STEEL.

MY HEART.

Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club.

by Vivian Lux.

to B. my husband and partner in crime, who's always there to lend an ear, whether he wants to or not.

to N. and E. thank you for your patience.

to V.H., thank you for making me a better writer to H.B. for changing my life and to you dear reader. Thank you for supporting an independent author.

Keep the main thing the main thing. Live to Ride. Ride to Live.

David Charles Spurgeon - Mongols M.C.

Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.

Lucius Annaeus Seneca.

Prologue.

The further we got from the center of town, the slower Sammie drove. The slower she drove, the more anxious I became. It was eerie how empty the dark streets were of people. I would have felt completely alone if Sammie didn't pierce the tense silence by loudly cracking her knuckles over the steering wheel.

"Turn right here," I pointed excitedly. Then I saw the narrow, darkened street through her eyes and gritted my teeth.

My best friend's eyes went wide as she made the turn so slowly I felt like we had a giant arrow pointing at us. Look at us! We don't belong here! the arrow shouted. "You want me to take you into this neighborhood? In the middle of the night?"

"You said you'd help me."

"I didn't know I had signed up for a one way ticket into the ghetto of North Philly."

I shifted in my seat and sat on my hands. We didn't have time to debate this. "It's up ahead. See? That brick building with the big parking lot."

Sammie sucked in her teeth. "Looks like a good place to get raped and murdered."

"They're the only ones who can help me, Sam. Just leave me on the corner here."

"Like f.u.c.k I'm leaving you here," she snarled and popped her old station wagon into park. "I'm sitting right here with my cell phone out. If you're not back in five minutes, I'm calling the cops."

I tasted panic. "Don't call the cops! Don't you understand that's the whole problem here? Haven't you been listening?"

Sammie clenched her steering wheel her knuckles white with tension. I could see she was fighting her best instincts. "Fine. Go talk to your bikers. But I'm f.u.c.king staying with you."

I was about to argue when I remembered everything J. said about having people in your corner. I had gone it alone for too long and look what it got me.

I sighed and looked at her. She stared ahead fiercely, but I could see the tears glittering in her eyes.

"Thank you Sam," I whispered, cupping my hand over hers. Then I took a deep breath and leapt from the car.

I picked my way down the dark sidewalk. My thin-soled ballet flats offered little protection from the rough and broken pavement. The useless shapes of shot-out streetlamps hulked over me. The yellow haze of the city at night was my guide instead.

I reached the chain link fence with the barbed wire at the top. Immediately the guard dog sounded the alarm. The huge Rottweiler came snarling and snapping out of the dark, with slavering jaws already hungry to sink into my flesh.

"Hey Bonnie," I called into the dark.

The barking stopped immediately.

"Who's out there!?" Crash called, his voice strained and muzzy with sleep. I had to smirk. Napping on guard duty again. Teach would be p.i.s.sed.

Bonnie trotted over to the fence and pulled herself up onto her hind legs to give my face a sniff. Her hot breath blasted my face with the smell of dog treats. "Ooof, girl," I muttered as I scratched her through the links. She whined and wagged her tail.

"It's me," I called out to Crash. "Emmy."

I heard Crash stagger and shuffle, moving as quickly as he could. He emerged from the shadows, dragging his weak leg behind him as he ran for the fence. "Emmy! Where the f.u.c.k is J.?"

"Can you let me in, Crash?"

"What the f.u.c.k happened to you two? You just...disappeared." I could see him working, trying to force his damaged brain to make sense of my sudden appearance in the night.

"J.'s in jail, Crash."

I clenched my fists at the memory of his shocked face as the policeman ground his head into the gravel. I had wanted to go to him, to cover him with my body and scream at them to let him go. He didn't do anything wrong. He was framed. Framed by the man who had held me down and forced me to watch. He had held my face so I couldn't look away as the man I loved was dragged away in handcuffs for a made-up crime.

