A man comes out to check me in, and thankfully I don’t recognize him. I tell him my air conditioning seems to be out, give him my keys, and scurry to the waiting room that the prospect indicated. It’s almost deserted except for a bald fifty-something man with a long ponytail, reading the paper. He barely looks up at me, and I give him a nod and take a seat by the windows that look out onto the side yard.
From here I have a better view of the fire damage to the large tank and the half-melted tires. The area is pretty tidy otherwise, which leads me to conclude the fire was probably a recent event. I stare off into space for a while, watching people come and go from the main door of what I’ve concluded is their clubhouse. None of them is Dante, thankfully.
Except for the guard at the main gate, no one seems to be paying much attention to who’s coming and going. After a few more minutes, I stand up nonchalantly and go outside. Even though I’m the only woman in sight, I’m pretty much ignored, at least at the moment. I wander around a little, making a show of stretching my legs, and being careful not to go too far. I don’t want any of the bikers to see me and get suspicious of what I’m doing here.
I saunter over to the burned-out tank, checking it out while pretending I’m not really checking it out. The first thing I notice is that there’s actually a sizable hole blown into it. Like it’s been shot by a huge bullet or something. It’s really odd, and more than a little alarming. I don’t see how that could have been made by anything except for something really powerful being aimed at it.
My God. What if Dante had been close to that thing when it blew? He could have been burned to a crisp. Or worse. My brain flashes on a horrible image of him in a hospital bed, third-degree burns all over his body, writhing in agony. I squeeze my eyes shut and squinch up my face, forcing myself to think of something else.
“You lookin’ for something?”
A deep, suspicious-sounding voice makes my eyes fly open in alarm. Heart pounding, I turn around to see a large, stone-faced Lord of Carnage staring down at me. In a haze of adrenaline, I realize I’ve seen him before. He was the one who was with Dante and his brother Dom that day in the parking lot. Ranger, I think his name was, or something like it.
“Hi!” I bleat, like an idiot. “No, not at all! I’m just waiting for my car to be fixed. The air conditioner’s out. Anyway, I just got sick of waiting around in the waiting room, so I decided to come out here and stretch my legs.” I pull in a deep breath, then nod at the gas tank. “Gosh, that must have been scary when that blew, huh?”
Ranger’s eyes flick toward the tank, then back at me. He moves his large body one step to the side, effectively blocking my path. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. His message is clear: This area off limits.
“Anyway,” I say hastily, “I have some phone calls to make. I guess I’ll head back inside.”
Ranger’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You do that.”
Giving him a too-wide, awkward grin, I spin on my heels and start to head back toward the waiting room. Just as I do, the sound of an engine catches my attention over toward the gate. The prospect guarding the entrance steps aside and raises his hand in a one-finger wave at a truck pulling into the lot.
It’s Dom’s refrigerator truck.
Ducking my head before he can see me, I go back inside and quickly perch back at my seat by the window. I watch as he drives past, his familiar face just visible through the windshield. He drives through the lot, passing Ranger and the gas tank and tire pile, then keeps going toward the back, until I can’t see it anymore. I strain my ears to listen as the sound of his engine gets softer, then eventually cuts out.
The bald guy with the ponytail glances over at me. I pull my phone out and make a show of checking my messages.
A few minutes later, a different engine starts up off in the distance and grows louder. I glance out the window out of the corner of my eye and see a black SUV coming back out from where the refrigerator truck went in. I think it’s the same SUV I saw in Dante’s driveway that first day, when I was there to interview Mildred and Eddie.
Sure enough, when it comes closer, it’s Dom in the driver’s seat, one elbow poking out of the rolled-down window.
The prospect waves him on as he turns right out of the lot and disappears.
I lean back in my chair, trying to figure out why alarm bells are going off in my head. It’s not so much that there might be something shady going on here — as far as I’m concerned, whatever the Lords of Carnage does to make money is its own private business. Frank has made it clear he has no interest in making the Ironwood Post-Gazette’s reputation as a hard-hitting investigative journalism paper. Even if I managed to land a scoop of epic proportions, I’d have to shop the resulting piece to other news sources if I ever wanted to have a hope of selling it.
And even if I might have wanted to once, hurting Dante and his club is the last thing I want to do. Even now.
But there’s something that just feels off about all of this. Dominic was incredibly nervous about me seeing him with those men the other day. And I don’t think it was because I’m a reporter. Something tells me it had more to do with Dante. Like Dominic wouldn’t have wanted his older brother to know who he was talking to.
It could be all my imagination.
But by the time the red-headed, bearded mechanic comes to tell me my car is ready, my decision is made.
“You wouldn’t happen to know if Dante is here today, would you?” I ask him as he runs my credit card.
“Nope. Haven’t seen him today,” the bearded man grunts. “You need to leave him a message or something?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll catch him later.”
The air conditioning fires right up when I turn on my car, greeting me with a welcome cool blast. I put the Civic in gear, nod at the prospect at the front gate, and pull off in the same direction I saw Dominic heading.
Toward Dante’s house.
