Chapter 3 - Steel
Pulling into the clubhouse compound with Holly's arms wrapped around me is both heaven and hell.
Heaven because the soft press of her breasts against my back and her thighs gripping my hips feels better than anything has in years.
Hell because my cock is so hard it's painful, straining against my jeans in a way that's going to be impossible to hide when I get off this bike.
The gate slides closed behind our convoy, sealing us inside the protective walls of Savage Riders territory. I cut the engine but don't move immediately, taking a moment to regain control of myself.
"We're here," I say over my shoulder, my voice rougher than I intended.
Holly's arms loosen reluctantly around my waist. I feel her shift behind me, the movement sending another jolt of awareness straight to my groin.
Fuck. What is it about this woman? I've been around plenty of attractive women in the club, but none have affected me like this, like a teenage boy getting his first handful of tits.
I swing my leg over the bike, turning to help her off, slowly to keep my lower body angled away. Her cheeks are flushed from the ride, eyes bright with adrenaline, hair windblown in a way that makes me want to bury my hands in it. When my hands touch her waist, I feel her breath catch.
"First time on a motorcycle?" I ask, trying for normal conversation while my body screams for contact.
She nods. "It was... intense."
Intense doesn't begin to cover it. Having her pressed against me for the fifteen-minute ride, feeling every curve of her body, remembering how she felt on that fire escape, it was fucking torture of the best kind.
King dismounts from his own bike, casting a knowing glance my way before turning to address the others. "Beast, get our guest settled in room three. Tank, check the perimeter, make sure we weren't followed. Rage, talk to Luna and let her know we need food for two more."
Beast practically drags a still-protesting James toward the clubhouse, while Tank and Rage head off to their respective tasks. That leaves King, me, and Holly standing in the garage area.
"Holly, right?" King says, his voice gentler than it was at the store. "I'm King, president of the Savage Riders MC."
"I know," she replies.
King nods, accepting this without offense. "Your situation has changed. You're under club protection now."
Holly straightens her shoulders, looking remarkably composed for someone who was shot at less than an hour ago. "Because the Iron Eagles think I'm connected to Steel."
"Yes." King looks between us. "Are you?"
Before I can respond, Holly answers, "He saved my life tonight. I'd say that's a connection."
King's mouth twitches in what might almost be a smile. "Fair enough. Steel will show you where you'll be staying. We'll talk more in the morning when things have settled."
He claps me on the shoulder as he passes, leaning in to murmur, "Be careful, brother. She's not a club girl."
Translation: Don't fuck her unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences.
As King walks away, I'm left alone with Holly. There's plaster dust in her hair from the bullets hitting her apartment walls, her waitress uniform is torn at the shoulder, and dark circles have formed under her eyes.
"Come on," I say, gentler than before. "Let's get you inside."
She follows me through the back entrance that leads past the club's auto shop front and into the main building.
The clubhouse is divided into sections. The public areas where we hold parties and conduct business, and the private quarters where members stay.
There's also a separate wing with guest rooms, used for visitors or, in cases like this, people under club protection.
"This place is... not what I expected," Holly remarks as we walk through the main room with its leather couches and well-stocked bar.
"What were you expecting? A cave with motorcycles parked inside?"
She laughs, the sound unexpected and bright in the tension of the night. "Maybe. Or walls covered in stolen goods and weapons."
"The weapons are locked up," I say with a half-smile. "And we don't steal. Not anymore, anyway."
Her eyebrows raise at that, but she doesn't comment.
I lead her down a hallway toward the guest rooms, aware of her eyes taking in everything.
The surprisingly tasteful artwork on the walls (Luna's influence), the clean floors, the overall sense of order that most people wouldn't associate with an outlaw MC.
"This will be your room," I say, opening the door to one of our nicer guest rooms. It's simple but comfortable: queen bed with fresh linens, private bathroom, dresser, and a small desk.
