To this day, I’m not sure if either of these things has been quite the gift she meant them to be.
Hands on my hips, I heave a deep sigh as I stare at the outlet, and at the now-black piece of toast in the cooling toaster.
Well, at least the coffee finished brewing before everything went to hell.
I turn the toaster upside-down and shake it until the burnt toast falls into the sink, where I leave it for now. Then I reach into the cupboard and pull down a mug with a picture of a daisy emblazoned on it, and pour myself a cup. I take an experimental sip, testing the hotness. Sitting back down at the table, I lean over, grab my phone from whee it’s fallen to the floor, check to make sure the screen isn’t broken, and send two texts.
The first one is to Jake, the photographer. I tell him to get the address of the Jesus lawn house from Frank, and say I’ll meet him there at noon.
The second is to Savannah, telling her about the toaster incident and warning her to watch out for any new problems.
I’ll figure out what to do about all of this later. Right now, I need to figure out something else for breakfast. And then I need to get ready to go do my damn story.
3
Dante
The second the harsh knock sounds at my door at ten o’clock on a Monday morning, I know shit is about to go seriously tits up.
Nobody ever comes to my door this early. They fuckin’ know better. They should, anyway. I’m not an early riser. And I ain’t someone who’s overly fond of having people in my house, at any time of the day.
My club brothers know this. My neighbors know this.
And for everybody else, the sign on my front door that says “GO THE FUCK AWAY” should convince them not to take their chances.
I lie there silent for a few seconds, hoping whoever it is will just obey the damn sign and go the fuck away.
They don’t. The knock comes again, more insistent this time. It’s muffled by the pillow over my head, but still loud enough to make me growl with frustration.
“Goddamnit,” I shout, throwing the pillow across the room. “I’m coming! Calm your tits!”
I don’t bother getting dressed. I haul ass out of bed, get to the front door and fling it open, ready to unleash hell on whatever unfortunate motherfucker is on the other side.
Holy shit.
Just my luck, about the only person I can’t immediately beat to shit is standing there in front of me. Complete with a shit-eating grin on his face.
And the only reason I won’t beat the hell out of him is because the same blood runs through our veins.
“God fucking dammit,” I growl. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Rise and shine, brother mine!” he announces. “Nice morning wood, by the way.”
“Dominic,” I groan.
I should have known. There’s only one person I can think of who knows better than to show up at my door like this, but who doesn’t care. Who knows he’s the last fucking person in the world I want to see — and shows up anyway.
It’s fucking tempting to reconsider whether it’s wrong to pound a sibling into the ground.
“You are dead,” I mutter, but he just grins wider.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” he tosses back, in a tone that makes it clear he doesn’t give a shit.
“Why the fuck don’t you ever bug one of our other brothers when you need help?”
“They don’t get as bent out of shape,” he retorts smugly. “It ain’t as much fun.”
Fuck me if he ain’t right. Dominic has always had a special innate talent for pissing me the hell off.
“I suppose I gotta let you in,” I grumble, even though I don’t move out of the doorway yet to let him in. “By the way, there’s a goddamn doorbell, you asswipe. Use it next time.”
“Noted,” he chuckles.
I turn and go back inside the house, assuming he’ll follow me. “You here for a handout?” I bark over my shoulder.
“Hey, lay off that,” he throws back, an edge suddenly appearing in his voice. “I haven’t borrowed money from you for a long time.”
“No,” I snort. “You haven’t borrowed money. Borrowing implies you pay me back, you shitweasel. From that perspective, you’ve never borrowed money from me in your life.”
I stalk back into my bedroom and pull on a pair of jeans, then come back out in the living room. I glower at him. “Well, what do you need, then?” I ask irritably. “I’m sure this ain’t a social call.”
“As a matter of fact, it is,” he counters.
“Really?” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Can’t I just want to see my big bro?” He spreads his hands wide.
“No,” I grunt. Now I know he’s full of shit. He never acknowledges I’m older than he is unless he wants to butter me up.
“For fuck’s sake, Dom. Just spill it. What are you doing here? How long you plannin’ on stayin’?”
“For good.”
“What?” I give him a sharp glare.
“I’m back in town.” My brother says simply. “I’m moving back to Ironwood.”
“Why the fuck couldn’t you just call me first?” I snarl. Dominic is sprawled on the couch. I’m sitting in the chair across from him.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“I fuckin’ hate surprises,” I shoot back. Especially bad ones, like this. “Why the hell would you be moving back to Ironwood anyway? You flew out of here like a bat outta hell as soon as you could after high school.”
“I got my reasons,” he shrugs. “Tired of the rat race, I guess.”
“Tired of bein’ a rat, you mean.”
Dom’s practiced expression slips a little. For a millisecond, I see a flash of anger. But just as soon as it’s there, it’s gone again.
“Tired of working for other people,” he says casually. “I figured I could come back here, start from scratch. Be my own boss for a change.”
“Is that right.”
I’m skeptical as hell. As long as I’ve known him, Dom doesn’t work. What he does is get himself into get-rich quick schemes that go down the tubes, and then skip town before he has to deal with the fallout.