My anxiety level starts to rise as I get closer to Dante’s address. I have no idea what I’m going to do when I get there. First step, I guess, is to see whether Dominic’s SUV is there. If it is, I guess I’m just going to drive on. But if it’s not?
Then I think I’m going to try to talk to Dante about everything I’ve seen in the last couple of days. Which means I’ll have to tell him I was at the garage just now.
Which means I may be about to make a giant fool of myself.
When I pull into Dante’s street, I slow way down, not wanting to be seen before I make any decisions on what I want to do. I pull over and park in the shade behind a large, rusted-out pickup truck, about half a block away on the other side of the street. Peering toward his house, the first thing I notice is that the black SUV isn’t there.
The second thing I notice is that Mildred and Eddie are in their yard.
I climb out of the driver’s seat and approach them first, grateful for the small measure of cover it gives me. Mildred is sitting on the old metal lawn chair, her generous thighs spilling over the sides in her housedress. A pair of worn flip-flops with plastic daisies on them adorn her feet. She says something to Eddie, and the two of them give me a big wave in unison.
“We liked that story you wrote,” Mildred says to me as I approach. “Lots of folks from town come over to see the apparition once it come out.”
“I’m glad it was a hit,” I smile. “We got a lot of emails about it, too.”
“We bought a bunch’a copies of the paper,” Eddie jumps in. “Took ‘em with us to the family reunion.”
“Everyone was real impressed,” Mildred agrees. “Ain’t nobody else in our family ever been in the paper, ‘cept for the obituaries and like that.”
I glance down at the lawn and notice that the Jesus apparition is no longer there. I decide not to say anything about it.
“You come to do a follow-up story?” Mildred asks.
I smile. “Not today, I’m afraid. I just came over to ask your neighbor a question.” I incline my head towa
rd Dante’s house.
“Ain’t seen him today, but that don’t mean much. We keep differ’nt hours.”
“Good to know. Well, I guess I’ll just go over and knock. See if I have any luck.”
Mildred nods. “You take care of yourself, now.”
“I will! You, too.”
I tromp across the yard, feeling a strange pang of connection to the weirdness that is Ironwood.
Over at Dante’s, I find myself taking in the scene as I approach the house. I’ve never been here before. The closest I’ve come was that first day at Mildred and Eddie’s. The house itself is simple but in good condition. Landscaping is minimal. The lawn is neatly trimmed, though. The garage door is down, so I don’t know whether Dante’s motorcycle is here or not.
I walk up the front steps, anxious as hell and second-guessing myself the whole way. As I get closer, I see there’s a hand-lettered sign taped up on his screen door.
GO THE FUCK AWAY.
In spite of how tense I’m feeling, I let out a snort of laughter. “Charming.”
I ignore the warning and knock on his door, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. I wait for ten seconds, then twenty. I knock again.
No answer.
Well, so much for this.
I trudge back down the steps, half-relieved, half-disappointed. Maybe this was a bad idea, anyway. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that he’s not here.
But I’m not the type who’s much good at letting something go once I’ve started down a particular path. Now that I’ve decided I need to talk to Dante, I know it’s going to keep eating at me until I can track him down. The only question is, how? Besides the clubhouse and his house, I don’t know much about his routine. And calling him just seems like the wrong approach. Seems like he’d see it’s me calling, and refuse to answer. And I don’t want to leave a message about this. It feels like I need to talk to him in person. I need to be looking at his face to decide what to say, and how to say it.
I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts that I’m not very aware of my surroundings as I drive home. That’s the only explanation I can come up with later for why I never notice the car that must have been following me at least since I left the Lords of Carnage clubhouse.
Back at my place, I park in my usual spot in the driveway. I grab the mail from the box to the right of my front door. Flipping through the envelopes, I go inside, intending to make myself some dinner and figure out what my next move should be.
The doorbell rings a couple of minutes later. Butterflies explode in my chest as I wonder whether there’s any possibility it could be Dante. Maybe Mildred and Eddie told him I was at his house looking for him. For some reason, it doesn’t cross my mind that Dante always knocks. I jump up from the couch and grab the knob, flinging it open to reveal…
No one.
“Hello?” I call out. I push open the screen door and step out onto the empty porch. Leaning over, I take a glance at my driveway, but the only vehicle in it is mine.
In the street, though, is a car I recognize instantly. A jolt of fear hits me as I see it parked there.
The metallic sedan.
My stomach clenches. I move to turn and rush back inside when a rough, steel-strong arm clamps around my neck. I’m pulled backwards, knocking me off my feet, and dragged back toward the door.
The hard barrel of what has to be a gun pokes me roughly in the kidney, making me gasp in pain with what little breath I have left. As I’m jerked backwards into the house, a low, angry voice snarls in my ear.
“You didn’t fool us with your know-nothing act, bitch. You’re gonna tell us what the fuck your game is. Or else, you’re gonna die. The choice is yours.”
I can’t respond — I can’t breathe, can’t think. My hands go to my throat and I start to claw at the man’s arm, desperate for air. For a second, one of my feet lands firmly on the ground, and I use the unexpected purchase to kick backward with my other foot. My heel connects hard, landing a blow to my assailant’s shin. He yells out in pain, his mouth so close to my eardrum that it feels like it could shatter. I flinch, twisting my head away instinctively from the sound.
