Page 6 of Steel

At least with this much chaos, it’s easy to blend in.

I don’t want attention.

Get in and get out.

If I’m lucky, it’ll be that simple. Although, I know better than to think anything is.

Slipping through the crowd, I make my way toward the bar. The clubhouse is massive, so it hasn’t been as easy to find the bathroom as I expected. The building is the size of a warehouse, sitting in the middle of a wide-open compound, and I was lost on my first step inside.

When I reach the bar, I lean against it, waving for the blonde serving someone a drink at the other end. She glances at me long enough that I know she’s seen me, but she doesn’t seem in a rush to help, so I lean back and look around the room while I wait.

The air is thick and hazy. Every inhale floods my lungs with cigarette smoke and the scent of leather. It rattles around memories of my mom’s many boyfriends. Badboys with pretty faces and broken hearts in the treads of their tires.

Two men are standing at the bar beside me, and from their cuts, they’re clearly ranking members of the club. I don’t miss their eyes scanning over me, but thankfully, they don’t say anything.

My skin itches just being in this place. Nothing but problems follow the Twisted Kings.

Scoping the room, I take it all in, trying to bury my nerves and forget why I’m here in the first place. If I think too much about it, I won’t be able to get this done. And that’s not an option.

Glancing down the bar, I catch gazes with a man at the opposite end. He’s a biker, as evidenced by his leather cut, but there’s something different about him. He’s not partying like the rest, choosing instead to sit with a drink in hand while watching everyone.

He’s confident, not breaking my gaze when I’ve spent too long staring.

His dark hair is messy on his head, and everything about him screams danger. From the wicked gleam in his eyes to the rough stubble on his face. He’s a walking warning sign.

Too good-looking.

Too much blood on his hands.

The man dwarfs the stool he’s sitting on, so it’s clear he’s tall. But even with his broad shoulders, his lean waist makes it clear he’s solid muscle.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he brings his drink to his lips for a sip. The tattoo that stretches his arm windsup over the back of his hand, and I can’t help wondering how far his ink goes.

I don’t have to know anything about him for his demeanor to tell me everything.

This man is lethal.

And if I’m smart, not worth my time.

“Don’t bother, honey.” A woman with bright-blonde hair plants her hands on the other side of the bar, pulling my attention.

I glance over, and her cat eyes narrow. She’s smiling, but there’s nothing friendly about it.

“Don’t bother with what?”

“Him.” She tilts her head to the left, not taking her gaze off me. “He’s taken.”

“Don’t worry.” I breathe out a laugh. “Not interested.”

I get the appeal of a man like him—like most of the guys in this room. They’re attractive, strong, probably well-versed in the bedroom. But I’m not my parents. I have goals. Dreams. And the second I get out of this mess, I’ll never be back here again.

“Whatever you say.” The blonde hums, skimming me over. “Can I get you something?”

“The bathroom?” I force a smile, pretending I’m not noticing her territorial irritation.

“Around the corner.” She ticks her head to the side. “First door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

---