Steel Read online

  Women were made for making babies and baking pies.

  She needed to concentrate on homecoming and prom, and finding herself a nice boy to take her to the movies or out to eat.

  So, they stopped paying for her “hobby,” forcing her to get a job after school to continue. While her friends were saving up for a car, she was paying for classes and competitions. To get around, she rode her bike everywhere. Sometimes hitched a ride with someone she knew.

  But she did what she had to do because she wasn’t giving up her dream because her father—backed by her mother—told her she was being unreasonable.

  If she had been a male, they would have been more supportive.

  When she blew out a breath, Steel’s hand curled around her neck and he pulled her into him. Rolling into his side, she planted her chin on his chest and met his brown eyes which were trained on her, but his expression was blank.

  His fingers, which trailed up and down her arm lightly, stilled when she asked, “And you?”

  “What about me?”

  “What makes you who you are? Special forces man turned paid bodyguard.”

  “I’m not just a bodyguard. It’s one of many things I do.”

  “Ah yes, your team and their ‘special skills.’”

  He studied her for a moment and a fleeting look crossed his face. There and then gone. If she had blinked she would have missed it.

  “It’s not a story I like to repeat.”

  Interesting. “Why? Did something bad happen to you while you served?”

  “Something bad happened to everyone who served in combat zones, Kat. When you do some of the shit I did, you never come home the same. You see and do things you never forget. Shit that’s ingrained in you so deeply you can never dig it back out, no matter how hard you try.”

  “So, the military made you who you are. And is also why you need to prove to yourself that you’re alive.”

  “Partly.”

  She waited.

  And waited some more.

  When she was just about to give up on finding what made him tick, his deep voice filled the space around them. “My mother died before I was born.”

  She jerked against him. What? “Impossible.”

  He ignored her doubt and continued, “She was killed by a drunk driver while she was eight months pregnant with me. They cut me out of her womb on the scene. My father never recovered from losing her. He handed me off as an infant to my grandmother who died when I was three. I ended up in foster care and was passed around from place to place because I was always getting into trouble, mostly into fights. Finally, I ended up in juvie for assault and stayed there until I was eighteen. I was told I’d be nothing, that I’d end up in prison and be a repeat offender. That one day I’d be on death row for murder since I had a temper and no self-control.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “The guards, the warden, the counselors. All of them. Because of that, I had something to prove.”

  “To those people who thought you’d go nowhere.”

  “No, Kat, to myself. Fuck those people. They were no one to me. The only person who truly cared about me was myself. That’s it. So, I thank them for doubting me, for planting those doubts in my head.”

  Kat saw his Adam’s apple bob once before he continued.

  “I was seventeen when I finally paid attention to the commercial I’d seen probably hundreds of times throughout the years, and it hit me. The few. The proud. The Marines. The second I was released from juvie, I thumbed a ride to the nearest Marine recruiting center and fucking enlisted.”

  “Only you took it further than that.” She knew it was no easy feat to become a Special Forces operator. She had seen the documentaries, too. Even considered enlisting herself to fast track her way out of Indiana.

  “One thing you’ll learn about me, Kitty Kat, is I don’t do shit half-assed. Every time a drill instructor told me I couldn’t, I fucking did. Don’t ever tell me I can’t, I’ll prove you wrong.”

  Damn, did that sound way too familiar.

  “My drill instructors told me I’d fail boot camp. I didn’t. I was told there was no fucking way in hell I’d be selected for MARSOC. And if I was lucky enough to be selected, I’d quit. I made it through every fucking phase until I achieved my goal of becoming a Raider. Quitting was not an option.”

  His fingers dug deeper into her shoulders to the point of almost being painful. Whether he was aware of it, she wasn’t sure.

  “My foster homes didn’t want me. They only wanted the monthly check. And they didn’t want to spend a fucking dime of that check on me. Clothes? Food? Just enough to keep me from freezing or starving to death.”

  He no longer had his head tipped down to her, now he was staring sightlessly at the high ceiling. He was deep within his head and Kat didn’t want to pull him out, she needed to hear everything that crossed his lips.

  And maybe he also needed to let it go. He didn’t seem the type to be open about his past or his feelings which made her wonder who else he’d shared his story with. Her guess? A select few, if even that many.

  “The foster home where I stayed the longest—right before juvie—I had a single mattress on the floor that was old, stained and stunk like something had died in it. I had no sheets or pillow, but one blanket. I was lucky if I got to eat. So, I was skinny and at school I was bullied. Until one day I got sick of it. I’d had enough. I became full of fury and the need for revenge. I began to strike back anytime someone put their hands on me. I got into fights. I got suspended. Then expelled. Eventually, it got so bad, I got arrested.

  “Thank fuck my foster family didn’t give two shits about me and washed their hands of my situation. I had better accommodations and meals at the youth center. While there, I got my high school diploma. I also learned to protect myself and to protect others. I earned extra food as payment to do so. I found ways to work out whenever I could. I developed my mind and my body.”

  Kat trailed her fingers over his chest, skirting his dog tags to the ridges of his abs. He certainly had developed his body, she thought, as she slid her fingers over each distinct muscle.

