Love Me In Darkness Chapter 2 Read Online for Free

So there I was, sitting at my computer in my home office, feeling the pressure to get down to business. You see, I had these three crazy deadlines looming over me, and truth be told, I hadn't made much headway on any of them. I work as a freelance editor, and let me tell ya, if I don't put in those hours, I kiss my paycheck goodbye. And trust me, I got bills to pay, clothes to buy, and a taste for the good life that won't quit. My wardrobe ain't gonna fill itself, and neither will my glass of cosmos, if you catch my drift. On top of all that, I've been fixin' up my house, trying to make it my own little paradise. So yeah, gettin' paid is kinda essential.

But let's be real here, when I say I've been fixin' up my house, it's not like I've been swinging hammers and laying tiles all by my lonesome. Nah, my pops and my buddy Troy have been lendin' a hand too. So I guess you could say I've got this house that I've been sweet-talkin', beggin', and maybe even guilt-trippin' others into fixin' up for me.

But hey, my house needs some serious TLC. Those cabinets and tiles I've been dreamin' about ain't just gonna magically appear and say, "Hey, Penelope Casey, slap us on your walls!" Nah, that's some fairy tale wishful thinkin' right there.

Speaking of dreams, my mind started to wander as I sat at my computer, one foot kicked up on the seat, chin resting on my knee, starin' out the window. I started daydreamin' about the Mysterious Stranger, or as I like to call 'em, the Great MS. I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander to our first encounter. In this little daydream of mine, I was all smart, funny, mysterious, and captivating. I had 'em hooked with my quick wit, engaging conversation skills, and the ability to talk politics and global affairs like it was no big deal. Oh, and let's not forget my tales of doin' good deeds and my irresistible looks that made 'em fall head over heels for me.

Or at least, I was hopin' they'd at least tell me their darn name.

But let's face it, instead of bein' any of those things, I was just drunk and not at all the impressive version of myself that I daydreamed about.

Just as things were gettin' interesting in my little daydream, the sound of the doorbell snapped me back to reality. I got up from my seat and made my way through the office into the upstairs hall, remindin' myself to give Troy a call. The darn doorbell needed fixin' again, and I had this brilliant idea of bribin' him with a six-pack and a homemade pizza to do the handyman work. But then, the not-so-appealin' thought of his new girlfriend taggin' along crossed my mind – she's annoyin', whiny, and always complainin'. That changed my plans, and I decided it'd be better to give my pops a call.

As I made my way down the stairs and through the wide livin' room, I tried my best to ignore the chaos that surrounded me. The place looked like a Fixer Upper show gone wrong, with dust rags, paint brushes, and power tools scattered all over the darn place. Cans and tubes of everythin' you could imagine added to the clutter, all mixed up in a mess and covered in a fine layer of dust. Surprisingly, I managed to navigate through the chaos without pullin' my hair out or lettin' out a scream of frustration – small victories, I'd say, small victories of progress.

I arrived at the entrance, where two narrow walls displayed some beautiful stained glass. That stained glass marked the beginning of all my troubles, exactly two years ago. It was about six months and two weeks prior to my encounter with the Mysterious Stranger. I took a step into this chaotic and dilapidated house, catching sight of that captivating stained glass. Without hesitation, I turned to the realtor and said, "I'll take it."

The realtor's face lit up with delight, while my father, who hadn't even entered yet, looked up to the sky and offered a prayer that seemed to last forever. His subsequent lecture lasted even longer. However, despite my father's sensible advice, I proceeded with the purchase. In hindsight, I probably should have listened to him.

Glancing out the narrow side window by the door, my heart sank as I spotted Roxy standing there. I couldn't stand Roxy, and the feeling was mutual. What on earth was she doing there? I peered beyond her, scanning the surroundings to check if my sister might be hiding or lurking in the shrubbery. With Payton and Roxy, it wouldn't be surprising if they decided to surprise me, overpower me, and then rummage through my house. In some of my more ominous daydreams, I even imagined it as a regular pastime for them. I had a strong suspicion that it wasn't too far from the truth. Not a joking matter.

Our eyes met through the window, and her face contorted in a way that could be considered attractive if she eased up on the heavy makeup. "I see you!" she shouted, and I let out a sigh.

