Iron Heart (Lords of Carnage Ironwood MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  Back off, douchebag, I telegraph at him. Suddenly, I’m all fuckin’ pissed off again. I want to beat the shit out of this guy, just for bein’ within ten feet of Tori. My jaw clenches, as does the fist that’s holding the newspaper I hear it crinkle under my fingers.

  Just then, Tori turns and sees me across the room. She gives me a smile and a little wave. Pretty Boy’s eyes follow hers, and when they land on me I give him a look that could cut glass. He flinches a little and takes a step back, murmuring something to Tori before disappearing down a corridor.

  “Hey,” Tori greets me as she gets closer. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “No prob.” I hold up my copy of the Post-Gazette. “Nice article.”

  Tori grimaces. “Shut up,” she mutters, coloring. “I hope Mildred and Eddie are happy with it, at least.” She peers at my face. “What happened to your cheek?”

  “Nothing,” I grunt. “Just a scratch.”

  She eyes me. “Well, it’s bleeding a little. Come on. My desk is over here.” She turns and starts to walk toward a desk which I assume must be hers. I follow, using the few seconds to watch her ass some more and memorize the way it looks for later. When we get to her desk, she opens a drawer and starts to rummage around in it. After a second, she pulls out a box of those wet towelette things.

  “Here,” she says, handing me one.

  I take it from her and rip it open, then reach up to swipe at where I think the cut is. “Shit,” I wince, and pull the thing away. “That stings like a motherfucker.”

  The corners of Tori’s mouth tilt up. “Are you serious?”

  “Fuck yes. That hurts worse than getting the goddamn cut did in the first place.”

  “So, what did you actually do to get the cut?” she repeats.

  “Had a disagreement with someone. It ain’t important.”

  She frowns, but lets it go. “Well, here are the keys,” she says, reaching into her pocket and holding them out.

  “Thanks,” I say, and take them. “I’m gonna go grab my truck and head over there now, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure, that’s fine,” she nods. “Oh, just in case, you should knock first. There’s a slight possibility my roommate Savannah might be there.”

  “Noted.”

  Across the room, a male voice calls, “Hey, Tori.” We both turn at the same time to see that Pretty Boy fucker. “Frank wants us in the conference room.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute,” Tori calls back, then turns to me.

  “Who’s that guy?” I ask, my voice coming out angrier than I intended it to.

  Tori blinks. “Ryan. He’s our web designer and social media liaison.”

  Translation: fuckin’ pussy.

  “You know he wants to get in your pants, right?” I say, just to see her reaction. To my surprise, she actually looks shocked.

  “Oh my God,” she hisses, “no he does not!”

  “Trust me. If he hasn’t made a move yet, it’s because he doesn’t have the guts.”

  She glances up at me quickly, and when her eyes meet mine she swallows and flushes pink. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about this.” Her eyes start to flit around the room. “Look, I’d better get going. If Savannah isn’t home, just leave the keys on the kitchen counter when you leave, like last time.”

  I watch as she sets her face into a prim expression, half-amused and more than half turned-on. Her breathing has started to speed up, and the movement draws my attention to the swell of her full breasts. My cock stirs again as I wonder how it would feel to have her naked under me, her legs wrapped around my hips with me buried deep inside her.

  Jesus Christ, I’d like to hear this girl moan my name. Just the thought of it makes me rock hard. I might have to stop off at my house for a bit to relieve the tension before going over to her place.

  “Okay. I’ll see you around,” I rasp.

  “Bye, Dante,” she breathes, ducking her head a little.

  She turns to go. I watch her for a second, noting again how her ass sways from side to side when she walks. My already-hard cock gets even harder. Uncomfortably so.

  “Hey. Tori,” I can’t resist calling after her.

  She turns to look back at me. “Yeah?”

  “Every guy in this news room wants to take you to bed. You might not realize it, but they do.”

  I wait a beat.

  “Including this one.”

  13

  Tori

  I’m still struggling to make sense of Dante’s words as I go back to the conference room and try in vain to focus on a meeting about website content.