"J.'s in jail and I'm going to get him out. But I need the rest of the Sons."

I could see he wanted to ask more questions. But when I invoked the name of the club, he snapped into focus. "I'll raise the call. What do we need to do?"

I looked back at Sammie, poised and ready to help. I had my back-up, now I was getting J.'s.

"Tell them it's time to ride out."

Chapter 1.

Emmy.

(Two weeks earlier).

I rooted through the back of my closet, a lump already forming in the back of my throat. s.h.i.t s.h.i.t s.h.i.t, I swore, swallowing back the panic.

"Emilia?" Robert's voice was tinged with impatience, and I dug faster. My fist closed around one spiked heel in triumph. But I was still missing the other shoe.

"Emilia!" He was coming back up the stairs. I was going to have to tell him I couldn't find the shoes he bought me. The ones that matched this dress perfectly. The dress he also bought me.

I pulled myself deeper into the closet, heedlessly wrinkling the floor length, strapless gown I was poured into. The delicate fabric stretched around my hips and I heard a few st.i.tches pop, which only heightened my panic.

Just as Robert's steps reached the floorboards outside of our master suite, I located the rogue stiletto heel. It was under the hem of another evening gown. How it had gotten tangled into a dress I hadn't worn in months, I'll never know. I just grabbed it gratefully, and shimmied over to our bed. I was careful to keep my back to the door so Robert couldn't see how fl.u.s.tered I was.

"Are you almost done?" His deep, rich voice was dripping with irritation, and I felt the flush creep further up my pale cheeks. As if the bright red satin dress didn't make me look enough like a tomato.

"Yes sweetie, sorry!" I sang out, hoping he wouldn't hear anything off in my voice.

"We have to go, the driver is waiting." He drummed his fingers on the door frame as I slid the delicate buckle closed around my ankle.

"There." I stood up, wobbling on the spindly heels. I took a deep breath and turned to face him. "What do you think?"

He bought the dress. He chose the shoes. He had sent me to his mother's salon to get my hair done this morning. All day I had waited to see his face light up when he saw me dressed for his foundation's charity dinner.

I don't know why I expected that.

Robert bit the inside of his cheek critically as my heart sank all the way down to my recently located shoes. "Is that all they could do with your hair?"

I turned to look at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My pale blonde hair was blown out pin straight, all traces of its natural waves beaten back by the stylist's round brush. It was sleek and shiny, falling in ribbons down my bare back. It was chilly for a May night in Philadelphia, and I was grateful he hadn't made me wear it up for this event.

"She did the best with what she had, I guess," I answered lightly. I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.

Robert rounded the bed and came up behind me, placing his hands on my hips. "You're wearing control top?" he asked, running his hands along the ample curves.

"Yes of course." I tried to see what he was seeing. Yes I wasn't thin, but the dress hugged my curves without being lewd. I would have loved it if it were in a more subdued color. "I look like a fire engine," I complained.

"Oh hush." He dismissed my complaints with a wave of his hand and continued smoothing an imaginary wrinkle on my hip.

I was starting to get nervous that I had forgotten something. "Is everything okay?"

He ran his hand over my whole side, tracing the swooping curve of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, held up as they were by the fiercely armored bodice. Then his hand moved down along my nipped in waist held tightly by two pairs of control top hose. He looked lost in thought for a moment, the sighed. "It'll have to do," he exhaled, and brushed a dismissive kiss across my bare shoulder.

"You look nice," I ventured. That was no lie. Robert Whitestone III, heir to the Whitestone fortune had never looked bad in his life. From his dark chestnut waves and broad shoulders, all the way down to his narrow hips and athletic calves, he had been as blessed genetically as he was financially.

His piercing blue eyes peered at me critically, framed by his dark, heavy brows and high, sculpted cheekbones.

"Thank you," he replied formally, accepting the compliment as his due. "If you're ready, we need to go now, Emilia."