Reluctantly, I approached the door, aware that if I didn't, Roxy would make sure the whole neighborhood heard her. I quite liked my neighbors, and I'm pretty sure they didn't need an unpleasant surprise on their doorsteps at ten-thirty in the morning. I opened the door slowly, but not too wide, positioning myself between the door and the frame while maintaining a firm grip on the handle. "Hey, Roxy," I greeted, attempting to sound friendly and feeling somewhat satisfied with my effort.

But Roxy had no interest in exchanging pleasantries. Instead, she retorted, "Forget 'hey', is Payton here?"

Exactly what I anticipated. Roxy thrived on causing chaos. I took a deep breath, consciously trying to avoid rolling my eyes. "No," I replied.

Unfazed, Roxy issued her warning, "If she's in there, you better tell me!"

Then, she glanced beyond me and let out a booming shout, "Payton! Bitch, if you're in there, you better come out here, right now!"

"Roxy!" I snapped, attempting to maintain some level of composure. "Lower your voice!"

But Roxy remained undeterred, craning her neck and bouncing on her toes as she continued to holler, "Payton! Payton, you crazy, stupid, bitch! Get your ass out here!"

I stepped out of the door, gently pushing Roxy back before closing it behind me, and whispered, "Seriously, Roxy, you need to lower your voice! Payton isn't here, and she never is. You know that perfectly well. So please stop yelling and leave."

However, Roxy wasn't willing to back down. She retorted, "You shut up. And don't act all clever. You're helping her..." She raised her hand, pointing her finger at me, and quickly mimicked a gunshot noise by puffing her cheeks and vibrating her lips. I might have admired her talent for sound effects if the intense and dead-serious look in her eyes didn't send a shiver down my spine.

Instead of praising her for that particular skill, I chose to whisper, "What?"

In response, she lowered her hand, rising up on her motorcycle-booted toes to meet my gaze. In a soft yet threatening voice, she said, "D-e-a-d, dead. You and her, don't get clever. You understand me?"

In a moment of foolishness, I posed a question that had been asked numerous times, always with the same answer – yes. "Is Payton in some kind of trouble?" I inquired, desperately hoping for a different response this time.

As expected, Roxy gave me a look that suggested I might have lost my mind. Without hesitation, she raised her hand, conjuring the familiar gun gesture, complete with the sound effect, her finger seemingly aimed directly at my head. After that dramatic display, she promptly turned on her heel and briskly made her way down the front steps.

I stood there on my porch, keeping my eyes fixed on her as she walked away. My mind wandered, almost absentmindedly taking note of her outfit – a tight tank top, an unzipped black leather motorcycle jacket, a frayed denim skirt that barely covered anything (which would probably break fashion rules and decency codes in multiple states), black fishnet stockings, and motorcycle boots. And all that in around forty-degree weather! Not a scarf or any kind of warm clothing in sight.

But despite the distracting attire, my thoughts were consumed by the unsettling sound effect Roxy had made and the implications it carried.

Damn it. Damn it all.

I hopped into my car, trying to convince myself that my new plan was the right move, but deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that my initial plan was the better choice. The original plan involved calling my father as soon as Roxy left, but now it seemed like a pile of garbage.

The reason I hesitated to involve my father was because he and his wife, Lily, had already washed their hands of Payton a while back. It all went down when they returned from their Jamaican vacation, still basking in the island holiday bliss, only to walk into their living room and find their daughter on her knees, pleasuring some shirtless guy with his jeans undone. He was knocked out, head hanging off the edge of the couch, while Payton, high as a kite, remained blissfully unaware that her actions were getting her nowhere.

Let me tell you, the state of that living room was an absolute disaster, just like the rest of the house.

As you can probably gather from this tale, I had reservations about involving my father in anything related to Payton, especially since this incident was far from the worst I had to share about her. It was simply the final straw for Dad and Lily. They were finally enjoying a carefree life without Payton, and I didn't want to disturb that newfound peace.

So, I resisted the urge to call Dad.

Instead, my mind turned to Payton's boyfriend, Tank. He was a member of a biker gang, a tough-looking guy with a rugged exterior. But surprisingly, when I had the chance to meet him, I found myself genuinely liking Tank. He had a great sense of humor and genuinely cared about my sister. In his presence, Payton seemed to be a slightly better version of herself. Not a complete transformation, mind you, but at least she was somewhat more bearable.