  Every guy in this news room wants to take you to bed. You might not realize it, but they do.

  Including this one.

  There can’t be any other interpretation of that, can there? I feel like an idiot that I’m not sure what he meant. Was it a come-on? A harmless flirtation? A warning? Should I be afraid the next time I’m alone with him? Should I fire him from my electrical project?

  Yes. I probably should. I mean, I should probably take his words at their face value — that he’s at least flirting, and maybe even more. That’s not exactly a professional relationship in the making, is it?

  But….

  A tiny little spark inside me — deep inside me — lights up at the idea of him being there, in my house, and then… I dunno, like he comes up behind me, and maybe slides a hand around my waist, the other down my thigh…

  I’d feel his breath on my neck… maybe the scrape of his beard against my skin…

  “Tori?”

  I start in my chair, eyes darting to Ryan, who’s looking at me expectantly.

  “Wh-what? I’m sorry,” I stammer.

  His brow furrows just a little. “What do you think? About making sure all of our articles have a minimum of at least one hot button to take them to other content on the site.”

  I glance over at Frank, who’s leaning back with his hands folded over his generous stomach, waiting for me to say something. “Oh. Yes,” I say hurriedly. “I think that’s definitely something we should be doing more of. Keep people on the site. Make it more relevant to them.”

  “And use the data we collect on visitor activity as an incentive for our advertisers,” Ryan adds.

  Frank stares at me for a long second, then nods, considering. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense,” he mutters grudgingly. “I guess I’m a dinosaur, that kind of clicky-clicky shit pisses me off. But I guess it’s what people want.”

  “The online reading experience is definitely different from the print experience,” Ryan continues. “People have short attention spans. But you can use that to your advantage if you know how. Research suggests…”

  And Ryan is off to the races, explaining some data analysis stuff that he totally geeks out about. I force myself to listen to him, working hard to ignore the heat that’s still there between my legs at the memory of my naughty fantasy.

  Dante fantasizes about me. He basically said as much.

  Just like I fantasize about him.

  I wonder what he thinks about?

  The heat between my legs grows, turning into a dull, insistent throb. I’m uncomfortably aware of my hardening nipples as they rub against the fabric of my bra.

  Leading the nun-like life I do here in Ironwood, I haven’t been turned on like this in a long time. A very long time.

  Way back in the far recesses of my brain, a tiny warning signal sounds.

  Dante is almost certainly a criminal, I remind myself desperately. He’s dangerous. You should be afraid of him even being in your house. You should probably fire him, if you know what’s good for you.

  And I probably should. Lord knows, my entire adult life so far has been about making all my decisions in terms of what’s safest for me, and my useless heart.

  So why does the thought of Dante D’Agostino make me want to abandon all of my smart, boring decisions? Let go, and let something happen between us?

  What if he actually came u
p behind me? What if he pulled me to him? Crushed my mouth with his? Took me against the kitchen counter before I even knew what was happening?

  What would I do? Would I stop him?

  The scariest thing isn’t that I have no idea.

  The scariest thing is, I’m pretty sure I do.

  My heart is thudding with sick anticipation as I pull into my street after work. But to my relief and disappointment, there’s no truck or motorcycle sitting in my driveway. Dante is gone.

  The duplicate set of keys I gave him is sitting on the counter, just where I asked him to leave them.

  Sitting next to them is a small object I don’t recognize at first.

  But when I pick it up, I see what it is: a fuse. One of the blown ones.

  I hold it in my hand, staring at the clouded glass. The visual memory of the heat it contained.

  Silently, I slip it into my pocket.

  “Girl, I am so ready for this slumber party!” Savannah announces as she troops into the kitchen an hour or so later, a designer tote slung from one shoulder and a bag of groceries in her arms. “I stopped by the grocery store on the way here. I got wine, ice cream, Oreos, popcorn stuff, and Twizzlers!” She plunks the bag down on the counter, inches away from the keys Dante left. “We are set!”