"Luna usually keeps some clothes here for.
.. emergencies. They should be in the dresser.
Probably not your style, but clean at least."
Holly steps inside, setting her backpack on the bed. "Luna is King's woman?"
"Yeah. You'll probably meet her tomorrow."
She nods, then turns to face me fully. In the soft light of the bedside lamp, I can see the fine tremor in her hands, the only outward sign that she's not as composed as she appears.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For everything tonight. For not hurting James when he attacked you. For saving me from the bullets. For bringing us here."
I shift uncomfortably under her gratitude. "Don't thank me. If I hadn't shown up at your place, none of this would have happened."
"That's not true." Her eyes are steady on mine. "James's debts would still exist. The Iron Eagles might have targeted him anyway because he owes money all over town. At least with you..." She pauses, seeming to search for words. "At least with you, I feel like we have a chance."
Those words hit me square in the chest, and my cock, which had finally started to soften, roars back to full attention.
No woman has ever looked at me with such open trust before.
In the club, the women know what we are and what we do.
They come for the danger and the excitement, not because they think we're their salvation.
But Holly's looking at me like I'm something good, something safe. If she knew the things I've done, the men I've hurt, would she still look at me that way?
"You should get some rest," I say. "Bathroom's through there. Lock your door when I leave."
I turn to go, needing to put distance between us before I do something stupid like push her up against the wall and find out if she tastes as sweet as she looks.
"Steel," she calls softly, stopping me at the threshold.
“You can call me Jacob.” He tells me.
I turn back, trying to keep my expression neutral.
"Jacob… Will you check on me? Later?" she asks, her voice betraying a vulnerability her posture doesn't show. "I don't... I don't want to be alone tonight."
Fuck. Is she asking what I think she's asking? No, she can't be. She's traumatized, exhausted, probably in shock. She doesn't want me; she just doesn't want to be alone after nearly dying.
"I'll check on you," I promise, gripping the doorframe to keep from moving toward her. "Try to get some sleep."
I close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment to collect myself. My cock throbs insistently, demanding attention I'm not going to give it. Not here, not now.
The sound of the lock sliding into place from the other side of the door brings both relief and disappointment. Relief because it removes the temptation to go back in there. Disappointment because part of me—the selfish, reckless part—wanted her to leave it unlocked as an invitation.
I make my way to the bar in the main room, pouring myself two fingers of whiskey and downing it in one burning gulp. The liquor does nothing to dull the ache in my groin or the image of Holly burned into my retinas: her body pressed against mine on that fire escape, her breath hot against my neck…
"You look like shit," Beast remarks, dropping onto the couch across from me. "How's the girl?"
"She's fine," I reply, pouring another drink. "Where's her brother?"
"Passed out in room three." Beast stretches his massive arms along the back of the couch. "Fucker wouldn't shut up about how this is all our fault, so I gave him a sleeping pill in his water. He'll wake up with a headache, but at least he's quiet now."
I snort, not particularly bothered by Beast's methods. James Mercer is the reason his sister is in danger, yet he's the one acting like the victim. My sympathy for him is limited.
"What's the story with the Eagles?" I ask, changing the subject. "How did they know I'd be at Mercer's tonight?"
Beast's expression darkens. "King thinks we've got a leak. Someone feeding information to the Eagles about our movements."
The thought that one of our brothers might be selling us out again feels like a knife to the gut.
"Who?" I demand.
"Don't know yet. Could be a hang-around, could be a prospect." He shrugs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. "King's got Rage looking into it."
If anyone can find a rat, it's Rage. The man's ability to ferret out information is legendary.
"So, what's the deal with you and the waitress?" Beast asks, his tone deceptively casual.
"There is no deal," I reply, perhaps too quickly. "She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Beast gives me a knowing look. "Right. That's why you couldn't keep your eyes off her the entire ride back. And why you've got a hard-on that could drill through concrete."
I glare at him, adjusting my position on the barstool. "Fuck off."