Sure, Tank probably had a criminal record, but here's the twist: he actually had a positive influence on Payton, which was a rarity in the last twenty-five years. Given Roxy's not-so-subtle hint that Payton's current situation was worse than usual, I knew I had two tasks ahead of me. First, I needed to take action to address Payton's predicament. And second, since we were dealing with Payton here, it might be wise to call in some reinforcements or, better yet, drop the problem right at their doorstep.

Enter Tank.

I hopped into my car and drove over to the auto supply store on Broadway, where I managed to snag a parking spot on the street. Even before I got to know Tank and discovered that the store was probably a front for some shady biker gang dealings, I was familiar with it. The store went by the name Drive, and I had been there a number of times, mainly because I could find an excuse to shop just about anywhere. But Drive had some seriously cool stuff. I even bought my windshield wiper fluid from there. Last year, I treated myself to new car mats, and let me tell you, they were top-notch! The best car mats I've ever had.

Now, I'll admit, back in my twenties, during one of my many phases, I had this idea of pimping out my ride. So, you know what I did? I went to Drive and got myself a fluffy, pink steering wheel cover. And just to add a bit of extra flair, I snagged a glittery, pink Playboy Bunny trinket to hang from my rearview mirror. Ah, those were the good old days!

Everybody in town knew that Drive had a really cool garage in the back, but it wasn't your typical garage for regular cars and motorcycles. Nope, it was a special garage where they built these awesome custom cars and motorcycles that could make anyone drool. Seriously, they were the definition of cool. Drive's reputation went way beyond our little town – it was known worldwide! People from all over would flock to them, even famous movie stars and celebrities. They just couldn't resist the allure of Drive's incredible creations. I remember reading an article about them in 5280 magazine. The pictures alone were enough to make you want to empty your bank account and get one of those amazing cars or bikes. But alas, I wasn't rolling in cash, so that dream had to stay on hold for now. It sat right below that beautiful diamond bracelet from Tiffany's that I've been eyeing, and just below that, those gorgeous JiMSy Choo shoes that I can't stop thinking about. A girl can dream, right?

Anyway, I parked my car and walked down the sidewalk towards Drive, hoping I looked the part. I had my hair pulled back into a cute ponytail at the top of my head. For my outfit, I went with some low-rise jeans and biker-inspired boots with a low heel. Of course, I couldn't forget my biker jacket, although it wasn't as hardcore as Roxy's. Mine was a distressed tan leather jacket with some fancy stitching around the waist, and it had a cozy fur lining. The sleeves had these fluffy fur tufts that I thought were pretty cool. I got an amazing deal on that jacket, too. It was a steal!

But I did have a tiny worry about the fluffy fur. I mean, I didn't think bikers were all about animal rights, but there was a part of me that wondered if they might not take kindly to it. I had this little fear that they'd think I was disrespecting their brotherhood or something. Who knows, they might even decide to strangle me with the fur or something crazy like that!

But you know what they say, you gotta take risks if you want to make gains. So, with a deep breath and some courage, I walked into Drive, hoping that my outfit would fit in and that I wouldn't be met with any surprises.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and confidently walked into the huge store. My eyes immediately landed on the long counter at the front where the cash register was. It was kind of surprising to see just one register considering how crowded this place could get. Since I didn't have Tank's phone number, my main goal was to ask someone at Drive if they knew how to reach him. I didn't exactly expect to come face to face with Tank himself, the tall, muscular guy with long blond hair and tattoos, standing on the other side of the counter. He had another big biker dude next to him and three more hanging around outside. To my surprise, all eyes turned towards me as soon as I stepped inside.

"Hey Tank," I called out, putting on a friendly smile as I confidently walked up to the counter. But as I met his intense gaze, it was clear that he wasn't too happy with me. Uh-oh, trouble might be brewing.

His narrowed eyes and stern expression made it obvious that he was seriously angry with me, although I couldn't quite figure out why. "Don't mess with me," he growled, making a wave of anxiety wash over me. In that moment, I tried to remember the self-defense moves I learned during a short class.

Realizing that staying silent and still wouldn't help, I mustered the courage to respond, "I'm not messing with you," I said sincerely, because it was true. I had no malicious intentions or hidden agendas. It was all just a simple misunderstanding, or at least I hoped so.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "She sent you?" he exclaimed, using a word that wasn't exactly polite. I figured that in the world of Biker Club Land, such language might be more common, but it still reflected his level of irritation.

