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

by Ivy Black

  Colin, my childhood love, was the man at the other end of my gun.

  I kept the barrel against his head as I sidestepped him slowly and paced to his front to view his face better. What wasn’t covered in facial hair was covered in various scrapes and scratches, along with a couple of places that looked like someone had held a lighter against his skin. I studied him closely, making sure I wasn’t projecting one of my lingering high-school dreams, but as I locked my eyes on his, it felt like being suddenly thrust backward in time.

  It was him.

  “Colin?”

  He tilted his head with a crooked smile. “A decade made you forget me? It’s CJ.”

  I furrowed my brow. I wasn’t misremembering the name of the first guy I’d ever fallen in love with. I had half a dozen notebooks still packed in storage at my parents’ house with his name scribbled all over them. The boy I was infatuated with was named Colin.

  “CJ?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Blue house four doors down. I accidentally broke your front window, trying to get your attention,” he responded.

  That was definitely Colin. I smiled as I remembered the silly, nine-year-old boy. A failed attempt to pull the romantic rocks-at-my-window cliché ended with a rather large stone in my living room and my dad loading up a shotgun because he thought someone was trying to break in. He was so terrified when my dad came storming out of the house that he bolted and jumped into a nearby trash can. I had to wait for my dad to calm down before I could go and coax him out. He was the cutest Oscar the Grouch I’d ever seen.

  First name Colin, last name Jones. I would never forget it.

  Colin’s presence halted my typical tendency to fly on the defensive. Was it just because I was so happy to see him again? Were those intoxicating green eyes working me over the same way they always had?

  I tried to understand the name change. Maybe he was abbreviating it for some reason? I’d known plenty of people who stopped letting people refer to them by a childhood name and picked a different name to live with for the rest of their days. CJ was different enough, I supposed, and it distanced him from his childhood, which I knew was rough.

  It would also explain why I could never find Colin Jones on social media when I searched. If he’d stopped going by the name on his birth certificate in lieu of something more concise, he’d probably be using that name on social media. I wanted to continue to poke at it for the full truth, but my inner eleven-year-old was berating me for not already having kissed him.

  I couldn’t justify continuing to press when he seemed like he was on the verge of death. Gorgeous though his face still was, he looked worse for wear. It wasn’t just the abrasions on his face, either. His clothes seemed ragged and looked like he’d been wearing them for multiple days in a row, and he was holding his left arm against his stomach, with blood-soaked bandages visible through the holes in his gloves. He was hurting—badly.

  “CJ, of course,” I said finally. “How could I ever forget?”

  Colin smirked, seemingly unbothered by the state he was in. “No idea.”

  “Ten plus years will do that to you,” I responded.

  Colin eyed my gun before slowly turning his gaze to Lockjaw. “Are you gonna pull away your weapons?”

  “Should I?” I let out a sharp whistle, and Lockjaw hopped out of his seat and bounded over to my side, his snarl worsening as he prepared to attack on my behalf. “Old friend or not, you were following me, and it’s been longer than thirty seconds.”

  Colin’s smirk pursed a little. It wasn’t fear, but something else. Intrigue? “I need your help. My house caught fire, and someone is trying to kill me.”

  It was almost humorous that Colin tried to pass off such an outrageous statement as a satisfactory excuse without further explanation. Colin had always been laconic, but that was too much, even for him—or too little.

  “That’s all I get? Your house caught fire, and someone’s trying to kill you?”

  Colin shrugged and glanced down at himself as if to say, “It’s obviously true.”

  “Why is someone trying to kill you?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied.

  I scoffed. “You don’t know? People don’t earn that much wrath without knowing who would do it and why, Col—CJ.”

  “I don’t. I woke up to my house on fire. I didn’t have a chance to ask whoever did it what their reasoning was. I got on my bike and ran.”

  “Did they chase you? How do you know that they don’t think you burned up in that house?” I asked.

