Iron Will: Lords of Carnage: Ironwood MC

by Loveling, Daphne

  And if the way you moaned when I kissed you today is any indication, it’s only gonna be a matter of time before I get inside your panties.

  * * *

  The next day, I make a quick run over to talk to Joe McBride at the Ironwood police station.

  Officer Joe McBride has been on the police force here in town for almost as long as I’ve been a Lord of Carnage. The two of us were buddies in high school. After that, let’s just say we both headed in different directions. Joe’s even married now, if you can believe that shit. He’s got twin daughters, probably about four years old or so, I’m guessing. Last I heard, his wife Peggy is pregnant again.

  Joe’s a good cop. By which I mean he’s good at his job, not particularly corrupt, and probably could have made it as a detective or something in a much bigger PD in a much bigger city. But he’s a small town guy at heart, and he likes it here in Ironwood. Hell, I can’t say I blame him. The Lords of Carnage have based both our chapters in small towns, to keep our operations more off the radar, and that suits me just fine.

  When I get to the PD, I park my bike toward the back of the lot and walk inside. The cop behind the front desk does a double take when he sees me, but I ignore that shit.

  “Hey. Joe McBride on duty?”

  The cop frowns. “There a reason you need to see him?” he challenges.

  “Yeah,” I growl. “I wanna ask him to be my fuckin’ Valentine. Just get him out here.”

  The guy looks like he wants to punch me but doesn’t dare. He gets up and disappears through a steel door. A couple minutes later, Joe comes out through another locked door off to one side.

  “Hey,” he greets me with a smirk. “Just as much of an asshole as always, I see.”

  “Your front desk help needs some work on his fuckin’ manners,” I grunt. That gets a laugh out of Joe. “Look, I got somethin’ I want to run by you. You got a few minutes?”

  Joe gives me a brief nod. “I’m finishing some stuff up, but you wanna meet me outside in about five?”

  “Yeah. Probably better that way, anyway.”

  Joe gives me a look of suspicion. “What kind of shit are you tryin’ to get me messed up in, man?”

  “Nah. It’s nothing like that. At least, not exactly.” I grin. “I think you might even enjoy this.” I flip my thumb toward the entrance. “I’ll be across the street.”

  I go outside and cross over to a small, deserted park, taking a seat on top of a paint-chipped picnic table. Joe joins me there a few minutes later.

  “Okay,” he grunts, taking a seat on the opposite end. “What the fuck is so important you need to bother me at work?”

  I reach for my smokes and offer him one. “A couple things. First, what do you know about a loser named Mickey King? Ever heard of him?”

  Joe looks down at the pack, hesitating. “Peggy doesn’t like it when I smoke.”

  “Yeah. It’s a filthy habit.” I don’t put them away, and after a second, Joe snorts and takes one. I hand him my lighter.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of Mickey King,” he says, taking a long drag. “Jesus, that tastes good. Fuck these cancer sticks anyway. So, Mickey. We’ve brought him in a couple times for various things. Usually drunk and disorderly. I think he’s got a couple other things on his record, too. Petty theft, from a while back. Oh, yeah, he did…”

  Joe trails off. His face closes off, turns ‘cop neutral.’

  “What?” I demand. Something tells me he just remembered something about Mickey that makes him more interesting to him than he’s willing to tell me.

  “Nothing.”

  “Fuck it, Joe,” I complain. “You really gonna bust my balls on this?”

  “Look, man,” Joe shoots back. “I don’t know why you think I have some obligation to tell you shit. You’re lucky I don’t go lookin’ around in your club’s business. You oughta leave well enough alone.”

  I ignore him. “What if I told you you could nab Mickey on a drug charge?” I suggest. “If I could hand him to you on a platter?” I wait a beat, until I can see he’s considering it. “I bet that fucker would sing like a bird about anything and everything he knows, if he thought you could put him in county for a good long time.”

  Joe’s jaw works as he thinks about my words. “Why would you do that? Did he run afoul of the Lords or something?”

