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

session feeling calm, relaxed, and certain that she’d filled his ears, judging from the number of pages with notes and the serious expression on his face. Worse was the look of pity she saw before he hid it.

“I survived,” she reminded him. “But I need to know what’s causing my vertigo and what triggered my shift. I can’t work unless I know I’m in control. We have human clientele at The Pole Barn. They don’t know that we’re shifters. Madam Belle has the magick to help hide the obvious but it’s only when we’re in human form. Is it stress, do you think? Or the drugs that they gave me? Do I need to take something else for it? Got any magick up your sleeve, Dr. Steele?”

She’d seen his forearms, corded muscle and vein-roped, hair-dusted skin, sleeves rolled up as a prelude to a spanking, using his hand or his belt.

“Richard,” he reminded her. “I think the two of us are past Dr. Steele and Miss Lockheart.”

“Richard,” she repeated, feeling chastised. “Belle was worried about me driving. The dizzy spells. Do you think it’s safe, or do I need to wait a while?”

“I’d prefer no driving until we’ve ruled out some things. There are a number of causes for vertigo. Some of them can be helped with medication. Others—like those with a viral component—need to run their course. I’m recommending blood work, rest, and relaxation in a tranquil environment. No driving until you’ve gone a full day without an episode, and even then I’d recommend taking it easy. Limit yourself to short trips and pay attention to your body. Pull over at the first sign that something is wrong. Meanwhile, Belle should be here soon. I texted her when we were close to wrapping up the session.”

She arched an inquisitive brow. “How did you know I was almost done?”

His cheeks colored a bit. “Because your story was linear, starting from when you were taken to now. When you began describing the Hell’s Fury clubhouse, I figured it was safe to call her. You were already well into the aftermath, yes?”

Now it was her turn to blush. “I don’t normally kiss and tell,” she promised him.

“I know,” he said softly, “and whatever is said here will remain between us. How are you feeling?”

“Better. A bit drained,” she decided. “I’ll probably take a nap when I get back.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “You didn’t get much sleep last night.”

The only way he’d know that was if she’d told him about Quake.

Jesus.

She wasn’t certain if she would ever agree to hypnosis again if she was going to be spilling all of her secrets, not just the ones that could account for her triggers.

Rory didn’t have time to fret about it. The doorbell sounded. Richard glanced at a monitor on his desk. “Belle’s here. Are you good to walk?”

Rory was stiff but she managed to shoulder her purse, exit his office, and make her way to the exterior door.

Richard opened it to let Madame Belle inside. “I’d like to see you tomorrow,” he said, looking at her but speaking to her boss just as much. “The same time, if you can get a ride.”

“She can,” the Fae answered. “I’ll bring her myself. Just text me the code and I’ll have her here.”

Rory felt like a truant child in need of supervision but there was no help for it. She was under doctor’s orders to not drive until she was episode-free for twenty-four hours and tomorrow’s appointment time would fall short of that.

Exhaling sharply, she pulled up her big girl panties and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for everything, Dr. Steele.”

Calling him Richard in front of Belle would have raised penciled-on eyebrows.

She followed Belle out to her car, a vintage model like Elvis had driven, and settled into the passenger seat, buckling up for the ride. Belle took off like a bat from hell, flying low, ignoring the speed limits to get back in time to open.

“Amos knows I might be late,” she chirped, “but I want to get you settled before I go in.’

Rory sighed. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble. And so . . . , so sorry for going feral on you. We still don’t know what happened.”

Belle clucked like a mother hen. “I’ve seen worse. Trust me.” Hoping to distract her, she turned on the radio and fiddled with the knob, trying to find a station to listen to. Flicking glances between the radio and the road ahead of her, she didn’t notice trouble in the rearview mirror until it was upon them.

“Fuck,” she grated. “Death’s Head jackals. Six o’clock.”

Flooring it, Belle tried to put distance between them. One tire exploded when it was shot, threatening to send the car out of control. Rory saw black spots in her vision. Her forearms darkened. Her hands became paws and her nails became claws.

The car came to a shuddering stop. Belle started chanting, conjuring up something, but not soon enough to stop the jackals from breaking out both front windows and ripping open their doors.

“Bitch,” someone called her.

Rory’s mind went red with rage. Her vision narrowed to a long, dark pit and then went black.

“Magenta?”

Madam Belle’s voice came from a distance. Rory just wanted to sleep.

“Honey. Wake up. Come on now. We need to get out of here.”

What?

Rory forced her eyes open, squinting against the headlights. Belle knelt beside her, looking wide-eyed and pale and uncharacteristically shaken. “Your clothes are in the car,” she told her. “Please. We need to go before someone finds them.”

Clothes? Them?

Managing to sit up, Rory surveyed the carnage around them. There was nothing but dead jackals as far as the eye could see, with savaged throats and broken bodies.

Oh, God.

“Did I . . . ?”

“I’ve never lied to you. I won’t start now. We can talk in the car. Come on, Magenta. That’s a girl. Come on now.”

Rory didn’t have a stitch left on her. Her skin was streaked with crimson and crusted with dirt. Smelling