He extended his arm and I hooked my elbow into his. He held me steady as I gingerly negotiated the grand staircase of our penthouse. As we waited by our private elevator, I caught a glimpse of our reflections in the shining metal of the closed doors. The blazing red of my dress clashed with the flushed pink of my skin.

"I look like a tomato," I whispered again.

"Emilia, that's enough. That dress was a gift. You're lucky you have a fiance who knows how to dress you."

I swallowed. "You're right, Robert."

"G.o.d knows what you would have come up with," he continued, stabbing the b.u.t.ton again.

"I know colors," I ventured. "It's just, this color doesn't really work with my skin."

"Oh come on, the artist thing? Really?"

"Well..." I sought the words but they just wouldn't come. My thoughts tripped all over themselves, and I ended up saying nothing. Just like I always did.

Robert nodded as if the matter was settled. The door dinged open and he held me firmly as we stepped over the gap and into the elevator. His grip on me didn't loosen the whole ride down.

Chapter 2.

Emmy The minute I stepped back into our penthouse, I tore the dress off of me and let it fall into an unceremonious heap on the floor.

f.u.c.k that dress. And f.u.c.k tonight.

I wobbled there in our living room, alone in my underwear. My head was spinning. I was too keyed up to sleep, even though I knew it was best if I was in bed when Robert got home.

I kicked off my stupid shoes, flinging them across the wide expanse of floor. One slid under the sofa, the other shot into the gourmet kitchen we had never once cooked in. In the back of my head I knew I would forget the shoe was under the couch. I should retrieve it, I told myself, but was too drunk to risk bending over.

Instead I padded barefoot into the kitchen and ran a gla.s.s of water from the tap. Robert would have been appalled to see me drink tap water, but he wasn't home from the benefit dinner yet, so I was allowed my small lapses. I gulped the cold water greedily, hoping it would stop my head from spinning. And then out of habit I opened the refrigerator.

I sighed when I saw the options. "f.u.c.king rabbit food," I muttered and my stomach growled in solidarity. Desperate for carbs, I defrosted a baguette I found in the freezer and dribbled it with olive oil and salt. Robert didn't let me keep b.u.t.ter in the house. He claimed it was too much temptation and that he was only looking out for my health. I was lucky to have a fiance who cared as much as he did. The thought made me feel guilty and I hastily threw out the rest of the bread before I could spoil my diet any further. My stomach growled in protest, but I took a few deep breaths. I had already made enough of a spectacle of myself tonight. What would Robert think if he walked into the penthouse right now and caught me eating frozen bread in my underwear?

Chastened by the thought, I carefully picked up my wayward shoe and went back into the living room. I leaned over, reaching under the sofa. The water in my stomach sloshed around with the wine and my head spun.

I couldn't let Robert be the one to find the shoe there.

They needed to go back up onto the proper shelf. I gritted my teeth and swallowed back the nausea that was already setting in. Yanking the shoe back out from under the couch, I bundled everything up in my dress and hurried up the stairs. Every sound of the street below sounded like Robert coming home and catching me. He had explicitly told me to go home and go to bed. I had drunk too much wine and was embarra.s.sing myself and him. I was too drunk to protest when he shoved me into the car and shut the door. In actuality I was slightly grateful to be allowed to leave the benefit dinner early.

The speeches had droned on and on. I could feel the wives of the other board members looking at me with disapproval as I knocked back gla.s.s after gla.s.s of white wine. But I couldn't stop. The wine calmed my nerves. It also prevented me from cringing every time someone asked me a question.

And what do you do? I never knew how to answer that. I went to college for art. I was a student at The University of the Arts. Or at least I was until I met Robert. Now I spent my days waiting for him to come home.

"I'm an artist!" I would sing out, hoping the financial wizards of Robert's boardroom would find that boring enough to leave at that.

Really? But they never did. They would look at me incredulously instead.