1. Steel

1

Steel

There’s nothing like Las Vegas in March.

It’s warm without being blistering hot.

A gentle breeze grazes my neck as I ride, and the scent of hibernating sagebrush is thick in the air.

The sun dipped below the horizon over an hour ago, but the earth is still warm from the desert drinking up its rays all day. Heat rises from the pavement as stars become pinpricks of light in the darkness.

It’s the perfect temperature to just ride and forget that all I’m doing is jumping from one problem to the next lately. I grip my handlebars and pretend tonight isn’t just one more big fucking mess I’m scrambling to clean up.

Every time I think I finally have my club back on track, shit goes sideways.

Turf wars.

Traitors .

There’s an endless list of reasons to never let my guard down, and tonight is just one more added onto it.

I should have been halfway down a bottle of whiskey by now. Instead, I’m drained, annoyed, and beaten up from fending off another territorial spat with the Iron Sinners.

Ever since Chaos was put behind bars, the Twisted Kings strip club, Sapphire Rise, has been a breeding ground for trouble. Strip clubs draw enough heat as it is, and without Chaos around to monitor the strippers and patrons on a regular basis, there are nothing but problems lately.

Kansas, the club manager, has only been able to do so much to keep it under control in Chaos’s absence. Especially when he doesn’t have the Twisted Kings logo on his back, and our rivals know it.

They’re taking advantage of all our weak points, and after the upheaval within the Twisted Kings last year, we’ve got plenty. One wound heals, and we start bleeding from another.

A headache pulses between my temples as I ride.

I took a beer bottle to the head defending a stripper, and it’s a reminder as to why I prefer Chaos dealing with Sapphire Rise. Doesn’t matter if their tits are out; strippers cause nothing but problems when alcohol and rival clubs are involved.

I’m counting down the days until our club attorney can get Chaos out of prison, but until then, I’m going to have to assign someone besides a prospect to watch over this shit because I’m tired enough without adding the daily oversight of strippers to my list of responsibilities .

By the time I get back to the clubhouse, I’ll need a nap or a blow job. Anything to take the edge off today. I’m only thirty years old, but every week feels like a year, and my regular outlets for stress aren’t working.

There’s no rest for a Twisted Kings president.

I didn’t believe my dad when he used to preach that, but now I get it.

The weight.

The responsibility.

At least it’s just me and the road for a few more miles.

My bike hums as it eats up the pavement. One mile after another of peace and quiet. In Nevada, the stretches of empty road are endless, and it’s paradise for the mind.

The night air is crisp and warm as I ride with my brothers at my sides.

Soul, my VP, is to my right, and Havoc, my sergeant at arms, is to my left. They hung back with me to help clean up some of the mess the Iron Sinners left at the strip club. But now that we’re done, we’re heading home.

The vibration of our engines fills the desert as we make the ten-mile journey from the outskirts of Vegas to the Twisted Kings compound.

Ten miles of peace.

Ten miles of in-between.

Ten miles where it’s just me, my bike, and an empty road.

But ten miles isn’t nearly enough when the clubhouse finally comes into view, and it’s lit with a party already in full swing .

The guys are celebrating our win tonight, as they should be. A few more Iron Sinners six feet under is always a good thing. They deserve a little downtime after the year we’ve had. I just wish I was in the mood to share in it.

But I can’t shake my endless checklist of responsibilities.

Getting Chaos out of prison.

Repairing the strip club stage.

Doubling security around the perimeter of all our businesses.

It never ends.

Rolling to a stop in front of the clubhouse, I climb off my bike and stretch my legs. Music hammers through the walls—the bass practically shaking the desert. A few people scatter around the front.

Smoking.

Drinking.

Fucking.

At least they know how to take their minds off shit.

Legacy, my treasurer, makes his way down the steps when he spots me, brushing his sandy-blond hair off his forehead. “Hey, Prez. We all good?”

“For now.” I pop my knuckles. “I need you to go to the strip club tomorrow and let me know how much the damage is gonna cost us.”

If tits and ass didn’t bring in so much fucking money, I’d burn the place to the ground myself. But at least the repairs will eventually pay for themselves in lap dances .

“You got it.” Legacy nods. “If that’s all, I’m gonna hit the sack. But call me if shit pops off again.”

I nod, and Legacy heads for his bike, climbing on and taking off down the road that leads to the neighborhood. Most of the guys crash at the clubhouse, but since Legacy has a kid, he spends most of his downtime at his house at the edge of the property.

Families and the club don’t mix. It splits your time. Splits your focus. Legacy manages to balance it, but as I watch him ride off, I can’t help but wonder when it’s going to be a problem. Kids bring nothing but trouble when you’re a Twisted King.

Not that Legacy had a choice when one of the patch bunnies dropped Bea off on his doorstep and bailed.

Still, watching him go is a reminder of why I’ll never follow in those footsteps.

My club is my life. My brothers are my family. They’re all that matters.

Loyalty .

Besides, who needs an old lady when there are patch bunnies hanging from the fucking rafters happy to help me fill the void.

