Iron Heart (Lords of Carnage Ironwood MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  Indio glances at Bama as though he’s a particularly annoying species of mosquito. His eyes narrow as he turns to Axel.

  “We had an agreement. That agreement still stands, yes?”

  Axel nods. “Yeah. And we’re not planning to back out of it.” He cuts his eyes at Bama. “As the president,” he continues, emphasizing the word, “I give you my promise on that.”

  Indio seems to relax slightly. His bodyguards are still at stiff attention, scowling.

  “The Dos Santos cartel will fight to the death to keep what is ours,” Indio rasps. “We will fight the Caballeros, and whoever comes after that.” He looks around the room at all of the Lords in attendance. His eyes slide from one of us to the next, holding each of our gazes for a second.

  “But know this,” he continues. “If the Caballeros take our territory, it will not be theirs for long. They do not seem to understand this. The leader of Los Caballeros has sided with the wrong people. Their only hope of survival was to ally with us and fight Sinaloa. Now — whether the Dos Santos cartel wins or loses — Los Caballeros will be absorbed into Sinaloa. The leadership will be killed. The others...” — he gives an emphatic shake of his head — “will be expected to bend the knee. Or be killed as well. And then, my friends, instead of dealing with me — with the Dos Santos cartel, who only wants to do business with you — you will be facing a larger, more powerful cartel than you have ever faced. Sinaloa will come for you next.”

  Indio pauses.

  “And who knows? They may already be looking for ways to take you out.”

  19

  Tori

  Dante doesn’t show up to work on my place the next day, or the day after that. Or the day after that.

  I think about calling him or texting him. But I don’t. Because I don’t have any idea what to say. How to act normal, when what’s happened between us is anything but.

  My life goes on, outwardly the same. Inside, though, I’m a mess. I can’t get that one wild night with Dante out of my head. His body feels like it’s imprinted itself on mine. I remember the exact sandpaper of roughness of his callused fingers as they brushed my back. I remember the heat of his mouth as it took mine.

  I remember the raw, animal sound he made as he came inside me. The memory of it still echoes through me like an aftershock.

  I go through the motions of my job. The days fly by, but the minutes drag so slow that it’s a kind of agony.

  One morning, I go in to work and find a bouquet of pink and white lilies on my desk. And then I remember.

  It’s my birthday.

  The flowers are from my dad. Ever since he and my mom divorced, a bouquet of lilies has been his standard birthday gift to me. I think maybe he doesn’t know what else to give to his twenty-something daughter. The gesture is sweet and touching. But the flowers always make my birthday feel a little like a funeral at the same time. An annual memorial for my twin brother who never lived to celebrate it with me.

  The card attached to the bouquet says what it always does: “Happy birthday to my best girl.” Smiling against the pang of complicated emotions — love for my father, sadness that he and my mom aren’t together, grief for my brother — I tuck the card into my desk drawer and sit down to work.

  Savannah calls and invites me out for lunch to celebrate my big day. She takes me to Flavors, the nicest restaurant in Ironwood, and basically forces me to order an entree and a fancy dessert. We spend the whole time gossiping and laughing, and for a while I even forget to be preoccupied with Dante. I still haven’t told my best friend about what happened with the sexy biker who also happens to be my electrician. I push away my guilt by assuring myself that I’ll give her the full scoop later — once Dante has completed the project, and is solidly in my rear-view mirror.

  After lunch, Frank surprises me by bringing in cookies for the whole office. He calls all the staff into the main room and wishes me a happy birthday — which prompts an embarrassing, off-key round of the birthday song. I’m not sure whether he already knew it was my birthday, or whether he was the one who accepted the flowers for me and figured it out that way. I suspect it was the latter.

  I look around at my colleagues — Frank, Ryan, Jake, Heidi — feeling strangely touched by the cookies and song. It’s a weird sensation. It’s not even five o’clock yet, and already this is the most people who’ve acknowledged my birthday in years.

