“That’s it? You like the view? Where did you get that kind of money?”
A slow grin transformed his face from dangerous to gorgeous. He looked mischievous, as only Steele could look. “The Swords.”
EIGHT
Steele never did anything without a plan. That was why he was vice president of Torpedo Ink. Like Czar, he saw an entire picture, the problems and every possibility along with solutions that worked. His brain worked at an extremely fast speed and remembered details, right down to the smallest particular. Nothing got past him—until Breezy.
His body had responded to her immediately and worse, his heart. He’d never had that happen. Not once in all his years. Torpedo Ink was a closed society. They were whole when they were together and none of them—with the exception of Czar—had ever considered that anyone else might be brought into their very fucked-up family. He’d been thrown. Completely.
He’d known if Czar or the others were aware of how he really felt about Breezy, they would have insisted he take her and leave. He couldn’t do that. He knew that none of them worked away from the others. They functioned because they were together. Whole. They had tremendous gaps in their social education, but they could function and survive. Alone, they would fall apart. He couldn’t take the chance that things would go haywire with the person that mattered to him. He also couldn’t leave his family when they needed him. Every gun counted—every single one—when they were up against an international club like the Swords.
He knew Breezy better than she knew herself. He knew her insecurities. He knew her character. He knew every unselfish thing about her. He especially knew what to appeal to in order to keep her with him. This plan was more important to him than anything in his life had ever been because, like those dark days of his childhood, it was about survival.
Steele had found that once one had a glimpse of what life could be like when it was good, he couldn’t go back to dark, ugly days and nights. He had existed before Breezy. He’d thought he was free, so it was better than when he’d been a captive forced to do his master’s bidding, but it hadn’t been good. He hadn’t been alive. Breezy had changed all that. Once she was gone, he was back to—nothing. To empty. To an existence he didn’t want anymore.
Her fingers on his skin, her mouth on him, his body moving in hers, she’d taken away every trace of those earlier days, the nightmare existence he’d lived. The more he’d taken her, the less he’d felt that yawning abyss threatening to swallow him whole. Now he had her back and he wasn’t about to lose the most important war of his life.
He had a campaign already planned out. Each step. He couldn’t afford a misstep. It was Breezy. He didn’t know anything about love, not in the accepted sense of the word, but anything he did know—or feel—all belonged to her. He had a serious battle plan. He was going to use everything he knew about her, everything he’d ever been taught and everything she felt for him, to get his woman back. Nothing was going to be too big or too small in his campaign, but he wasn’t losing her a second time.
Now that he knew Zane existed, he would move heaven and earth to get the boy back, and he’d learn to be a good father. He was eager to be a father. He couldn’t imagine what that would be like, but already, just knowing Zane was out there, he felt connected. Bonded to him without ever having laid eyes on him. Just as he had a point by point plan to win his lady back, he had an equally well-thought-out plan to get his son back. And he would. There was no question in his mind. No room for failure in either endeavor.
Maestro and Keys carried the groceries up the walkway to the house. A fountain was on and the sprays of water erupting into the air looked like diamonds as they landed in the circle surrounded by a wide swath of white flowers set among dark green leaves. Stonework and wide white stairs led up to a landscape of plants, trees and small expanses of lawn.
Breezy let him take her hand and tug her up to the front door, which Maestro had left open for them. The floors were white oak and travertine. They gleamed as if they’d just been put in. Light fixtures and chandeliers were brand-new throughout the house. All the chandeliers were blown glass. Lissa, Casimir’s wife, was a very famous glassblower who had earned quite a reputation, first in Europe and then the United States. Of course, she had made a fellow Torpedo Ink member first priority. He particularly loved the chandeliers.
“The way the house is set, we have the best view of the ocean from this side on all three levels. There are five complete bedroom suites. There’s a home office, which I need, but if you want one, we can allot one of the rooms for you. Each of the suites has views and balconies. There’s open social spaces.”
“Social spaces?” Breezy echoed faintly, looking at him like he’d grown horns. “Steele …”
“I know, at first glance, it looks like too much house. When we were choosing homes, Czar made it plain to choose something we’d be comfortable in. This has a temperature-controlled wine and cigar room.”
She frowned up at him and then blinked, those long lashes fanning her cheeks. “Do you even drink wine? Do you smoke cigars?”
He grinned down at her. “No. But that doesn’t matter. It’s just fuckin’ cool. There’s an indoor home spa, Bree, with heated floors, a steam room and a quick-fill tub. That doesn’t include the outdoor one. There’s a home gym you might like too. The best is the master suite. I can’t wait for you to see that.”
He took her farther into the house. She was staring all around her, looking at the ceilings with recessed lighting and wide-open spaces. The floor to ceiling windows were really movable pocket electronic doors that brought the outside inside. When they were opened, one had access to an extremely large patio with an infinity-edge pool and spa, a fireplace, a built-in barbecue, a covered dining area and the lawn.
She stood at the glass staring out, looking as if she might faint. “Steele, this isn’t real. No one has a home like this. Maybe a movie star or someone like that, but you’re in a club.”
“We’re in a club, Bree, and this is really ours.”
“I work in a diner. I couldn’t afford the electricity on a place like this, let alone help with a mortgage payment. Does being a doctor really make you that kind of bank?”
“Baby, we own it outright.”
“The Swords didn’t have this kind of money.” She shook her head and stepped away from him, nearly pressing her nose to the glass, staring at the backyard with wonder.
“They had the biggest human trafficking ring in the world, Breezy. They had money. Their president was a fucking billionaire. We took his money too.”
She was silent. He watched her closely. She looked pale, but her shoulders were straight. She used to hunch a little. He had continually told her to stand up straight when they were together, especially around her father and brother. Now, she did that all on her own. She was absorbing everything he said to her—with the exception of the “we” he kept throwing in. He did that on purpose, knowing the more she heard it, the more accepting she would eventually be.
“That’s a good thing then. I hope you broke their backs.”
“We did. And Code keeps his eye on them. Any time they try to reestablish those pipelines, or they kidnap fresh girls, we take that shit apart as well. We sub some of the work out if they’re in states too far for us to ride.”
She turned toward him. “Sub it to who? Steele, I really am not understanding any of this. Who exactly are all of you? Where did you come from?”
At last. He’d been waiting for genuine interest. She wanted to know. That was step number two. Getting her was step one. That had been the trickiest because he knew she would be royally pissed at him and she’d equate him taking her prisoner with a club. He knew few clubs would have done such a thing, but it was ingrained in Torpedo Ink members to get what they needed at any cost to others. Blythe was trying to help them find a way to appear to assimilate into society, but all of them knew, they would be forever living on the fringes.
Phase one was complete. Phase two was in progress. He had to seduce her first, get her in his bed, make certain she was mellow and on board and then he’d talk to her about the difficult subjects, things he wished he didn’t have to explain, but knew were necessary to address if they were going forward in a relationship—and they were. It was a good battle plan, but there were quite a few things that could go wrong.