  And he wasn’t dumb at all. He was not a typical meathead, just using his fists and getting into trouble like he did in his youth, but she could see him being a well-honed fighting machine in both mind and body.

  Her fingers traveled back up, this time hesitating on the metal tags that rose and fell with each breath he took. She flipped one over and read his name.

  Sterling

  A.S.

  His initials spelled A.S.S.

  She pinned her lips together because now was not the time to point that out.

  Especially when his next words were serious. “I’m not one to give up, Kat. I do not accept defeat.”

  She couldn’t imagine he would. And she also imagined he was like that in all facets of his life. Not just fighting, but his job, too. Maybe even his relationships.

  Unexpectedly, he rolled her until he almost gave her all his weight, staring down at her intently.

  She didn’t say a word or even move as his eyes roamed her face from her short hair, to her eyes, her nose, her lips. She could almost feel his gaze as if they were his fingers exploring her face.

  Then his deep voice rolled out of him. “Scars aren’t always visible, Kat, sometimes the ones you can’t see are the worst. Words can sometimes hurt more than actions.”

  Wasn’t that the damn truth.

  “Jacuzzi?” he asked, catching her off guard with the sudden switch of topic. He was breaking the heaviness of his story and making it clear he was done talking about it.

  She’d respect that. “Yes.”

  “Even though it’s big enough for both of us, we’re not going to need all that room.”

  “We’re not?” she teased.

  He brushed his lips lightly over hers. “No.”

  That sounded promising.

  Five days, six nights so far and Steel was ready to climb the walls. B
eing cooped up in a suite of rooms, even as large and luxurious as the Royal Suite was, still fucking sucked.

  He was itching to go for a run. Go hit a heavy bag. Go to another underground fight.

  Something, anything to scratch his restless itch.

  His sudden urge to suck on a cigarette, to feel that burn fill his lungs was overwhelming. Besides the occasional cigar during poker night, he hadn’t smoked in years. Not since he got out of the Marines. And even after all these years, each fucking day was a struggle.

  It was an addiction he still fought each and every fucking day.

  Because of that, he understood how Ryder fought his alcoholism. How he struggled to stay dry not only for him, but now for his woman, Kelsea, too.

  He was almost through the box of toothpicks room service had delivered along with one of their food orders.

  Kat watched him curiously as he went through toothpick after toothpick but hadn’t asked him what his habit was all about. He liked that about her. She wasn’t the kind of woman who needled and dug until she got the info she wanted or drove the man to snap.

  His team was used to his toothpick habit and they knew why he almost always had one in his mouth, but he didn’t share it with others.

  Not that he was embarrassed about it. He wasn’t, since it was just fucking slivers of wood stuck between his lips. But still, it wasn’t anybody’s fucking business but his own.

  Just like his past.

  Which he had surprisingly shared with Kat.

  He’d never wanted to share any of that with anyone before. But for some reason, he felt the need to do it with her.

  Maybe he was getting soft at his ripe old age of thirty-six.

  Nah. Fuck that.

  He was still young enough to fuck Kat every morning, afternoon and night.

  She hadn’t once said no. In fact, she’d tackled him several times when he least expected it.

  He liked that.

  Fuck, he loved that.

  A woman who loved sex as much as him and wasn’t afraid to go for it.

  Maybe he’d created a monster.

  He snorted.

  That was one monster he wouldn’t slay. Anytime she wanted to jump on his cock, he’d be happy to hold it in place for her.

  But right now, he was struggling.

  The suite might be sizable, but it was still a cage. A box he couldn’t escape. And there was no fucking way he was leaving Kat alone. Even with the two hired goons standing guard outside their door twenty-four seven, and the limited access elevator to their rooftop suite.

  No fucking way was he letting his guard down. Not like back at the house in Boulder City where he was too focused on getting some tail rather than paying attention to a fucking crazy-ass stalker.

  Hard lesson learned.

  A mistake he wouldn’t make again.

  He couldn’t wait to get this high profile, well-publicized fight over tomorrow night and get their asses on a plane to Shadow Valley. A place where he could hide her away in the Dirty Angels MC compound, a neighborhood filled with not only bikers but his fellow Shadows.

  No one was getting to Kat there.

  He could guarantee that.

  One more night in Sin City and they were going ghost. Paranzino, the owner of the casino hotel, was even lending them his private jet to head back to Pennsylvania.

  He had no doubt that “H” was well-aware of Kat’s fight with Calamity Jayne tomorrow night. Steel could even imagine that sick fuck would be in the crowd, watching and waiting.

  Whether waiting for the opportunity to finally claim his woman or to punish her for fucking Steel.

  It still annoyed the fuck out of him that “H” had watched him and Kat their first time.

  The fucker had tainted that experience for Kat. And also for him.

  He hoped he got the chance to break the motherfucker’s neck.

  That was one light he wouldn’t regret extinguishing.

  In fact, he would relish it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Three rounds of five minutes each. That’s all she had to last. Fifteen minutes total. Without getting knocked out. Without getting disqualified. Without tapping out.

