บททั้งหมดของ Steel Hearts : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

LucyThe bike roared beneath me, a beast alive with fire and steel, and I clung to it like my life depended on it. Maybe it did. My arms tightened around Blake’s jacket, the leather rough against my cheek. The cold night air cut through me, but the heat of his body under that jacket was steady, grounding.Fear coiled in my stomach, hot and sharp. Every part of me screamed I shouldn’t be here—that I didn’t know this man, didn’t belong pressed up against his back, didn’t belong in his world. And yet, when he’d looked at me with those dark, unreadable eyes and said, You coming? I had moved. My feet had betrayed me.The wind whipped through my hair as we tore down the road, past streetlights and sleeping houses. Everything blurred—lights, shadows, my thoughts. The faster we went, the louder the doubts in my head became, but they couldn’t keep up with the rush. Somewhere inside the fear was a sliver of release, a whisper of freedom. It scared me as much as the ride itself.We finally slowe

BlakeThe clubhouse was loud that night, the kind of loud that seeped into your bones. Laughter, music, bottles clinking, boots stomping to songs that never made it to the radio. For most people in here, it was comfort—a second home built on chaos. For Lucy, though, it was a battlefield. I could see it in every twitch of her shoulders, every dart of her eyes.She sat at the bar, clutching that glass of water like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. Didn’t matter that half the room was watching her. She didn’t shrink all the way down, though. That caught me. Most would’ve folded under the weight of those stares. Not her. She stayed. She endured.I leaned against the bar beside her, my own beer sweating in my hand. Kept my body angled just enough that anyone thinking about trying her again would have to go through me first.She hadn’t asked me to do that. Hell, she probably didn’t even want it. But I couldn’t shake the way Riker had looked at her—like she was prey.

BlakeThe morning sun filtered through the garage doors, catching dust in golden streaks. The clubhouse was quieter than last night, the kind of still that comes before the brothers start moving, engines roaring, deals and banter filling the space. I was leaning against one of the bikes, arms crossed, watching. And more specifically, I was watching her.Lucy. She’d woken up and moved through the room like she belonged here, even though every muscle in her body screamed she didn’t. I saw the way she flinched at sudden movements, the way her eyes darted around before settling on a safe point—usually me.She carried herself differently than most women in this place. Not naive, not fragile, but cautious in a way that made you notice. Every glance, every hesitant step, told me she’d survived more than she should have had to. It was in her posture, in the way she breathed around men who didn’t know her yet.I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to be afraid. But I didn’t. Not with words. I n

LucyThe clubhouse smelled of oil, coffee, and the faint tang of smoke when I stepped inside. The morning sun poured through the wide windows, lighting up the worn wood floors and the rows of motorcycles parked outside. The men were busy—cleaning bikes, checking engines, shouting over the roar of machinery. I stayed near the edge, hesitant, feeling like I’d stepped onto a stage without knowing the lines.Blake was there, as always, leaning against the bar, arms crossed. He didn’t move much, just observed, his gaze sharp and calculating. My stomach tightened whenever I caught him watching me. He wasn’t intrusive—never had been—but the way he measured me made it impossible to forget he was there. That he was watching. That he could step in anytime.I tried to focus on the others, to blend in, to keep my presence small. One of the younger guys, Jake, tried to make small talk, joking about my being new to the club scene. I forced a polite smile, answering in short, careful sentences. Ever

LucyThe rag was still in my hand, but my fingers had gone numb. My whole body felt like it had gone cold when Riker said those words. Pet.I’d heard worse, yes. But the way the men in the lot laughed—or pretended not to—burned hotter than fists ever had. Fists left bruises that faded. Words stuck, carved into the softest places of you.I kept polishing the chrome because I didn’t know what else to do. The metal shone under my hand, but the shine didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. That’s what Riker had meant. I was just something Blake had picked up on the side of the road. Disposable.But Blake had stepped in. Again.The way he’d faced Riker, calm but lethal, like the air itself could cut—it left the whole lot quiet. No one challenged him, not then. And that silence felt like safety.When he crouched beside me again, acting like nothing had happened, my throat ached. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say I wasn’t fine. I wanted to admit how much it shook me to be called that word,