Iron Will: Lords of Carnage: Ironwood MC

by Loveling, Daphne

  By the time we get back into town, my cock is aching from being so close to her.

  And from the way she’s been wriggling against the seat and breathing fast and shallow against my back, I’m guessin’ she’s pretty hot and bothered herself.

  I pull up in front of her place and turn off the engine. As I wait for her to get off the bike, the feel of her hands as they skim low across my stomach almost makes me groan. My cock jumps, so hard and aching that slinging my own leg over the seat is painful. Wordlessly, I walk her up to her front door. I wait for her to unlock and open it, and when she turns to look up at me, her eyes are wide and dark.

  Her lips part, trembling a little. “Come in,” she whispers.

  It’s not a question.

  She moves inside the doorway, and I’m behind her in a second. The door is barely closed before my mouth is on hers, tasting her, stealing her breath. The same moan she let out the first time I kissed her rips from her throat. I know without even checking she’s wet for me. We’ve been dancing around each other for so long now, our bodies are practically screaming for what we’ve been denying them. This is happening, and it’s happening right now, and it’s not up for debate.

  My cock swells so large it’s painful as my hand reaches up to find the tie that’s got her hair up in that ponytail. I loosen it, and the thick locks fall, brushing against my skin. My fingers bury themselves in her hair, pulling her closer so I can kiss her deeper. Laney’s hands come up to clutch my shoulders, holding on to me tight, like I’m the only thing keeping her upright. My other arm goes around her waist, sliding down to her ass as I press my throbbing shaft against her core.

  She whimpers.

  Jesus fuck.

  Blood thunders in my head as I push her against the wall.

  “Do you know how wild you’ve been driving me, Laney the social worker?” I tell her, my voice thick. “I’ve played this scene over in my mind a thousand times.”

  Laney looks up at me, her eyelids fluttering half closed over those green eyes flecked with amber. Her face is tilted up to me, lips swollen and plump already. Ready for me.

  “You’re not the only one,” she whispers.

  “Jesus,” I hiss, and bend to her again.

  Her arms wind around my neck as I drink her in, and it almost undoes me, the way she starts to grind against me like a wild thing. This is a Laney I’ve never seen before — unafraid, uninhibited, untamed. She kisses me back like I’m water, like I’m air, like I’m her lifeline. Laney’s body has taken control; gone is the buttoned up social worker. Gone is the fiery, dark-haired vixen with the tart tongue who has a retort to every word I say. In their place is a girl who needs release — who’s giving herself to me and no one else, right here, right now.

  My hand slips between us. Somehow I make my brain work well enough to unzip my jeans, then to slide hers down too. She steps out of them and I grab her ass and lift her onto me, wrapping her legs around my waist. Her whimper turns to a low, needy moan, and I can tell she’s already close to coming. There’s no way in hell either of us is going to last very long, so I abandon all thoughts of drawing this out. That will come later. There’ll be time for everything else later. It barely registers that I’ve never looked forward to the second time with any woman before. And sure as hell not before I’ve even had her the first time. But there’s no fucking way I’ll have enough of Laney Hart after just once.

  As she writhes against, me, I let out a low groan and move my lips from her mouth to her neck. “Jesus Christ, you feel good, Laney,” I growl. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

  In response, she swivels her hips, all instinct and animal need. “Rourke…” she gasps. “Oh, God, that feels good. Please… more.”

  Bracing her against the wall, I slide my fingers between us, grazing them against the soaking fabric of her panties. Her sharp intake of breath makes my cock swell as I realize how close she is. She clings tighter to me and moans again, shuddering slightly at the contact of my finger as I slip it under the fabric. Then it’s my turn to moan. She’s so wet. Wet for me. Wet for this.

  Then, my other hand cupping her ass, I slide the pulsing head of my cock against the slick skin of her pussy.

