Iron & Bone (Lock & Key #3)

by Cat Porter

  Krystal knocked once and opened the door to the president’s office. In the three years that I had been a part of the Flames, I had never once stepped into this room. I took in a breath as Krystal closed the door behind me.

  Finger’s hard eyes followed me as I approached his desk, studying me from top to toe. It was a subtle flick, taking in every detail. His lips rolled, as if he were chewing on something, and with the motion, the brutal “F” scars on both sides of his face deepened. The smell of tobacco and cedar was strong. He gestured for me to sit, and I did. His two missing middle fingers were a harsh reminder of the life he’d lived and now ruled over.

  “Jill,” said that familiar scratchy voice.

  “Thank you for seeing me. I appreciate you taking the time.” I sat up straight in the chair. “I came to see you because Boner’s gone missing. I think he went to see this...businessman in Denver who he used to work for a long time ago, before he was a One-Eyed Jack. He has a bloody history with him. Alejandro Calderone.”

  Finger leaned back in his chair, his features blank, his plaid shirt opening wider at the chest, his dark hair in a low ponytail. “Why didn’t you go to your own president? To the Jacks?”

  “I spoke with Butler. They know he’s missing, and they’re in gear as we speak. But I felt strongly that I had to make sure everything possible was being done. Maybe my coming here is wrong and against the rules, and I’ll get punished for it by the Jacks and you, but I had to try. I had to. I love Boner, he’s a good man. I know, from the years I spent with the Flames, that if anyone could do something to save him, it would be you. I know Dig respected you, and Boner and Butler do, too. All of that makes this a really good idea to me, whatever the consequences.”

  Finger’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You and Catch dealing with your shit? You letting him see his kid?”

  “Actually, the last time he and I spoke, he threatened to sic Mishap on Boner if I didn’t do what he wanted, which was to give him Becca. I’m willing to chalk that up to a father’s desperation to be a part of his daughter’s life and not some stupid, egotistical, reckless pissing contest that would only create unnecessary problems between good men and good clubs.” I took in a breath. “Finger, I brought my daughter here today to see her dad and her other family as a show of good faith. I want to believe that all the bullshit can be wiped clean. I want to believe that we can start fresh and be fair, for all our sakes and for the good of our clubs.”

  The deep lines of his face eased. “I owe Boner one.”

  “You do?”

  “That bullshit with the Python.”

  “Right. Well, maybe Mishap could be given a new target?”

  Something resembling a glimmer flashed across his eyes.

  A hard knock and the door swinging open had me turning in my seat. Catch stood in the doorway. “Finger, two of Calderone’s men followed Jill here from Meager.”

  Finger slowly leaned back in his seat. “I got calls to make.”

  I shot up from the chair. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  I left his office, but I couldn’t help glancing back at him. Finger stared after me, and I met that severe metallic gaze as the door closed behind me.

  “IT’S THE NEW THING—free-trade coffee beans.”

  I dragged the heels of my boots across the marble floor of his office at the penthouse. I couldn’t listen to Alejandro going on about the wine he was importing from Chile and Argentina or the coffee beans from El Salvador or how his numbers had doubled in just less than ten years. I supposed I was impressed that his talent for accounting had finally found a better focus than tallying up meth and crack production and their rates of distribution.

  But he needed me to be impressed. I am, motherfucker. I am.

  My eyes landed on a silver-framed photo of him and Inès that stood on his desk. My throat tightened.

  The photo had to be recent, judging from his appearance. She had aged well, but the drug use had worn out her edges, her face really thin, her cheekbones jutting out. She beamed a brittle smile under her dramatic makeup. Her skinny body, wrapped in a sparkly tight dress was pressed against his. Her dark hair was cut below the chin at some strange angle, diamonds on her ears, her arm thrown around Alejandro’s neck. All glamour, all glitz. The fucking red carpet.

  There were several other photos of the two of them, some casual others formal, a number of portraits of her. Lots of portraits of her.

  She had made her choice.

  “Que en paz descanse,” I said under my breath. I hoped she was at peace now.