  “Not exactly,” I shake my head. “He ran afoul of me, though. And someone I’m trying to protect.”

  I let Joe ask me a couple more questions, just to show him I’m on the up and up. Then, when I can tell I’ve got him on the hook, I tell him about my plan. At first he doesn’t look like he’s gonna go for it. But when I explain why I’m doing this, his face grows dark. Like I said, he’s got two little girls at home.

  “Why would I just happen to be at the hospital at the precise moment when he’s trying to steal drugs ?” he asks skeptically.

  I shrug. “Does it matter? Say you’re visiting your Aunt Matilda or something. No one’s gonna be asking why a cop is anywhere, Joe.”

  He waits a couple more seconds. Finally, he pulls on the last drag of his cigarette and stubs it out on the table next to him. “I wouldn’t mind putting the fear of God into that little shit.”

  I can see by the gleam in his eye he’ll be getting more out of it than that, but I don’t push it. I don’t give a rat’s ass what he does with that peckerwood, as long as he puts the asshole behind bars for a while.

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “Sure.” He smiles for the first time. “I ain’t been over to the hospital for a while. Maybe I will visit my Aunt Matilda after all.”

  “Good deal. I’ll figure the details out, and get you down there in time to catch him in the act.”

  “That it?” Joe starts to stand.

  “One more thing,”I say, stopping him. “What do you know about the cops down in Louisville? You know any precincts there with a reputation for being on the take by anyone? Any gangs or syndicates?”

  Joe furrows a brow. “I don’t know much about shit down there. I’ve heard bits here and there, but nothing really useful. Why?”

  “No reason,” I tell him, keeping my face expressionless.

  Joe snorts. “Yeah, right. But you know what? I’m gonna let it go that you asked me that question, because I do not want to know.”

  “Probably better that way,” I agree.

  I didn’t expect to find out much from Joe about whether any PDs in Louisville are in the pocket of rivals to the Dos Santos cartel. But it was worth a shot, anyway.

  I tell Joe I’ll be in touch, and we part ways. He goes back into the building, and I head back to my bike.

  15

  Laney

  I don’t see or hear from Rourke for a couple of days after that. It’s long enough that I’m not sure whether he’s forgotten about our plan.

  Paisley is doing better and better all the time. The bruises on her face are healing, and her headaches are getting less frequent and severe. The break of her arm is a clean one, fortunately, and Doctor Methaney tells me he doesn’t think she’ll have any problems with it once it heals.

  This is all great news, but it presents a problem. It’s getting harder and harder to keep her here and safe from Mickey.

  I track down Doctor Methaney as he’s just getting off a shift in surgery. Kent Methaney is an attractive middle-aged gay man with kind eyes. His husband is a local lawyer, whom I’ve never actually met but have seen around town. He is aware of Paisley’s situation, and he’s been more than willing to keep her here as long as possible, to help me stall for time. But today when I talk to him, his eyes are somber.

  “I think I’m nearing the end of what I can reasonably do to avoid discharging Paisley,” he murmurs as we walk down the hall together. “I can’t lie on the charts. And to be honest, Barber is really starting to breathe down my neck about this.” Kent reaches up and massages his neck with his hand in an unconscious gesture. “There’s no other way you can protect Paisley?”

/>   “I’m working on it,” I say. “But I don’t want to try to go after the boyfriend through the system right now. There’s not enough evidence of harm, and unfortunately, it would just hurt Paisley and her mom in the end. Can we just keep her here one more day?” I plead.

  He sighs. “Yes. One more day. But after that, Laney, there’s nothing more I can do.”

  Half a dozen times, I want to go down to Paisley’s room and ask the Lords standing outside how I can get hold of Rourke. But my pride always stops me. Which brings me face to face with an uncomfortable truth. I need to talk to him about the plan to get Mickey away from the little girl and her mother for a few days. But that’s not the main reason I want to talk to him.

  The main reason is because I want to look in his eyes, and see whether he’s forgotten about what happened between us in the coffee shop.

