Blood & Rust (Lock & Key #4)

by Cat Porter

  “You know this is all kinds of wrong,” I said, standing next to Boner.

  Last time we had seen Notch in the flesh, he had tried to kill Boner, but thank fuck, we had gotten there first. Then, the Feds had raided, thanks to Finger’s insider connections who had blown the whistle on the Blades and the Calderas Group working together. All hell had broken loose.

  The Blades waited for us to retaliate for them trying to kill Boner, but you couldn’t go crazy with Homeland Security riding your ass. Instead, we’d hung back, laid low and watched as the Feds chopped the Blades up into little bits and took away their property, broke their operations, indicting more than half of their members. It was a sad day for a decades old one percent club, but that was real life on the outside of society. There was always a price to pay, no matter how free you thought you were.

  The Blades were jumpy. They should be; they were in pieces. A number of other powerful clubs, Finger’s Flames chief among them, were circling, lapping at the trails of blood and torn flesh the Feds had left behind. Only Notch and a few other members were left, trying to recruit new members while desperately hanging on to whatever territory they still had.

  Notch turned to me, his brows jumping. “What I know is that you and your friends all tried to destroy me and my club. Ain’t gonna happen. Broken Blades are still standing. You all think you got us down when you blew us out of the water?” His dark gaze flew from me to Jump and back again. Notch was from Alabama originally. His Southern accent dragged out his words, giving their intent even more drama. “Blades don’t go down easy. You tell your friend Finger that, huh?”

  He came here to showcase.

  “Tonight’s ladies’ night,” I said. “You all here to dance for the women? We’ve got quite a crowd. All of ’em screaming for more. Dollar bills are flying in there. What do you say?”

  Notch laughed. A decadent laugh. An I’ve-got-all-the-time-in-the-world-to-fuck-with-you laugh. His brothers sneered at us, including Pick, the Blade who had interrupted my and Tania’s dinner that night outside of Sioux Falls. Boner’s face twitched under the bright lights of the front entrance to the Tingle.

  Notch knew that Finger had enjoyed smashing his club by destroying the Calderas Group and the Blades’ union with them. He knew Finger was gearing up to take them over now that they had been broken so that he could expand his own territory in Nebraska and further south of us where the Blades had once ruled. And Notch also knew that the Jacks and Flames were suddenly friendly with each other.

  “Tell you what,” Notch said. “You set us up in one of your private party rooms with a couple of girls. We came a long way, after all.”

  “No girls working tonight,” I said. “You should’ve called ahead. It’s best you all find somewhere else to party.”

  “Ah, that’s a shame. Real shame. What kind of hospitality is that, huh?” He tilted his head at his men. “Let’s not waste any more time then.” He turned to me and Jump once more, spitting on the ground. “Y’all have a good night.”

  Notch and his men stalked off and got on their bikes, revving their engines.

  Jump’s shoulders rolled, his jaw stern. “He’s planning something. He looked mighty pleased with himself. This was just the intro.” He eyed me and tracked back into the nightclub.

  The Blades roared off, one by one. A blare of arrogance and conceit rumbled in the thick night air, hanging there long after they’d vanished in the darkness.

  “OH, DAMN IT!”

  An avalanche of tin oilcans, small metal post office box doors, and license plates tumbled down over me.

  I hit the concrete floor of the storage unit, gasping.

  “Tania, you okay? What the hell?” Butler stood over me. His hand reached out and pulled me up by the arm, and then his other hand circled my waist.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine. Thanks.” I wiped the hair from my face.

  “Look at me a sec.”

  My gaze met his, and I steeled myself. I had to.

  “Take a breath,” he murmured.

  I took in a breath, and his arms—those long, muscular, powerful arms—tightened around me. And, for one tiny second, I imagined what having this might be like on a daily basis, available to me whenever I wanted, needed. A centering, soothing feeling. An unbelievable turn-on.

  His hand smoothed over my cheek, his thumb lingering along my jaw.