  It’s only for a second or two, but suddenly Laney goes completely rigid. Then, a moment later, she shatters, shuddering against me as her orgasm tears through her. Knowing I’m only seconds behind her, I shove my hips forward and drive myself inside her. Laney gasps and throws her head back, breathing ragged. She’s so goddamn tight, her walls pulsing around me, and the blood gets louder in my head, my vision tunneling until all I see is her face, mouth half-open in ecstasy, every cell of her body mine right now, all mine…

  I piston in and out of her one final time, and then everything explodes around me as I empty myself deep inside her, holding her close as the world blurs completely, then slowly — so slowly — comes back into focus.

  She’s still in my arms, her legs wrapped around mine as I carry her through the house, lit only by the dim light of the street lamp outside and a small night light in the hall.

  “Last door on the left,” she murmurs against my chest, already starting to sound sleepy.

  And then, it hits me.

  A wave of anger at myself washes over me as I realize how badly I just fucked up. I’ve just done something I’ve never allowed myself to do before.

  “Shit,” I murmur against her hair.

  “What?” she asks, alarmed. She lifts her head from my chest and looks into my eyes.

  “Fuck, Laney, I forgot to use a condom. I’m sorry. Jesus, I swear it didn’t even cross my mind.”

  For a split-second I’m sure she doesn’t believe me, and the thought makes me feel sick inside. Then her eyes soften.

  “I’m on the shot,” she tells me, with a slight shake of her head. “And I haven’t had sex in… well…” She ducks her head. “Awhile, let’s just say.”

  We’re in her bedroom now. I lean down and sit down on the bed, with her still wrapped around me.

  “I swear to God I’m clean,” I promise her. “I don’t fuck without wrapping up Vlad the Impaler first. Ever.”

  She blinks in surprise, and then starts to giggle helplessly.

  “Seriously?” she gasps in between giggles. “You call your dick Vlad the Impaler?”

  “No,” I admit. “I just said that to make you laugh.”

  I’m not even close to having enough of Laney. The second time I take her is slower, though not much gentler. And when she calls out my name as she shudders underneath me, I feel like the king of the goddamn world.

  Afterwards, she falls asleep in my arms.

  And for the first time in my life, it never even occurs to me to leave.

  I barely sleep, though. Instead, I just lie there staring up at the ceiling, listening to her breathe.

  Just as her bedroom starts to lighten with the first pinks of the morning sun, I slip out of bed and pull on my clothes. I need to go home and grab a shower, then get to the clubhouse in time for the run to meet with Chaco Dos Santos.

  I’m quiet as I move around the room. In the half-light, I watch Laney for a few seconds as she sleeps. Her hair is strewn around her face on the pillow. The sheets are down just far enough for me to catch the swell of her breasts.

  As I remember her soft cries last night when she came around my cock, I have to talk myself out of climbing back into the bed with her. I surprise myself by being damn disappointed I’m not gonna be here when she wakes up.

  I leave her house, careful to lock the door behind me. To keep her safe, until I can see her again.

  Which is gonna be just as soon as I get back to Ironwood after the run.

  I put the bike into neutral, and roll it down her driveway, making sure I’m away from the house before I fire it up. Because I don’t want to wake her. I want to drive away with the picture of her in my mind, lying there on the bed, face soft in sleep, hair streaming around her.

  What the fuck is
wrong with me?

  I’ve never spent the night with a woman. That’s by choice. I’m not a guy who does long-term. Hell, I’m not even a guy who does short-term. I don’t need the complication of having any woman think fucking is more than just fucking.

  But God help me, I think this time maybe it is.

  I think I’m falling for Laney Hart.

  19

  Rourke

  The road to Louisville is state highways for about half the time, and interstate for the other half. We make it to the outskirts of the city in about three hours.

  We’re meeting Chaco Dos Santos in an industrial suburb on the north side. The meetup spot is a shitty old unassuming Mexican restaurant, where we’ve met Chaco and his men before. Just like last time, the place is deserted when we get there, with not a customer in sight. And of course, that’s by design. It’s a mystery as to why anyone ever opened up a restaurant here in the first place. It’s surrounded by warehouses, lumber and building wholesalers, and even a chemical factory, but since it’s Sunday most of these businesses are shuttered for the weekend. But for the purpose of having a meeting undisturbed, it’s perfect.

