Thief: Steel Saints MC, #1

By Paula Cox

Thief is book 1 of the Steel Saints MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3, Bandit and Felon are available everywhere now!

F**K THE RULES. I TAKE WHAT I WANT. AND I WANT HER.

She didn't ask for me to come crashing into her life.
But when I needed a place to store some stolen jewels, that's exactly what I did.

Now, if she wants to stay alive, she'll have to do as I say.
Today.
Tonight.
Forever.

But once I have her in my grasp, I realize…
I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBook Publishing World
• Release date: Oct 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386238690

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THIEF: Steel Saints MC (Book 1)

By Paula Cox

F**K THE RULES. I TAKE WHAT I WANT. AND I WANT HER.

SHE DIDN’T ASK FOR me to come crashing into her life.

But when I needed a place to store some stolen jewels, that’s exactly what I did.

Now, if she wants to stay alive, she’ll have to do as I say.

Today.

Tonight.

Forever.

But once I have her in my grasp, I realize...

I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

CHAPTER 1

Saying, Damn, it’s hot would be an understatement. It’s that kind of sticky, humid heat that feels as if you’re cooking from the inside out. It seeps into the pores of your skin and pulls out all the moisture from your body. Living in a desert like Las Vegas will do that to you, even if heat has been in your blood since you were born.

I wipe the tiny sweat beads from the top of my forehead with the back of my hand as I reach across the counter to turn on the tiny little portable fan I’ve hooked up to the shelf above my head. I briefly glance over towards the air conditioning controls. It takes literally everything I have in me not to turn that thing on. But I can’t waste money on running it today. Tomorrow’s supposed to be hotter, believe it or not, and if I’m going to get any business, I’ll have to survive through today—sweaty hands and all.

Miss Alana! Miss Alana! I hear a faint knock on the metal window shade and my heart races. That’s money knocking and calling my name. I lift the latch, and the window comes flying open. Outside is a small boy about four feet tall wearing a red baseball cap, black knit tank, and shorts. Behind him stands a tall man with a completely disinterested look on his face. He’s texting on his phone, not even bothering to look up at me.

Hey, buddy! I shout as enthusiastically as I can muster. The heat from the outside is pouring inside as the mini fan struggles to keep going. What can I get you? A Superman sundae? A bubblegum shake? I really love the pecan fudge sundae!

Whatever’s cheapest, his dad mumbles under his breath, still not even bothering to look at me, or his son, who is practically climbing up the ice cream truck’s side to hand me a little stack of dollar bills. I wonder briefly if it’s his allowance. With a dad like that, I’m guessing this little guy doesn’t really get many treats without working for it. It was only a few bucks, not enough for some of the more popular ice cream treats I serve, but I could ignore that.

Wow! Look at this. For this much, you can get anything on the menu. The boy’s eyes light up like Christmas lights and sparkle brightly as he runs his fingers over the pictures of the options. Each one is more colorful and outrageous than the last. I love that handmade sign that my bestie Jana created for a graphic design marketing project. And by the looks of the boy with his mouth hanging open, he appreciates it just as much as me.

The boy’s father, however, is a bit more suspicious. He puts his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and grabs the boy’s hand. She’s obviously joking, he says, glaring at his son. It’s just a joke. Get a scoop of chocolate or something. Don’t think you’re wasting my money.

Something in me sparks up as I watch this father practically manhandle his son. With my own dad in the hospital and my frustrating wearing thin at not having a ton of customers, I was feeling awfully generous to little boys who deserve something more than a pushy, selfish dad. I look back down to the crestfallen kid and say softly, No. I mean it. He can have whatever he wants. It’s on the house.

The boy’s father finally looks up at me. And he does this thing—I don’t know. Guys do it every time they first see me. It’s like a long double take. He scowls a quick reply to whoever he’s talking to and then puts his phone away in his pocket. His dark face and beady eyes somehow soften as he slowly looks back up at me. He moves from my elbows to my chest and then up my neck to my face. I try not to roll my eyes. Even if it’s two bucks, it’s worth not getting out of the truck and decking the dad right in the face.

The dad’s voice changes. It’s like he’s a totally new person as he reaches his hand towards mine and gives it for a long, gentle shake. Well, that’s really sweet of you... He glances over towards the side of my truck where my name is plastered in bubblegum-pink letters ... Miss Alana. And then he does the most surprising thing of all—he reaches towards his son and pulls him in close to him. Aaron and I were just spending our weekend together when we thought we’d get a treat before his mom picks him up.

Is that so... I say passively, totally uninterested in what was about to come next. It was the same each time. Single dads thinking that their terribly cute kid would actually land them some tail. Working in an ice cream truck in Vegas, I’ve seen pretty much every lame, skeezy attempt at this approach.

Still, my look of total reproach doesn’t appear to phase this genius. He manages to get even closer to me. His head rests on the side of the window as he twiddles his fingers on the rim of the opening. He pulls his designer sunglasses from the top of his head to cover his eyes as he boldly asks quietly, After I drop him off, maybe I’ll stop by and get myself a treat for myself. Would it still be ‘on the house’?’

What. The. Hell. It’s taking everything in my power not to laugh at this creep-tastic trainwreck. Instead, I focus down at his son who is looking more impatient than ever to score his free ice cream. This kid is getting extra toppings because he has to put up with a dad like this all weekend long. I ask Aaron, still smiling, Did you decide yet?

The boy sounds like a deflated balloon as he points towards the green slime ice cream. It’s an invention I made up myself—mint ice cream with green chocolate sauce. I usually serve it as is, but I’ve been shelving some hard candy insects in my van for an experimental ice cream lately, so I top off the extra scoop with a few spiders and ladybugs along with some chocolate cookie flakes. As I hand it back to him, I shout in fake surprise, Oh my gosh! Aaron! I think there are some bugs in this ice cream! I pick out one from the top and pop it into my mouth, smiling widely, They’re delicious, though! Taste just like chocolate. You wanna try some still?

Aaron goes back to looking like a kid at an ice cream truck as he bounces up and down. I reach down and hand him the ice cream and watch him skip away towards the picnic tables I’ve set up. His dad smiles back at me, and I wonder if he thinks my kindness was to attract him. Ugh. My lips twist as I imagine that. I have some pretty horrible taste in men, but I’m not that stupid. I quickly shut the window to the truck to drown out the guy’s voice as he tries to play father-of-the-year for me.

In my nice little ice cream truck cocoon, I take the few dollars the kid handed to me and place it in the safe under the bench. The ice cream would have cost at least six bucks, but it was worth it. Everyone deserved a dad like mine, and it honestly made me heartbroken to see someone who wasn’t as blessed. I just wish mine were here. This truck was his first-born baby. He built it himself, regularly outfitted it with the latest in food truck refrigeration, and drove it all around the country when I was growing up—just the two of us.

I