  Sparks flew over my skin, my heart thumping, as I looked up into his handsome face concentrating over mine.

  Those eyes. I’d never paid much attention to men’s eyes before. I’d always liked smiles. But, here I was, in the presence of something utterly unique, and I couldn’t look away. A gentle sky at dawn, the Caribbean Sea, Roman glass.

  “I’m fine.” My voice came out low, barely audible.

  He didn’t let go of me. His thumb rubbed the side of my face, his eyes serious.

  “Wh-what is it? What are you doing?”

  “You’ve got a smudge of dirt and a scratch.”

  “Oh. It’s okay.” I pulled back, but his hold remained steady. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

  He released me, clearing his throat. “Still going through Wreck’s shit?”

  “It’s not shit, and there’s a ton to go through.”

  I stepped back from the Butler ring of light, bumping into a stack of unopened boxes. My face heated again, and I quickly turned around.

  “I wish I could sit here for hours on end, but I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got too much else to do. I usually steal an hour here or there to come rushing over to dig back in wherever I left off the last time. It’s a bit frustrating. With the store opening soon—”

  “You never did call me.”

  My head snapped up. “About what?”

  “Helping you out here. I don’t have anything going on now. I could stay.”

  “Oh. Sure. If you like.”

  “Yeah, I like.” His eyes hung on mine, his hand brushing across his stubbly chin.

  My pulse spiked. “You could open up those boxes over there and take a look.”

  He went over to the boxes and pulled them to the center of the space. His lat muscles flexed through the thin cotton of his tee with the movement.

  “We’re planning on another ladies’ night at the Tingle since the first one was such a hit last month. We’ve been getting a ton of calls about the next one,” he said.

  “Well, I certainly enjoyed the very hard, very fine hunk of male jiggling his ass up against me in front of a hundred other screaming women.”

  “That was quite a show you got.”

  “And I have you to thank for it, don’t I?”

  “I’m glad you had fun. You’re very welcome for the ass-jiggling. Anytime.”

  We laughed.

  “By the way,” I said. “That dancer gave me his phone number. I have direct access if I ever want a private show or whatever.”

  He raised his head and shot me a pointed look.

  “You know, if I’m feeling that need to go wild. Like you said. Remember?”

  “Right.” His lips pressed together. “So, did you ever call him?”

  “No. I mean, God knows where that dick has been, right?”

  Butler laughed, his eyes gleaming.

  I wanted to go wild with Butler right this very second on this floor covered in plastic bubble wrap, old newspapers, and wadded yellowed paper. Not with Spartacus boy. No, not with him.

  Butler leaned over the crate, shuffling through the packing material.

  “Ah—you’ll like this one.”

  He held up a candelabra and handed it to me. Silver-plated, dented in a couple of spots, but castle-worthy, to be sure.

  “How gothic of Wreck,” I said.

  “Can you picture Wreck having a candlelit dinner for two at his house with this?”

  “No,” I said, laughing.

  “He’d gotten it for the Halloween Haunted House we sponsor every year.”

  “Fitting,” I said. “But, still, very romantic of
him. Maybe he did use it at home once in a great while.”

  “Wreck was a handsome dude. He was never wanting for female attention.”

  “I can imagine. I mostly remember being intimidated by him.”

  “Really?”

  “He was never too chatty or smiley,” I said. “Usually a very stern exterior. Unless he was wasted. Otherwise, he used to shoot me these blank looks.”

  “You were a civilian girl; that’s probably why. Not to mention, Grace’s best friend. He loved Grace, was protective of her like a real big brother.”

  “Yes, he was. And, now, here I am, all these years later, rifling through his hidden secrets.”

  “He’s lucky that you’re around to do it. Lock was never up for it.”

  “It’s too difficult for him still, I think. Anyway, he doesn’t have much time now, with his business taking off and the baby at home.’’ Jill had given birth the week before. Lock and Grace’s baby boy was finally home.