“Yeah.” The shit-eating grin is back. “I got some ideas. I’ll tell you about ‘em eventually. Meantime, I was hoping you’d let me crash here at your place for a little bit.”
“Stay here?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Goddamn, there it is. I knew you were here for a handout. You never change, Dom.”
“It ain’t a handout, Dante,” he insists. His jaw is tight, pulsing, but if he’s pissed at me he’s smart enough to push that shit down deep. “It’s like I told you. I’m comin’ back to Ironwood for good. This ain’t a scam. I’m done with hustling. I just need a place to stay until I can get my feet under me and start up a legit business.”
He gives me his best trust me look. I should have shut the door in his face as soon as I opened it.
“You on the run from someone?” I ask. “That what this is about?”
His eyes flicker away for a millisecond, then come back to mine. “No.” He shakes his head vigorously. “I just want out of that life.”
“Why?”
He lets out a laugh. “Do I need a reason?”
“You? Yes.”
He doesn’t say anything. He looks down at his hands.
“Dante. I’m asking you this one favor. Please.”
He sounds weirdly subdued. More humble than I’ve ever heard him.
Goddamnit. Dom has never been anything but trouble, since he was old enough to walk and talk. I should throw the fucker out on his ear.
And for a second, I consider it.
But then our ma’s face appears in my mind.
She would want me to take him in.
Family’s family, she’d say. Family forgives.
I pause a few seconds, then sigh.
“You got any bags?” I ask grudgingly.
Dom stays still, knowing I haven’t said yes yet. �
�Just one. Out in the car.”
I glance out my front window toward my driveway. There’s a late-model black SUV parked in it that I don’t recognize. From here it looks like a BMW X5. The last few years, seems like Dom’s got a new car every time I see him.
“Fine,” I grouse. “You can stay for a couple days. But when I say you’re gone, you’re gone.”
“Of course,” he agrees immediately.
“You had anything to eat?”
“I ain’t hungry,” he replied. “But I could use a couple hours of shut-eye right now. And a shower after that.”
I swivel my head back toward my brother and give him a closer look. For the first time, I notice the five o’clock shadow on his normally clean-shaven face. His eyes are red and tired, like he hasn’t had much sleep lately.
Well, I figure I’ll pry the story out of him later.
Sighing again, I stand and lift my chin toward the hallway. “Spare room’s down the hall, on the right,” I grunt.
“Thanks, brother,” Dom grins, his face brightening again. “Think I’ll go grab my stuff, then.”
Dom heaves himself up off the sofa, and goes outside. A few seconds later, a car door slams, and he returns with a medium-sized forest green duffel bag. I don’t say anything to him as he walks through the living room, then down the hall to what will be his room for the next few days.
I stand alone in the middle of the empty living room, feeling pissed at myself. I don’t like having my space invaded. Not even by family. Hell, especially not by family. With Dom here, any peace and quiet I might have enjoyed this morning is gone.
I’m too jacked up now to go back to bed. I don’t have any jobs scheduled for today, and nothing else planned until church at the clubhouse later on. I decide to go grab breakfast at Della’s, the diner downtown where the MC goes sometimes. A mess of eggs and some bacon might get me out of this shitty mood Dom’s put me in. And even if it doesn’t, Della’s coffee is strong enough to slap an ox awake.
The ride down to Della’s is only a couple miles. I grab my usual booth and eat my plate of eggs and bacon in pretty short order, served by Della herself — with a side order of old-lady sass. A couple of my Lords of Carnage brothers come in just as I’m finishing up, so I stay to shoot the shit with them for a while.
By the time I get back home, it’s past noon. I park my Harley in the driveway next to my brother’s SUV. Cutting the engine, I lean the bike into its kickstand and climb off.
I start to head for my front door, but a mix of voices, familiar and unfamiliar, catch my attention.
Glancing in the direction of the sound, I look across the narrow empty lot next to my house, to the property on the other side.
My neighbors Crazy Millie and her son Eddie are standing on their back lawn. Millie’s in one of her usual flowered pink muumuu things, her silver hair in a kind of cap on her head. Eddie’s in his usual uniform, too — buzzed hair sitting like a short carpet on his large, square skull; blue T-shirt stretching across his thick stomach, and faded jeans that hang low and and loose. Even from here I can tell they’re threatening to expose his ass crack.
They’re not alone, though. Two other people are standing out there with them. One’s a chick I’ve never seen in town before, with honey-colored blond hair piled into a high, messy bun at the top of her head. Even from here, I can tell she’s young and hot. Standing next to her is a scrawny dude her age or a little younger, holding a camera that’s almost as big as his head.
The four of them seem to be lookin’ at something on the ground. As I watch, Eddie keeps pointing to it, then raising his hands up toward the sky. It sounds a little like he’s arguing, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.
I’m not sure how I get the bug up my ass to go over there. Normally, I don’t give a shit about my neighbors’ business, and I expect them to stay outta mine. But my privacy’s already been invaded once this morning. And a brother I don’t particularly want to talk to is waiting for me inside my house, meaning I’m not exactly dying to go back in there.
So before I know it, I’m striding across the vacant lot that separates our two properties.