  When we go inside, a short old Mexican guy sits at the till, but otherwise the place is deserted. The stale stench of Mexican cooking assaults my nostrils. I’m not a fan of Mexican food in the first place, but it smells like no one’s actually ordered food here in months.

  Axel, me, Dante, and Mal walk through restaurant, ignoring the old guy. Chaco’s in the same back room he’s met us in before. He’s there with four other guys, two of whom I recognize from the last time. They flank him, standing like silent sentinels.

  Unlike last time we were here, Chaco doesn’t ask us to remove our pieces. He comes around the long table in the center of the room, and Axel and Chaco clap each other on the back, a sign of trust. He nods to me, a sign of respect as Axel’s VP, then motions toward the table, indicating we should sit down. Axel shoots a glance at me, and I take a seat to his right. Dante and Mal stay standing, mirroring Chaco’s bodyguards.

  Last time we met here, Chaco was the one with the upper hand. Our chapter of the Lords of Carnage was taking over part of the transfer route of Chaco’s product from northern Kentucky through southern Ohio, as far as the Tanner Springs chapter of the Lords to our north. Chaco wasn’t happy with that arrangement. Angel, the prez of the Tanner Springs chapter, sent down one of his men, Hale, to smooth over the transition. Chaco accepted it, but he had his doubts about working with Axel and the Ironwood club, instead of directly with Angel.

  Hale, speaking for Angel, gave him his assurance that the transition would be smooth and that our club was up to the task. We knew that if there were any problems with the shipment transfers on our end, the cartel would look at doing business with another MC or some other syndicate.

  Which would mean moving to take us out, to free up our territory for someone else.

  This time, the tables have turned. Now it’s Ironwood that needs assurance from Chaco that they’re gonna have the product we need, when we need it. And even before he starts talking, it’s clear that Chaco is not happy to be seen in this position of weakness. Everything about this guy telegraphs how proud he is — from his two-thousand dollar suits to the straight, formal way he carries himself. Everything about his bearing says he expects to be treated like a king, and his men comply.

  “So, Chaco, what’s the deal?” Axel asks, cutting to the chase right away. “Your latest shipment was supposed to get to us tomorrow. I’m guessing this meeting ain’t because you were graciously wanting to give it to us a day early.”

  “No. Clearly not.” Chaco’s voice is low and steely. He is angry. But he knows he can’t afford to let the anger loose.

  “I talked to Angel yesterday,” Axel continues. “Let him know about this meeting. He’s not happy. You know we’re looking to expand our distribution up north. This larger shipment was supposed to be the first step in that.”

  I step in. “Last time we were here, you told us the Dos Santos cartel had entered into a relationship with Los Caballeros. You said your two cartels together had more than enough strength to push back Sinaloa from your territory.”

  “The product is here,” Chaco grits out. “The problem is not there. The problem is… a matter of accessing the shipment.”

  “What do you mean?” Axel retorts.

  “As I told you, our problem is we’re not able to get close to it. There are fucking cops all over us. They don’t know the exact location where we’re holding the product, but they clearly know the general area. They swarm every time my men try to get near.” His face contorts.

  “They ain’t geniuses,” Mal jokes. “If they were smart, they’d be better at hanging back and catchin’ you in the act, instead of showing themselves. Fuck, I thought Louisville cops wouldn’t be such dumbasses.”

  Chaco shoots a glare at Mal, but says nothing.

  “Who tipped them off?” Axel sounds calm, but I know better. He’s fucking furious.

  “Unsure.”

  “What about your buddies Los Caballeros?”

  Chaco says nothing. But the way his eyes narrow tell me Axel may have hit a nerve.

  It makes sense. Los Caballeros are supposed to be their allies — the two groups a united front to keep their territory away from Sinaloa. But allies are only as good as the deal you’ve made with them.

  And if an ally sees a better deal somewhere else…

  Then the line between ally and enemy gets real thin, real fast.