The gun barrel leaves my ribcage. Before I can register why, a blast of sharp agony hits the side of my head.
I sink into a darkness punctuated by lightening bolts of pain.
27
Dante
It’s days later, and Dom’s been basically AWOL since before the bomb blast at the garage.
Deliveries have been canceled for the next few days, so where he is or what he’s doing ain’t my concern for now. Besides, it’s goddamn nice havin’ him out of my space. I’m no neat freak, but that fucker is a tornado to live with. He leaves a goddamn path of destruction in his wake wherever he goes. After living with him for a while, I’m starting to hear our ma’s voice in my head from my childhood, yelling at him to pick up after himself.
Since I have the house to myself for a little while, I haven’t been hangin’ around the clubhouse as much the past few days. One downside of spending more time alone is my thoughts keep going back to Tori. I don’t know why I thought it’d be easy enough to get over her. I’ve never been in love with any woman before, though, so this is new territory for me. But it’s like she’s taken up residence inside my head. I can’t get rid of her. And the more I think about her, the more I start arguing with myself about whether maybe — just maybe — there’s a way for me to be with this woman and still keep her safe from the danger that surrounds an outlaw MC.
I’m out in my garage in the afternoon doing a needless tune-up on my bike when I get a call from my brother Antony in Cleveland. We don’t talk all that much, so I’m not about to let the call roll to voicemail. I’m on instant alert when I press the answer key.
“Antony. What’s up? Anything wrong?”
He chuckles. “Can’t a guy call his brother just for the hell of it?”
“A guy? Sure. A D’Agostino brother? Not likely.”
“Well, yeah. I guess you got me there, in a way. I do have something to talk to you about. But first things first. How are you doin’? Everything good?”
“Sure. You?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
That’s what counts as an in depth, emotional conversation for us. “So, what’s up?” I ask again, cutting to the chase.
“So…” he begins trailing off for a second. “You hear anything from Dominic lately?” I open my mouth to reply, but he continues. “On second thought, maybe I don’t wanna know the answer to that.”
“Why not? What’s up?”
“Well, here’s the thing.” I hear rustling noises on the other end, then the burr and click of a lighter being fired up. Antony inhales, then blows out. “Word on the street here in Cleveland is that Dom fucked up with an ‘organization’ up here. I’m not exactly sure what went down, but my source told me there was money involved. The story is, Dom owed money to them, he skipped town, and they’ve been looking for him ever since.”
“Fuck.” Goddamnit, I knew I should have pushed Dom harder when he showed up here in Ironwood. I should have tried harder to find out the real reason he came here. If Antony’s right, Dom must have come back to town to hide out.
In my fuckin’ house. In my club’s fuckin’ territory.
“Yeah.” Antony’s voice is wry. “I just heard about this, by the way. Dom and me, we ain’t been in touch much in a while. But I thought I should call the rest of the brothers to let you know what’s goin’ on. Just in case he shows up on your doorstep.”
I consider his words. “But you ain’t askin’ whether he has showed up on my doorstep.”
Antony pauses. “No. I’m not,” he says, slowly and deliberately.
“Okay. Then I ain’t answering.”
“Okay. You take care of yourself, brother.”
“You, too.”
I hang up and stare off into space for a few moments. The fact that Dom’s been incommunicado for a couple of days now seems like it mig
ht mean something’s up. I wonder if I should be worried.
Frowning, I stare down at the screen and hit Dom’s number. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Dom,” I bark into the receiver. “Call me as soon as you get this. I mean it.” I send him a text with the same message. After waiting a couple minutes, there’s no response, and no indication he’s seen it.
“Goddamnit.” I shove my phone into my pocket and go inside. I stomp through the kitchen, then down the hall to Dom’s room. The door is shut, because I hate looking at his goddamn pigsty, but I don’t hesitate to shove it open and go in.
There’s shit all over the place, as usual — a small mountain of dirty laundry in one corner, bed tossed all to shit, every dresser drawer half-open. You’d think a goddamn teenager lived in here. Christ. Every available surface has shit piled up on top of it.
Except one.
The small desk under the window is completely free of clutter. The surface is pristine, except for one object placed squarely in the middle of it.
It’s a burner phone. Plugged into a charger cord.
And it’s in such a prominent position — right out in the damn open — it seems like there has to be a reason Dom left it here. Some reason he made it so visible by being on the only clean surface in the room.
I pick it up and press the button for the home screen. It’s locked.
I don’t get it. Maybe Dom didn’t mean for the thing to be found after all. Why would he have locked it if he had?
Unless…
Unless he wanted to make sure the wrong person didn’t get access to what’s inside.
A skilled hacker could break in, of course. Yoda could have this thing open in minutes. But the lock code would at least slow someone down.
The only question is, who did he want to slow down?
And who did he want to get in?
I try a couple of passcodes. Dom’s birthday. His middle name. Fuck, I even try our ma’s name. Nothing works.
I’m about to get on my bike and take the thing to the clubhouse to find Yoda when one final idea hits me. I type it in.
Iron Heart (Lords of Carnage Ironwood MC) Page 18