by Lucy Smoke
I couldn't deny her that. "I will," I promised.
Grayson stepped forward. "We all will," he confirmed.
The memory trickled away as I looked away from the box in my hands to the window. Harlow threw a snowball, launching it at Texas’ head as Bellamy drove Grayson into the snow. Harlow was still healing from the loss of her mother. She likely would be for a long time. If anyone could relate to that, it was me.
The image in front of me, though, was one of hope. The smile on her face was undimmed by the recollection of what she’d been through lately. That was the weird thing about life—though it took things away, it also gave you more than you could have ever dreamed for. It had given me more than I could have ever dreamed for. It had given me her.
A knock on the door interrupted my inner musings. I turned as Marv stepped inside. “You’re watching them?” He said it as a question, but truly it was just an observation.
I answered anyway with a nod. “Yeah.”
Marv stepped up alongside where I stood at the window. His eyes looked down to the box clutched in my hands.
“Do you think she’ll like it?” he asked, sounding a bit nervous.
I smiled. “We all had a hand in choosing it,” I said, “so even if she doesn’t, it’s not because she doesn’t like you.”
"I know that," he said.
But still...I got it. It was nerve wracking. We'd all made a decision together as a group—even Grayson, who now fit in with our group far more than I could ever have predicted. Harlow was the woman we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with. She was it. None of us were willing to back down. She didn't seem adverse to the idea, but I wondered if she knew how serious we actually were.
"She'll say yes," I assured him.
"How can you be so sure?"
I shrugged. "She either will or she won't. I'm not sure. I'm hopeful."
Marv eyed me and then sighed, turning back to the window to watch the amusing proceedings as Harlow lodged a snowball at Grayson's head and caught him in the neck instead. Marv chuckled.
"You know," he said, "with the five of us, and her, there's never going to be a dull moment."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," I replied.
Marv shifted on his feet, hands going to the buttons on his cuffs. I smirked as I watched him out of the corner of my eye. “Shall we?” I asked.
He blew out a breath, but nodded, and together—as future husbands to one woman—we headed downstairs and out into the backyard.
Snowballs flew through the air, crashing into the side of the house my employees and I had built together. I knew this house was strong and that it would hold for a long time to come. I just hoped that the relationship I planned on building with the sparkling woman who rushed up to greet me would remain just as strong.
“Harlow,” I said, catching her by the shoulders and holding her steady as she came to a stumbling halt, those big brown eyes of hers looking up at me—trusting me, loving me.
She parted her chapped lips. “Knix?”
The others approached slowly and I smiled. “We have something to give you,” I said. “You don’t have to take it, but if you do, I want you to know that it will mean forever.”
“What are you…” Her lips parted in surprise as I held out the box. There was a tense silence as even the morning birds chirping in the distance faded for one single moment.
“Little Bit,” I said.
“Sunshine.” Marv stepped up.
“Sweetheart,” Bellamy said from behind her.
“Babydoll,” Grayson whispered as he moved closer.
“Spider-Monkey…Princess.”
Harlow snorted and cut Texas a glance. He merely shrugged.
“Will you marry us?” I asked. “And be ours?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
“Do you promise to love and cherish us forever?” I asked.
She nodded and made a motion of an X over her chest. “I do. Cross my heart. I’ll love you all until the day I die.”
Sliding the ring on her finger was the easiest thing I had ever done, and the most satisfying sight I had seen was when the others jumped on her. Kisses rained down on her cheeks and lips and when I finally managed to pull her from their grips, I claimed my own.
“I love you, Little Bit,” I whispered against her mouth.
“I love you too.”
The End… or is it?