  Colin swayed a little to the right and looked as if he was going to pass out. I clicked my teeth in irritation. There would be time for questions, but that time wasn’t right now. If I didn’t get Colin to a doctor, our reunion would be over as quickly as it began, and not because his mom packed him up and left. I pulled my gun back, and Lockjaw’s growling stopped. He stayed standing at attention next to me, though, until I reached down and patted his head.

  “Does that weapon have a name?” Colin asked.

  I chuckled. “Lockjaw.”

  Colin nodded. “That’s appropriate.”

  Lockjaw’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he leaned into my head scratches. “He’s a good boy. I stole him.”

  Colin raised an eyebrow. “You stole him?”

  “Yup.” I walked over to my bike and whistled, and Lockjaw ran and leaped up into my arms. I settled him back in his seat and fastened him in, complete with his own doggy helmet. “I’ll tell you that story when you fess up about why you’re being hunted.”

  Colin smiled. “Fair.”

  “Can you ride?” I asked.

  “I can always ride,” Colin said with a chuckle.

  “Good. Follow me. My place is not far.”

  Colin turned around and made his way back to his bike, and I noticed that he had a limp. Whatever had happened to him was definitely meant to kill him. It honestly didn’t make much sense to me. Colin wasn’t a bad guy and never had been. Despite that his mom was a raging drunk and drug user, and despite that she kept a rotating door for men, Colin spent his days with me and taking care of his sick brother. He and Colin were twins as far as I was told, but I’d never met Caid. He didn’t leave the house. Colin was just a simple kid who wanted to take care of the people he loved. It was one of the things I adored about him. How he got caught up with someone trying to kill him was a huge mystery. I couldn’t see him angering anyone that much.

  I cut the engine on my bike for a brief moment so that I could pull out my phone and call one of the doctors I had on call. I was the vice president of my dad’s motorcycle club, the Steel Knights. The club had been in my family for generations, and both my brother and I were officers and part of my dad’s inner court. If the thrill of the danger and excitement of the club wasn’t enough, I also had certain advantages, like paid-under-the-table doctors who would drop everything and come running the second I called to deal with any ailments or injuries any of the brotherhood had without asking any questions. There were a couple of doctors in the Steel Knights’ pocket, but Dr. Xavier Marteau was skilled in the kind of down-to-the-bone injuries that it seemed Colin may have obtained.

  “Good evening, Val,” he answered, using the shortened version of my club moniker, Valkyrie.

  It was a name I’d earned from my dad after taking his bike and riding into our rival gang’s territory to steal Lockjaw when he was still a puppy. My dad walked outside in the middle of the night to see me perched against his bike, holding Lockjaw. My story impressed him so much that he didn’t kill me for stealing his bike. He said that my story reminded him of a Norse Valkyrie riding into battle. That was the first time he considered me strong enough to one day prospect for the Steel Knights. It was one of the best days of my life. When I became a member, my dad presented me with a Steel Knights jacket with the name on the back. Most of the brotherhood shortened the name to Val when they weren’t using Bitch or Slut.

  Most of them didn’t like me very much.

>   “Hey, doc. Can you meet me at my place? I’ve got a bad case. Burns, possibly broken bones, and a shit ton of other stuff.”

  “Of course. Give me ten minutes.”

  “Cool, thank you. Oh, and doc?”

  “Yes?”

  Colin’s bike roared to life behind me, and I knew he was ready to get going. I held up my pointer finger to tell him to wait. “Discretion is key, so please come alone, and don’t tell Squared.”

  Squared was my dad’s official nickname because his legal name was Nicholas Nicholas.

  “You got it, Val. See you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  I slid my phone into my jacket pocket and zipped it up, then pulled on my helmet and started my bike back up. My tires screeched as I spun in place, and I whizzed past Colin and out onto the street. The low rumble of Colin’s bike let me know he was behind me, so I started to navigate the streets of Hoppa toward my house, which was more toward the edge of the small town. I never liked that my parents were right in the heart of everything. Hoppa wasn’t insanely small—it had about sixty thousand people—but it was small enough that everyone liked to be in everyone’s business. With my dad at the head of Hoppa’s famous Steel Knights, more people looked at us.