Soul stops at my side, watching Legacy ride off, probably thinking the same thing I am. He’s even more vocal about his pledge to lifelong bachelorhood. As bad as my reputation is with women, it’s nothing compared to Soul’s prolific history of one-night stands.

“He’s not even gonna enjoy the fucking party?” Soul watches Legacy’s bike disappear. “If anyone could use a lay, it’s him. ”

I look over at Soul. His eye is almost swollen shut from where a Sinner slammed his face into a stripper pole.

“You should have Patch take a look at that.”

“It’s nothin’.” Soul grins. “Besides, black eyes are pussy magnets.”

“And what if your vision’s too fucked to stare at their tits?” I challenge.

“Who needs to see shit so long as they’ll get on their knees to take my pain away?”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Soul shrugs.

He’s a compulsive gambler who’s reckless with women, so he’s not easily offended. He’s known for his antics, to the point where some of the guys questioned me putting his name in for VP when my last one stabbed me in the back. But so long as Soul’s wild side doesn’t impact the club, Soul is Soul. He’d lay down his life for his brothers, and he’s sacrificed more for the club than most realize.

When my last VP, Helix, betrayed us, it revealed rot in every corner. We lost half the guys I thought we could trust, and Soul’s father was one of them. Soul chose between two families in that battle, and he spilled the blood that earned him his vice president patch.

So if he wants to enjoy the perks, who am I to judge? We all have our vices.

Havoc stops at Soul’s side and tips his chin up at the clubhouse. “Let’s get fucking wasted.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Soul says, and they make their way up the steps. “You coming, Prez?”

“Yeah. ”

I’d like to shower and then sleep for a week, but I’ll settle for a nice buzz first.

Besides, if my men are celebrating, I need to be there to put on a strong front. Especially after tonight’s turf war. They need to see me still standing, unaffected and ready to lead them when this battle inevitably escalates.

The Iron Sinners are getting bolder, and it’s only a matter of time before we go to war. As satisfying as that will be, it’s also expensive. And the club is still recovering from the internal one we just ended.

I walk into the clubhouse and am met with madness. The building is massive, but most people are in the bar on the left, partying. A few are in a small den on the right, shooting darts and fucking around. Anything beyond that is off-limits to anyone who isn’t patched, so it’s empty.

Making my way to the bar, I take a seat and look around.

Prospects push through the room, doing anything and everything my brothers ask of them. I watch them fetch drinks and clean up vomit, wondering how many of them are going to pass the vote in a few weeks when the current selection isn’t as good as the last.

I need to figure out a way to test them beforehand. I need to know who’s really in this for the right reasons and who is here for guns, drugs, and pussy.

I get it; the club offers certain freedoms. But that’s not why we’re really here, and they need to understand that.

“Drink, darlin’?” Reina stops in front of me on the other side of the bar, tucking her bleach-blonde hair behind her ear .

She leans forward, and her arms push her tits up. I’m tempted to lay her out and fuck them. But she’s been getting it in her head that I’m going to make her my old lady, and that shit’s not happening. Which is why I had to cut her off a few months ago and haven’t gone back since.

“Woodfords.”

“Coming right up.” She smiles, spinning around to grab the bottle.

Her ass is hanging out of her shorts, and she sticks it out when she reaches for the top shelf to make sure I notice.

“Something on your mind, Steel?” She turns back around with my drink in her hand. “You look a little stressed.”

“Nothing more than usual.” I drain the glass the second she hands it to me, sliding it back across the bar top for her to pour another.

“Well, if you need help taking your mind off things…” Reina slowly fills the shot glass again before sliding it my way.

“Thanks, but I’m good, sweetheart.”

I steal the drink from her hand and spin around before she starts thinking she’s my girl. This is why I don’t like fucking the same women too often.

The only thing I belong to is the club.

If they want a property patch, they need to find another brother to give it to them.

Scanning the room, I watch a few of the guys playing pool. They’re drawing the attention of a group of townies who are hanging out in a corner. It’s not unusual for bachelorette parties and groups of girls from out of town to come to our clubhouse in search of a what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas high.

They want a story to tell when they go back home, or they want to test their limits with a biker for the night. They learn quickly that it’s fun for an evening, but it’s better not to stick around.

At least they offer pretty new faces to look at when Reina’s behind the bar plotting how to poke holes in my condoms to have my babies.

Next to the townies, a few of the old timers’ old ladies are hanging out by a dart board. They’ll bail before shit goes off the rails like it usually does, and that’s for the best. Why any of the guys want families or relationships is confusing as fuck, when all it seems to do is stress them out.

It’s why I’m content searching the room for less permanent options.

At the back of the bar, a figure catches my attention as she moves through the crowd. She’s tiny, slipping around a group of guys as she makes her way across the room. All I see is the top of her sun-streaked honey-brown hair over their shoulders as she weaves through.

When she reaches the bar, she stops beside Havoc and Soul, who notice her immediately. And something about how they both look her over has me gripping my glass.

