Steel My Heart (5 page)

Chapter 9

J.

"Strength doesn’t come from numbers in our world. Strength comes from unity." Teach raised his shotglass to the ceiling, his voice rising triumphantly.

J. nodded
back solemnly, holding a straight face for as long as he could. Case elbowed him in the ribs and he had to duck his head so Teach wouldn't see his suppressed smile. That was enough for Case. He burst out in a roar of laughter and lifted his shot over his own head.

"Enough speeches,
" he cried. "It's time to drink!"

"Fuckin' kids," Teach sighed, and
lowered his glass. "Fine. Tonight we drink to Jeremiah Johnson, who is now a free man in every sense of the word. To J. our brother."

He paused.

His
mouth twisted into a broad smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Don't fuck this up," he concluded.

"Don't fuck this up!" roared the rest of the Sons of Steel, raising their glasses to their lips.

MacDougal emptied the bourbon down his throat like it was water, slamming the shot glass down with a grunt. Case and Doctor D. followed suit, with Case letting out a whoop. Doctor D. snorted and coughed, then spit something into a napkin.

J. knocked back his own glass and sputtered in surprise.
The bourbon tasted like diesel fuel and felt even worse. It slammed into his belly like a bowling ball and he immediately had to suppress a burp.

Case laughed and clapped him on the back,
,"Howzit taste, jackass?"

"Like shit," J. grimaced. "Guess freedom tastes like shit. Or are you assholes holding out on me and only getting the cheap stuff?"

"Hey, it's been so long I thought you wouldn't be picky. This is what we get."

J. nodded in understanding. Rosie's Cellar was not on their usual list of hangouts, but Rosie was so grateful to the Sons for keeping her place from getting trashed during the last summer's flash mobs that whenever they showed up now, Sons drank free.

The cheap stuff for free, that is. The harsh taste of the bourbon burned his throat. "Fuck, I think I just got an ulcer," J. choked.

"We gotta get your tolerance back up, man," Case exhorted him, clapping him repeatedly on the back.

J. looked at his pale friend. The flush was already creeping up his bearded cheeks and the dopey smile was in full effect. Four shot glasses were already lined up along the bar in front of him. J. looked down at his own single shot glass and felt the woozy pleasure of a buzz starting to form.

I need to take it easy
, he reminded himself. He had no idea how alcohol would affect him now that he could legally drink with his brothers. He hoped he was strong enough to keep the black thoughts and the red rage from taking over.

Case slammed another shot down onto the bar then looked across the room. "Niiiiice," he whistled through his teeth.

J. followed his gaze and then sucked in his own breath too. The sight of her huddled there in the corner hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Wow, you don't see chicks like that at the Dirty Dog," Doctor D. piped up from behind them. The older man licked his lips.

"Back off," Case mocked. "She's not interested in an old fart like you. What're you gonna do, take her back to your shithole of an apartment and introduce your mangy cats?"

"Girls like that, they appreciate a man with experience," Doctor D. shot back, grabbing his crotch. "You wouldn't know the first thing to do with her."

"I could think of a couple things," Case argued.

J. nodded, watching the girl at the corner of the bar. He could think of a few things too. She was gorgeous, but J. could tell she didn't think so. She curled her voluptuous body around herself, like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. Her white-blond hair fell
forward as she ducked her head. It hung in curtains across her face, hiding her from him. J. felt himself step forward. He was moving towards her without meaning to. He ached to brush that hair back. Reveal that face. Expose that neck. He wanted bend his lips to her throat and taste that soft skin. In his mind it tasted like cream.

J.
stepped back forcibly and hunched over the bar, trying to hide the erection that rose uncomfortably against his jeans. She wasn't just another piece of ass. She was something new. He called Rosie for another shot. A bit of liquid courage.

"You gonna talk to her?" Case wavered in front of him woozily.

J. downed the shot and slammed the glass back on the counter. The bourbon didn't hurt as badly this time, and the fiery warmth helped steel his nerves.
Just say hi,
he exhorted himself, but the attack of nerves continued.

P
rison had been a long drought, and since getting out there had been only a couple of girls. Hangers-on, mostly, girls who came to club parties for the thrill of sleeping with real, live bikers. He had gone to a few parties up at Temple with Crash, who lived up there part of the time, but the girls had all been so wasted it was barely worth it. More than one had passed out on him midway through the act. It hadn't done much for his self-esteem.

Tonight, though, tonight
was
his
night. Flush with the triumph of freedom, J. was feeling good about himself for the first time in years. Possibly in his life. He shot another quick look at the beautiful girl and told his nerves to go fuck themselves. He was going to go for it.

