Steel Justice (A Romantic Suspense) Read online

  Steel Justice

  Dez Burke

  Published by Dez Burke, 2015.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  STEEL JUSTICE

  First edition. October 29, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 Dez Burke.

  Written by Dez Burke.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  STEEL JUSTICE

  PROLOGUE | JESSE

  CHAPTER ONE | TRISH

  CHAPTER TWO | JESSE

  CHAPTER THREE | JESSE

  CHAPTER FOUR | TRISH

  CHAPTER FIVE | JESSE

  CHAPTER SIX | TRISH

  CHAPTER SEVEN | JESSE

  CHAPTER EIGHT | TRISH

  CHAPTER NINE | JESSE

  CHAPTER TEN | TRISH

  CHAPTER ELEVEN | JESSE

  CHAPTER TWELVE | TRISH

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN | JESSE

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN | TRISH

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN | JESSE

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN | JESSE

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | TRISH

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | JESSE

  CHAPTER NINETEEN | JESSE

  CHAPTER TWENTY | JESSE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | TRISH

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | JESSE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | TRISH

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | JESSE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE | JESSE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX | TRISH

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | TRISH

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | JESSE

  EPILOGUE | TRISH

  Safe House

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  Liberated

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  STEEL JUSTICE

  One taste of her sweet lips and I swore I'd make her mine...

  Bikers, babes, and booze. Three things I lived for, all in one dirty package when I decided to throw my brother's bachelor party at the Panama City Bike Rally.

  Then she came along and screwed up everything.

  The plan was simple. Familiar. Take her home, wreck her for other men, then kick her to the curb by daylight, spent and breathless.

  It would've been the perfect night making her scream my name if she hadn't hidden one little fact.

  She's Big Roy's property, and he owns her. The Prez of the Liberators MC is used to getting what he wants, and he won't let her go without a fight.

  Neither will I.

  I'll see him burn in hell before I let him touch her ever again...

  FOR A SPECIAL, LIMITED TIME ONLY! ENJOY ALL THREE STEEL INFIDELS BOOKS IN THIS COPY OF STEEL JUSTICE!

  Steel Justice is a complete standalone book. While it is not necessary to read Safe House and Liberated first, it will be helpful if you want to understand the overall plotline involving the Steel Infidels and the Liberators. The books in order are Safe House, Liberated and Steel Justice.

  Cover design-Kevin McGrath-Kevin Does Art

  PROLOGUE

  JESSE

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I whisper to my brother, Flint.

  The taped music begins to play and he nods.

  “Let’s do it then,” I say.

  He starts walking down the aisle, lined by white chairs with blue bows, with me close behind him.

  We reach the end and turn around to face the group gathered for Flint and Kendra’s wedding. All members of the Steel Infidels are here, along with most of our families and friends.

  The music stops and all eyes turn to Kendra standing at the end of the aisle. A big smile lights up Flint’s face when he sees her. As the music plays, she slowly makes her way between the rows of guests. She reaches out to squeeze her mother’s hand, who is sitting on the front row.

  When she stops walking, her father leans down to kiss her cheek and places her hand in Flint’s. Kendra takes a deep breath then lets out a nervous laugh.

  The wedding officiant, chosen primarily for his love of motorcycles, begins the ceremony by welcoming the guests and reminding us all why we are here. He was asked to prepare a few words for the wedding, and I suspect they’re going to be on the corny side.

  “When you say I love you, what you are saying is, ‘hold on tight, the ride is long,’” he begins in a deep, solemn voice.

  I resist the urge to smile. Damn! Guess I was right.

  After quoting a few more lines combining an odd mixture of motorcycles and weddings, he holds out his hand to me for the rings. I reach into my pocket and pull out two plain gold wedding bands and pass them to him.

  A look of relief crosses Flint’s face. Did he really think I would forget to bring the rings? I’m disappointed. He should have more faith in me.

  No way was I fucking this up.

  Unlike me, Flint is one of the solid good guys. A tough guy on the outside covering up a big old heart of gold. After everything he has been through the past few months, he deserves a happy ending.

  There’s nothing I won’t do to make sure that happens.

  The officiant takes the rings and places one each in Flint and Kendra’s hands. He turns to the bride, who looks absolutely beautiful in her white wedding dress. In keeping with Kendra’s down-to-earth personality, she chose a simple dress with a single strand of pearls. No fancy frills or layers of lace for her.

  Flint would have preferred a traditional biker wedding with a motorcycle procession, leather jackets, and a bottomless beer keg. Kendra shot down that idea in a hurry.

  So here we all are, standing in their decorated backyard located high on a mountain, dressed in uncomfortable clothes and sweating like pigs.

  Kendra told me she was worried about looking fat on her big day. She shouldn’t have. The baby bump is barely visible. If I didn’t know to look for it, I wouldn’t even suspect it was there. She sniffles and then laughs, wiping away a tear threatening to spill down her cheek and ruin her makeup.