  Mid-afternoon, I’m just about to go on a break when “Mom” lights up my phone screen. I take the call and go outside.

  “Happy birthday, sweetie!” Mom sings when I answer.

  “Thanks, Mom! It’s been a good one so far.”

  “I hope your father remembered to send you something,” she murmurs in a disdainful tone.

  “He did. He sent me flowers to the office.”

  “Well. I wanted to tell you that my present to you is waiting for you here at home, in your bedroom. So you’ll just have to come visit!” She pauses, then adds in a hopeful voice, “Maybe this weekend?”

  We already discussed this a month ago. I know Mom was upset that I didn’t want to drive up to Columbus and spend my birthday with her. But at the time I was pretty sure I’d just want to keep things low key.

  “I can’t, Mom. I’m sorry, this weekend’s out. But soon, I promise. I’ll be in touch and we’ll make plans. Okay?”

  My mother grudgingly accepts the consolation prize. “Okay, but I’m not telling you what your present is. You’ll just have to wait until you get here,” she says in a last-ditch attempt to lure me in.

  “That’s fine. It will be nice to have something to look forward to. Besides seeing you, of course,” I add hastily.

  As nice as all this attention has been, by the end of the work day I’m kind of birthday’ed out. It’s a Friday, so I gather up my bouquet of flowers from my dad and take them home with me. I prop them up in the passenger seat of my car, steadied by my leather tote bag and the seatbelt, and drive home as carefully as I can, nervous that I’ll spill the lilies and their water all over my seat. Fortunately, I make it home without incident.

  As I pull up to the house, my heart leaps as I see a familiar motorcycle parked in the street out front. I feel the pull of desire in my belly at the sight, in spite of myself.

  “Hello,” I call from the doorway, my voice sounding shaky. Flowers still in my arms, I round the corner into the kitchen.

  And almost drop the vase as I literally bump smack into Dante’s chest.

  “Whoa,” he calls out in surprise, his hands flashing out to grab the vase before it tumbles to the floor.

  “Oh my god, you scared me,” I gasp. “I thought you were in the basement or something.”

  “Nope.” Dante turns and sets the flowers down on the counter beside us. “I just came by to finish up a couple things.”

  My heart sinks. “You mean… you’re all done with the project?” I say in a small voice.

  “Yep. I checked everything out, and you’re all good.” He nods toward the basement. “I still have a tool box down there. I’ll put it on your front porch and pick it up later, when I’m not on my bike. But congratulations.” He gives me just the hint of a smile. “Your house is officially no longer an electrical fire trap.”

  “Wow. Great.”

  My words sound hollow. I hope Dante doesn’t notice it. I didn’t realize until now how much I had been thinking of this electrical project as an insurance policy that I’d be seeing him again. Now I don’t have that anymore. All that’s left is for him to pick up his tool box at some point — which I might not even be here for — and for me to pay him. This might be one of the last times I ever even talk to him.

  “What’s with the flowers?” Dante asks.

  “Oh. Um. It’s my birthday today,” I offer lamely. “They’re from my dad.”

  “Is that right?” he answers. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.”

  A silence opens up between us. My God, this is weird. I shift nervously from foot to
foot, feeling awkward as hell. But even so, I don’t want him to leave.

  “Your friends taking you out tonight to celebrate?” Dante asks after a moment.

  I feel like even more of a loser when I tell him the truth. “No.” I shrug and try to look nonchalant. “I’m just gonna probably lie low tonight. Relax.”

  “That sounds pretty lame,” he remarks. I look up at him sharply, my embarrassment making me defensive. I’m just about to fire back a mean retort when he says something else that makes my stomach flip over.

  “So… you ever been on a motorcycle before?”

  A bubble of hysterical laughter rises in my throat, which I just manage to swallow back down. Have I ever been on a motorcycle before? Hell no, I’ve never been on a motorcycle. Not with the parents I grew up with, seeing disaster lurking around every corner. Even before my diagnosis, my parents would have crapped themselves if their only surviving child had ever gotten on what my mother calls one of those deathtraps.