  Had she been happy, really happy? Who the fuck knew?

  I didn’t think she’d even known, but she’d certainly chosen a different ride from the one I’d offered. Calderone had loved her, and judging from the photos, she’d seemed to enjoy it while it lasted.

  She’d made a life for herself.

  Had I?

  Or was I only pieces patched together by a leather vest?

  My focus remained on the first photo, but her sultry dark eyes faded in my line of sight, and there were only Jill’s eyes.

  Jill’s exuberance over simple things—finding the right brand at the supermarket, enjoying the flavor of a cheeseburger, singing along to a rock tune in my truck, laughing at a stupid television commercial, or tearing up when Becca would try a new food she had previously resisted and actually liked it. Yeah, exuberance when she watched me swinging off my bike, when she watched me going down on her—that was fucking real.

  “I love you,” I’d told her.

  Even though she hadn’t said it back, I knew she felt it, too, but hers was buried under a pile of should-dos, would-dos, hoped-tos, maybe one-days.

  I didn’t have that jungle of vines blocking my way. Since I’d arrived in South Dakota and become a Jack, I’d always been about the now.

  I had told her I loved her, and I was proud of that. If that were the one thing I’d left her with, wouldn’t that somehow ease the sting for her? It did for me. It did. No fucking regrets.

  My Firefly.

  “But some things, really beautiful things, you can’t hold on to forever, can you?”

  No, you can’t.

  It was time for me to open the lid on that jar.

  Be free, baby. Fly.

  I knew, by the end of this day, there was a bullet just for me. Would it be in the forehead? The neck? In my stomach so that I could suffer, just for old times’ sake? Or a clean one to the heart?

  But my heart was full with something other than blood, something not even a bullet could drain.

  Not even a fucking bullet.

  Alejandro’s personal bodyguard handcuffed me, took me down to the underground parking lot, and threw me in the back of a van, my face smashed into a scuzzy rubber mat. Another smaller man bent over me and shot me up with something to knock me out. I caught sight of my bike in the parking garage, standing tall in the distance, as the van doors slammed shut on me.

  The van doors unhinged, swinging open, and my eyes unglued. We weren’t in Denver anymore. Nothing but flat, dry earth. I’d been out for hours, judging from the sun.

  “What did you bring him here for?” Notch, the president of the Broken Blades, studied me, his lips curled into a snarl.

  Two Blades lifted me out of the van and threw me onto the ground.

  Should I kiss Nebraska soil? Nah.

  “Listen to me, eh?” Alejandro’s eyebrows hopped up and down, his eyes twitching.

  Being the grande head-honcho must be stressful.

  “We’re going to do this here. I can’t afford to get caught with a dead body and blood on my cuffs right now. Things are tight in Denver.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Notch took a deep drag on his cigarette.

  “Here, you and I can have some fun with him.”

  Notch sucked on his teeth. “What kind of fun?”

  “Set him free on this God awful prairie to run like a wild turkey, and shoot at him. I like that idea. I need to be entertained. It’s been a long dr
ive.”

  Two Blades pulled me up on my feet, and I staggered, still woozy from whatever shit they had given me in the van. I licked at my dry lips, but it didn’t help. The nuzzle of a gun poked at my back, and I flinched away from it, my body stiffening, my joints sore. The sun beat down on me. Pain prickled my eyes as I tried to focus on the open, flat stretch of land before me, but the ground only wobbled in the haze.

  Notch snorted as he glanced at me and then back at Alejandro. “You really want to do this?”

  He pressed his lips together. “You’re the one who wanted the One-Eyed Jacks and the Flames of Hell to understand that you and I mean business, big business. Two birds, one stone, my friend. For both of us. I told you I’d provide for your needs.”

  Notch exhaled a cloud of smoke and signaled to two of his brothers. Fists flew at me, slamming into my middle. One landed on my scar, the stinging throb shooting through me. A blow to my side had me doubled over, crashing to the ground. Pain exploded in my skull.

  “I wanna see the Jack crawl.” Notch laughed.