  I hated it. The second I was old enough to get my own place, I found a house as close to the edge of Hoppa as possible. I preferred the call of a coyote over the perilous whispers of nosy neighbors.

  My place was a small, shotgun-style home made of rustic red bricks and topped with a dark brown terracotta roof. I had the mountains in my backyard and the stunning, expansive Arizona desert as my front view. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was enough for Lockjaw and me. It didn’t occur to me until we were approaching it that Colin was the first non-familial guest I’d had in a while. Poetic justice or dumb luck? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.

  Field rats scattered as I turned my bike into the driveway, and Colin pulled in next to me. The twin calls of our engines went silent as we powered down, leaving only a chorus of crickets, coyotes, and the distant hoot of owls.

  I unfastened Lockjaw just as Colin was climbing off his bike, and Lockjaw quickly hopped off his seat and went to stand at the beginning of the L-shaped walkway that went up to my door. His pointed ears stood straight up, and he kept his golden eyes deadlocked on Colin as he moved.

  I crouched in front of Lockjaw and petted his face with a loving scratch. “Who’s Mommy’s good boy? It’s okay. He’s a friend.”

  I stood up and stepped past Lockjaw, snapping my fingers as I did so, and Lockjaw stood up, allowing Colin to approach the door more comfortably. We followed the path, and I unlocked it before standing aside so that Colin could pass by me to enter.

  Lockjaw stepped in, and I followed him, reaching to the left of the doorway to switch the light on as I went. I shut the door and tossed my keys down the kitchen island that divided my small, open kitchen from the living room and started down the hallway. Lockjaw plopped down into his living room dog bed and almost immediately fell asleep. It was well past his bedtime.

  “Follow me,” I called out, and I heard Colin’s footsteps behind me in response. A long hallway led from the front of my house to the back. I stopped at the first door on the right but pointed a little forward to the first door on the left. “Bathroom’s up there.” I tapped the door I stopped in front of. “This is the guest bedroom. The door at the end is my bedroom.”

  I turned the doorknob to the guest bedroom and led the way in. It was a modest room, housing only my old queen-sized bed from before I upgraded to my king, and a small, totally bare desk. I didn’t put too much effort into decorating the guest room. I rarely had guests, and the room usually served as a sleepover place for the odd friend too drunk to drive home.

  “I imagine the doctor will need to take a closer look,” I told Colin. “This will have to do.”

  I’d wandered further into the room than I planned, and when I turned around to flip on the light, I ran right into Colin. He winced in pain but still let out a light chuckle. With us standing so close, our size difference was more apparent. He had at least four inches on me, all of which I felt as his green eyes peered through the darkness to slowly paint my form. I abandoned going for the light and just allowed him to drink me in. It wasn’t as if I was some idealist, thinking my middle school boyfriend was just gonna waltz back into my life and that we were going to live happily ever after, but if he wanted to make a move to give us a few hot nights together before he blew out of town, I’d be more than happy to oblige.

  “Take your time,” I said snidely.

  Colin smirked. “You look good.”

  It was going to be hard to keep up my Tough Tess act when my gut reaction to Colin’s presence was to swoon like a schoolgirl. “I know,” I snipped back with a grin, and his smile got a little larger.

  He walked further into the room, and I finally cut on the light.

  “Ah, fuck.”

  I whipped back around to see that Colin was attempting to shake his jacket off but was struggling. “Want some help?”

  Colin sighed. “Please.”

  I walked over, tucked my hands under the shoulders of his jacket, and slowly rolled it down. His arm and back muscles were firm under my hands, and I was curious about what lay beneath his shirt, but the way he grunted while I worked let me know that his torso was pretty damaged, too.

  “So…” I started, finally getting his jacket off and tossing it onto the desk. “How’s Caid?” There was a quick flash of shock before it disappeared behind another twisted expression of pain when Colin tucked a finger into his mouth to remove his right glove. I grabbed his hand and pulled it down. “I’ll do this. You answer my question.”

  “He’s overseas.” Colin kept his eyes trained on our hands as I worked the glove off. “His illness got worse, but there’s an experimental surgery that could save his life.”