  I don’t remember ever seeing her look so happy. From the corner of my eye, I catch Flint starting to get choked up by emotion, too. I grab his shoulder in a sign of brotherly support.

  Come on buddy, you can do this.

  Standing on my other side is our younger brother, Sam. He is grinning from ear to ear and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Last night, I reminded him not to lock his knees and pass out like a dumbass during the ceremony. Now I realize I should have also explained that it wasn’t okay for him to bounce around like a jumping bean either.

  What the fuck is he grinning about anyway?

  I hope to God he isn’t about to do something stupid. I won’t put it past Sam to pull one of his pranks right in the middle of the wedding. For once, I hope he has enough sense to behave himself. I shoot him a stern look just in case he has something on his mind.

  “Be still,” I whisper out of the side of my mouth.

  He nods and stops moving.

  The officiant glares at me and continues with the ceremony.

  “Kendra, do you take this man to have and to hold, to lean with him when he leans and ride when he rides?” he asks.


  Kendra gazes up into Flint’s face and smiles. “I do.”

  “Flint, do you take this woman to share the open road, to protect and to ride with today and for eternity?”

  “Hell yes!” Flint says without hesitation. The audience, consisting mostly of bikers, erupts in a cheer. “I mean, I do,” he quickly adds. “I do.”

  “Please join hands.” The officiant beams at the smiling couple. “By the power vested in me by the State of Georgia, I now pronounce you husband and wife! Flint, you may kiss your bride.”

  The crowd breaks out in applause.

  Flint takes a step forward and pulls Kendra toward him for a kiss.

  A shot rings out.

  Then another.

  For a split second, I freeze. My mind is telling me that a gun has accidentally misfired. Maybe some idiot forgot to put on the safety.

  My gut tells me I’m dead wrong.

  A big splotch of red appears on Kendra’s wedding gown and begins spreading. The color both horrifies and mesmerizes me at the same time.

  More shots ring out. Flint knocks Kendra to the ground and covers her with his body. A music speaker near the front row explodes.

  All hell breaks loose.

  We’re all here. Ripe for the picking.

  Every member of the Steel Infidels MC, Kendra’s family, our family, close friends, and even some members of other friendly biker clubs.

  As President of the Steel Infidels, this is my fault. All blame is on me. I never should have allowed this to happen. Gathering us together in a big group provides the perfect opportunity for someone with a grudge to strike against us.

  I should have stood firm and not given my approval for a big wedding. Especially after everything that went down at the bike rally in Panama City.

  Happy endings aren’t meant for us. Shouldn’t I know that by now?

  Movement at the edge of the driveway catches my eye and I spot him.

  The red-headed motherfucker I’ve spent months trying to find.

  Big Roy, President of the Liberators.

  My sworn enemy, the only person in this world that I want to kill with my bare hands.

  I take off after him with Sam right behind me. By the time I reach my motorcycle, the handgun I normally keep tucked in the back of my pants is already in my hand.

  The fight with the Liberators is ending today.

  One way or the other.

  CHAPTER ONE

  TRISH

  Three weeks earlier in Panama City, Florida...

  I frown at my reflection and lean closer to the mirror to apply a coat of bright pink lipstick. Between the heavy makeup and false eyelashes, I barely recognize the face looking back at me.

  “I bet if you lost ten pounds you’d bring in more bucks,” says a surly voice from behind me. “You should lay off the potato chips and donuts.”

  I turn to glare at my brother. He is casually sprawled out on my hotel bed, watching me get ready for work as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Go to hell, Ty. And get your dirty boots off my bed.”

  He doesn’t move and instead takes a long drag on his cigarette. He blows the smoke in my direction, knowing this will piss me off.

  “Do you really have to smoke in my room?” I ask, waving a hand to thin out the smoke floating toward me. “You know how much I hate the smell. Now I’ll reek like cigarettes and so will my clothes.”

  “Since you’re working in a bar, you’ll be stinking to high heaven by the end of the night anyway. What fucking difference does it make?”

  I let out a tired sigh. He is probably right. It didn’t mean I wanted him smoking in my room. Truth is, I don’t want him in my room period, smoking or not.

  My brother is a jerk.

  The less time I spend with him, the better off we both will be. All we do is argue constantly when we’re together anyway.

  I smooth down the short blue jean skirt that barely covers my butt and plump up my white bikini top one more time. My boobs look pretty good I think, and they’re all mine. Not that the customers will care one way or the other. All that matters to them is cup size.

  Fake or not.

  The bigger and bouncier, the better.

  Placing a red, white, and blue cowboy hat on my head, I turn this way, and then the other, checking out my reflection in the mirror one more time. I need something else to give the outfit a little more jazz. Maybe a pair of dangling hoop earrings.

  The sexier I look, the more tips I will make.

  A sad fact of life.