“Mornin’,” I call out, forgetting it ain’t morning anymore. “What’s up?”
Eddie sees me first. “You seen the apparition yet?” he calls to me.
Jesus, that’s a pretty big word, comin’ from Eddie.
“What apparition?” I ask.
Instead of replying, he spreads his arms wide, indicating something on the ground. He looks up at me with smug satisfaction. “This.”
I come closer. Instead of looking down right away, I slide my eyes over to the blonde.
She’s dressed in jeans, a simple white T-shirt, and a blue blazer. A few honey tendrils escape her high bun, framing her face. The hair on top of her head glows in the sun, almost like a halo. She’s wearing ballet flats, and has a brown leather tote slung over one shoulder. There’s a small pad of paper and a pen in one of her hands.
She’s fucking beautiful. Stunning. Jesus. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t even know what it is about her, exactly. All I know is that I have a hard as hell time dragging my gaze away from her to look down at the patch of grass Eddie is pointing at.
Most of it is short, recently mowed. But in the center, there’s some longer grass, kind of in an oval, with some other long parts on the side, and in the center.
“Uh…” I murmur, frowning. “What are we lookin’ at here?”
“The benevolent face of Jesus!” Crazy Millie crows, clapping her hands together and beaming her crazy face at me. “It’s a miracle!”
Holding back a snort, I glance back up at the chick. Her ice-blue eyes meet mine. She gives me the slightest hint of an eye-roll.
“Is that right?” I say mildly. “That’s a hell of a thing, ain’t it?”
Holy shit. It’s fucking obvious that the benevolent face of Jesus is just pretty much Eddie coming out here and taking some hand clippers to the grass. I suppose if you squint just right, you might be able to make out something sort of looks like a smiley face with hair. If you were drunk, say.
But you’d have to be pretty drunk.
As long as I’ve known them, Millie and her son Eddie are always talking about weirdo conspiracies and stuff, so this ain’t anything new. But as I stand here with the four of them, it occurs to me who the two strangers must be.
Holy shit, these two loons called the local paper about this.
The idea is so fuckin’ hilarious that it takes everything in me not to bust out laughing.
“Who’s this?” I ask casually, nodding toward chick with the note pad — even though I’ve already figured it out. Next to her, the skinny guy with the camera scratches his acne-scattered chin.
“A reporter from the Post-Gazette!” Millie announces triumphantly. “And her photographer! They’re doing a story about the miracle!”
Millie is fuckin’ thrilled, of course. It’s probably the most attention she and Eddie have ever gotten for any of their crazy-ass ideas. How the hell did the paper send someone out to cover this bullshit story? Must be one hell of a slow news cycle, that’s for sure.
The chick reporter does another eye roll, which only I see. She hasn’t said a word since I got here, but it’s clear she does not want to be here covering this story. Can’t say I blame her. Part of me feels sorry for her — even watching her try not to blow her stack is pretty goddamn funny, to be honest. Her nostrils are practically flaring.
It’s cute. And entertaining as hell.
In fact, my mood has improved a fuck of a lot since I came over here.
The girl’s ice-blue eyes meet mine, and somehow it makes my dick jolt. Their expression says, Can you believe this shit?
Of course, I can. Like I said, Millie and Eddie are nuts. This ain’t even the craziest thing they’ve ever come up with. Normally I don’t bother humoring them with this stuff.
But in this case, a fucked-up part of me wants to see this ch
ick lose the cool that she’s trying so hard to keep. Just to see what will happen.
Which is why the next words come out of my mouth before I bother to stop them.
4
Tori
“Shit yeah, it’s Jesus,” he murmurs with a serious frown. “‘Scuse my French.”
The man who just parked his motorcycle and came over here from across the vacant lot looks like he stepped off a movie set. He’s one of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen — shockingly so. Rugged and square-jawed, with sharp cheekbones, jet-black hair and a sensuousness to his mouth that makes it hard not to just stare at it when he talks. His features are almost model-perfect — just stopping short of being too perfect thanks to the heaviness of his brow, and the fact that his nose is just slightly off-center, like it’s been broken in the past.
It’s almost enough to distract me from the fact that what just came out of his mouth is absolute nonsense.
“Um, what?” I choke out.
My voice comes out high and strained — disbelief mixed with indignation. I mean, this Jesus in the lawn thing is utter craziness. There’s no way anyone in their right mind could believe it. It’s impossible.
Which means, this guy is either a complete nutcase — a gorgeous nutcase, but still a nutcase — or he’s full of shit.
“You tellin’ me you don’t see it?” he asks me, his voice a low rumble.
I strain to hear some clue in his tone that he’s joking, but… nothing. Not even the hint of a grin on his face.
His eyes lock on mine as he waits for me to respond. They’re… dark. Inky dark. The darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. Are they actually black? I didn’t think that was possible, but I’ve never seen a brown anywhere as deep as that. They seem to reach deep inside me as I contemplate them. Then I realize I’m staring and look away abruptly. I freeze for a second, my brain short-circuiting as I try to navigate the intersection of hot and crazy that is this man.
Iron Heart (Lords of Carnage Ironwood MC) Page 2