  “I hope we don’t have to eat all of it at the same time,” I joke. “My stomach hurts just thinking about it.”

  “I hope the fridge is working again,” Savannah frowns, reaching into the bag and pulling out two pints of Ben and Jerry’s. “Otherwise we’ll have to eat this as an appetizer.”

  I go to the refrigerator and open it. “Ta-da!” I sing, pointing as the light goes on. “We’re in business.”

  “Sweet! Here,” she says, handing over the ice cream. She digs in the bag again and pulls out two bottles of wine — one white, one red. “Which one should I open?”

  “If the white one’s chilled, let’s go with that.” I take a deep breath and exhale, feeling all the nerves and flutteriness of my earlier encounter with Dante start to melt away. Maybe I need this girls’ night more than I thought. “But just half a glass,” I add — a concession to my heart, as always.

  Three hours later, we’re sprawled out on the couch in the dim light of the TV as the final credits roll on a cheesy rom com we’ve both seen half a dozen times. A half-empty box of cold pizza is sitting in front of us on the coffee table, as is a barely-touched bowl of popcorn and a plate with crumbs on it that used to be Oreos.

  “God,” I groan. “There’s no way I can fit in any ice cream. I don’t just have a food baby, I have food quintuplets.”

  “More wine?” Savannah grins, getting up.

  “Did you not hear me?” I retort. “Do you want me to throw up?”

  “Not while I’m here,” she teases. “You might expect me to clean it up.”

  Savannah comes back a minute later with her wine glass refreshed. “I don’t know where you put all that,” I mutter, staring at her washboard-flat stomach. “I swear, you eat more than a linebacker.”

  “Family metabolism,” she shrugs, her dark corkscrew curls bobbing. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t ever slow down. I don’t know how I’d ever manage trying to eat like a bird. Especially around Jeremy.” Savannah chuckles. “Do you know, they say that couples gain weight once they move in together or get married? Both the guy and the girl, but especially women. I guess they eat more because they unconsciously start matching the portion sizes of their partner.”

  “Well, no worries there,” I smirk. “You already eat more than Jeremy does.”

  She grins again. “True.”

  “So, how are things with the two of you?”

  “Oh, good. Jeremy’s gone at that realtor conference thing, like I said.” She rolls her eyes. “He keeps texting me about all the hookups that are going on.”

  “Seriously? Like, people who are married and stuff?” I ask, feeling like a ninny.

  “Yep. I guess realtor conventions are just giant slut-fests.”

  “Do you ever worry about Jeremy doing anything like that?” I ask, even though I basically already know the answer. Jeremy and Savannah are so committed and solid, it’s almost impossible to imagine them apart. And Jeremy adores Savannah.

  “Psh. Can you imagine?” she scoffs, waving her hand. “No, girl. He knows I would kill him. Twice.” She stifles a yawn. “So, what about you? Any news on the romance front? Any dates or anything?”

  Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Please. You know me.”

  “Not even the hint of a hookup? Girl, you seriously need some action. You’re in your prime. You’re gonna be as dry as the Sahara down there if you’re not careful.”

  “There’s no one I’m interested in,” I say, as Dante’s face appears in my mind.

  “You’re just not looking hard enough. Come on,” she urges. “Maybe someone you work with? A couple of those guys are pretty cute.”

  “Frank’s not my type,” I deadpan.

  “Okay, one, gross.” Savannah holds up a red-tipped finger. “And two, you know that’s not what I meant. Your camera guy is dateable. And that guy Ryan? Total snack.”

  “I don’t know,” I murmur, coloring as I remember what Dante said about him. “He’s definitely good looking, but… he feels more like a brother than boyfriend material.”

  Savannah sighs, yawning again. “You never know until you try him. You should flirt with him. Get him to ask you out. Give him a chance.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I lie, and then catch myself yawning, too. “Okay, I think we’re both ready for bed. Help me put this stuff away.”

  “You just want me to stop talking about this,” she points out.

