beginning to realize. She’d had his baby alone. She’d found a way to support the child and care for him when she’d left not even knowing how to make a decision.
In the world of bikers, Breezy had appeared to be a leader of the women and children, one of the reasons he’d thought she was older. She anticipated problems and dealt with them ahead of time. She knew the language of bikers and her father’s particular club. Outside that environment, she was in an entirely different world and had no idea how to interpret or fit into it or make decisions accordingly—yet she’d managed. She’d done it for herself and their child.
She’d depended on Steele entirely when she’d been with him. She’d looked at him as if the sun had risen and set with him. Now, that adoration wasn’t there, and he found he needed it back. She’d been the one. He hadn’t said a word to the others. Czar had been sent by Sorbacov to kill Evan Shackler-Gratsos, the international president of the Swords. He had crossed Sorbacov one too many times and the order had gone out.
Evan Shackler-Gratsos had inherited billions from his brother. Those billions included freighters that Shackler-Gratsos had turned into snuff ships. His very wealthy clients paid for sexual partners of any age from very young children to men and women, used them and killed them after or during sex, and then disposed of the bodies at sea. Of course, Czar would want to shut that shit down. He’d risked everything to do so, not just his life, but his marriage to the woman he loved. One by one, the other members of Torpedo Ink had followed Czar into the Swords club in order to have his back. Steele couldn’t have left him when a war was brewing, and he couldn’t have left Breezy there where the Swords would name her a traitor.
Steele had seen Breezy for the first time and all hell had broken loose inside him. He’d been trained, like the others, to have complete control over his body and that had gone right out the window the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He’d watched her, couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He’d taken every opportunity to talk to her. She’d been responsible, always looking out for those younger than she was. She cooked for the club. She cleaned up after them and never complained. She was a problem solver when things went wrong and had to be fixed. She never asked for help, she just quietly did what needed to be done.
She was beautiful, it was impossible to guess her age. She looked young, but her eyes were old. She’d seen too much. Endured too much. He should have known he was looking into the eyes of a child who had been horribly brutalized. He’d certainly seen it enough.
“You with us, Steele?” Czar asked.
Steele nodded. “Savage is right. These men may not have been from our school, but they’re brothers. They need Torpedo Ink, in my opinion. I’m certainly willing to listen to any other opinions with an open mind.”
That phrase was used a lot. Czar had taught them the importance of hearing everyone out. Each person’s input had counted when they were children, no matter how young—and Steele was one of the youngest. All were heard, and Czar had emphasized they should be heard with an open mind. He’d encouraged participation from everyone. Steele had caught on early that by listening to each child, Czar had made them feel important and the group cohesive. They were tight-knit and rarely fought. They often had lively and heated discussions, but they didn’t get angry with one another as a rule.
“I’m all for giving them a chance, Czar,” Ink said. “But, we have family now. We’ve got Blythe and the children. Gavriil’s and Casimir’s women. Anya, Reaper’s lady. Lana and Alena. We’ve got more to protect than ever.”
“I don’t need protection,” Lana said with a little sniff. She tossed her head so that her glossy black hair fell around her face, framing its beauty.
“Neither do I,” Alena echoed. She was a true platinum blond, her hair rioting down her back in waves. Her eyes were that same startling blue her older brothers, Ice and Storm, had.
Ink ignored the byplay. “Pierce is going to be watching us closely, Czar. You know that. He’s very suspicious of us.”
“I can handle him,” Reaper said. “A quiet accident.”
“Not you,” Savage said decisively. “You have Anya. I’ll do