He was just getting up from his stool when the girl suddenly bolted from her spot and ran to the door. J. watched the door open at the same time and cringed as the girl almost crashed into Crash who was coming in from his shift watching the bikes.

"Hey blondie, you just got here, leaving so soon?" Crash leered.

The girl looked up at him, panicked, and J. felt a sudden protective urge. He crossed the floor in three long strides and folded his arms across his chest. He knew his brother was self-conscious about his height, so he drew himself up to his full six feet and crossed his arms.

"Crash, stop being creepy and apologize. You nearly knocked her over."

"I'm not being creepy. You don't think I'm creepy, do you baby?" Crash put on his best Casanova grin, the kind that worked wonders at sorority parties. J. snorted.

The girl looked from Crash to J, then back to Crash. "Umm..." she wavered.

"Yeah Crash, you're being creepy," Case called from the bar. "
Besides, your shift ain't up yet."

"Aw c'mon." Crash's grin faded. "It's hot out there."

"Your shift ain't up," Case repeated.

Crash looked at the girl and then back to J. "Aw fuck it, it's your night man, have fun," he relented and turned back to the door.
He stopped momentarily. "And sorry 'bout that," he called contritely over his shoulder.

"Thanks," the girl muttered in a small voice.

J. reached up to touch her arm, but thought better of it. "He comes on strong, sorry."

"I'm okay," she repeated in the same small voice.

"Did you, ah," J. paused, licking his lips. He could smell the soft fragrance of her pale blond hair. It wasn't doing anything for the tightness in his boxers. "Did you need to go or something?"

"I probably should."

J. felt his heart sink. He felt himself talking without realizing what he was saying. "You haven't had anything to drink yet though."

She looked at him sharply. "How do you know?"

J. swallowed. "Guess I noticed you. You kind of stand out in here."

The girl hesitated before breaking out into a soft smile. "I don't actually know what I'm doing here."

"Having a drink with me," J. said with more confidence than he felt.

The girl rocked back and forth on her feet. The sway of her hips sent another jolt to J.'s groin.

"Okay, I will," the girl said suddenly, as if making up her mind on the spot. "I'm Emmy."

J. grasped her small hand in his when she offered it. Her skin was just as soft as he hoped, but her grip was surprisingly strong. She was holding on to him as if unwilling to let him go. "J. Welcome to my party, Emmy."

They turned to the bar. "What're we celebrating, J.?"

J. felt his stomach lurch.

"I've ah, graduated." The lie sprang to his lips easily.

He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to where he was sitting with the rest of the Sons of Steel and she went willingly. It was better that she didn't know the truth.

Chapter 10

Emmy

What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing?
The chant inside my head clamored loudly as we walked over to the group of leather clad men. Bikers, as I now understood. I had wandered into a biker bar and agreed to have a drink with one of them. Robert would be scandalized.

That was why I was doing it.

Well, that was part of the reason. The other part currently had his warm hand pressed into the small of my back.

I didn't know why I had agreed to have a drink with him. My brain was shrieking about the danger I was in. J. certainly looked dangerous. He was all in black; black T-shirt, black jeans and heavy black work boots, but what sent my heart racing in fear was the black vest he wore over his muscular chest. It was leather and studded with patches. "Road Captain," it said. "Sons of Steel M.C. Philadelphia, PA" read the back.

"What are the Sons of Steel?" I felt myself asking, then immediately cursed my naiveté.

When J. laughed, it was like his whole face lit up. I searched his face for any trace of anger at me, but I only saw warmth in his light brown eyes. "Don't know if I c
an quite explain it to a citizen."

"Citizen?" Something about the way he said it made me laugh. "Is that what I'm supposed to be?"

He pulled out the barstool and gestured for me to sit. I had to grin at the chivalry. Robert would do something similar, but only when people were watching. For J. it seemed like something he would do just because.

"You don't happen to ride a motorcycle, do you Emmy?" He asked, and I could hear the note of teasing in his voice.

"Maybe I do," I replied archly, crossing my legs.

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows and grinned, flashing deep dimples. "Well then I apologize. Your club must be pretty lax if you're allowed out without your colors."

I played along, enjoying myself. "I don't have need a club." I gestured to my cut up T-shirt. "These are my 'colors,' yellow and violet."

He laughed again. "They're kinda bright." He paused and put and appraising finger up to his lips. "But they look good on you." His eyes locked on mine.

I squirmed in my seat, recognizing something in his gaze, but not allowing myself to dwell on it for too long. I had at first thought his eyes were a warm brown, but now that he was close to me, I saw little flecks of hazel in them, tiny shards of emerald, scattered around the iris. His eyes turned up at the corners ever so slightly and the dark black of his lashes cast a shadow along his high cheekbones. The smile faded from his lips as he held my gaze.