Before I could even get a word in, Tank spoke again, "She sent you. Damn, Penn! Consider this your only warning, woman. Get your act together, turn around, and get... out... of here."

Despite feeling a bit intimidated, I couldn't help but notice that Tank found my appearance somewhat attractive, if his "act together" comment was any indication. But I had to stay focused on the task at hand, so I took a deep breath and tried to approach him. However, it became clear that my presence put all the bikers on high alert, prompting me to pause in my tracks.

Then I spoke up, trying to explain the situation to Tank, "Payton didn't send me."

In response, Tank insisted, "I'm being cool with you, babe, just go."

"No, seriously, she didn't," I insisted. I went on to clarify, "Roxy showed up at my place this morning and she totally freaked me out. She did this," I said, lifting my hand and mimicking a gun gesture, even though my attempt wasn't perfect. "She seemed dead serious, so I thought it would be best to check in with you, to make sure Payton is okay."

"Payton is not okay," Tank replied without hesitation. "Payton is far from okay."

I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh. I had plenty of practice sighing due to my sister's antics that often left me exasperated. Finally, I opened my eyes and continued, "I assume you two broke up," I deduced, hoping to understand the situation better.

"No, babe, we're not together anymore," Tank confirmed, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

Curious, I pressed on, "What did she do this time?"

"You don't want to know," Tank replied, sounding guarded and almost resigned.

Concerned, I persisted, "Are the police after her?"

"Probably," he replied, his voice tinged with weariness.

I studied him for a moment, then asked another question, "But that's not the main reason she's in trouble, is it?"

"Payton's got all sorts of trouble, babe. But if the cops are after her, that's the least of her worries," Tank explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh boy," I whispered, feeling a growing sense of unease.

"That's about right," Tank agreed, and as I turned to see what had caught his attention, I heard a deep, gravelly voice ask, "Who's this?"

Then my eyes landed on him, and although I wasn't usually into biker guys, let me tell you, this guy could make anyone consider joining the Harley side. He stood tall and broad, with a sculpted physique that left no room for doubt. Moreover, his arms and neck were covered in a myriad of tattoos that instantly piqued my interest. I found myself yearning to examine them up close, meticulously studying each one, maybe even writing novels about them – that's how captivating they were.

His hair had a mix of salt and pepper, though it definitely leaned more towards the black pepper side, and it had a slight wave that added to his overall charm. The same could be said for his salt and pepper goatee, which hung slightly long at his chin in that effortlessly cool biker way. To top it off, he had a couple of days' worth of stubble on his cheeks, which somehow managed to look incredibly appealing on him.

But what really caught my attention were the pale sparks flickering in his tanned skin around his piercing blue eyes. There are only two words that can accurately describe him – Biker Yummy.

"Hey," I whispered, feeling a shiver run through my entire body as his gaze shifted from Tank to me.

Then those intense blue eyes did a body scan, and another shiver coursed through me.

Our eyes locked, and his gravelly voice growled, "Hey."

And there it was again, another shiver.

Yowza! The attraction was undeniable!

"Steel, she's cool. She's with me," Tank asserted, causing my body to jerk in surprise. I turned to him, puzzled, as he quickly made his way around the counter and headed in my direction.

"I am?" I questioned, seeking clarity, but Tank's intense gaze made it clear that he wanted me to keep quiet.

So, I heeded his silent command and turned back to Biker Hottie.

"Sheila know about her?" Biker Hottie inquired, and I glanced at Tank, still trying to make sense of the situation. "Sheila?"

"How many bitches you need?" Biker Hottie added with a hint of teasing in his tone.

"She's not my woman, brother. She's a friend. She's cool," Tank replied, setting the record straight.

"Alright. So who is she?" Biker Hottie, or rather Steel, pressed on, clearly intrigued by my presence.

"Her name's Pennelope," Tank replied, and as Steel's gaze landed on me, I couldn't help but freeze in place.

Then, I watched in awe as his lips formed my name softly. "Pennelope."

Yet another shiver ran through me. I had always found my name rather appealing, thinking it was pretty, but the way Steel said it made me freaking love it.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Steel inquired directly, "So, who are you, Penn?"