  God, I am ridiculous. I can’t help but groan in frustration at myself. I should just be focusing on getting Bethany help. And I should definitely forget that anything ever happened between Rourke and me. But that’s a lot easier said than done. I hate how many times I’ve thought of him since he kissed me. How many times I’ve fantasized about what might happen the next time I see him.

  Less than a week ago, the mere idea that anything could ever happen between us would have made me laugh. The distance between us — between his world and mine — was too great for me to ever seriously imagine that anything could ever happen between us. Paradoxically, that made it feel safe to fantasize about him. He was unattainable, and therefore not exactly… real.

  But now?

  My body remembers the touch of his rough hands. The surprising softness of his mouth. The taste of him.

  I remember his laugh. How surprised I was to hear it. It’s been echoing in my mind ever since.

  I’ve been longing to hear it again. Longing to feel the caress of his breath against my neck.

  I shiver.

  It’s pathetic of me. God help me, he and I are from worlds about as different as two people’s can be. But I can’t deny it, as stupid as I am for letting myself feel it.

  I wish he’d never kissed me. I wish he was still nothing more to me than a dangerously delicious fantasy. Something to occupy my nighttime fantasies.

  Before, I was lusting after an idea. The hot, unattainable biker.

  Now… I’m longing for the man.

  * * *

  Feeling like I’m turning around in circles, I decide to go pay Paisley a visit. I find her mom there with her, as well as one of the Lords — the one they call Yoda.

  Paisley is busy coloring something on her cast with a packet of markers that’s strewn out in front of her. She’s wearing ear buds connected to a cell phone lying in front of her, bobbing her head in rhythm to a song only she can hear. Bunnifer sits placidly beside her. Yoda is half-perched in the well of the window beside the bed. Bethany is sitting in a chair across from him, laughing, her head thrown back.

  “Hey, everyone,” I greet them with a smile. Paisley immediately looks up and flashes me a wide grin of recognition.

  “Hi, Laney!” she cries, the music making her talk louder. “Do you want to sign my cast?”

  “Wow,” I marvel, coming closer. “Are you sure there’s even room?”

  It’s true. There are signatures and drawings covering practically ever inch of the space. Scrawls of all shapes and sizes. Judging from her cast, Paisley’s the most popular girl in town.

  “All the Lords signed it,” she says proudly, holding it out. “Yoda drew this! I’m coloring it.”

  I have to laugh as I look more closely at the design. It’s a picture of a little girl with long hair and a superhero cape. Paisley’s only gotten as far as coloring her hair a vibrant shade of purple.

  “That’s totally cool!” I enthuse.

  I pick up a green marker and find a rare bare spot on the plaster, then sign my name. As I cap the marker, I notice Rourke’s signature a couple of inches away, and redden at the fact that it actually makes my stomach do a little flip.

  Paisley goes back to coloring and listening to her music. I turn to the adults. “She seems like she’s doing really well today.”

  “Thank God,” Bethany sighs. “I’ve been so worried that the concussion would have longer lasting effects. I made the mistake of googling severe concussions, which led me to traumatic brain injuries…” She shudders. “I really feel like we dodged a bullet.”

  “She’s tough,” Yoda says. “Tough and beautiful. Like her mama.”

  Bethany looks down and blushes. “Flatterer,” she murmurs.

  “It ain’t flattery if it’s true, darlin’,” Yoda grins.

  Hmmm. Interesting development. The two of them seem like they’re enjoying one another’s company quite a bit.

  “Oh!” exclaims Bethany, glancing at the phone on Paisley’s bed. “I have to get going. I’ll be late for work.” She looks at Yoda with a shy smile. “You sure you don’t mind taking me?”

  “Havin’ you on the back of my bike, darlin’?” he banters back. “Are you kiddin’ me? That’d be any man’s dream come true.”

  Bethany turns to me with a sour look. “Mickey took off with my car,” she explains. “The jerk. And he’s not answering my texts to bring it back.”

  Bethany takes her phone from Paisley, who complains a little but doesn’t fuss too much. She kisses her daughter on the forehead, and hands her the remote so she can watch TV.

