Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

to my mouth, holding my breath for ten seconds to try and ride out the wave of nausea.

Round two, I managed to get my pants around my ankles. I shuffled back from the mirror and turned, my entire body cringing as I looked over my shoulder and eyed the almost inch-wide circular burn that now decorated the back of my thigh.

I pinched my eyes closed, squeezing out a couple of tears as I tried to convince myself to get in the shower. It felt like the back of my leg was on fire. I needed to cool down the burn. It would ease the sting and keep it from getting infected. Though the longer I looked, a realization hit me that it would need to be washed to get the ash and crap out.

And who the hell knew what else Robert had burned into my damn skin when he’d tried to shove his fucking hand between my legs.

I should have known better.

I know these types of guys.

I can read them, but my brain was too fucking focused on one man in particular.

I should have known better.

I knew how shit worked.

I should have kept my mouth shut.

Played his little game and walked away.

The result—no security for Tuesday night.

How much trouble was I in now? I wasn’t sure.

“You in pain?”

I gasped, grabbing the wall to keep me steady. Did I tell him? Did I just excuse myself and handle it on my own? It was my fucking mistake, my stupid pride that had now cost the club.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me, baby.”

I hated that he could read me that well. “Yeah.”

He pushed off the bathroom door frame. His gaze stern and dark. “Where?”

Sucking in a slow, deep breath, I turned.

It didn’t take him long.

“That a fucking burn?” he seethed, the air changing as he stepped up behind me and crouched down. His fingers brushed the side of my thigh, and I gasped, my hands curling into tight fists. “This why you slapped the fucktard outside?”

“Yeah,” I croaked before clearing my throat. “Idiot tried to shove his hand between my legs with a cigar in his hands.”

“It needs to be under cold water. Now!” I was already shaking my head before he could even finish, but my objections were clearly ignored as he got to his feet and placed his hands on my hips. “Get in the bath.”

The order was sharp.

Demanding.

He shuffled past me to the bathtub, proudly sitting on the other side of the room.

I braced my hands on the sink, leaning into it so I didn’t have to put as much pressure on my leg. “You have a bath,” I commented, a breathy chuckle following.

He turned just a single tap—the cold one—letting me know this wasn’t going to be pleasant or fucking relaxing. No lit candles, no book to read. He checked the temperature with his hand, unsuccessfully hiding the cold shudder before he turned to face me again. “Most of the boys asked for them when this place was renovated about seven years ago,” he answered, slipping his club colors off his shoulders and catching it in his hands. “After riding for hours, we want to rest our muscles, not stand in a fucking shower.”

“Right.” I nodded, gritting my teeth.

“I’m gonna call someone. We’ll get the pain under control, then it’ll need to be cleaned.” His cell phone was already to his ear, murmuring quietly so I couldn’t hear him over the rush of the water.

I knew he was right.

I needed to get the burn under some cold water, then get it washed, or I was going to be dealing with one hell of a fucking painful infection in a day or so.

Unfortunately, I also knew it was going to hurt like hell.

I could feel the contents of my stomach surging as Hawk stepped around me, placing his hands on my hips and helping me out of my shorts before shuffling us toward the bath.

“Hawk,” I protested, blinking through the tears that I could feel beginning to burn my eyes. “I hate that I’ve made a strange habit of fucking crying around you.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“You fucking do not.”

When we reached the side of the bath, his hands went to his jeans. A single flick of his belt and they pooled at his feet. He kicked them to the side and reached for his black T-shirt, grabbing the back of the neck and pulling it forward. The scrap of fabric joined his colors on the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

He then stood with me, his body something that should be on magazines or in goddamn porn, and his Calvin Klein’s doing nothing to hide the curve at the front.

My heart didn’t know what to do, but I knew between the burn and the way I couldn’t stop admiring the man in front of me, the amount of adrenaline that must have been coursing through my veins at that moment should’ve killed me.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re getting in the bath,” he answered, leaning over to turn the tap off before stepping into the water. Once he had both feet in, he held out his hand to mine, holding me steady while I lifted my burned leg first, the raw injury screaming.

With both feet in, Hawk turned me so my back was pressed to his chest, and we slowly sunk into the water.

The shock of the cold hit me instantly, stealing my breath for a second. My brain’s natural reaction was to get the hell out, escape the cold and find somewhere fucking warm to hide.

I attempted an escape, but Hawk’s arms circled my waist, pulling my body against his chest and holding me tight as my legs touched the water. “Holy crap,” I sobbed, trying to fight through the cold water and the pain and hope like fucking hell for some kind of respite.

I was okay with pain.

I’d been through enough of it to know my tolerance was pretty damn high.

But this.

Fuck.

I knew it needed water, that was what