They’re worn, black leather boots, scuffed at the toes and laced up tight. My gaze travels upward, taking in his dark jeans and a zipped black jacket. I can’t help but notice the way his shoulders fill up the leather, the way his arms flex as he shifts, or the ink peeking out from the edge of his collar, a dark swirl against the pale skin of his neck.
And then I look up.
Christ, he’s handsome.
He’s also much younger than I thought he would be. Somewhere around twenty-five by my estimate. I’ve always been good at the age thing, but then again, I could be wrong. There’s a certain hardness, an intensity in those deep emerald-green eyes that speaks volumes of a kind of maturity and…danger.
Of experience.
I swallow hard when they land on me, gasping at the sudden shift in the air between us. Kyle. What a simple name for a man with such depth in his gaze.
The rest of him is just as surprising.
The next thing I notice about him is the color of his hair. It’s like a flickering flame of vibrant red, so stark against his skin, which is pale, almost translucent, like he doesn’t spend much time in the sun.
The freckles under his eyes should soften his look, but there is nothing soft about this man. Not even the red hair, pale skin, or freckles. Those hard green eyes cancel out everything else. They terrify me as much as they excite me, and I suddenly have the urge to straighten my hair and check my face for any tear lines.
Darn it. He’s handsome. So handsome, in fact, that I find myself blushing from all the attention he’s giving me. Thank heavens for the shadows and the dingy motel lighting or I would have a hell of a time explaining my reaction to his appearance.
“Vivienne?” he says in a warm voice with hints of gravel. “Are you okay?”
No.
I’m the furthest thing from okay a girl can get. I just escaped a home I’ve shared with my mother and her perverted boyfriend for five years, set up camp in some dingy motel with suspicious stains on the walls, and now I’m tempted with this taste of freedom. It’s so close I can almost taste it, and yet I’m afraid to hope.
“I’m fine,” I say instead, moving aside to let the man in before shutting the door behind him. “And you can call me Viv. Can we really leave now?”
“Yes. Your brother is very worried about you,” he says, his back turned to me as he walks around the small room, though there’s not much to see. “He would have come for you himself if he hadn’t gotten into the accident.”
“What does he look like?”
Kyle turns around to look at me, surprise clearly written on his expression. “You don’t know what Knox looks like?”
I look away.
Right, because what kind of sister doesn’t know what their brother looks like? But the last time I saw Knox, he was twenty-four and I was only eight. “I don’t remember,” I say, running a hand through my hair.
“He looks like you,” Kyle offers. “Well, not exactly. He’s older, bigger, grouchier, male, but still…you. Same eyes and hair. Same face.”
“Really?”
“Well, the man’s not one for taking photos but I’m sure I can dig up something from my gallery,” he says. He’s unzipping his jacket to grab his phone when I see what he has tucked in his waistband.
“Y-you have a gun?” I whisper, eyes wide in alarm as I take a step back. “Why do you have a gun!”
“For protection.”
“Protection?”
“Just ignore it,” he says with a dismissive wave before scrolling through his phone. “Ah, here it is.” I’m not sure if he’s just unbothered by the fear and shock written on my face, or if he’s trying to distract me from the gun. “This is the picture we took at the last club cookout. See the guy hugging the chick with a bob?”
Slowly, I glance down at the phone he’s all but shoving into my face, and yes, I notice the guy he’s pointing at. Along with the other twenty or so men flanking him. All dressed in jackets and wearing scowls that scream of danger even from the picture alone. I also notice the patches on their jackets.
I don’t remember much from my childhood outside the moments I spent with my brother—mostly of him trying to protect me from the fighting adults—but I remember the reason we skipped town. The men my mother owed money ten years ago. The men who instilled so much fear in her that she had to grab me and run.
“The Steel Rebels,” I say with a chuckle that wheezes out of me. How could I forget the name when my mother is always screaming about how they ruined her life? And now, my big brother is part of that group. Has he always been? Did those monsters kidnap him or brainwash him into working for them? They must have, otherwise Knox would never associate himself with them!
“Ah, he told you about us, didn’t he?”