"Hey there, Emmy," he murmured, and took my hand into his once more. This time it wasn't a handshake. His strong hands were calloused and rough, workman's hands. I inhaled sharply, tasting his scent on my tongue. It tasted like warm leather worn buttery soft with age.

"Hey," I felt myself breathe.

A sudden chorus of hoots and hollers broke through the moment. "You gonna drink or what?" I heard one of the bikers shout.

I almost jumped out of my chair when a huge, blond, Nordic looking biker came stalking unsteadily towards us, a drunken smile plastered across his reddened face.

"Are you fucking with me?" J. muttered and twisted around in his chair.

The blond biker slung his arm over J.'s embarrassed shoulder and turned to leer at me. "You need a drink in your hand, beautiful. Tonight's a celebration."

"My graduation," J. interjected quickly.

The blond biker blinked and licked his lips. "That's right. This promising young gentleman over here is now a proud graduate. Shall we toast him?"

His formal manner made me giggle, as did his blatant leering at my chest.

"I don't have a drink," I protested.

"We can change that!" he shouted and waved his free arm wildly in the air. J. pinched the bridge of his nose. I laughed again, starting to enjoy myself. "Hey Rosie!" the blond biker shouted. "Three over here!"

J. uncovered his eyes and shot me a mock-bashful look over the palm of his hand. "Emmy, I apologize for my brother over here. Case gets excited easily."

I looked back and forth, hesitant, from J.'s smooth mahogany skin to Case's pale, reddened face. "Bro...ther?" I sputtered, then immediately blushed.

J. just looked amused. "Brothers. M.C. brotherhood."

He leaned forward, ducking out of Case's increasingly unsteady grasp. "You'd know what I meant if you belonged to a club," he teased, fluttering the hem of my T-shirt. "Instead of being a lone wolf like you are."

"Lone wolf, is that what I am?" I sat back on my stool. "I kind of like that."

"Oh Jesus, I'm gonna need more to drink if I have to listen to you two," Case complained. He reached over us to grab the shots that had just been delivered by a plump, middle-aged woman.

"Thanks Rosie, keep 'em comin'." He spun around between our two stools and leaned against the bar for support. "What's your name again, gorgeous?" he blinked at me.

"Emilia. Emmy," I repeated.

He nodded and handed me a shot glass filled to the brim with amber colored liquid. "This shit burns, Emmy" he warned, and raised his glass.

I looked at J., who nodded encouragingly. I brought the glass to my lips and winced.

"It smells like gasoline," I complained.

"Tastes worse too!" Case grinned. "Cheers!"

I was suddenly looking at myself from the outside in. Me, Emilia, the fianceé of Robert Whitestone III, heir to the Whitestone fortune and the toast of Philadelphia high-society, drinking cheap whiskey with bikers. I had to laugh.

Then I knocked back the shot in one swallow, just like my dad taught me.

The bourbon hit my throat like wildfire, burning a savage trail all the way down into my stomach. I felt my eyes water and squeezed them shut as I tried to suppress a cough behind my hand.

"Need a chaser?" J. was right there when I opened my eyes, wiggling a pint of beer invitingly. Case was already pounding his.

I lunged for the beer wordlessly and poured two-thirds of it down my open throat before I quenched the burn.

Case whooped and J. raised his eyebrows in approval. "So you've done some drinking before, huh?"

The burning settled into a dull, pleasant warmth that radiated out of my stomach and made my limbs droop.

"You could say it's a family tradition," I replied airily, then immediately regretted it.

No one wanted to hear my self-pity. Robert had drilled that into my head just as often as he had grilled me for stories of my dad's drunken rampages. It was almost as if he liked picking at my pain.

"Heh, I hear that," J. nodded, and I saw the telltale knowledge behind his eyes. He knew what I wasn't saying. I braced myself for the questions, readying my lies.

But instead of poking at me, he just sighed. "Want another?"

I leaned forward slightly, testing my limbs. "I'm going to need some food in my belly if I'm going to keep drinking," I realized.

"Let's fix that then!" Case shouted. "Rosie!"

"Case?" J. asked.

"Yeah?"

"Go away."

I cringed, ready for Case to take offense. I had never heard someone speak so plainly before.

Case only nodded.

"Got it. Probably my shift with the bikes anyway. Crash is most likely in a pretty foul mood about missing the party." He stepped between us, but stopped just over my shoulder. He bent towards me, his pale blue eyes bloodshot and unfocused. "Wish I had gotten to you first, Emmy. You're fuckin' gorgeous, you know that?"