I hesitated, feeling a bit flustered. "Um... I'm a friend of Tank's," I responded.

"We established that, darlin'," Steel informed me, his voice carrying a commanding tone. "How do you know my boy here?"

Quickly, Tank chimed in, "She's Payton's sister."

Upon hearing that, Steel's entire, powerfully built frame tensed up, and the atmosphere around him became charged with intensity. It was so unnerving that I found myself momentarily forgetting how to breathe.

"Tell me she's here to drop the money, brother," Steel whispered in a voice that was equally as intimidating as the way he held himself, if not more so.

"Payton and she aren't close," Tank clarified. "I'm telling you, she's cool, and she's a good person."

"She's blood of the enemy, Tank," Steel murmured.

My heart skipped a beat. Uh-oh, this was not good. I definitely didn't want to be seen as an enemy, not by anyone, and most certainly not by this guy. He may be attractive, but he was also incredibly intimidating.

It was time to get to the bottom of things, and quickly. I needed to sort this out, pronto.

I rummaged through my purse, muttering to myself about Payton, that pain in my ass. Man, she's been driving me crazy since she was three years old and decided to chop off all the hair on my Barbies. I mean, seriously, why mess with my toys? Even though I was too old for them, they were still mine. Couldn't she find something else to do? It's like she had a psycho streak in her from a young age, causing chaos and breaking hearts. As I searched my bag, finally finding my checkbook, the next challenge was finding a damn pen. I kept digging, getting more frustrated by the second. "She was always a troublemaker," I blurted out.

With my checkbook in hand, I flipped it open, clicked my pen, and poised it over the check. Looking up at Steel, I asked, annoyance dripping from my voice, "Okay, how much does she owe you?" I couldn't believe I had to bail Payton out again, especially when it involved money and a bunch of angry bikers.

To my surprise, Steel's expression had softened. He was looking at me like he was trying to hold back a laugh, and damn, he looked good doing it. I shook off any mesmerizing thoughts. All I wanted was to go home, whip up some cookie dough, and devour it in peace.

"Well?" I snapped, growing impatient.

"Two million, three hundred and fifty-seven thousand, one hundred and seven dollars," Steel replied casually, causing my jaw to drop in absolute shock. He flashed a white smile, framed by his dark goatee, and added, "and twelve cents."

"Oh my God," I muttered, completely overwhelmed.

But even in the midst of my astonishment, Steel was still smiling, glancing down at my checkbook. "Think you can fit that on one line, peaches?" he teased.

"Oh my God," I repeated, feeling like I was in some sort of bizarre dream.

"Need some mouth-to-mouth?" Steel asked, leaning in, but I instinctively took a step back, closed my lips tightly, and shook my head. "Shame," he muttered, leaning back.

"My sister owes you over two million dollars?" I whispered, unable to comprehend the enormity of the situation.

"Yep," Steel replied nonchalantly.

"Over two million dollars?" I repeated, just to make sure I heard it right.

"Yep," Steel confirmed.

"Are you sure there hasn't been a mistake in the accounting?" I desperately clung to a sliver of hope.

Steel's smile widened, his teeth shining against his tanned skin. He crossed his tattooed arms over his muscular chest and shook his head.

"Maybe it's some foreign currency, like pesos?" I suggested, grasping at straws for any explanation that would make this mind-boggling amount seem more manageable.

"Nope," Steel replied, shattering any hope of a currency mix-up.

"I don't have that kind of money," I stated the obvious.

"Sweet jacket, peaches, but I had a hunch," he replied, complimenting my jacket while acknowledging my financial limitations.

At least my fluffy fur jacket didn't turn him off. But the harsh reality remained that my sister owed him over two million dollars.

"It's going to take me forever to come up with that kind of cash," I explained, resignation seeping into my voice. "Maybe even eternity."

"Don't have eternity to wait, darlin'," he said, still grinning so wide that if he burst out laughing, it wouldn't surprise me.

"I figured," I muttered, clicking my pen, closing my checkbook, and shoving both back into my purse as my mind started to spin.

I mean, who wouldn't lose their mind in a situation like this? It's like there's a specific reason why my sanity is slipping away, and that reason has a name – Payton Elizabeth Casey.