  He’d done his best to get her ready.

  He hoped his best was good enough.

  Berger had met them at the venue, which was larger than he expected. It was also packed and noisy as fuck with an audience so wired it was like they had all mainlined Red Bull.

  As soon as they’d arrived via limo with two more of Paranzino’s goons, Berger had pulled Kat out of Steel’s grip and dragged her away to meet with the officials, then when he finally dragged her back to where Steel waited by a private locker room with her name on the door, he locked Steel out.

  Just locked him the fuck out.

  If it was up to him and it wouldn’t upset Kat, Steel would snap the fucker’s neck for doing so. But he practiced hard-learned restraint and didn’t. Instead, he chomped on his toothpick and waited impatiently by the door as Berger prepped her for the fight.

  Berger was her manager and trainer, Steel only her bodyguard, just like Paranzino’s hired muscle, he reminded himself over and over again, until the door once again swung open a half hour later. Berger escorted Kat out in her sports bra that was emblazoned with a well-known emblem, her tighter and shorter shorts than he expected, which advertised a major sponsor over her hips and ass, her taped hands and MMA gloves, which left the fingers free for grappling.

  Her eyes were focused, her face serious, her thoughts clearly on the fight ahead of her.

  But when her gaze landed on him outside her door, her lips curved slightly at the ends and her eyes softened just a touch. But only for a split moment.

  And, fuck, if that didn’t get him in the gut.

  That slight smile, that look, did something to him he didn’t recognize, and it scared the fuck out of him.

  He ignored it and took up the pace behind Kat as Berger led her down a narrow passage toward the arena. The closer they got, the louder it became.

  This was a fight for the record books.

  If Kat lost this fight...

  If she lost it, he’d be there afterward to help pick up the pieces.

  She’d survive. She was strong enough to pick herself back up and continue on. He’d seen it. He was confident no matter how the fight ended, she would never give up on her dreams.

  He respected that.

  And he had the utmost respect for her, too.

  If her family didn’t appreciate her dreams, her goals, her hard work and determination, then fuck them. They didn’t deserve her.

  One thing he learned by being around the Dirty Angels MC and working for Diesel, their Sergeant at Arms, was something everyone should not forget: Blood wasn’t always family; family wasn’t always blood.

  Because that was damn fucking true.

  After joining the Marines, his “family” became fluid, depending where he was stationed. Until he became a Raider, then his battalion became his blood.

  And now his teammates from In the Shadows Security were his family. No matter what, they had his six and he had theirs.

  But Kat didn’t have any of that. She was an island.

  A complete fucking island.

  That had to get lonely.

  He was shaken from his thoughts when Kat stopped dead ahead of him right before stepping out into the arena.

  Berger stopped, too, with a frown and urged, “Kat.”

  She shook her head and gave her manager a wait-a-minute finger before grabbing Steel’s arm and taking them back a few steps deeper into the shadows of the tunnel.

  “Hey,” she said, stopping and staring up at him.

  “Hey,” he returned, unsure what this was about.

  “Thank you.”

  His brows shot up. “For what?”

  “For everything.”

  “Kat...”

  “You’re only being paid to be my bodyguard. You were so much more.”

  Ho
w much more? he wanted to ask. And why did it sound like she was saying goodbye?

  “Kat—”

  “Take your toothpick out,” she cut him off on a murmur while staring at his lips.

  He quickly spat it out and grinned.

  Then she leaned in and took his mouth hard.

  Fuck.

  He sucked a breath in through his nose as her tongue swept through his mouth, once, twice, before abruptly ending the kiss.

  Berger made a sharp noise at the end of the tunnel but they both ignored him.

  “For luck,” she whispered just loud enough to hear over the roaring crowd which echoed down the narrow corridor.

  “You need luck?” he teased in his own whisper, his lips a fraction away from hers.

  “Fuck no,” she said louder and with a grin.

  “Didn’t think so,” he said as he took her mouth one more time. This time it was him taking control, their tongues touching briefly but firmly.

  He pulled back enough to stare into her eyes. “Kat, I’ll be right there. I’ll be in your corner.”

  Her grin disappeared and her face became intent again as she gave him a single, sharp nod. She pounded her gloved knuckles together and then held them out in front of her.

  Steel tapped his fists with hers. “You got this, baby. Tonight you’re not...” my... He quickly corrected, “a Kitty Kat, tonight you’re a tiger.”

  She gave him another sharp nod, then glanced toward Berger who was impatiently waiting, but, lucky for him, giving them space.

  Steel grabbed her chin and turned her face back toward him. “Go kick her fucking ass.”

  “That’s my plan,” she said, turned and walked away from him.

  Steel was going to throw up. Just going to embarrass the fuck out of himself and puke right outside Kat’s corner of the cage.

  Like a fucking pussy.

  A complete fucking pussy.

  He’d rather be the one in the cage. He’d rather be the one ready to fight.

  But instead it was a woman who he’d become attached to more than he ever expected in the last week and a half.

  This was no way the same shit that his teammates felt when they met their women, was it?