  I raised myself up but got kicked down. And again. My muscles strained and shuddered. I rolled over, the sun needling my eyes. I pushed up, but a jab to my lower back had me sprawled in the earth. Dirt and dust scoured my dry mouth.

  A large hand pulled me up from the ground and shoved me forward.

  “Go. Run like a hen. Run!” Alejandro’s voice pierced my ears.

  “Yeah, give him a head start. Make this more fun,” came Notch’s lazy voice behind me.

  My blurry eyes fell on my snake coiled tight over my arm, his damn ugly face glaring at me, fangs at the ready, broken bones in his mouth.

  The bones I’d broken.

  Alejandro’s bodyguard at my back shoved me again.

  “Never again, never go back.”

  I spun, bashing my handcuffed fists into his throat. He croaked and wheezed, crumpling to the ground. I spotted his gun and propelled myself forward, lunging for the weapon just beyond his feet. I grabbed the handle, but my useless fingers were numb. The fucking gun tumbled from my grasp.

  “Shit!”

  My head reeled. I forced my eyes to focus.

  Shots rang out, yelling split the air. The peal of a semiautomatic ripped around me. I smashed my face into the hard ground.

  “No!”

  My eyes sprang up at the sound of his voice.

  Alejandro trained a sleek, shiny weapon at me. Was it engraved?

  “You’re mine! Mine!” he hissed.

  Crack. Crack.

  He snapped back as if by an invisible force, disappearing from view.

  I crawled to the side and reached for the gun again, my hands sweaty, my fingers sticking to the handle. I rolled onto my back and pulled myself up, pain lashing through me like tongues of fire.

  I had to be ready for him. Have to be ready.

  I stretched my arms, the gun shaking in my hands.

  A roar exploded in the back of my skull. A blur of black battered me, and the gun was ripped from my grasp.

  “Fuck!”

  A Blade pounded my jaw, my chest, the blows hammering through me.

  “Son of a bitch!” I rammed my feet into his middle, and again to his crotch. He howled.

  Thick pops went off in the air, and his body flinched and seemed to stop in midair, blood spurting over me. I spotted the glint on his belt and snatched his gun as his lifeless hulk heaved on top of me. With a grunt, I shoved him off me, raising myself up again.

  And there he was.

  Alejandro’s huge dark eyes glared at me like flags in the distance. His mouth opened wide in an ugly yell as he pointed his weapon at me.

  I aimed through the haze, my shoulders shuddering. Alejandro collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His jaw loose, his hand wavering over the dried grass, like a useless last-minute flag of surrender, and then it flopped down. I blinked, crawling backwards.

  The shot to his head had come from behind him.

  What the fuck was going on?

  Black dots appeared over the horizon, dots moving, a swarm of dots. The ground rose up, and my eyes hit dirt, my skull thudding on the hard surface.

  I trembled, my fingers digging in the earth. Using the surge of adrenaline flying through me, I pushed myself over and fell on my back. A breeze tripped over my face, and I opened my mouth to take in a gulp. I blinked, my eyes straining in the sunlight. Bulky clouds briskly slid across the streaky blue sky.

  How do those fuckers move so fast? So silently?

  “Bro!”

  Butler.

  Hands lifted me up. “Fuck, he’s bleeding.”

  “We gotta go, man. Feds are on the way.”

  Catch’s and Dready’s voices buzzed somewhere over me. Shuffling, thudding, stamping pounded all around me.

  “Get him up. He can’t move. Let’s go!”

  “You’re safe, Bone. Don’t worry. I’m here with you. Right here.”

  A soft hand brushed over my forehead, easing the cold that had seeped through my flesh and the shuddering in my veins.

  A light kiss on my lips.

  Jill.

  “Thanks for coming, Doc,” a hoarse male voice said in the distance.

  More voices, footsteps.

  “The doctor said you’re going to be fine, Bone. Thank God.” Another kiss on my hand.

  Her eyes hovered over me, her wavy hair tickling my face.

  My fingers uncurled in her hand. “Jill.” Needles pricked my throat.