  “I’m glad to do this for Lock.” The backs of my eyes prickled. “More than glad.”

  “You okay? What is it?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “No, it’s not. Tell me. Come on.”

  I cleared my throat. “Doing this for Lock and Wreck is an honor, you know?”

  He slanted his head at me. “Yeah?”

  “I feel bad that I didn’t really appreciate Wreck or Dig, even, when I knew them. Both of them are gone now, and…”

  I pushed back at the sudden surge of emotion. Wreck had gotten his throat slashed at a bar brawl in Texas, and Dig had been gunned down on his bike here in Meager.

  “They both died in such terrible ways,” I murmured.

  His hand wrapped around my neck, and he pulled me into his chest, his other hand at the back of my head. “They lived big lives though, baby. Big lives the way they wanted. We should all live up to that.” His mouth brushed over my hair.

  My arms slid around his waist, and I buried my face in his chest. “I don’t want anything like that to happen to you,” I whispered.

  His hold on me only tightened. The breath squeezed from my lungs, and I relished the dizzying rush.

  His shirtsleeve had ridden up his arm, and the tattoo on his right shoulder was splayed before me—a glorious splash of reds and golds and rusts giving life to a hawklike creature. Fire, sun, passion, energy. There was triumph in those colors, in the lines of the bird’s proud stance, his magnificent feathers.

  I cleared my throat and pulled back from his embrace. “Is that a phoenix? Your tattoo?”

  “It is.”

  “I don’t remember it on you in the old days.”

  “I got it recently—once I hit my one year of sobriety.”

  “Well, hell yes, that’s an event to commemorate on your body.”

  “I thought so. Reborn from my own ashes.”

  “There’s more to that story though.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

  “The phoenix perceives its own impending death and ignites itself into a big fire. Then, he reemerges from his own ashes, renewed and very much alive. The phoenix is brave. He takes charge of his own destiny.”

  “You know your mythology, huh?”

  “I had to. I was an art history major in college. The phoenix myth is part of the big three of ancient cultures—Greek, Roman, and Egyptian.”

  “A very powerful symbol.”

  “Victory over death always is.”

  “Hey, what’s up?” Lock’s voice boomed from the doorway, making Butler and I break our stare.

  “Helping out Tania here with Wreck’s stuff,” said Butler.

  “Hey, Daddy. Getting any sleep lately?” I asked Lock.

  “No. Thanks for asking,” he replied, his voice clipped.

  “Aw, poor thing!” I said. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s got a good appetite. Just needs to sleep at night more than during the day. He’ll get there,” Lock said. “Hopefully, sooner rather than later.”

  “Fingers crossed,” I said. “Oh, hang on. There are a few things I wanted to ask you about. If you’ve got a sec, that is.”

  “Sure.”

  I brought Lock a box where I had collected a few of the more personal baubles I had come across in Wreck’s grand collection this morning. Five pairs of eyeglasses, old club patches—including ones from other clubs, which I’d found rather curious—thick silver bracelets that were missing links and fastenings, and, oddly enough, an old lipstick, which seemed more solid than your usual drugstore brand.

  “Ah”—Lock went through the patches—“these were spoils of war from when he first joined the Jacks. Lots of raids and double-dealings with the Demon Seeds in the eighties.” He glanced at Butler. “He ripped off the patches and took ’em.”

  “Would you like me to put them in a frame? Or maybe an album is better—for private viewing, not visible to guests?”

  “Yeah, much better idea,” Lock said. “You can get rid of the glasses. Jesus, he never threw anything away. And this?” He held up the lipstick. “You open it?”

  “No, I didn’t get a chance.”

  “Open it.” He handed me the lipstick.

  I twisted open the wand, and instead of lipstick, a small knife poked up from the tube.

  My eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

  “Nice,” said Butler.