  “So. What are our options here?” Axel demands. “We need this shipment, Chaco. You don’t hold up your end of the deal, we get screwed on our end.”

  Tension in the room heightens. From an outlaws’ gentleman’s agreement, we’re going down the road to something totally different. The Lords of Carnage can’t afford to let this shit slide. Our own dominance, the strength of our club, depends on other clubs knowing we cannot be fucked with.

  “We have another contact.” Chaco’s words are clipped. “We need an extra day. But we will get you the entire volume of the shipment. Our drop point will change, but you can be assured — “

  A muffled shout outside interrupts his words.

  Then, a deafening blast.

  Gunfire.

  “Get down!” Axel shouts. I dive for the ground, just as the thin wood of the closed door splinters like toothpicks. Jesus. I barely have time to reach for my piece when another volley of gunfire blasts through it. Rolling off to one side, I pull it out and grab the base of a small table, pulling it down until it crashes to the floor. I push it in front of me to serve as a shield. It’s not enough to cover me, but it’s all I got.

  Raising my gun, I fire off a round at the door. I’ve only got one goddamn magazine, so I have to make each bullet count. By now, my ears are roaring with all the blasts around me. I hear a couple of cries through the wall of sound, but I can’t tell who’s being hit, or where. A couple of Chaco’s men had ARs, but shit’s happening so fast I don’t know where they are now. Across the room Mal is aiming toward the door, rapid flashes of fire from his gun showing me his shots.

  We’re sitting fucking ducks in this room, unless we can blast ourselves out.

  My mind goes into survival mode as I pull myself into a crouch and prepare to move. Just before I spring, my eyes fall on a wad of gum smushed under the table I’m hiding behind.

  For some reason, that makes me laugh out fucking loud.

  Reaching behind me, I grab the metal leg of a chair in my left hand, and stand up. I pull myself against the wall, just on one side of the doorway, and try to trust that Dos Santos’ men and my brothers’ aims are good enough not to hit me instead of whoever’s on the other side.

  When the first asshole manages to make it through and into the room, I bring the chair up and around, smashing him in the skull before he knows what’s happening. He falls to the floor and the guy behind him stumbles over him. His piece flies out of his hands, ricocheting off my
boot. I use two of my bullets to take them both out, then grab the dropped gun, a Glock 19 with an extended mag. Good fuckin’ deal.

  Mal and Axel are up now, too, guns drawn. Chaco’s two bodyguards appear behind us, then move ahead, unleashing a spray of fire. We move in and prepare to follow their lead.

  But then, a loud shot behind me stops me in my tracks.

  I pivot quickly, just in time to see Chaco fall to the ground. One of the two men next to him holds a gun at his side, finger still on the trigger.

  Holy fuck. At least one of Chaco’s men has turned.

  I lift my eyes just in time to see the other guy raise his piece toward us. Instinctively, I throw the the chair I’m still holding toward him, launching it through the air without time to aim. It’s enough to make him duck, which gives me a couple seconds to launch myself at him. I barrel forward, and just before I connect, a dull wave of pressure on my upper thigh pushes me a little to one side.

  Fuck, I think as I take the fucker down. I’m shot.

  There’s no time to think about it. I hear more gunfire and shouting, but I wrestle the asshole I’ve got to the ground and grab his wrist. As he tries to kick me off of him, I bring his hand down repeatedly against the floor until his grip loosens on the gun. When he’s let go of it, I pull back and fire a hard right to his face with the butt of my gun. It gets him in the jaw, sending him reeling. A second punch to his temple takes him out.

  I scramble up, but my left leg starts to crumple under me. I reach back to my upper thigh and feel around. Wet. The fabric of my jeans is ripped just below my ass cheek.

  I roll onto my side, angling myself to face the door, and get ready to fire. Next to me, Chaco’s breathing is labored, blood blooming a stain across his shirt. Ten feet away, Dante’s got the other traitor on the ground. I start to raise my gun, hoping to get a clear shot. But before I can, there’s a loud crack. The guy Dante’s wrestling stiffens, then his body falls slack.

  Have a good trip to hell, motherfucker.