All Chapters of STEEL'S CURVY SIN & SECRETS: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

STEELThe thing about charity events is they’re always dressed up as glamorous, generous, world-saving things. Champagne, string quartets, overpriced art up for auction but strip the velvet curtains and designer gowns away and it’s just a room full of wolves showing off who’s got the biggest wallet.I don’t play well with wolves I didn’t pick.But yeah—I was invited. Which is why I brought Klaus with me. He had the look on his face like he was about to break someone’s neck if they breathed wrong, and honestly, that was exactly the energy I wanted to walk in with.“Sin’s here?” Klaus muttered, scanning the crowd like he had a personal hit list.“Yeah, she's with Catalina.” I said. My voice was steady but my chest wasn’t. I’d known she’d come because Boyce would drag her. He liked playing the perfect husband, parading her around like his prize. Tonight, I wasn’t letting that stand.We walked in like we owned the damn building. Heads turned. I saw the twins first—Jasson and Jaden—tall, s

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

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

STEEL The 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 cle

MELISSA I'd been dragged to a lot of seedy places in my eighteen years, but a "reserved private clubhouse" had to rank in the top five most terrible. You know the type—all leather and trees, where wealthy people go to feel important by griping that their third summer house could stand to have new drapes. Mom insisted that I wear the blue dress. The one that makes me look like I'm interviewing for prep school instead of actually being an adult. I was still fiddling with the hem because it was too short, too tight, too much like pretending to be someone I'm not. "Melissa, stop fiddling with the hem," Mom instructed us getting out of the car, her voice having that specific tone that meant behave or else. "I'm not tucking. I'm adjusting." I smoothed out the dress once more, wondering why we couldn't have just stayed home and eaten pizza like human beings. Sin—my mother's best friend, more or less my aunt, my partner anytime I need to commit a crime—laughed with me. "Kid's righ