Iris Boys Continued…
Forever & Always: An Iris Boys After Story
Coming Soon…
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Excerpt from Heart of Tartarus
Tartarus, city of criminals, usually smells like a combination of garbage, smoke, and desperation. Tonight, though, after another lightning storm, the sky city’s walkways and steel buildings are left soaked with an after mist of the rain. A sugary-sweet scent filters up from below the hovering, cranking, machines that keep Tartarus and its half a million residents afloat. It’s the scent of the farming villages with old Earth soil mined from the destitute planet even farther below. The crops grown there, like cane sugar, are sweet and so vastly different from the city. Usually, I would have had to stand at the very top of my pod complex building just to catch a whiff of the clean smells on the wind.
I crack my neck before darting across the alley, the low beams of hovering vehicles cutting through the smog as the drivers honk me out of the way. One barely misses clipping me on the side. No one cares about pedestrians here on this lonely criminal sky city. Inside Lionheart’s, raunchy jokes and the stench of sewage workers fills the room. The owner, Richie, mans the bar, his sharp eyes watching the drunken crowd.
I perch myself at a barstool, tapping my short nails against the touch screen metal bar top. It doesn’t allow access to order until I scan a card or an implant chip over the screen, but I’m not here for a good time. Nor am I stupid enough to believe the government when they say implant chips are the way of the future. So, for now, the screen simply glitters with a dark swirling background as I wait impatiently for Richie to recognize and acknowledge my presence. I people-watch on my stool, every so often checking the scanner on my wrist that alerts me to enforcer aircrafts in the nearby vicinity. I’m not on the arrest list at the moment, but it’s a habit that I’ve developed over the last five years—ever since I ran away from a place that was never really a home to begin with.
“Oi!” I smother a smile as Richie spots me and the dangling metal wing charm hooked in the lobe of my right ear that proclaims my status as a messenger. He starts to wave one meaty fist in my direction, drawing the gazes of several patrons. “Don’t ya go sittin’ at my bar,” he snaps, barreling towards me. “I ain’t servin’ ya. Not only is ya underage, but this a man’s place.”
I give up on not smiling and let a grin slip through. “I’ve got a message for you,” I reply coolly.
Richie stops a few feet away from me, his gaze turning calculating and wary. Most of my clients’ recipients don’t give a shit what I have to say unless they’re expecting me. Richie isn’t and he’s no different. A messenger at their door doesn’t usually mean good news, but I get paid a living wage and I don’t have to sell my body or marry some fat, bulbous sewage worker or crime underling—both of which like to use their fists on those that warm their beds a little too much. I wait to see what Richie will do next.
“Who’s it from?” Before he even finishes his demand, I’m already shaking my head.
“You know that’s not how it works,” I say, holding my hand out. “Fee first, then message.”
His dark eyes squint at me in irritation. I raise an eyebrow as his gaze narrows.
“I ain’t pay’n ya if I don’t know what this is about,” he decides with a firm nod.
I blink and then put my hand down with a sigh. “Alright then.” I hop off the bar stool and make my way to the front door, waving a hand over my shoulder. “I’ll tell
Jolene you send your regards.” I smirk as I round a particularly raucous group near the front windows.
“Now, hold up there!” Richie hollers, stopping me as I reach the tavern’s entrance. I turn back and wait for him to make up his mind. He grumbles and rummages around under the counter for a moment before his fist slams a handful of bills and coins that make up my messenger receiving fee onto the bar top. “‘Eres ya damn fee. Now, tell me what my damn child got ‘erself into this time.”
I walk slowly back to the bar and pick up the money, counting it quickly before I answer. His face watches me, growing redder by the second. Customers call for beers and liquor. He holds them all off with a glare until I’m finished.
“Jolene’s in a pinch,” I say slowly. “Seems she’s made a deal she can’t make good on and she’s borrowed a bit too much. Tanks are gonna be sending their boys after her real soon if she can’t pay up.”
“That little bitch wants money?!” Richie’s face is redder than spilled blood, eyes bulging out of his head. The bell at the front door dings as two new patrons enter.
I shrug. “It’s either that or let the Tanks have her.”