  “Right here. We’re at the Flames’ clubhouse. Their doctor just cleaned you up. It’s all good.”

  “Jill, what—”

  “I’ll go get Butler for you. I’ll be right back.”

  I pulled on her, my one hand bringing her within inches of my face. “What the hell did you do?”

  She blinked. “I chose love. Love, not fear.”

  I locked on those gray-blue eyes of hers, my lungs pinching in my chest. Iron in her bones.

  She let go of my hand, and my back sank onto the table I was lying on.

  Moments later, Butler dug a hand in my hair. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

  “Tell me—”

  He leaned over me. “Seems the Feds have been on the Blades’ asses for a while. Finger tipped off his contact inside, and the Feds trailed Alejandro from Denver into Nebraska, straight to the Blades’ weapons stash, that old bunker you’d mentioned. Turns out, they’ve been after that location for a while now like everybody else. Not to mention, a crack at the Calderas Group. Huge win for them. Huge win for us. Feds were grateful, and we got you free and clear out of the deal.”

  “You went to Finger?”

  “Not me. Jill. She’s the one who figured out you had gone to Denver. She ran down here, talked to Finger herself. Didn’t waste any time doing it.”

  “Jesus.” I swallowed. “And Calderone?”

  “Fucker’s dead.” Butler slanted his head. “What the hell were you thinking, bro?”

  My chest squeezed painfully—and not from being beaten and bruised and shot at. I fisted a hand in Butler’s shirt. “He was coming for me, was gonna get to Jill. Eventually him and Notch would have come for the club. I had to keep Jill and the baby safe. Had to—”

  “All right.” Butler heaved a sigh, his blue eyes clouding, his hand sliding over my forehead. “I know, man. I know.”

  WE WERE HOME.

  Becca and I were staying with Boner at his house for a few days.

  Boner’s bruises and cuts were healing, and he was getting his energy back, but he remained sullen and quiet. Earlier this morning when he’d seen his bike standing in his driveway again, he actually smiled, but then he went back to his melancholy.

  I brought our tea in the living room. Becca was still sleeping, and I was glad. I had something special to give to him.

  He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood back from the fireplace, studying the orange flames licking high in the hearth.

  “You got to pro
mise me something, Jill. Don’t you ever take off like that again without telling anyone where you’re going, especially when it’s to another club.”

  “I made an executive decision.”

  He turned to me. “Jesus. Between Grace, Lock, and you, by the time this kid is born, he or she is gonna be hell on wheels.”

  “Most likely.”

  I handed him a faded blue antique tin box, which was decorated with a hand-painted eagle holding an American flag in its claws.

  “What’s this?”

  “A gift for you. I have another one, too, but this first.”

  He held up the small antique cigar box, inspecting the eagle. “You collecting antiques now, like Tania?”

  “No. Grace gave that to me. It was Wreck’s.”

  Wreck was Lock’s older brother, who had died years ago. He had brought Boner and Dig into the club and had been their mentor.

  “Tania found it while going through his stuff,” I added. “It was perfect for what I had in mind, and Lock wanted you to have it, too.”

  He laid his hand on top of the box, a quiet, solemn gesture. “Wreck and his eagles.”

  “Open it.”

  He pushed open the top of the old box, and the tin creaked. A stack of creased papers was folded inside. “What’s all this?” He picked through them.

  His face lifted, and his eyes met mine. Eyes that questioned, eyes that brimmed with tension.

  “Jillee—”

  “Those poems are a part of you. A part of you I think you kept trying to trash or hide from view, but you couldn’t. They’re beautiful and awful, and they’re yours. They should be shown some honor and allowed to rest in a special place in your house. You need to come to peace with them. With her.”

  “It helped, writing them.”

  “Yes, it does help. I keep journals. Have for a long time.”

  He licked his bottom lip, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. “This fire would come up, and I’d get it out. Then, I’d stuff them wherever.” His shoulders jerked up and fell. “Bad memories, unanswered questions.”

  “You kept them as pieces, shedding as you went.”