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

“Well, then you’ll be sorely disappointed,” she bites out. “I’m not them. And I never will be.” My little spy picks up her mug and moves to the backdoor, but she doesn’t step outside. She stands on the threshold and slowly sips her drink.

“Are you sure about that?” I can’t help but ask because I want her to want me. Heat courses through me, the need to have her grips my chest, holding me hostage, because all I can think about is having her beneath me. Images of her arching her back as I slide into that tight pussy flick through my mind, and my jeans feel even tighter than they were before.

Trinity turns, setting the empty mug on the counter, and offers me a smile. Her gaze locks on mine, and she slowly shakes her head, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she walks out, allowing the screen door to slam shut behind her.

My feet carry me out to find her at the back door to her house. She pulls it open and tips her head toward me before she mouths, “I’m not sure.”

And then she’s gone.

And all I can think about is having her. Claiming her. Making her mine.

5 Trinity

I should never have admitted how I feel to him last night. It’s stupid. I was being a stupid girl crushing on the bad guy in leather. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but as I sit at the kitchen table eating my cornflakes, I ponder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t walked out. If I had stayed, would he have kissed me? Even as the thought forms in my mind, I shake my head and focus on my cell phone on the table.

“Trinity,” my mom’s voice comes from the doorway, causing me to look up. Her face is etched with concern, which means she knows about what happened last night. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened?”

“I was asleep when you got home.”

“Don’t brush this off.” She rushes to me, her arms wrapping around me, squeezing so tight I can’t breathe. “Are you okay?” When she steps back, she cups my face in her hands, making me look at her, and I can’t move. The question hangs between us, the same thing Rogue asked me when we stood in his kitchen. I shouldn’t be thinking about him, but his way of distracting me last night worked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Rogue was—”

“Rogue. I met him at work.”

“Yes,” I tell her. “We were talking in the backyard when it happened, and he helped me.” A few emotions flit across my mother’s expression—anger, confusion, knowing—and all I want is for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“You stay away from him,” she bites out.

“Well, it’s not his fault.”

“Trinity, I don’t give a shit.” My mother’s words send cold racing through my veins. “You stay away from him. He’s trouble.”

“How do you know?” I’m not sure why I’m getting defensive of Rogue, but I push to my feet in frustration. “He was the one who was here for me last night. He helped me when I was scared.” The words tumble from my lips before I have time to think about what I’m saying, and when I see my mother’s expression morph to guilt, I shut my eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean—”

“No. You’re right, Trin. I was working. After your father walked out without a word, I’ve had to make sure you have a life outside that club because all it brought was trouble. And you’re not going near Rogue again. Or his father for that matter.”

“It’s not his fault!” My voice bounces off the walls, surrounding us. It’s the first time I’ve ever answered my mother back. And the shock painted on her face makes my chest tighten. I hate fighting with my mother. Even just a disagreement was not something I let happen. Over the past year since he left, I would agree to keep her calm because I blamed myself for my father leaving, but I’m eighteen now. I’m no longer a child. I lower my voice before I repeat, “It’s not his fault.”

“Go to your room.”

“It’s not fair,” I tell her again, keeping my voice low, my tone calm. I glance at her, knowing that if I do push it, I’ll just be told to move out. And as much as I’d love to do that, I have to wait.

Moving to the staircase, I make my way up to my room and shut the door. Leaning against it, I sigh. A rumble of a bike catches my attention, and my feet are racing to the window. Rogue is on his Harley. His hands grip the handlebars as he revs the engine before he kicks up the stand.

For a moment, he tilts his head, and our gazes lock. His lips curl slowly, the corner kicking up as he looks over his shoulder at me. I notice the small movement, just a tip of his helmet before he looks ahead of him and pulls out onto the road and speeds toward the center of town.

I wish my mother would listen to me. It can’t have anything to do with Rogue. Unless . . . What if it’s his father’s fault? No. I’m jumping to conclusions. Shaking my head, I slump on my mattress and stare at the ceiling. Last night when I got home, my stomach swirled with confused emotions—fear, desire, anxiousness.

I wanted Rogue to kiss me. Even after the shooting, I felt safe with him. I’m convinced he wouldn’t hurt me. He saved me. My bedroom door slides open, and Mom stands in the doorway.

“I just don’t want you to turn out like me. You have a future ahead of you.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I realize she’s talking about my dad.

“I know that, but you can’t blame Rogue for my feelings, Mom,” I tell her, scooting up to sit against my headboard.