It wouldn’t be a pretty sentence. Of the many gangs that fill the streets of Tartarus, Tanks are among the worst. They’re known for their brutish looks and cruelty towards women, especially women who can’t pay back their loans and interest. Only the desperate would even chance going to those murderers for a loan. If or when they got ahold of Jolene, she’d be sold to make up for their losses and if no one wanted to buy her...well, black market organs had to come from somewhere. Sucks, but it’s the way of life on Tartarus.
“Dammit,” Richie curses. “Give me my money back, bitch! I ain’t paying for that whore daughter o’ mine.”
I step back with a scowl as he reaches for me. “Not happening,” I snap with force. I learned well enough from Kida that to be a woman in this world, you can’t be afraid of standing up for yourself and making a few people angry. Richie would never even think of demanding his money back if I were a man. “You wanted the message. You got it. That’s what you paid for. No refunds.”
“Hey, yo!” a masculine voice calls over my shoulder distracting Richie for only a moment. He scowls at the newcomer once before returning his attention to me.
“I want my money back,” he repeats.
“Too fucking bad,” I say, stuffing it down the front of my shirt and into my bra cup. “You want it back, you’ll have to earn it.”
His eyes widen, before his face slowly morphs into a relaxed, smug grin, showing a row of dirty, rotted teeth. The sight leaves me feeling more than a little uneasy. “Ya a bettin’ girl then, are ya?” he asks.
I pause, narrowing my eyes. I hadn’t exactly meant it like that, but his tone of voice suggests that there’s something he’s talking about that I don’t know. I hate not knowing. “I’m a winning girl,” I clarify, pursing my lips.
“Well then, I bet I got something your pretty little eyes will wanna wager on.” Richie reaches behind him and pulls out a classic Smith and Wesson revolver and places the firearm on the bar top. My eyes widen.
“Where the hell did you get that?” I demand a bit breathlessly. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. My eyes shoot left and right, noting that we’ve caught a few interested onlookers and I press myself closer out of instinct. There’s no fucking way this thing is real.
Guns are hard and dangerous to come by. Only enforcers are technically allowed to have them. When Arawn and its four under-cities had been launched into the skies with the last of humankind, nongovernmental weapons such as guns were forbidden from being brought on board. Of course, there were still people who disregarded that declaration; the evidence sat right in front of me.
It’s old, dirty, and probably wouldn’t fire worth shit if its owners for the past several hundred years hadn’t taken care of it, but still, the hunk of metal is a thing of beauty. I want it so much my hands itch to take it. I try to beat back the desire in my eyes that I’m sure Richie can see.
Is it worth it? I ask myself. If I’m caught with contraband like a gun in my possession, I’d be sent back to a sky village below the great cities. I might never be allowed back on Tartarus. And if I’m not allowed back on Tartarus, there’s no way I’d be able to make it to the other cities or to find Kida. And I have to find the only person who’s ever given a shit about me, without exception.
Just having the gun will make others wary of me. Even if I have to dump it on someone else, it’ll be a great bargaining tool. For the love of humanity, it could be my ticket off Tartarus! It could be Kida’s ticket too! The money I’d get from selling it alone would be enough to get a ticket to any of the other cities and it might even jump start a new life.
“Hey, Rich! I got a favor to ask!” The same voice from before interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to the rude bar patron only to glare up at a gruff, pale face. I blink, startled; he’s a lot taller than I expected with big, brown eyes and a head of curly, dark hair that stops an inch or so above his shoulders.
Doesn’t matter, I snap at myself. He’s ruining a possible deal.
“Back off,” I practically growl at the guy before turning back to Richie. “Now, tell me, where’d you get it?”
“Who pissed in your slop?” the guy behind me mutters, but I ignore it.
Richie’s grin widens. “I’ll tell ya. For a challenge.” I debate with myself once more. Revolvers are easy to use—simple pea shooters. Point and shoot. Firearms are illegal for common citizens, but that doesn’t mean much here in Tartarus.