  “Exactly. Come on.”

  We heave ourselves to our feet. Thankfully, Savannah drops the issue as she helps me carry stuff out to the kitchen. We trudge up the stairs together, and I give her a hug in the hallway before we separate to go to our respective bedrooms.

  “Night, Vannah,” I murmur. “It’s nice having you here.”

  “Night, Tori Bori,” she says back. “It’s nice being here.”

  As I go into my room and close the door, I realize that once again, we’ve avoided talking about the fact that she basically doesn’t even live here anymore. A wave of guilt washes over me. If Savannah didn’t feel like she had to watch over me, would she and Jeremy have moved in together by now? Probably. I hate the thought that she’s holding herself back from moving forward with her life because of me.

  I promise myself to talk to my best friend about this very soon. But I’m not sure how I’ll manage to convince her that there’s no reason for her to feel like she’s my caretaker.

  As I lie in the darkness, waiting for sleep to come, I listen to the familiar, jumpy thump of the organ that keeps the blood flowing through my veins. And I wonder why my foolish attention whore of a heart won’t just let people live their lives, without worrying so much about me.

  The next morning, I’m in the bathroom and Savannah’s downstairs when I hear a familiar thumping knock at the front door.

  “Vannah!” I yell down the stairs. “It’s the electrician! Can you let him in?”

  My breathing is shallow and quick, my mouth suddenly dry as cotton as I finish up applying my makeup and clasp a cuff bracelet on my wrist. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I roll my eyes. “You weirdo,” I whisper, then turn away from my reflection and walk slowly and casually down the stairs.

  I go into the living room to find Savannah staring up at Dante like she’s in the presence of an actual, honest-to-God giant. Dante looks over and notices me. “Hey,” he grunts, his voice morning-gravelly. “Figured I’d catch you before you left for work. Save you the trouble of getting me the key later.”

  Savannah turns my way, and I find myself blushing.

  “About that,” I murmur back. “You can just keep the extra set of keys. They’re still on the counter where you left them. It’ll be simpler that way, so you can come and go as you ple
ase.”

  One corner of his mouth turns up slightly. “You trust me now?”

  My face flames. “Something like that.”

  Dante’s eyes leave mine, lingering briefly on my face before he turns away. “Okay. I’m gonna get to work. Excuse me,” he rumbles at Savannah as he brushes past, toolbox in hand.

  “Ho-lee-shit!” hisses Savannah when he’s out of range. “Holy wowsers! That’s the electrician?”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “His name is Dante. Sorry, I should have introduced you.”

  “I know what his name is!” She waves a hand and shakes her head in disbelief. “God, Tor. The D’Agostino brothers were the hottest boys at Ironwood High. They’re practically legends!”

  “He’s got brothers?” I blink, stunned at the idea that there could be more like him.

  Savannah raises her eyebrows. “There are five of them. Each one of them better looking than the last one. They didn’t have the best of reputations, but good lord, the teenage panties that were melted by them…” She trails off, her eyes getting a far-away look for a second.

  “Seriously? Do they all live in Ironwood?”

  “No, Dante’s the only one who still lives here. Though I’ve heard rumors his brother Dominic is back in town.” She pretends to fan herself. “Lord, he’s probably just gotten hotter, too, just like Dante. I’m not sure the town of Ironwood can contain the two of them without spontaneously combusting.” She shakes her head. “Seriously, though, Tor. Obviously, you didn’t know Dante was a legend around here, but you had to notice how smoking hot he is! How did you not tell me your electrician was fire?”

  “I mean…” I stop, at a loss for words. There’s no use pretending I didn’t notice how good-looking Dante is. I’d have to actually be blind. “It just… isn’t relevant?” I squeak, knowing I sound like an idiot.

  “Isn’t relevant? Are you crazy?” Savannah’s head swivels toward the kitchen. “How do you even go into the newspaper offices, knowing he’s here at your house? Don’t you just want to call in sick so you can, ahem, watch him work?” She waggles her brows at me.