I looked at Tank, feeling the overwhelming need to vent my frustration. "Why me? Seriously, why? I was just innocently born into this world, and then, bam! God curses me with the sister from hell. Is it too much to ask for a sister who giggles with you, shares makeup tips, or calls you immediately when she finds a great sale? Even better, a sister who stashes awesome clothes for you to snag before anyone else can? Is it too much to ask for a sister to watch Hawaii Five-O with, so we can drool over Steve McGarrett and dream about having our own Julsaro? Is it?" I ended my rant with a shout, releasing all the pent-up frustration.

"Listen, Penn, babe, I think you need to calm down," Tank said quietly, his face filled with concern as if he was contemplating whether it would be"Listen, Penn, babe, I think you need to calm down," Tank murmured, and I could almost envision the worry etched on his face as he pondered whether knocking me out might be for my own good.

"Calm?" I shouted. "Calm?" I repeated, my emotions getting the better of me. I continued to vent, "She owes you guys over two million dollars. She's the one who cut the hair off my Barbies. And she stole the necklace my grandmother gave me on her deathbed, only to pawn it for drugs. And let's not forget how she got drunk and stuck her hand down my boyfriend's pants during Thanksgiving dinner. He was a straight-laced guy, went to church and all, but after Payton's shenanigans – and that hand down the pants was just the grand finale – he thought my family was insane, possibly criminally insane, and he broke up with me a week later. He might have been boring, looking back, but at the time, I liked him! He was my boyfriend!" Now I was shrieking, my frustration reaching its peak.

"Peaches," Steel called out, and my body instinctively turned towards him, realizing that he had moved closer into my personal space.

I tilted my head back and snapped back a response, "What?"

His hand gently wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer as he leaned in and whispered, "Baby, calm down."

I found myself gazing deeply into his mesmerizing blue eyes, and strangely enough, his words had an immediate soothing effect on me.

"Alrighty then," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, my body responding to his calming presence.

His eyes crinkled with a smile, and another shiver ran through me.

With his hand still securely around my neck, I was well aware that he could feel the quiver coursing through my body. His fingers tightened slightly, and something in his eyes shifted, causing me to shudder in a way he couldn't see but I could certainly feel. It was intense.

I knew it was time to make my exit.

"I'd probably have to sell plasma and a kidney, but I doubt that would be enough. So, um, can I just leave my sister to deal with this?" I asked politely, eager to escape the intensity of his grip but also apprehensive about making any sudden moves.

"No one's going to harm you because of Payton," he said softly.

"Okay," I replied, feeling reassured by his words.

"Or anyone else, for that matter," he added.

"Um..." I mumbled, feeling a bit uneasy. "Okay." I said this because I definitely didn't want anyone causing harm to me, whether it's because of Payton or for any other reason. I was really not up for that kind of trouble.

His fingers tightened around my neck, lifting me slightly so I was almost on my tiptoes, and his face drew nearer. Way nearer. Too close. It sent a shiver down my spine.

"I don't think you fully grasp what I'm telling you," he continued speaking softly. "If this Payton situation escalates, and you find yourself in the spotlight, you won't hesitate to mention my name, right?"

Oh no, this didn't bode well. It seemed even worse than owing a biker gang a staggering two million dollars, and let me tell you, there weren't many things that could surpass that. But, of course, if there were, Payton would undoubtedly uncover them.

"Um... if you're asking if I understand you, like 'yeah, I get you,' then no, I don't get you," I answered him honestly because with Steel, it seemed like honesty was the best policy.

"Alright, peaches, what I'm trying to say is, if you find yourself in a tricky situation, just mention my name. That means protection. Do you get me now?" he explained, his voice firm and serious.

"Um... kind of," I responded, still trying to wrap my head around it all. "But why would I put myself in a situation like that?"

"Listen, Penn, I think you need to calm down," Tank said softly, his face filled with concern as if he was contemplating whether it would be a good idea to knock some sense into me.

"Calm?" I shouted. "Calm?" I repeated, my emotions getting the better of me. I continued to vent, "She owes you guys over two million dollars. She's the one who messed up my Barbies. And she stole the necklace my grandmother gave me on her deathbed, only to sell it for drugs. And let's not forget how she got drunk and made a scene at Thanksgiving dinner, putting her hand down my boyfriend's pants. He was a decent guy, went to church and all, but after Payton's antics – and that inappropriate move was just the grand finale – he thought my family was insane, maybe even criminal, and he broke up with me a week later. He may have been a bit dull, looking back, but at the time, I liked him! He was my boyfriend!" Now I was shrieking, my frustration reaching its peak.

