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

a groove, she reached as high as her cracked ribs would let her, testing for a second one. When she found what she was looking for, Magenta gritted her teeth against the pain and pulled herself upward. Bare toes scrabbling, they scraped the rock, trying to find purchase. She clenched her jaw and exhaled sharply, relieved when she discovered a footing. Reaching with her left arm, she repeated the process, inching her way toward the top.

She wasn’t even halfway up when her foot slipped. Panic erupting, she dug her fingers into the wall only to have the chunk she was gripping break away. Losing her hold, Magenta plunged downward, throwing out her arms and legs in a desperate attempt to slow her descent. Agony jolted through her body as she collided with the ground before everything slid blessedly into nothingness.

When she came to, the metallic taste of blood was in her mouth and the throbbing from her right ankle was killing her. Raising a hand to her forehead, it came away wet just above her left eye. She felt the puffiness of the bruise around the cut. Stretching gingerly, she checked for other injuries, but her cracked ribs were screaming the loudest.

Releasing a pained breath, she sat up with a wince and carefully probed her ankle. It didn’t feel broken. More than likely, it was sprained from her fall. She was lucky it wasn’t worse. The walls weren’t as stable as she hoped. It was little wonder no one had ever climbed out of Khan’s pit.

Lying back down, she focused on breathing through the pain. She wasn’t in any shape to attempt an escape now. Not until she healed.

Instead of letting herself be sucked back into a pity party, she focused on the future. What she would do when she escaped. The business she hoped to start with a goal of becoming a self-made businesswoman and eventually a millionaire. Her mother had always encouraged her to dream big. She refused to let the Death’s Head MC kill it. Whatever happened, while there was breath in her body, she’d cling to her conviction that the best was yet to be. As long as there was life, there was hope. They could drug her, cage her, sell her, but somehow, someway, she’d find a way out.

And when she did, she was coming back with a vengeance.

Cold, calculating, and ruthless.

She planned to give them exactly what they deserved, beginning with Phantom and Khan.

9

The four Dragons pulled into yet another biker bar, hoping that someone here had seen the Death’s Head cage and its passengers. They’d searched all day for the van, looked everywhere they could for Magenta before pushing north, as relentless as the tide.

Quake killed his engine, popped the kickstand, and pulled off his helmet, glad to give his ass a rest from riding. They’d left mid-morning, trusting their brothers to handle the unfinished business they’d left. By the time their clean-up crew finished, the jackal would have permanently disappeared without a trace, never to be found.

It was supper time at the Hell’s Fury MC clubhouse. With luck, this dive would serve decent food. He was hungry enough to eat the cardboard from a frozen pizza.

He’d settle for a burger and a beer.

Locking their guns in their saddlebags, the four Dragons went inside. There were thirteen Dragons in the Hell’s Fury MC, gargoyle shifters whose true voices affected those around them. The search party was selected based on the qualities and fighting abilities of their brothers. Quake’s voice triggered movement in surroundings and people. Ryder’s voice was like a shot of nitro, supercharging them for increased speed. Inferno’s gift was clarity, fostering the ability to analyze and act. Stone was their President but his voice was a battle cry, making them as fearful and unstoppable as Berserkers, which Ryder already was. One rallying cry from Stone and Ryder became their most lethal weapon. It was like releasing the Kraken only bloodier.

The bar was dimly lit and fairly busy for a Sunday night. Ignoring the curious looks at their cuts, they found a quiet booth in the back and took a load off, settling onto the cracked vinyl seats. Eventually, a waitress came over with laminated menus and an order pad.

The curvy redhead thrust out her chest and smiled like a prom queen. “My name’s Roxy,” she chirped, “and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

She paused for dramatic effect. When they didn’t pick up on her unspoken solicitation, she did the job she was hired to do. Take care of customers above the table, not on it.

Stone knew what they liked and ordered for the group. “This will be one check,” he began. “Give us an order of nachos and a basket of wings with hot sauce to start. We’ll have five burgers loaded. Two orders of fries. Two onion rings. One jalapeno popper. One fried pickle. Eight beers in bottles—and we’ll need them to be opened here.”

Quake was grateful for their President’s clear thinking. Tap beer could be drugged. By ordering unopened bottles, he minimized their risk in case someone here wished them ill. They hadn’t seen any Death’s Head MCs for a while, but the jackal shifters could still have friends in low places.

On cue, Garth Brooks started playing on the jukebox. Two couples wove their way onto the dance floor and started line dancing.

“Fuck,” Quake muttered under his breath. AC/DC he could handle. Country Western music made him want to smash his guitar. Inferno, on the other hand, was fucking singing along. He might look big and tough but the man loved karaoke.

Inferno’s voice grew in volume, garnering looks from the other tables.

Quake stomped his boot down on his brother’s foot.

“Ouch,” he snapped, throwing him a glare. “What the fuck, man?”

“Keep the Country confined to your room. No one else wants to hear you breaking glass attempting to sing it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it!”

Stone grunted. “Raise your hand if you want him to keep going.”

Inferno’s shot up but