"Uh," I stammered, ducking away from the hot stench of whiskey on his breath. "Thank you?"

He looked at me a second. "You don't know it," he realized, widening his icy eyes. "Well you are." He stood back up. "I'm an expert."

"Go the fuck away, Case," J. called out amiably.

"Going!" The huge blond biker staggered to the door and pushed it open, letting in a blast of heat from the summer night.

"Fuckin' idiot." J. shook his head. "Hope he didn't freak you out."

I was still blushing, but I hoped he couldn't tell in the dim light of the bar. "I'm okay," I realized. "He wasn't saying anything mean."

"He wasn't saying anything untrue, either."

I blushed again, but this time I was saved by the appearance of Rosie at the bar. "Hey there J. You still need me?" she asked in a broad South Philly accent.

J. swiveled in his chair. "Is the kitchen still open, Rosie?"

The bartender wiped her hands on her apron. "It is if you ask me nice."

"Ain't I always nice to you, gorgeous?" J. flashed his dimples again and I could see they had the same effect on the older woman as they did on me.

She grinned and leaned forward, treating us to perfect view of the deep valley of her cleavage. "Cheese fries sound good? I still have some bacon crumbles."

J. turned to me. "How's that sound Emmy? You said you were hungry."

I opened my mouth to protest. Cheese fries. All those carbs.

My mouth watered. "That sounds great, thanks Rosie."

She smiled at me, "No problem, doll. Anything for these guys." She headed back to the kitchen and I heard her bark something at the staff.

"What does she mean?" I turned to J. "Why will she do anything for you?"

"Heh," J. drummed the bar with his fingers. "You remember the flash mobs last summer?"

"Of course." It had been all over the news. My mother had praised God that I was home for the summer as we watched the breathless newscasters describing the packs of roaming teenagers who overran South Street. Muggings, random beatings and huge acts of vandalism were reported. I got an email from school about it, even though I was home for summer vacation.

"Those groups of kids who got together and just went wild. That was down here wasn't it?" I realized.

"Right down the middle of the street,' J. nodded. "There must have been fifty of them, maybe even a hundred. Well Teach," he gestured to an older black man sitting on a stool in the corner, "he saw them coming. The Sons of Steel, we were down here for another celebration, uh..." he paused for a second, "the uh, end of my semester, and Rosie was terrified. A smaller group of kids had come through the weekend before and she was still waiting for her replacement windows. Friend of hers had gotten his store trashed so bad he was thinking of closing."

"So what happened?"

J. looked at me. "We stopped 'em."

"You stopped them?" I looked around. "Is this everyone?" I had counted six men dressed in black leather.

J. sipped his beer. "What punk kid's gonna go up against bikers? Not a smart one, I'll tell you that." He gestured to Teach again. "He stood in the doorway with his arms folded. Rest of us stood behind him. Told the kids to keep moving. This place was left untouched."

I was impressed. "They didn't fight you?"

"Didn't even try. Crash was ready to beat some asses." J. chuckled and took a long pull of his beer. "I think he was kinda disappointed."

I laughed out loud, and was shocked at myself. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Sons of Steel eat and drink free here ever since. Teach doesn't want us putting Rosie out of business though, so we only come here for special occasions."

"Like tonight?"

"Like tonight."

I was curious. Finals weren't over yet at the University of the Arts. This was early to have graduated already. "Where did you go?"

J. drained the last of his beer. "Some place upstate you never heard of."

"I'm from upstate. Carbon County. Maybe I've heard of it."

"Trust me you haven't. Let's shut up about me, whaddya say?" The emerald shards in his eyes glinted at me. "I want to know your story. How'd you end up here at Rosie's?"

I hesitated, groping for a plausible story. "Fighting with my roommate," I blurted.

J. nodded. "Living with other people is tough."

I looked at my hands. Lying usually came so easily to me, but his eyes made me want to tell the truth. I was suddenly ashamed of how quickly I could spin stories.

He watched me. "Hey there, sorry if I touched a nerve."

I realized I had been holding my breath, waiting for him to press the issue. "You didn't know," I replied.

"No I didn't know, but I know living with people is tough," he repeated.

"Why, where do you live?"

He chuckled ruefully. "At our clubhouse, behind Teach's shop."

I was taken aback. "You live with them too?"

I saw his fist clench and shrank back, but just as quickly as I saw it, it was gone again. "I needed a place to crash after I...graduated."

I was suddenly filled with the intense need to touch him. I pressed my hand against his leather clad back, “I'm kind of dependent on my roommate too. It sucks."

If he noticed my touch, he didn't comment. He didn't call attention to it. He just accepted my comfort with grace.

"A man should stand on his own two feet," he muttered, and I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear.