Iron Will: Lords of Carnage: Ironwood MC

by Loveling, Daphne

  “I dunno.” Mazur peers at me over his round, gin-blossomed cheeks. “What do you want with him, anyway?”

  “Nothing in particular. He’s been spending some time in our territory. I’m just tryin’ to figure out how much of an inconvenience he’s gonna be.”

  “For the Lords?” Mazur laughs. “He’s just a big loud mouth, with nothin’ behind it. Too smart to realize he’s dumb.”

  “He got any debts that you know?” I press. “Other than you?”

  “Yeah, probably.” Mazur looks down at the table for a moment, frowning. “You know what I think? I think he’s mixed up with the Vietnamese guys he gambles with sometimes in the back of my club.”

  “You mean you think he owes them money, too?”

  “Yeah. Or at least, he’s in business with them and he’s gonna fuck it up. I hear them talkin’ sometimes when they’re playin’ cards back there. About jobs he’s doin’ for them. It wouldn’t be the first time, either.” Mazur chuckles to himself. “You’ve seen Mickey, right? I mean up close? You know that missing finger on his right hand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He got it cut off by some Asian wannabe gangster up in Cincy. This crew that thinks they’re part of Yakuza or something. Word is, they cut his pinky off to settle a debt.” He shakes his head. “And I bet you anything, that dumb shit’s gonna go right back for more.”

  We thank Mazur for his time, and leave the club. To my surprise, the usually unexcitable Yoda is scowling and angry.

  “Bethany don’t belong with that weak-ass pussy,” he mutters. “That fuckin’ Mickey’s no better than a goddamn pimp.”

  I look over at him, raising a brow, but I don’t say anything. He’s right, of course. Hey, I got no issue with a woman doin’ whatever she wants with her body. But it takes a special brand of shit-bucket to wanna pimp out your girlfriend.

  As we head back to Ironwood on our bikes, I think about everything we just learned from Mazur. I’m starting to get a fuller picture of Mickey King. What I see is a small-time thug, playing at being a big shot. A guy who’s down on his luck. A guy who needs a woman he can boss around, and her job to keep a roof over his head.

  A guy with small prospects and a big ego.

  A guy who isn’t all that bright. Or with all that much to lose.

  10

  Laney

  The next morning, as soon as I get to work, I make it a point to go up to the second floor to finally have the conversation I’m dreading with Paisley’s mother.

  When I get upstairs, I’m immediately relieved to see there’s only one biker stationed outside her room. At least for the moment, he’s probably not enough to draw Blake’s attention. I mentally shift that problem to second place.

  Bethany is already there in the room with Paisley. The shades are partially drawn against the bright morning sun, which I’m assuming is because of Paisley’s light sensitivity due to the concussion. Mickey, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen.

  I make small talk with the two of them for a few minutes. Paisley’s not quite as subdued as she was last time I saw her. Her little face is still banged up, and she still seems tired, but I note that her coloring looks better. I ask her a few questions about school, and what her favorite games and shows are. In spite of still not feeling great, she’s alert, and seems comfortable around her mother, and not agitated or afraid. Good signs all.

  When I turn Bethany and ask if I can speak to her outside for a few minutes, she gives me a worried frown.

  “Is this about Mickey?” she asks.

  Paisley immediately looks up, her eyes darting from her mother to me.

  “Partly,” I nod, giving them both what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Come on. Let’s go talk in the family lounge. Paisley, I’m gonna go talk to your mom for a few minutes, okay? We’ll be right back.”

  I take Bethany into the small beige room where I talked to Rourke earlier. Closing the door, I motion for her to sit down on the couch, then take the chair next to her.

  “She’s looking better today,” I begin. “That must be a relief.”

  “It is,” she agrees. She looks down at her hands. Taking a shaky breath, she continues. “I know I should never have left her alone at that age. It’s just that I have to work. And just now, I can’t afford a babysitter all the time. She’s supposed to stay in the room with the door locked whenever I’m gone. She knows better than to leave.”

  “And,” I continue, hesitating. “What about Mickey? Does he ever take care of her when you’re at work?”

  “Oh, Mickey…” Bethany laughs nervously. “He’s not all that crazy about kids. I don’t ask him to do that stuff.”

  Her body immediately tenses up at the mention of her boyfriend. If I keep going with this line of conversation, I’m pretty sure she’ll shut down. So I back off a bit and switch gears.

  “Has the doctor been by recently to talk to you about Paisley’s condition?” I ask delicately.

  “Yeah.” Bethany clasps her hands together. “He said her concussion doesn’t seem to have caused any internal bleeding or anything like that. Paisley’s still feeling sick to her stomach, and she still has a headache, but the doctor thinks both of those things will go away with time. I just have to keep her quiet and make sure she sleeps enough. Limit screen time. And he said she might have trouble concentrating on schoolwork and stuff for a while.”

  “That’s good to hear.” I nod. “Will you have trouble keeping an eye on her, after she’s discharged? I’m guessing it will be hard for you to take off from your job.”

  “I’ll make it work,” Bethany retorts, an edge in her voice. “Somehow.” She shifts her body toward me and looks me in the eyes. “I love my little girl,” she says fiercely. “I’m not a bad mother.”

  “Bethany.” I let out a sigh. “I know you do. I know things are hard right now. Please believe me, that I’m trying to help you. I know this is a scary time. And I’m sure that money worries are only making it scarier.” I wait a beat, then continue, more gently.

  “One of my jobs here at the hospital is to locate resources, to help patients and their families with after-hospital care,” I say. “And to the extent possible, with help with figuring out how to manage the burden of your hospital bills. I can start working on that for you now, if you’d like. Maybe we can have some sort of a plan in place by the time Paisley gets the okay to be discharged.”

  “Really?” Bethany’s eyes grow wide with disbelief.

  I nod. “Really. I can’t work magic. But I’ll do what I can.”

  The smile she gives me is so tremulous, so full of hope, that it makes my stomach hurt. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for her, to feel so alone in the world, raising a child by herself without any kind of help. Spontaneously, I reach out and put my hand over hers.

  “We’ll figure it out,” I tell her.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “Don’t thank me until I’ve actually delivered,” I joke, to lighten the mood a little. My voice wobbles, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She ducks her head, swiping at her eyes.

  “Bethany,” I say, more softly now. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about. Okay?”

  “This is the Mickey part, right?” Bethany laughs shakily. “I know he’s been causing problems. He gets riled easy. He doesn’t do very well with authority.”

  “It’s not about the altercations in the hallway,” I tell her. “Although they definitely are not helpful.”

  “What is it then?” she asks, clearly apprehensive.

  I take a deep breath.

  “When Paisley was admitted, the doctor noticed a bruise on her upper arm that seemed consistent with a hand grabbing her.” I wait a beat. “A large hand.”

  “Please…” Bethany moans. “Please, it’s not what you think…”

  “I don’t think anything. Yet,” I say carefully. “Which is why I’m asking you to tell me what you think?”

  She swallows, her eyes darting around the
room before coming to rest on me. She looks stricken.

  “That happened the night before the accident,” she half-whispers. “We fought about it, and I put him out of the house — out of the motel room where we’re staying, I mean. He was gone all night. He must have come back the next afternoon, though. Paisley told me he was there when she got home from school.”

  “I see.”

  Bethany pleads with me now. “I swear, he’s never done anything like that before. Mickey doesn’t really like kids, like I said. And I know sometimes Paisley gets on his nerves. But he’s never hurt her before that. I swear to God he hasn’t!”

  Her voice rises as she talks. I look down at her hands, which are clenched tightly together. The skin of her fingers is white.

  “Please,” she repeats, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I would never let him hurt my baby. Please believe me!”

  I swallow. “I know you wouldn’t. But the fact is, he did.” I pause. “And in my experience, it’s not likely to be the last time.”

  She looks away.

  “Bethany,” I murmur. “Under the circumstances, do you think that maybe the bikers outside Paisley’s door have it right? That maybe it might be better to tell the hospital Mickey shouldn’t have visitor’s rights to her?”

  She looks back at me and shakes her head. “If he can’t come in here, he’s not gonna let me come either.”

  As kindly as I can, I say, “You know you don’t need his permission, right?”

  “I know… It’s just… he gets mad, and when he gets like that it isn’t worth going against him.” Bethany’s voice cracks. “I’m sure you think I’m being stupid and weak. I know he’s… that he’s not the best guy. But sometimes it’s so hard to be alone, you know?” She takes another rough swipe at her eyes. “I don’t have money. I don’t have a college degree, like you do. I just… Sometimes you just don’t have the strength to do it all alone. But you’ve stopped believing someone good will ever come along. So you settle for good enough.”

  Her words bring me up short.

  “I know,” I say, nodding quietly. “I’m sure you don’t believe me. But I understand.”

  I’m sure she thinks I’m judging her right now. That I couldn’t possibly know what it’s like to be her.

  And she’s right, I don’t. Not exactly.

  But I’ve seen the way my mom has always danced around my father’s moods. How much she’s put up with, for the status of being a prominent politician’s wife. How much she’s erased herself.

  As I sit and look at Bethany, I think of the last time I saw my mother in person. It was last Christmas. Against my better judgment, I went home for their annual big deal holiday party. As usual, it was a grandiose affair, with all the prominent bigwigs of Louisville in attendance. It’s the kind of event that gets written up in the society pages of the paper.

  The house looked beautiful, as always, professionally decorated inside and out. My father, handsome as ever, was king of his domain, greeting and glad-handing the guests all night long. My mother looked beautiful as well, with her always-perfect silver bob, flawless makeup, and a sequined dress that cost more than my monthly rent. And as always, she sparkled as Senator Hart’s wife, smiling and laughing as she held her champagne flute and stood by my his side, beaming up at him as he proposed a toast to old friends and new.

  But my strongest memory of that night isn’t the party itself. It’s how all evening long, I knew my mother’s makeup — so carefully applied by her in the privacy of her dressing room — was extra thick to hide the bruise that was forming along her jaw.

  The bruise given to her by my father that afternoon, when she told him there had been a mixup with the caterers and they wouldn’t be arriving until fifteen minutes after the party was scheduled to begin.

  I’ve seen how much my mother has sacrificed of herself. How hard she’s worked to settle for what she thinks is good enough.

  And I’m afraid I’m about to watch my sister do the same thing when she marries Nick Harris.

  Unlike Bethany, at least my mother and sister have the advantage of financial security. They have a life that looks to the outside world like the ultimate dream of happiness and success. I guess that’s enough for them to convince themselves it’s all worth it.

  But is it enough? Is it really worth it?

  From the outside, most people would say my mother and sister have it made.

  From the outside, most people wouldn’t see any similarities at all between them and the desperate, lonely woman sitting across from me right now.

  But I sure do.

  And what I see in front of me is a woman who needs help. And a woman whose daughter will learn her lessons about relationships from watching her mother. Just like I learned from watching my parents.

  Suddenly, I want to do everything I can to make sure that the lessons Paisley learns are the right ones.

  “I’ll do everything I can to help you, Bethany,” I say fiercely. “I promise. In the meantime, you just focus on doing what’s best for Paisley.”

  11

  Rourke

  Bear gets out of the hospital two days later. From the looks on the faces of the hospital staff when I get there to help spring him out, there’s going to be one hell of a celebration once he’s gone.

  The nurses don’t look as scared now when they pass one of the Lords as they did the first day. Instead, they look irritated. Like seeing one of us reminds them of the surly motherfucker in room two-seventeen.

  Bear refused Axel’s offer to bring him back to the clubhouse from the hospital. A couple of the brothers are taking him to his house instead. Since he’s still recovering from the stab wound, one of the prospects is gonna be his errand boy for a few days, until he gets back on his feet.

  I can’t help but shake my head at the thought of it. That prospect is gonna hate his life for a while, that’s for certain.

  Axel and I are standing out in the hallway the morning Bear gets discharged. We’re leaning against a wall, watching the three ring circus of nurses trying to get Bear to ride out of this place in a wheelchair. I’m getting a pretty good laugh out of the whole damn thing. Even Axel, who’s usually pretty stone-faced and stoic, is cracking a smile.

  “You good with keeping a few brothers here at the hospital during visiting hours for a few days, prez?” I ask as we observe the scene in front of us. “I wanna keep an eye on Paisley’s room.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine with it.”

  Axel knows the story by now. Paisley’s become kind of an unofficial mascot of the club. That kid’s gotten more stuffed animals, toys, and candy in the last few days than she probably got for her last damn birthday. And she sure ain’t hurting for visitors, either, even when her mom’s not here.

  “Hospital staff still givin’ you grief about the Lords standing guard for her?” Axel asks.

  “Don’t matter. I think they’re gettin’ used to it. They don’t like the mom’s boyfriend, either. When the MC’s around, at least he knows he’s on notice. Saves them the trouble of keepin’ an eye on him themselves.” I pause. “I don’t think they’re gonna keep her here much longer, though. Paisley’s doin’ good, healing up okay. And from what I can gather, her mom doesn’t have insurance.”

  “You can’t protect that kid forever, Rourke.” Axel eyes me with a frown.

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  “I dunno yet, exactly.”

  I’m not gonna lie, I’ve considered takin’ Mickey outside and beating the motherfucker within an inch of his life. Not sure why I haven’t yet, to be honest.

  Axel doesn’t reply. After a couple seconds, he says, “Hey, I need you to go on a run with me. Down to talk to Chaco.”

  “Down to Louisville?” I frown. “What’s up?”

  “Dos Santos got fucked, is what. A bunch of his guys got busted at a roadhouse just outside their territory. The cops arrested them all for drunk and disorderly. Trumped up charges, b
ut Chaco thinks it’s sending a signal. The Dos Santos cartel is being targeted, and the cops are in on it.”

  “Turf war,” I groan.

  “And our shipments are right in the middle of it.”

  “Fuck me. This is bad.”

  “Damn right it is,” Axel says grimly. “Chaco wants to renegotiate terms. Wants to do it in person. I’m guessing he’s gonna tell us he can’t get as much product for us as we agreed on. But that ain’t gonna fly with the Tanner Springs charter. Angel’s got some thirsty buyers who ain’t gonna be happy with the club if the supply starts to dry up.”

  I nod, thinking about the president of the Tanner Springs Lords of Carnage. Angel’s an ambitious motherfucker. He’s working on building our club into one of the major players in the region.

  “Angel know about this yet?”

  Axel shakes his head. “I’m gonna wait until I know what the score is before I call him. But I need my VP there with me to be eyes and ears with Chaco. You in?”

  “‘Course. You takin’ anyone else?”

  “Yeah. Mal and Dante,” he grunts. “Any more than that attracts too much attention on the road.”

  “When we goin’?”

  “Few days. I’ll let you know.”

  “Got ya.”

  Axel pushes off from the wall and disappears down the hallway.

  By now, the nurses have given up on Bear’s ever planting his ass in that wheelchair. The short one, Katie, throws up her hands in defeat and storms off, wheeling the chair in front of her. Bear grins — the first time I’ve seen him crack a smile since he got into this place.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re an asshole,” I call out at him.

  “Ah, fuck you,” he fires back over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t ride in one of those things, either.”

  “True that,” I admit with a laugh.

  Bear lifts his chin at me, and then at Rogue, who’s standing guard outside Paisley’s room. Then, flanked by two other brothers and a prospect, he saunters down the hallway toward freedom, on his own two feet — but not before flipping the bird one final time at room two-seventeen.