  “I’ll be back after work, baby,” she croons. “You need anything, you know you can call one of the nurses. And the Lords are right outside.”

  As I walk out of the room with the two of them, my own cell phone buzzes in the pocket of my blazer. I pull it out to see my sister is calling. I wave goodbye to Yoda and Bethany and turn in the direction of my office as I answer it.

  “Hey, Linds.”

  “That’s the future Mrs. Harris to you,” my sister jokes.

  “So noted. Congrats, by the way.”

  “Thank you! Did you see the pictures of the venue I put on Instagram?”

  “No, sorry,” I reply, grimacing. “Haven’t been on Instagram a lot lately.”

  ‘Well, I added them to my stories, so you can see them there.”

  “Great. I’ll do that,” I lie. I keep walking past my office, toward the atrium at the center of the building.

  “So, anyway,” she continues. “I’m calling to ask you a favor!” Her tone of voice sounds more like she’s about to do me one. “I want to invite you to be one of my bridesmaids! Kelly and I are fighting because she called me a bridezilla, so I’m replacing her. Screw her, right?”

  Kelly. I can call up a picture of her in my head right away. She and Lindsay have known each other since middle school. She’s the mousiest of all Linds’s friends — the girl just a little less stylish, a little less pretty than the others. It occurs to me to wonder whether my appearance-conscious sister might have been fretting about how Kelly would look in the wedding photos Lindsay will inevitably be posting on social media — and whether she’s been looking for an excuse to kick her off the lineup, so to speak.

  For just a second, I consider saying no. But she’s my sister, after all. And besides, I’d never hear the end of it from either her or my mother if I declined.

  I take a deep breath, squinching up my face at what I’m about to do. “Sure, I’d be happy to, Linds,” I say.

  “Great!” she chirps. “So, I’ll add you to the group chat. If you could try to get up to speed pretty soon, that would be great. We’re working on nailing down dates to go dress shopping right now.”

  “Will do,” I mutter, already regretting my decision.

  “Awesome! Oh, one more thing. I’m putting together my first draft of the guest list, and I wanted to know whether you want me to include a plus-one for you.”

  I’ve made a full circle around the atrium now, so I turn around and head back the other way. There’s something in my sister’s tone that tells me she’s assuming I’m goi
ng to say no to the plus-one.

  It occurs to me to be just a little bit offended. I mean, sure, I’ve been single for a while, but it’s not that ridiculous to imagine me bringing a date, is it?

  It would serve her right if I brought Rourke, I think, and have to suppress a bout of hysterical laughter. God, just think of how much she and my parents would freak!

  “I’m not sure,” I mumble, at once amused by the thought and horrified that I let myself be pathetic enough to think it. Rourke would probably sooner kill himself than go to a society wedding. And I can’t say I blame him for that. Plus, I’d rather drive off a cliff than humiliate myself by asking him.

  “Well, it’s still super early, anyway,” my sister replies cheerfully. “I’ll just put down no, and you can tell me if that changes.”

  “Sure.”

  My sister chats away for a few more minutes, but at this point I’m barely listening to her. By the time she ends the call, I’m slumped in one of the uncomfortable couches near the hospital entrance. As I lower my phone from my ear, I imagine myself months from now, at Lindsay’s fancy blowout of a wedding. Instead of doing my best to stay out of the limelight, now I’ll be front and center as a bridesmaid.

  I already know the judgments that will swirl around me. The gossip mill that bored rich women love to feed with their speculations and fake sympathies. I know I’ll be the subject of many conversations that night, even as they all pretend to be focusing on my sister and her happy future.

  It won’t matter to any of them that this is a life I’ve chosen for myself. That I’m happy where I am, doing what I’m doing. All they’ll see is that I’m dateless and out of place. They will politely ask me about my life, then whisper behind my back about how sad it is that Senator Hart’s older daughter is still single, and working at some awful job in some town no one’s ever heard of — without even a plus-one to bring to her own sister’s wedding.

  16