Page 2 of Steel

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.

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