  And now? When in their eyes, every single day that I leave the house is a day that I’m cheating death?

  I can only imagine the looks on either of their faces if they knew I was even considering this.

  Which may be why I say what I do next.

  “You offering?” I ask casually.

  “You accepting?” he grins.

  The first few moments on Dante’s bike, I’m nearly convinced this whole thing is a colossally bad idea. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I swallow repeatedly as I cling to him and tell myself this is probably just a natural adrenaline reaction. But for me, even a natural adrenaline reaction can be a little scary.

  It’s your birthday, I tell myself as I take deep slow breaths. Calm down, heart. Live a little.

  I have to admit that the motorcycle engine revving under me isn’t the only reason my heart is beating a little faster. Being this close to Dante, my arms wrapped around his hard, chiseled torso, would be enough to give any red-blooded woman palpitations. I’m not sure where he’s taking me, or why he’s decided to give me this ride as a birthday present, but I’m trying like hell to pretend that sexy bikers do this kind of thing for me all the time. Even though I’m pretty sure he figured out immediately that this is my first time on a motorcycle when I had no idea how to get on, or where to put my feet, or anything. I stopped just short of asking him if there was a seatbelt on this thing.

  I cling to him tighter, relishing the heat of his body as it warms me against the cool of the air rushing past us. In spite of my fear, I start to note how I can feel the slightest shifts of his weight, the flexes of his muscles as he maneuvers the bike. He throttles up and we accelerate, leaving my stomach behind for a second until I get used to the new speed. We’re flying past phone poles, fields, and banks of trees now, the air changing fragrance every minute or so as the tires eat up the road beneath us.

  It’s not hard to understand why people like riding motorcycles, I realize dizzily. It’s exhilarating. I’ve never experienced anything even remotely like it. God. I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive.

  About an hour into the ride, Dante turns us back toward Ironwood, and we cross back into the city limits around seven. “You hungry?” he calls out. I realize I am, and tell him so. Next thing I know, we’re pulling into the parking lot of a small, run-down looking restaurant called Big Daddy’s. The spark of a memory hits me as Dante stops the bike and waits for me to get off.

  “Hope you like ribs,” he says once the engine is off. “This place might not look like much, but the food is great.”

  “I’ve actually been here before!” I exclaim, breathing the aroma of cooking meat deep into my lungs. “Years ago. My aunt Jeanne brought me here once. I’d forgotten all about it.”

  “Good memories?” Dante asks as he lifts a leg over the bike and stands.

  I nod happily. “The best.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting at one of about a dozen picnic tables, munching on ribs, sipping beer, and looking out at a view of the creek that runs through Ironwood on its way to the Ohio River. Around us, a motley assortment of families, teenagers, and couples concentrate on their own meals.

  “Ribs as good as you remember?” Dante asks me between bites.

  “I don’t really remember the food as much as the location,” I admit. “I was a lot younger.” I look over at a bunch of pre-teens, chasing each other around the yard. “I was probably more focused on horsing around than eating, like those kids.”

  “Sounds like you had a good time here.”

  I take another bite, trying hard not to get sauce all over my face. “Like I told you before, Ironwood used to be my happy place when I was a little kid. My escape.”

  “Escape from what?”

  The bluntness of Dante’s question catches me off-guard. But for some reason, it also loosens my tongue a little. Maybe it’s the beer, too.

  “My parents were… protective,” I say carefully. “I had a twin brother that died when we were babies. My mom and dad didn’t really ever get over losing him so young.”

  “You’re a twin?” Dante blinks.

  “Yeah.” I suck in a breath. “They never had any other kids. So, it was just me. My whole childhood, my parents were terrified of losing me. I used to tell people they were really strict when I was growing up, but honestly, it was way beyond that. I’m almost surprised they ever let me out of the house, even to go to school.”

