did I miss it as I shivered.

  The moon was high in the sky when I started to calculate my next move. A few silver parking spots had emptied, but I still hadn’t seen the person I came looking for. The cold was nearly unbearable now, and if I continued to lay in the grass with no warmth, water, or food, the burns covering the left side of my body wouldn’t be the only reason I might die.

  I knew Hoppa much better than I knew the other handful of cities that I’d stopped in on my run, and there were a couple of motels not far from the Taphouse. Spending the last bit of the money I had on a place to sleep wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the alternative. All I had to do now was get to my bike, get on it, and get it started without raising any eyebrows.

  Moving for the first time in hours sent my body screaming in pain, but I forced myself through it. A few feet felt like twelve yards as I crawled to my bike and used the handles to pull myself to my feet, but I felt better when I was finally mounting my bike again. I fished the keys out of my pocket and slid them into the ignition. Just as I was about to turn the key, I heard voices and froze in place.

  “Come on, Val! Stay for one more round. I got you this next hand. I promise you that!”

  A woman with auburn hair emerged through the bar’s swinging front doors. “If I take any more of your money, Marianne is gonna have your neck and mine. Give it up.”

  A melody of groans and laughs rang out, but the woman just waved her hand and stepped out into the moonlight, a hulking pit bull at her side. Her curves swayed back and forth as she sauntered into the parking lot, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Beautiful,” I whispered into the night.

  She was recognizable as the person I once knew, but she was so much more beautiful than I thought possible. Her arms now held colorful tattoos that, if I got lucky, I’d get to inspect closer when I got the chance. Though still the same, gorgeous color, her hair now fell past her shoulders and down her back—much longer than she ever kept it as a kid. The teenager inside me was both delighted to be back in her presence and lamenting the time we’d lost. If the circumstances were any different, I’d charge in and make sure I didn’t let life snatch her away from me again.

  Unfortunately, I probably wasn’t going to get that lucky.

  She approached a sleek, modern Ducati. It was bright red, exactly her style. I grinned and watched as she loaded her vicious-looking pet into a rear carrier that had been affixed to the back, and then she mounted the bike and started it with a magnificent growl. I started my own bike in synchronization with hers to mask the sound and waited as she started to move. Just like the girl I once knew, she was fluid and smooth as she whipped it out of her parking spot and onto the road. She’d be a nice way to say goodbye to Arizona and America forever.

  When there was a safe distance between us, I started up my own bike again, a more old school Harley-Davison. It was an old bike of Luther’s that he’d let me dig out of a dumpster full of old meat and probably the rotting parts of his victims as an initiation. It didn’t even work when I got it, but I worked on it painstakingly until it was in the pristine condition it was currently in. When I wasn’t taking care of Caid, I was working on my bike. I wouldn’t say that this little joke alone was the reason I was willing to steal from Luther, but it sure made it a hell of a lot easier.

  I kept the distance of a few car lengths or more between us until we were clear of the bar, then I closed the distance bit by bit. At first, her driving was calm and smooth as she abided the speed limit, weaving at a leisurely pace between the cars on the road. I kept up without issue until she started speeding up, slowing down, and changing lanes suddenly. Following her actions, I tried to keep her in my line of sight without making it too obvious that I was following her. If she moved lanes, I would stay in mine for a few feet and then switch. If she sped up, I’d allow her to do so for a few minutes, and then I’d follow suit.

  Trying to stay covert was costing me, though, and I was beginning to fear that I was going to lose her when she rode past a row of houses and then turned down an alley. My options ran a mile a minute through my brain. I could pass the alley, wait for her to come out, and try again, or I could roll the dice and follow her in.

  She wouldn’t sic her pit bull on someone on sight, right?

  Shadows closed around me as I turned down the alleyway, and I immediately became confused at the sight of the red Ducati sitting at the end of the alleyway, still with the dog in it, still alive and rumbling.

  I pulled my bike to a stop and cut it off. My experience had me reaching into my waistband for my gun, but then I stopped. I came seeking help, and I
needed the person I sought to know that I didn’t pose a threat. Relying on the hope that she didn’t know where I’d been for the past fourteen years was already a calculated risk. I didn’t need to make the situation any worse by pulling a gun.

  With my hands in the air, I stepped carefully down the alley. The pit bull started to bark and growl as I approached, but I didn’t flinch. A few dumpsters shielded the end of the alley, so I crept past them slowly and looked to see if she was hiding.

  But there was no one.

  I started to fear that maybe something bad had happened to her when the cold, heavy feeling of steel against the back of my skull snapped me into place.

  A sweet but menacing voice huffed from just behind me, “You have thirty seconds to tell me why you’re following me, or I’m gonna leave you in a puddle of your own blood.”

  I smirked. She’d always been a badass. “Tess,” I said before turning my head slowly to give her a better look at my face. “It’s been a long time. You look good.”

  Chapter Two

  Tess

  Lockjaw, my beefy, all-white pit bull, had gotten used to sensing danger whenever my gun clicked. The second I set the barrel to the back of the head of the man following me, Lockjaw let out a low, menacing growl. Unbeknownst to my pursuer, I’d unlatched Lockjaw’s harness when I climbed off my bike, just in case. All it would take was one word, and he’d be out of his seat and latched onto whichever body part he could get to first.

  Unfortunately for me, the typically simple task of speaking was eluding me for the time being. The confidence I’d just had when I slunk behind the alley’s dumpsters to get the jump on my stalker abated in an instant. His dirty-blond hair was a bit longer, even a bit unkempt, and the clean, baby face I had etched in my brain was hidden behind a growing scruff of a goatee, but there was no denying the voice or those emerald eyes.