Page 115 of Steel

The guys laugh, and I shake my head. “She fucking better.”

“She will.” Havoc nods. “You know she will.”

I think she will.

But I also understand this life is hard, especially being with the man sitting at the head of this table. Tempe isa strong woman, but I’m asking for all her faith. All her trust. I’m asking her to not just believe in my club, but inme.

Either way, I’m willing to put my pride on the line and see this through if she’ll give me a chance. Because when I consider not claiming her—of not living up to the promises I’ve made Austin—I can’t fucking breathe. If they walk out of my life, I might not recover. The three of us aren’t the family we saw ourselves having, but that’s what we became anyway.

Hopefully, she feels the same.

“If we’re done here, I’d say this calls for a drink.” Soul stands up, and the rest of the guys follow.

They slowly filter out of the room, and when the doorway clears, I spot Tempe through it, standing in the center of the clubhouse.

She’s wearing a dress I’ve never seen before, and the sight of her nearly stops my heart.

It’s maroon on the top, and it hugs her chest. The waist is a thick band of black fabric that molds to her, flowing out at her hips. The full length of her smooth legs is on display. And when her eyes meet mine, she steals what’s left of my desiccated heart.

She’s it for me.

I’m a goner for this girl.

32

Tempe

Steel meets me atthe threshold of the room where they hold church.

It should be illegal for him to look like he does. His forearm is propped against the doorframe, tugging his T-shirt up just enough for me to get a hint of his solid stomach. Showing off a trail of perfectly cut muscle that is pure temptation.

“Hey, wildfire.” He tips my chin up and plants a gentle kiss on my lips when I reach him.

The nickname he’s given me, paired with how he teases my lower lip with a kiss, has my insides melting. I slip my hands beneath his cut and plant my hands on his hard chest.

“That dress is beautiful on you.”

“It’s a pretty dress.” I smile up at him.

He brushes his thumb over the apple of my cheek. “Only because you’re in it. Come here.”

He slips his hand into mine, pulling me into the room and shutting the door.

It’s dark since the only windows in here face inside the clubhouse, and right now, the blinds are closed. There’s a single bulb overhead, but it’s not bright.

Looking around, I see that one wall is covered in photographs. There are no people in them, just the open road. Some are black and white, others color. And the varying landscapes make it clear they were taken all over the country.

“What are those?” I ask.

“A tradition my grandad started when he formed the club. On your first run as a ranking member, you take a shot of the open road to mark the first miles of many spent as a Twisted King.”

“Which one’s yours?”

Jameson smiles, pointing to a photo on the far left. “Maryland.”

“That’s a long trip,” I say, admiring the beautiful forest road in Jameson’s picture.

Jameson’s smile falls. “That was right after the former leader of the Iron Sinners took my dad out. We chased him all the way across the country after we made our way through the members of his club, trying to figure out where he’d gone.”

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