  “Wow. How long has he been gone?”

  Colin didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t read his hesitation, but he eventually continued. “About two months.”

  “You must miss him.” I freed the glove and set it on top of Colin’s jacket before turning to the left. This hand was wrapped in bandages that seemed to go even further up his arm, indicating it was in worse shape than the other. I was slower and more careful, but it didn’t stop Colin from clenching his jaw. “Sorry. Does it hurt?”

  “I’m okay.” His left hand balled into a fist, suggesting otherwise. “And yes, I do miss him. We haven’t talked since he left.”

  “Why?” Again, Colin’s answer didn’t come right out. It was almost like he was choosing what to say and what not to tell me. It was borderline insulting. I didn’t expect him to open up entirely after so many years apart, but I assumed that he came to me because he trusted me. “You know, before, you said it had been ten years since we last saw each other,” I changed the subject.

  “I rounded,” he replied instantly, and I looked up to meet his gaze, which was already fixated on me. “It’s been fourteen. Guess I’m trying to act like it hasn’t been so long.”

  “It’s easier for someone who hasn’t been around, I suppose,” I said. The glove reached a spot where my only choice was to yank it the rest of the way. “I’m sorry. This may hurt.”

  “It’s fine.”

  I snatched the glove quickly a la ripping the bandaid, and I felt the bandage pull with it, no doubt dragging some of Colin’s skin along. The dried blood had glued his hand and glove together, which was why pulling them apart was so painful. Why he even had a glove on, to begin with, was anyone’s guess.

  His hand instantly started to bleed. I wasn’t prepared and raced from the room for the linen closet. The rattle of Lockjaw’s chain collar let me know that he’d jumped up in response to my rush. He padded down the hallway, but I grabbed the first towel my hand found in the linen closet next to the bathroom, then jumped over Lockjaw to get back into the room. Colin was cradling his hand in his jacket to prevent the blood fro
m getting on the floor. I wrapped his hand in the towel and then set his jacket aside once again. If I tossed it in the washer before I went to bed, I could hopefully get the blood out.

  “Sorry. I should have warned you about that,” Colin said.

  “It’s fine. The doctor should be here any second.” I reached for the base of his shirt. “I’ll help with this, too.”

  Colin backed away from me. “I can do it.”

  I scoffed. “No, you can’t. You couldn’t even get your gloves off. Let me help.”

  “It’s fine, Tess.”

  “Will you stop being so damn stubborn?” I started to lift the shirt, and Colin jerked away from me so hard that he bumped into the desk and elicited a growl from Lockjaw, who was now standing in the doorway.

  “I said, I got it!” Colin barked.

  I held up my hands in defeat. “Fine.”

  The front door cracked, and Lockjaw raced out to investigate. He did not bark, and a few seconds later, Dr. Marteau rounded the corner into the room.

  “Hey, Val.” He looked at Colin. “Oh. Hello.” Colin didn’t respond. Dr. Marteau, an older gentleman with long brown hair and an outdated and greying soul patch, raised his eyebrows at me. “This is the case?”

  “Yeah. He’s an old friend. Can you help?” I asked.

  Dr. Marteau shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do.” He looked at Colin. “It’s probably best if you lose the shirt. Pants, too, so I can get a thorough look.”

  Colin looked at him first, then at me. “Can you step out?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  I wanted to argue, but things had already turned sour, and I didn’t want to make them worse. I gave Dr. Marteau a tap on the shoulder and then stepped out into the hallway again, closing the door behind me. I whistled, calling, “Lockjaw.” I waited a few seconds, but there was no response. I whistled again, that time throwing in a clap as well.

  “Here boy.” Again, nothing. “Lockjaw.”

  I walked down the hallway to make sure he hadn’t escaped through the front door, but what I saw in the living room was much worse. There, sitting on my couch, petting an obedient Lockjaw on his left and with my brother, Taylor, sitting on the arm of the couch to the right, was the man I’d expressly asked Dr. Marteau not to call. Nicholas “Squared” Nicholas—my dad.