"Peaches," Steel called out, and my body instinctively turned towards him, realizing that he had moved closer into my personal space.

I tilted my head back and snapped back a response, "What?"

His hand gently wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer as he leaned in and whispered, "Baby, calm down."

I found myself gazing deeply into his captivating blue eyes, and oddly enough, his words had an immediate calming effect on me.

"Alrighty then," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, my body responding to his soothing presence.

His eyes crinkled with a smile, and another shiver ran through me.

With his hand still securely around my neck, I was well aware that he could feel the tremor coursing through my body. His fingers tightened slightly, and something in his eyes shifted, causing me to shudder in a way he couldn't see but I could certainly feel. It was intense.

I knew it was time to make my exit.

"No one's going to harm you because of Payton," he said softly.

"Okay," I replied, feeling reassured by his words.

"Or anyone else, for that matter," he added.

His fingers tightened around my neck, lifting me slightly so I was almost on my tiptoes, and his face drew nearer. Way nearer. Too close. It sent a shiver down my spine.

"Um... if you're asking if I understand you, like 'yeah, I get you,' then no, I don't get you," I answered him honestly because with Steel, it seemed like honesty was the best policy.

"Alright, peaches, what I'm trying to say is, if you find yourself in a tricky situation, just mention my name. That means protection. Do you get me now?" he explained, his voice firm and serious.

"Um... kind of," I responded, still trying to wrap my head around it all. "But why would I put myself in a situation like that?"

"Your sister has caused trouble wherever she goes, whether she lives there or not. And you walked in here clueless about any of it. So don't stumble into another mess, because others..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "they might not find you as charming as I do."

"Okay," I whispered, feeling both flattered that he found me cute and regretful that I didn't stick to my original plan of calling my dad or hopping on a plane to France. "If I, um... have to use your name, what does that mean?"

"It means you owe me," he replied, flashing a grin but avoiding a direct answer.

Oh boy, this was getting interesting.

"What do I owe you?" I pressed for clarification.

"I'll have to hop on my bike and come to your rescue, and we'll discuss the details later," he said with an"Okay," I whispered, feeling both flattered that he found me cute and regretful that I didn't follow my initial plan of calling my father or hopping on a plane to France. "If I, um... have to use your name, what does that mean?"

"It means you owe me," he replied, flashing a grin but avoiding a direct answer.

Oh boy, this was getting interesting.

"What do I owe you?" I pressed for clarity.

"I'll have to get on my bike and come to your rescue, and we'll discuss the details later," he said with a wider grin.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," I assured him, trying to muster confidence and saying a short prayer in hopes that my reassurance would hold true.

His grin grew even bigger.

Then, he finally released his grip on me but quickly took my purse off my arm. Before I could even react, he began rummaging through it. I chose not to protest and allowed him to continue, considering he had already touched me and I wasn't entirely sure how I'd react if he did so again. One thing was certain - I had a strong inkling that jumping his bones would be high up on the list of possibilities. I also realized that he could easily overpower me to take my purse, so I decided to let him take whatever he wanted. Even my best lip gloss in there was fair game, and if he wanted to give it to one of his ladies, I was more than willing to let it go.

As he emerged from my purse with my cell phone in hand, he deftly flipped it open, pressed some buttons, and then closed it before placing it back inside. Then, with a sly smile, he returned the purse to my arm.

"You have my number, darlin'. If you need it, feel free to use it. And even if you don't need it, but still want to use it, don't hesitate. Do you understand that?" he asked.

I adjusted my purse higher on my shoulder and nodded in agreement. I understood perfectly well. He found me cute.

Suppressing another shiver, I managed to whisper, "Nice to meet you too, Penn."

"Yeah," I whispered back, "later." I turned to find Tank grinning down at me, and I replied, "Later."

"Later, babe," Tank responded, making it sound like he'd genuinely see me again later, which in turn made me have to fight back another shiver.

As I faced the silent biker boys behind me, witnessing all of them smiling, I couldn't help but find this scarier than their usual intimidating demeanor. I raised my hand and called out, "Later."

After receiving a few chin lifts and a simple "Later, darlin'," I wasted no time and made a quick exit from the place.

Chapter1