  “He got into a fight with this woman at some party, and she used it on him, nicked him. He took it away from her, and by the end of the night, they were together, and they stayed together for a couple of years. Izzy was her name. Here.” He turned the lipstick over. An I was scratched in the bottom of the tube.

  “I don’t remember him with an old lady or a steady girlfriend ever,” Butler said.

  “Yeah, never happened again after Izzy,” said Lock.

  “What happened with Izzy?” I asked.

  “Izzy wanted more of Wreck, less of the club,” Lock said. “But he couldn’t give that to her, and she ended up leaving him. A few months later, she got killed in a convenience store robbery. You believe that?”

  I gasped. “No!”

  “Yeah. I never met her. All of that was right before Wreck came looking for me, found me on the reservation, and brought me to Meager. This knife was the only thing he kept of her—no pictures, no nothing else. Only this. He kept it in his top drawer with his socks and his rings, so he could see it or touch it every goddamn day. Who the fuck knows?”

  I bit down on my quivering lower lip.

  Butler stared at me, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

  I closed the lipstick and choked down the urge to cry for a man I’d barely known and his broken love story. A man who, to me, had been an enigma, a closed book, a hard rock.

  “Can I keep it?” I asked. “For myself.”

  Lock’s dark eyes flashed at me. “Sure. Yeah.”

  “I’ll give the bracelets to Jill. She can probably fix them,” I said.

  “Great. The glasses you can get rid of. Hey, you two seen Wes around?”

  “I haven’t, no,” I replied.

  “Me either,” Butler said. “Something up?”

  “He was supposed to be here an hour ago, so I could show him how to use the airbrush. First time since he started working for me that he hasn’t shown without a word.”

  Jump and Alicia’s son, Wes was a handsome, tall seventeen-year-old. His parents’ severe falling out after Jump had screwed two club girls at a party when Alicia was out of town was an extreme blow to their only child. A son who spent a lot of time with his dad and at the club in between school and football. A son who loved his mother and was now very disappointed in his father.

  “That’s not good. I’ll keep an eye out,” Butler said.

  “I’ll try calling him again. Not sure I want to call Alicia, upset her.”

  “Yeah, give it another hour,” said Butler. “Maybe he’ll slide on in.”

  “I hope so. On top of the deadlines we got here, he’s been on boa
rd to help with the kids’ designs for the Go-Kart Championship. I need him. Beyond that, he made promises to those kids, and they look up to him.”

  “You’re right,” Butler said.

  “And, hey, don’t forget about your snowmobile, man.”

  “Will do.”

  Lock tipped his chin at us. “Later.”

  Butler pulled out his phone and dialed, waited, and shut it down again. He let out a huff of air as he typed out a text.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “It’s Wes. I’m concerned.”

  “That bad?”

  “Not sure.”

  “So, tell me about the Go-Kart Championship,” I said.

  “Lock and Grace got the town to agree to a race for the junior high in town. It’s part art project, part learning seminar on cars, practical teamwork. Mostly a good time. We’re gonna have it here on our track.”

  “Oh, right. Grace had mentioned it to me a while back. You’re going to raise money for a Moms with Cancer support group she helped put together in Ruby’s memory at the hospital, right?” Grace’s sister Ruby had passed away from lung cancer almost two years ago.

  “Yeah, it should be good. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “You like working with the kids?”

  “I do. I actually like helping them and teaching them. It’s satisfying in a different way from just doing the work to make a buck.”

  “That’s great. You must be a real car and bike expert after living and working here all these years?”

  “I was before I got here, Tania. My dad had his own auto parts store and repair shop back in northern California. This shit’s in my blood. It’s funny because my dad and my brother were real close, but Stephan hated the work. I was the one who liked it, was good at it, but it didn’t bring me any closer to my dad.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. What does your brother do? I’m assuming he didn’t take over your dad’s store?”

  His head snapped up at me. He looked lost, like a child who hadn’t realized he had wandered off in a store. His features tightened, and that lost child vanished. “Stephan died when we were in high school. A car accident.”