  “What do you think about the hat?” I ask Ty. “You know how bikers love anything patriotic. It’s a nice touch, don’t you think?”

  He grunts. “I doubt the hat makes a damn bit of difference one way or the other. As long as they can see your ass cheeks and tits, it won’t matter what you’re wearing. You could have a paper bag over your head and they wouldn’t care. T and A is the name of the game. Everything else is decoration.”

  “Why do you always have to be so nasty? The owner of the bar told the girls to show up every night looking halfway respectable. This is the best I can do with what I have to work with.”

  Ty lifts his eyebrows. “If that is your best, then you need to do better,” he says. “In any case, don’t come back tonight without five hundred bucks in your pocket. We’ve got bills to pay.”

  I shoot him an incredulous look. I hope he is kidding. I know he isn’t.

  “Five hundred? Are you crazy? I can’t make that much money as a beer bucket babe. Not even during a bike rally. You know all of our money comes from tips. Bikers can be tight-fisted.”

  He taps his cigarette on the white plastic ashtray sitting on the bedside table. Stray ash floats to the floor and melt tiny holes in the carpet. He doesn’t even notice.

  “That’s because you’re lazy,” he replies. “I’ve heard some of those girls make five thousand bucks a week at the bike rallies.”

  I shake my head and sit down on the foot of the bed.

  “Maybe at Sturgis, South Dakota, or Daytona Beach. The Panama City Bike Rally doesn’t draw half the crowd of those rallies. I’ll be lucky to bring in two hundred a night at the most.” I glance around the room. “Have you seen my black boots? They were on the bed.”

  “Yeah, I threw them on the floor. They were in my way.”

  I look down under the dingy bedspread and reach for the knee-high leather boots. I tug one on and then the other. My feet are aching before I even pull up the zippers.

  The boots, with their three-inch spiked heels, are incredibly painful to stand in all night. If I had it my way, I would be working in a pair of worn-out tennis shoes. Too bad old shoes aren’t considered sexy.

  When I start to stand up, Ty suddenly reaches over and grabs my upper arm. He squeezes until I yelp.

  “Stop it!”

  I tug at his hand. It doesn’t budge.

  “Let me go, Ty.”

  I turn my head away from the stale smell of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. By tomorrow, a big purple bruise will appear and I’ll have to cover it up with makeup. Bruises aren’t a turn on and will make me look cheap.

  “I said five hundred,” he warns. “And I don’t want to hear any excuses from you. Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck what you have to do to make it either. If you can’t bring in the money opening beer bottles, then find another way. Show them your tits if you have to. You like to put on airs and act all high and mighty, but you ain’t too good for that. Don’t forget where you came from. A two-bit meth whore, that’s where.”

  I know arguing with my brother won’t do any good. The only reason he dragged me along with him on this trip to Panama City is because he thought we would have an opportunity to make some extra bucks.

  For me to make some extra bucks, it turns out. Not him.

  Easy money, he had said. Piece of cake.

  Yeah right.

  Easy for him to say that, too.

  He isn’t the one standing on
his feet for fourteen hours straight a night. My official title at the Silver Shark Saloon is a "beer tub babe." A cute name for girls in sexy outfits who spend the night popping the caps on beer bottles as fast as they can while flirting and teasing with the customers for tips.

  My hourly wage, if it can be called that, is a measly two dollars and thirteen cents. The real money comes from working the customers for dollar bills. A five if I’m really lucky.

  I hate the job.

  It disgusts me to have to put up with drunken bikers eyeballing my body like I am less than nothing, talking about my tits and whispering filthy comments in my ear.

  Telling me what they want to do to me and asking what my nightly rate runs. Or, if they are really cheap, my charge to go behind the building for fifteen minutes.

  I’m not a hooker. As far as I know, none of the girls are.

  Not that this makes a difference. The men seem to think we’re all for sale. As if everything in the world is right there for their taking, to be bought and sold during the bike rally.

  Whatever they want or need.

  The more I know about bikers, the less I like them.

  “I told you already, Ty. I can’t make that much money tonight.”

  Sure, I know we are running short on funds. What else is new? We are always low on money. God forbid Ty would go out and do something worthwhile for a change to make some cash. Why was it all up to me?

  Ty gives my arm one last tight squeeze then slams his fist against the headboard. I can’t help but flinch. His moods are so unpredictable and keep me on edge.

  “Shut up!” he yells. “I’ve already told you a hundred times. We need the damn money so you’re going to put your sweet ass to work and make it. Remember how I took you in when you had nowhere to go? And look at how you repay me, by giving me a hard time when I ask you to do one little thing.”

  “I’m working, aren’t I? I just can’t make that much.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s time you start earning your way around here. I’m sick of hearing your complaining. You’re beginning to sound just like that worthless piece-of-shit mother of ours. Always whining. Why she couldn’t do this, or couldn’t do that, while she let her kids almost starve to damn death. It’s time to grow up, Trish. Face the real world.”