INICIAR SESIÓNSIN You’d think after two decades in front of cameras, I’d stop finding it ridiculous when some designer shoved me into a dress so heavy it could double as a medieval weapon. But nope. Bridal wear photoshoots were their own level of torture. Lace that itched so bad I wanted my skin off. Corsets that felt like rib-crushers. Veils that made me look like I was ready to haunt somebody’s attic. And again—because fate hated me—Tyler Jerkins discovered me. Once more. I had kinda dated him for about a Month but ended it quickly that we just did not connect so I became close with him as a friend but he's never liked it but always maintained being polite until now-he's sure lost his mind after running into Steel again and despite my hints and the length I go to avoid him he just doesn't get it and continuously walks into my personal space without caring about how uncomfortable it makes me feel. Melissa-our personal trouble, sat on top of a makeup chair scrolling on her phone, her wild re
STEELThe thing about gunfights? You don’t hear the quiet after until it hits you in the chest.The ringing in my ears was still there, but the adrenaline bled off fast, leaving only the stench of smoke, spilled whiskey, and blood. My men moved like ghosts, stepping around fallen brothers, reloading guns just in case the Italians had a second wave.They didn’t.For now.I crouched beside one of the dead, a kid I’d patched up too many times in too many brawls. His eyes stared at nothing. I reached up, slid them closed with two fingers. My throat burned, but my voice came out steady.“Get the bodies covered. We will bury them tonight.”Nobody argued. That’s the way it was. You didn’t leave family lying cold under the buzzing lights of a ruined clubhouse. You gave them dirt, whiskey, and a firelight.The twins were quiet for once. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their sharp suits dusted with ash, eyes fixed on the dead men who’d taken bullets for them. Jaden’s jaw was clenched tight eno
STEELThere’s a certain rhythm to calling church. You gather the boys, clear the smoke from the table, pour the whiskey, and pretend like the roof isn’t about to cave in from the hundred different ways the world wants your blood. That’s the charm of it: tradition laced with paranoia.So I called church.Jaden and Jasson were there—my two little headaches with matching faces and very different attitudes. Jaden sat like he was already bored, twirling a pen between his fingers like he was auditioning for "future CEO of whatever the hell." Jasson, on the other hand, leaned forward, eyes sharp, too aware for his age. I hate to admit it, but they reminded me of myself at eighteen—cocky, restless, convinced the world needed to hear every word that fell out of my mouth.The table was crowded. Knox was pacing, scowling like someone had stolen his cigarettes. Dad hadn’t shown yet. The rest of my men filled the chairs, half alert, half drunk. It was a normal night. Or it should’ve been.I opened
CATALINA He doesn't make me think after that. His hand arrives with a measured, possessive rhythm, fingers press and palm flatten and, Jesus, how he uses me is almost clinical—precise, methodical, as if he's mapped me out and studied all the short-cuts to the places that erase me. The city flashes past the colored glass: lights, the sweep of taxis, distant faces of individuals in late-night taxis as he once again drives out yet none of them matter. There is just the push of him and the pull of my own hunger."Look at me," he says to me, his tone a drawn-out wire that hums when he's close. He doesn't need to ask twice. I shift my head and gaze into his eyes in the mirror, and the reflection—his face shadowed, the glow of the cigarette fading in his cheek—wraps something hot and raw around me. He likes to watch. He likes the authority he gets from the frankness of my gaze.He shifts one hand, his fingers curving over the cut at my thigh, underneath, exploring, discovering, and the sens
STEELThe afterparty smelled like expensive liquor and desperation. Donors laughing too loud, women in gowns balancing champagne like trophies, Boyce basking in the spotlight as if the man had invented generosity.I sat back in my chair at the edge of the ballroom, nursing a whiskey I didn’t even want. Knox with his muscles tensed as different men try scoring contact with his wife who is in a replica of Sin’s dress looking ever lethal besides her, both women mothers but they decided to dress down hard. My eyes were locked on one thing, one person.Sin.She was radiant, smiling when she had to, polite when required but every time her eyes darted around the room, I knew she was searching for an exit and I wasn’t the only one who noticed.Tyler Jerkins had been circling all night like a shark with a mic. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. The bastard leaned against walls, whispered in ears, shook hands, but his gaze always came back to her.Knox dropped into the seat next to me, sighing
STEELI came out first. Buttoned suit jacket, chin up, like I hadn’t just been wrestling with the urge to break every rule the damn doctor had put me on. My pulse was still in my ears, though, and my knuckles were white from how hard I’d clenched them.The hallway was too bright, too loud with footsteps and chatter, like the event hadn’t noticed I was about two seconds away from snapping necks for sport and there he was-asshole of the year-Tyler Jerkins. Old flame. Billionaire singer. A man who had probably written three albums about Sin and still somehow had fans screaming his name in Madrid. His eyes cut to me instantly, narrowing, like he already knew.“Steel,” he said, voice smooth enough to sell perfume. “Didn’t know you were here.”I smirked. “I have a habit of showing up where I’m least wanted.”His gaze flicked past me. That’s when Sin stepped out.She looked composed. Perfect hair, perfect walk, like she had just stepped off the cover of Vogue. But I knew her too well. Her fi