He laughs, the sound rumbling through the room. "Hey, I get it. She's hot in that girl-next-door kind of way. And that scared, vulnerable look? Makes a man want to protect her... among other things."
"She's not like the club girls," I say, repeating King's warning to myself as much as to Beast.
"No shit." Beast leans forward, suddenly serious. "That's why you need to be careful. Girls like her get attached. They think they can change us, save us from ourselves. Then they get hurt when they realize what we really are."
"I'm not going there with her," I insist, though my cock strongly disagrees with this statement. "She's under our protection. That's it."
"If you say so." Beast stands, stretching. "I'm hitting the sack. Long day tomorrow with the Eagles on the warpath."
After he leaves, I finish my drink and head to the monitors in the security room. I check all the cameras, making sure the perimeter is secure and everything is quiet. Once I'm satisfied, I make my way to my own room at the back of the clubhouse.
Unlike the spare guest rooms, mine bears the marks of permanent residence. Tools scattered on the desk where I've been working on a small engine design, books piled on the nightstand, clothes tossed over the chair in the corner. It's not much, but it's mine.
I strip down to my boxers and head to the bathroom, turning the shower as cold as it will go. I step under the icy spray, letting it shock my system and finally ease the persistent ache in my groin. As the water cascades over me, I can't help but think of Holly, just two doors down from mine.
Is she in the shower too? Is she thinking about me? About that moment on the fire escape when our bodies were pressed so close I could feel her heart pounding against mine?
Despite the cold water, my cock stirs again at the thought. I groan in frustration, switching the water to hot and wrapping my hand around my length. If a cold shower won't do the trick, maybe release will.
I stroke myself slowly at first, then faster as images of Holly flood my mind. Her green eyes looking up at me with trust and something more. Her full lips parted in pleasure. Her body, soft and yielding beneath mine.
"Fuck," I mutter, bracing one hand against the shower wall as I pump my cock harder, chasing relief.
It doesn't take long. A few minutes of imagining Holly's hands instead of mine, her mouth, her pussy wet and tight around me before I'm coming hard, my release washing down the drain along with whatever self-control I thought I had.
The relief is immediate, but the emotional tangle only tightens. I promised King I'd be careful. I promised myself I wouldn't go there. Yet here I am, jerking off to thoughts of a woman who's depending on me for protection, a woman who has no idea who I really am or what I'm capable of.
After drying off, I pull on a clean pair of boxers and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I should try to sleep. Tomorrow will be complicated enough without adding exhaustion to the mix.
But I promised Holly I'd check on her.
I wait an hour, giving her time to shower and hopefully fall asleep. Then I pull on jeans and a t-shirt and pad quietly down the hallway to her room. I pause outside her door, listening for any sound of distress.
Nothing.
I should leave it at that. Go back to my room, get some sleep, deal with this situation with a clear head in the morning. That would be the smart play.
Instead, I knock softly, three gentle taps that won't wake her if she's already asleep.
The door opens almost immediately, as if she's been waiting.
Holly stands there in borrowed clothes: a too-large T-shirt that falls to mid-thigh, exposing long, bare legs that make my cock throb.
Her hair is damp from the shower, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, her eyes wide and alert despite the late hour.
"I thought you might be asleep," I say, suddenly feeling foolish for coming.
"I tried," she replies, her voice soft. "Every time I close my eyes, I hear gunshots."
I know that feeling all too well, the way trauma plays on repeat when you try to sleep, the way your body refuses to believe it's safe even when your mind knows it is.
"Do you want to talk? Or I could get you something to help you sleep," I offer.
She shakes her head. "No pills. I need to be alert if..." She trails off, but I understand. If the Iron Eagles come, if we're attacked, if she needs to run again. "Would you... would you just sit with me for a while?"
It's a bad idea. A terrible idea. But I find myself nodding anyway, stepping into her room as she closes the door behind me.