again.
Alejandro and I—there’s no word to describe what we are. I’m not quite his old lady, but he’s more than my boyfriend. I don’t ever want to get married, because I don’t ever want to be tied down like that. He can’t make it home to me every single night. But his clothes are in my bureau, and most nights, I can hear his motorcycle tearing up the road, racing to be with me.
It’s enough for now.
Liked Cross Fire? Read on for an excerpt from Book 1 of Evelyn Glass' new Steel Talons Motorcycle Club trilogy:
BROKEN
Available now
CHAPTER ONE
"Hey Wade! Where you off to?" Boxer asked.
Jim Wade turned around to face Boxer but continued walking backwards toward his bike.
"I thought you'd stay for the show." Boxer pantomimed massaging tits on his own chest with a goofy grin.
Jim gave Boxer a smile that he didn’t feel. “Naw, man, I need to get some sleep. I haven’t been to bed since before the product run yesterday.” He’d had to set things straight with one of their business contacts who thought he could bypass them in their dealings. It had been a twelve-hour ride roundtrip, and it was a good enough excuse to head out.
He didn’t want to mention today’s date—it would be dragging up old shit.
But Boxer protested. “Come on, Wade. I’m sure one or more of the lovely ladies inside would be more than happy to tuck you in!”
Jim shook his head and grabbed the leather jacket slung over the seat of the motorcycle, bearing the silvery image of an eagle with giant talons clutching an American flag that was ripping in half. It was the patch of the MC, the Steel Talons, and he wore it proudly. He’d been patched in twelve years ago, and his biker brothers were the only family he had now, the only people he trusted.
Slinging his leg over the bike, he told Boxer, “I’ll see you early in the morning, man. We have to take inventory, make sure nothing went missing with the break-in last week.”
Disappointed, Boxer approached him and slapped him on the back as he revved the engine on the bike. “Sure, man, I’ll be here all night. I might need a bucket of cold water poured over me in the morning, though, ‘cause there’s a bottle of Patrón with my name on it in there, and I plan to get fucked up.”
Jim gave him a salute and rode off, the night particularly dark, clouds covering what sliver of a moon there was. How appropriate, he thought, considering the anniversary he was recognizing tonight. He cursed into the wind as an image of Trina popped into his mind.
His old lady had been a good woman, but she’d been weak. She’d claimed not to have a problem with his lifestyle, but when it came down to it, she didn’t have the heart to be an old lady, and she’d grown to hate the MC.
He cursed again, this time directing his anger inward, for being so blind to her coping mechanisms. He’d been so caught up in the game he hadn’t realized she was addicted to pain pills till it was too late. One year ago tonight, he’d come home from a party at the clubhouse to find Trina on the floor, not breathing. Next to her were an empty bottle of Vicodin and an empty fifth of Stoli.
Her overdose had shattered him, and Jim had thrown himself into club business without second thought. He’d been trying to pick up the pieces of his life ever since but couldn’t seem to make a complete picture without his old lady. It probably served him right – karma was a real bitch. He’d made other people suffer, and there was no better way to make him suffer than to take away the one tender, loving thing in his life.
His bike wavered beneath him, the road slick, and he gripped the handlebars tighter, trying to maintain control. But it was too late, and as his bike swerved off the road, his last thought was, This is what they call poetic justice, you lousy shit.
CHAPTER TWO
“Hey, Susan, we got a call!”
Susan
Alejandro and I—there’s no word to describe what we are. I’m not quite his old lady, but he’s more than my boyfriend. I don’t ever want to get married, because I don’t ever want to be tied down like that. He can’t make it home to me every single night. But his clothes are in my bureau, and most nights, I can hear his motorcycle tearing up the road, racing to be with me.
It’s enough for now.
Liked Cross Fire? Read on for an excerpt from Book 1 of Evelyn Glass' new Steel Talons Motorcycle Club trilogy:
BROKEN
Available now
CHAPTER ONE
"Hey Wade! Where you off to?" Boxer asked.
Jim Wade turned around to face Boxer but continued walking backwards toward his bike.
"I thought you'd stay for the show." Boxer pantomimed massaging tits on his own chest with a goofy grin.
Jim gave Boxer a smile that he didn’t feel. “Naw, man, I need to get some sleep. I haven’t been to bed since before the product run yesterday.” He’d had to set things straight with one of their business contacts who thought he could bypass them in their dealings. It had been a twelve-hour ride roundtrip, and it was a good enough excuse to head out.
He didn’t want to mention today’s date—it would be dragging up old shit.
But Boxer protested. “Come on, Wade. I’m sure one or more of the lovely ladies inside would be more than happy to tuck you in!”
Jim shook his head and grabbed the leather jacket slung over the seat of the motorcycle, bearing the silvery image of an eagle with giant talons clutching an American flag that was ripping in half. It was the patch of the MC, the Steel Talons, and he wore it proudly. He’d been patched in twelve years ago, and his biker brothers were the only family he had now, the only people he trusted.
Slinging his leg over the bike, he told Boxer, “I’ll see you early in the morning, man. We have to take inventory, make sure nothing went missing with the break-in last week.”
Disappointed, Boxer approached him and slapped him on the back as he revved the engine on the bike. “Sure, man, I’ll be here all night. I might need a bucket of cold water poured over me in the morning, though, ‘cause there’s a bottle of Patrón with my name on it in there, and I plan to get fucked up.”
Jim gave him a salute and rode off, the night particularly dark, clouds covering what sliver of a moon there was. How appropriate, he thought, considering the anniversary he was recognizing tonight. He cursed into the wind as an image of Trina popped into his mind.
His old lady had been a good woman, but she’d been weak. She’d claimed not to have a problem with his lifestyle, but when it came down to it, she didn’t have the heart to be an old lady, and she’d grown to hate the MC.
He cursed again, this time directing his anger inward, for being so blind to her coping mechanisms. He’d been so caught up in the game he hadn’t realized she was addicted to pain pills till it was too late. One year ago tonight, he’d come home from a party at the clubhouse to find Trina on the floor, not breathing. Next to her were an empty bottle of Vicodin and an empty fifth of Stoli.
Her overdose had shattered him, and Jim had thrown himself into club business without second thought. He’d been trying to pick up the pieces of his life ever since but couldn’t seem to make a complete picture without his old lady. It probably served him right – karma was a real bitch. He’d made other people suffer, and there was no better way to make him suffer than to take away the one tender, loving thing in his life.
His bike wavered beneath him, the road slick, and he gripped the handlebars tighter, trying to maintain control. But it was too late, and as his bike swerved off the road, his last thought was, This is what they call poetic justice, you lousy shit.
CHAPTER TWO
“Hey, Susan, we got a call!”
Susan
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