There’s nothing particularly special about her. She isn’t dressed up like most of the girls in here, and she’s clearly not trying to show off. Her jeans are faded, and her long-sleeved green shirt leaves everything to the imagination. Her hair is down, and she’s cried off any makeup she might have been wearing today.

Fuck .

It’s a red flag if I’ve ever seen one.

Just what I need: some girl with a broken heart looking to start trouble with whichever one of my guys fucked her over. If she makes a scene, I’m going to be fucking pissed. I’ve already had enough drama for one night.

The girl leans against the bar, trying to get Reina’s attention, but she’ll be waiting for a while. Reina would rather serve anyone with a cock.

It doesn’t seem to bother her. She waits patiently, tapping the bar and looking around the room. She’s never been here before, I’m sure of it, and from how she scans the crowd, I can’t tell who of my guys she’s looking for.

Her hazel eyes flit with something edging on indifference as she assesses the scene, and when her gaze pauses on me, her chest expands with the prettiest sharp inhale.

I hold her stare just to see how long it’ll take until she gets intimidated. I’m too damn curious about what brings a girl like her to my club. Or better yet— who .

When I don’t look away, I expect her to break my gaze in embarrassment. Instead, she stares back, ticking an eyebrow up, which highlights a scar that cuts through it. She’s no shrinking violet, and I’d be impressed if I didn’t sense she’s nothing but trouble.

Reina finally reaches the girl, leaning against the bar to say something. Her gaze flits from the girl to me, and a venomous smile climbs the corner of her mouth. They talk briefly before the girl disappears around the corner, and once she’s gone, Reina purses her lips in triumph, pulling her blonde hair up into a ponytail.

I thought cutting Reina off would stop the territorial bullshit, but clearly, that’s not the case. I told her from the beginning that I wasn’t looking for an old lady to ride on the back of my bike, but she took that as a challenge.

I’ve heard the rumors from the guys. The patch bunnies are all betting on who will be the girl to tie down Jameson Steel.

Good fucking luck.

They don’t realize what it really means to be the old lady of a Twisted Kings president. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.

I’ve seen the proof in other chapters. Their women get lonely and jealous. Or worse, they end up dead.

It’s rare for a guy in this life to get a woman to stick around long-term, and even if they do, they’re usually not happy about it.

Reina smiles at me before turning her attention to someone ordering a drink.

“Reina causing trouble?” Ghost slides onto the stool beside me.

His eyes are on his phone as usual, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t see everything happening around him.

Ghost is somehow everywhere and nowhere. And even when he’s physically here, he’s never actually here at all. He hides behind his electronics and surveillance whenever he can, making him perfect as the club’s resident tech genius and hacker, but his people skills are lacking .

He cracks his neck, not taking his eyes off his phone. A couple of townies at the bar stare at him like he’s seconds away from killing everyone, and it’s not an unusual reaction to him.

Ghost’s neck-to-knuckle tattoos and generally cold demeanor make people assume he’s more of an asshole than he actually is. In reality, of all my guys, Ghost is the least likely to snap and kill someone pissing him off. Not that he doesn’t have other ways to make them hurt.

“Reina’s fine for now.” I take a sip of my drink. “But give her time.”

Ghost hums, still not looking at me or caring.

“I pulled up the footage from tonight. It looks like the Sinners we took down inside weren’t the only ones there.” He flips his phone around to show me a video of two guys circling through the alleyway on their bikes. “These two went around back before I lost them in a blind spot. The cameras around that side of the building aren’t working.”

“We need to fix that.”

“Already on it.” Ghost sets his phone on his lap. “I’ve got Boone replacing them tomorrow.”

“What do you think they were after?”

“Hard to say; the only access point from that part of the alley is a window that leads to the office. It doesn’t look like they got in, but they tried.”

“You think the fight was just a distraction?”

Ghost nods, his dark hair falling just above his pale-blue eyes. “It would make sense. Iron Sinners are reckless, but they’re not dumb enough to show up on Twisted Kings turf to pick a random fight in our strip club without a reason.”

“I don’t get it.” I shake my head. “Sapphire Rise is one of our more legitimate businesses. Don’t know what the fuck they’re expecting to find. Or better yet, why they’d care.”

The Sinners don’t put efforts into legal pussy, given they have no problem exploiting cheaper methods to please men, like trafficking women.

My guys have managed to shut down a few of their operations in the city, but I’m well aware our work isn’t done yet.

“Wonderful.” I groan. Just when I think one problem is solved, I’m faced with another. “Look into it and keep me updated.”

Ghost’s phone lights up, and when he looks down at it, his expression changes.

“What is it?”

“We’ve got another problem.” He holds his phone up again to show me a video on the screen, but this time it’s a view of inside the clubhouse.

A figure moves down the hallway that leads to our rooms, and when she glances over her shoulder to see if anyone is following her, I get a good look at who she is.

“Looks like someone’s lost.” Ghost smirks.

I shake my head. “Or looking for something she shouldn’t.”

Trouble .

I fucking knew it.