“You want your damn money back?” I ask. “Fine. The revolver for the fee.”
“I ain’t givin’ ya this beauty here fer no pocket change,” Richie scoffs.
“What’s going on here?” I almost growl as the damn annoying curly haired man from before inserts himself yet again. I snarl his way and slip a hand into my coat pocket for my switchblade. “Whoa, nice piece there, man!” His eyes run over the revolver with interest.
I curse as several of the interested eyes from before move closer “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say loudly, leaning forward, tugging my hand out of my coat pocket sans knife, to cover the revolver. Richie yanks the gun out of my reach before I can even brush my fingers across the metal barrel. I don’t blame him. Most people in this city are thieves whether they’ve got honest work or not. Most people were raised that might makes right.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Richie wags a finger at me dramatically. A muscle ticks in my eye. Is he trying to draw a crowd? He firmly tucks the gun away in the back of his waistband. “That ain’t how ya go after what ya want.”
“Rich,” the stranger says, trying to catch the bar owner’s attention again.
Richie turns to the man and sighs. “I’ll talk to ya in a bit, Thayer. Let me deal with business first, eh?” The man nods before stepping back, though he continues to linger, curiously watching the exchange.
“Alright,” I say, giving in. “How much?”
Richie smiles, reaching across the bar to snatch an apple from a burly leather skinned man. The man stares, debating whether it’s worth a fight before Richie slams a beer in front of him. The words “on the house” has him nodding and walking away with a tall glass of piss-colored liquid without batting another eye. Richie tosses the apple in the air before catching it again and rubbing it on his shirt to clean it for a big bite.
“Ya gonna pay whatever I ask?” he asks as he chews.
“If you’ll tell me what you’re damn well asking,” I say through gritted teeth. “I might.” His grin widens as he reaches under the counter and pulls a big bottle of clear moonshine out from under the bar. I blink at the full forearm sized bottle, glancing between him and the firewater.
“If ya can outlast me, it’s all yours. If ya can’t, I get my money back, I keep the revolver, and I get to take a shot at ya with it. Deal?”
“Rich, she’s just a girl. There’s no way–”
T
his, I can handle. “Deal,” I snap, interrupting the man—Thayer, Richie had called him. I turn my glare on him as Richie smirks and reaches back under the counter for two shot glasses.
Thayer is tall, broad shouldered, and looks like he belongs in the underground fight ring that meets every so often in the basements of various pod complexes. Just last month, I had stumbled upon one several floors down from my own pod. There’s no denying that this man is gorgeous, and his dark, synthetic-coffee, brown eyes are sharp too. There’s no dull haze from intoxication or stressed irises from the addies—too many users end up with that stressed out, hollow look. He’s so far from hollow, he’s practically vibrating with vitality.
With that ever-present smirk of his, he knows he’s beautiful and just for that, I glare all the harder as I take my seat at the bar and slam back the first shot Richie hands me. His eyes widen when I don’t even flinch as the burning liquid scorches a path down my throat.
“Maybe I should keep you two company,” he says slowly as he slides onto the stool next to mine.
“Fine by me,” I reply. I’m not going to let him distract me, I tell myself as Richie leans over and takes his own shot. The older man blinks once before refilling both of our shot glasses.
“What’s your name?”
I suck back another mouthful of clear alcohol before answering. “Depends on who’s asking.”
Thayer watches as Richie takes his next shot and I take mine. The more I drink, the easier it goes down. But there’s a reason this type of alcohol is called firewater; nothing can erase the hard bite to the liquor’s taste or the acidic aftertaste that lingers on the walls of my mouth and throat.
“Thayer Stone.” He holds out his hand.
I shake my head and swallow more firewater. “Then I’m no one,” I say after a breath.
He drops his hand when it becomes obvious I’m not going to take it. The remaining grin on his face only deepens.