RIDING DIRTY (Steel Titans MC Book 4) by Franca Storm (best books for students to read txt) 📗

The woman didn’t know the meaning of the word, didn’t have no clue when or how to back down. She was a self-righteous, ball-busting know-it-all. A real pull-no-punches hell bitch.

Staying here was gonna be a hell of a thing.

7

~Willa~

THUD. THUD. THUD

Groggily, I reached out in the dark and grabbed my cell off the bedside table. Turning it on, I eyed the clock and growled to myself. Three in the morning. Was he fucking serious?

I knew exactly what those sounds were and where they were coming from.

When I’d acquired this place a few years back, I’d set up a home gym down in the basement. This was a safehouse, so it meant that if I had to come here, there was some kind of threat coming at me. It meant I was at war. And that required constant training to make sure I stayed at my best, especially if I was forced to stand still and go into hiding for a while. I couldn’t afford to get sloppy and be out of practice. That was the time to step everything up and ensure I was at my best.

With a grunt of annoyance, I climbed out of bed and stormed to the bedroom door. I snatched my robe off the hook on the back of the door on my way out and slipped it on as I made my way down the hall.

I made a sharp turn that led to the top of the basement stairs, then I stomped down them.

The moment I reached the bottom and looked through the open basement doorway, the sight before me caught me off guard and had me pulling up short.

Holy hell.

Ink and flesh straining, morphing, and twisting with rapid-fire movements.

Skin glistening with a sheen of sweat.

Muscles bunching, flexing and rippling.

Fists powering into the bag with unchecked ferocity.

Jabbing, ducking, weaving.

Slade was in the battle of his life.

Preparing for enemies that were all too real.

Fighting for his life, fighting for the freedom so long denied him.

His truth was all over him, his face, his every movement.

It hit me in the gut.

Raw.

Brutal.

Dark.

Pained.

The grief and regret.

He was beautifully broken.

And it made him incredibly dangerous.

It was because it called to the same thing I recognized in myself.

And in that moment, I desperately wanted to help to put him back together. I wanted us to put each other back together.

“You waiting on an invitation?”

His booming, gritty voice jolted me from my thoughts, that sentiment that had gripped me fading bit by bit into the ozone as I managed to get a hold of myself. It was a weakness I couldn’t afford. Ever. I shook the remnants of it off as I made my way down the remaining steps to the basement floor.

Folding my arms across my chest, I glared hard at him. “It’s three in the morning.”

He froze mid-punch. “I woke you, yeah?” Regret plagued his features as he turned to me. “Sorry, darlin'.”

He was? I’d suspected that he’d done it on purpose, on account of the antagonistic way we’d left things earlier.

“I figured this basement having some kind of soundproofing, knowing you.”

“Knowing me?”

“With you being the over-prepared type.”

“Right, yeah.” Scanning the room, I told him, “No. No soundproofing, or any extras, unfortunately. This place was a hasty purchase.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Hasty? You?”

Yeah, that didn’t exactly fit with my reputation or the personality he’d seen up close. “Rogue elements arose,” I told him.

Interest shone in his eyes and he snatched a hand towel up off the bench in the corner, then made his way over to me, wiping the excess sweat from his body as he went.

I swallowed hard at the sight of his naked chest, his muscles rippling with his every step my way. He was a sight to behold, for sure. The right side of his torso was covered in a patchwork of interwoven tattoos. Both his arms were heavily inked too. The designs and overall look of his ink gave a machine-like quality to him. And that was the man I remembered. The machine. The unstoppable hardass, relentless and merciless in his quest to protect and empower his club.

He was magnificent.

Cut from marble.

Forged in steel.

Slade Mitchell was beauty and strength melded together in one alluring package.

Dabbing his forehead with the towel, he stopped in front of me and queried, “What kind of rogue elements?”

“The Jackals.”

Unbridled shock infiltrated his features. “Jesus. How’d you get mixed up with those batshit crazy fuckers?”

His reaction was warranted. Anyone who walked in our sort of world had heard of the notorious, brutal cartel.

“A mutual associate of ours, actually. Rick Vale.”

“Another job you two did together,” he muttered with distaste.

I ignored it and went on, “A few years ago, his big boss, Nik Stone, was considering doing business with The Jackals. Nik had sent him down there for a meet to make first contact and work out the first draft of a lucrative deal. Ricky didn’t always agree with everything Nik wanted. That became even more prevalent near the end as Nik grew more twisted and unhinged. In fact, covertly, Ricky actually got in the way and secretly sabotaged several of his potential projects. In this case, he witnessed some horrific things while he was paying a visit to the compound belonging to The Jackals. Unwilling women being taken advantage of, abused, and tortured, right out in the open. They trafficked them for business, but also kept many for themselves. He came to me for help. I set the women up here at this safehouse while I dealt with the situation. He helped them find new lives afterward too. He had a soft spot for women and couldn’t stand them being mistreated. Two examples you’re aware of are Natasha and your late wife. He stood in the way many a time to protect them both from Nik.”

“That shit’s exactly why I spared his life.”

“I figured as much. More than once, you protected him. You gave kill authorization to Cole to take out Mikhail Baranov, but refused it on Ricky. He’s