  Dante whistles. “That’s a lot of pressure on a kid.”

  I’ve been staring down into my plate of ribs, but I look up now and give Dante a thin smile. It actually makes me feel good that he seems to take my little family drama seriously.

  “Aunt Jeanne was my mom’s sister. She was the only person Mom trusted besides her to look after me. Lucky for me, she didn’t think of me as quite as fragile as Mom did. And…” I chuckle, “also lucky for me Jeanne wasn’t above stretching the truth about how much stuff she let me do when I was down here in Ironwood.”

  “Stuff like what?”

  I wiggle my eyebrows in mock scandal. “Like… going swimming, and jumping off the high dive,” I stage whisper. “And riding a bicycle no-handed!”

  “Holy shit, you rebel.”

  “You joke,” I snort, putting my elbows on the picnic table and cradling my chin in my hands. “But my mother would have been apoplectic to know I did that stuff. And that was even before…”

  I stop abruptly.

  “Before what?”

  “Never mind.” I pick up a rib and take a bite, hoping he won’t ask me more questions if my mouth is full. Dante picks up his red Solo cup of beer and takes a long drink.

  “So,” he smirks. “Are your parents still so protective now that you’re all grown up?”

  I dodge the question. “They divorced now,” I say instead.

  “Sorry to hear that. Or are they better off?”

  I consider his question. “I’m not sure. I think maybe my dad is. My mom can be pretty hard on him. She’s definitely got more of a social life now. But I think she misses having him around.”

  “You said the other day that Ironwood used to be your escape, but now it feels more like a prison.” He fixes me with a look. “So why are you here, if you feel that way?”

  Damn. This conversation has turned into a minefield. Everywhere I turn, there’s an answer to his question that means me telling him about my heart condition. But I just don’t want to do that. Dante still looks at me like a normally healthy, not at risk of dropping dead person. He probably never would have invited me to take a ride on his bike if he didn’t. I just want to be normal with him a little while longer.

  “I told you. My aunt Jeanne left me her house. I guess I just couldn’t bear to sell it.” A little white lie. A half-truth, really. It’s true that the thought of selling her house makes me feel weepy. “And I guess lately, I’ve been sort of liking it better here.”

  “Is that right?” Dante’s eyes are on me now. His voice drops a notch lower
. “Any particular reason for that?”

  I start to feel warm under his gaze. “No more stories about Jesus sightings in people’s lawns, I guess.”

  “That all?” One corner of his mouth tilts.

  “Um…” My mouth starts to go dry. I grab my cup of beer and take a sip to buy myself time. “I mean… these ribs are pretty good. Can’t get these back home.”

  His smile grows, making my pulse quicken. “I see.”

  “And…” I decide to risk it. “I sort of like riding a motorcycle, actually. And I don’t know any other bikers. So…”

  “So?”

  “So… I’m hoping maybe I’ll get another ride if I stick around town for a while?”

  “Let’s finish up these ribs,” Dante suggests, his low rumble echoing through me almost like the engine of his Harley. “And I’ll give you a ride back to your place. Then let’s see what other kinds of rides you might have on your mind.”

  20

  Tori

  “Was that birthday sex?” I gasp. “Because that was even better than last time.”

  Thank God Savannah’s not here, because I’m pretty sure I shouted the house down a few moments ago when I came. Holy hell, I used to think people got way too obsessed about sex… but is this what the fuss is all about? Because if everybody else is having this kind of sex, why does anyone ever get angry or stressed or anything?

  Dante chuckles, my head lying against his chest. “Practice makes perfect,” he jokes. “We probably better practice some more.”

  “Right now? I’m not sure I can go again,” I say honestly. I feel like my muscles are made of water.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes to recover,” he murmurs, laughter in his voice.

  I close my eyes and sigh. “You know, when I woke up this morning, I didn’t expect that I’d be celebrating my birthday by going on a date with a biker.”