Chapter 5 – Steel
I stare at her grin, not sure what to say. She's dangerous, this one. Not like the women who hang around the clubhouse looking for a wild night with a bad boy.
No, she's something else entirely – smart, capable, and damn if she isn't pushing all my buttons without even trying.
The burger's good, better than anything I remember from the old Hope Peak. Still not as good as Hellfire's, though. That old bastard guards his recipe like it's nuclear launch codes.
Not that any of us ask anymore. The MC doesn't dig into each other's pasts. What happened before the cut doesn't matter.
Hell, prospects don't even know Butcher still visits his mom every Sunday or that Wrath and Crow were running from their old man when they found us. The MC is family now. Everything else is just history.
"Earth to Steel?" Her voice pulls me back. "You went somewhere else for a minute there."
"Just thinking," I lie, pushing my empty plate aside. "Must be interesting, being the only woman in a garage full of guys."
She raises an eyebrow. "That's what you were thinking about?"
"Among other things." I flag down Jenny for more coffee, buying time.
"It's not bad," she says, stirring her shake. "August doesn't tolerate any bullshit, and the guys are like brothers now. Except Trenton – he tried asking me out once."
Something hot and ugly coils in my gut. "Yeah?"
She laughs, and the feeling eases slightly. "Relax, tough guy. I turned him down. Besides, that was two years ago. He's married now."
"Don’t really care," I grunt, but we both know it's bullshit.
"Sure." She leans forward, those amber eyes sparkling. "So, tell me more about your MC. What's it like?"
"Why?" The question comes out sharper than intended.
"Because I'm curious?" She shrugs. "Because you get this look in your eyes when you mention them like you're talking about family."
"I told you. That's exactly what they are." I wrap my hands around the fresh coffee mug, letting the heat ground me. "Been riding with some of them for fifteen years now."
"Must be nice," she says softly. "Having people you can count on like that."
"It is." I study her face, trying to read what's behind the question. "You got family besides your old man?"
"Mom remarried and moved to Arizona." She makes a face. "Stepdad's nice enough, but... it's not the same, you know?"
I nod, understanding completely. "Family's not always blood."
"Like your MC?"
"Like my MC," I agree. "Though sometimes I think Hellfire only keeps me around because I help him break up bar fights."
Her eyes light up. "Hellfire?"
"Our president." I can't help but smile, remembering the first time I met him. "Mean son of a bitch with a heart of gold, not that he'd ever admit it. Makes the best damn burgers you've ever tasted."
"Better than these?" She gestures at her empty plate.
"Way better. He won't tell anyone the recipe, though. Says it's a family thing, so only he and Angel, his daughter, know it."
"And the others?" She's genuinely interested, leaning forward like a kid at story time.
"There's Butcher – don't let the name fool you. He's the second oldest and sweetest of the bunch." I take a sip of coffee. "Wrath and Crow are younger brothers, but they joined up same time I did. Ruthless knew Hellfire from the military but came later, and Maverick was the last to join."
"Sounds like quite a crew."
"They are," I say, suddenly aware of how much I'm running my mouth. "Boys would be giving me shit if they heard me now."
"Oh, right." She puts on an exaggerated serious face. "Because bikers have to be all tough and mysterious. Can't let anyone know you're actual humans under all that leather."
I can't help but smirk. She thinks she's got us all figured out.
"We only hurt people who deserve it. That's the rule. No innocents." I lean back, watching her reaction. "Yeah, sometimes we deal with dangerous stuff, but we keep it away from our town. Don't shit where you eat, you know?"
"Such a gentleman," she teases. "So what's this about a bar?"
"Iron & Blood Clubhouse. All legit." I emphasize the last part. "Good business, good cover. Keeps the local cops happy, brings in steady money."
"Now that I'd pay to see." She leans forward, a strand of hair falling across her right eye. "You playing grumpy bartender, scaring all the customers away with that mean look of yours."
Jesus Christ. Every time she smirks like that, every time her hair falls just so, I want to grab her, pin her against the nearest wall, and... I take a long drink of coffee, trying to cool down.
"Bar work's for prospects," I manage to say. "Gotta earn your way up. Show loyalty to the club. Everyone starts at the bottom - cleaning toilets, breaking up fights, dealing with drunk assholes."
"Sounds fun," she says, stirring what's left of her shake. "So how long before someone becomes a full member?"
"Depends." I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with how easily she gets me talking. "Some make it in six months, others take years. Some never make it."
Her eyes light up with more questions, and I realize I'm saying too much. Rule number one: keep club business in the club. Hellfire would have my ass for running my mouth like this.
"What about you?" I ask quickly, changing the subject. "Got dreams besides fixing bikes in August's shop?"
She sits back, playing with her empty shake glass. "Want my own shop someday. Something small, specialized. Custom bikes, restoration work. The kind of place where people bring their dream projects, you know?"
"You'd be good at it."
"Yeah?" Those amber eyes find mine again. "How would you know? You've only seen me fix a few dents."
"Can tell." I shrug. "The way you handle tools, the way you talk about bikes. Got good instincts. Plus, not many mechanics would open early for a stranger with a banged-up bike."
A slight blush colors her cheeks. "Thanks. Most people just see a girl playing with bikes."
"Most people are idiots."
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. "Such wisdom from a scary biker."
"Where would you open it?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Here in Hope Peak?"
She nods. "Town needs it. August's is great, but..." She glances around like someone might overhear. "It's old school. Basic repairs, oil changes. Nothing fancy. People have to drive east for custom work."
"And you want fancy?"
"I want creative," she corrects me, leaning forward again. "Want to build something beautiful, you know? Not just fix what's broken. There's this guy two states east who builds these amazing choppers. I went to see his shop once - it's like an art gallery but with motorcycles."
The passion in her voice stirs something in me. Reminds me of when I first started riding, that feeling of endless possibility.
"Plus," she adds with another of those damnable smirks, "might need someone to fix your bike next time you're in town getting into trouble."
"Planning on me coming back, are you?"
"Maybe." She meets my eyes steadily.
Jenny appears with the check, looking between us nervously. I grab it before Clarissa can reach for it.
"I can pay for my own lunch," she protests.
"Consider it a tip for the rush job."
She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue. As we stand to leave, I notice several people quickly looking away. Word travels fast in small towns, and I'm betting by dinner, everyone will know August's mechanic had lunch with a scary biker.
Outside, the sun's high and hot. Clarissa stretches, her shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of skin above her jeans. I force myself to look away.
"Time to go back," she sighs. "Sure you don't want to tell me more about your mysterious biker life?"
"You’re very curious for someone who has to return to work."
"Think I got time for one more story." That damn smirk again. "Unless you're scared of telling me more?"
I step closer, using my height to loom over her. Most people back down when I do this. She just tilts her head back, still grinning.
"Careful what you ask for," I growl softly. "Might not like the answers."
"Try me," she challenges, not backing down an inch.
Damn it, she's either fearless or crazy. Maybe both. Standing this close, I can smell her shampoo mixed with motor oil. It's intoxicating.
"Some other time," I say, stepping back before I do something stupid. "Got a house to deal with."
"Right." Is that disappointment in her voice? "Well, you know where to find me if your bike needs more work."
"Or if I want to share more scary biker stories?"
"That too." She swings her leg over her bike, and I must look away again. "Be careful, Steel. Those Morrison brothers... they play dirty."
"So do I," I remind her.
She starts her bike, the engine purring to life. Her red hair flutters behind her like a flag. Trouble. That's what she is. Beautiful, tempting trouble.
And I'm falling for it hook, line, and sinker.