Ironside: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (Heartbreakers MC Book 3)

by Alexis Abbott

  “Damn right he should,” I say, tapping a knuckle on the table. “I’ve had a harder time breaking into houses than I did at his club. It was like getting in and out of a goddamn grocery store.”

  “Hey, I’m not here to defend his uh, business model,” Tank says. “I’m just saying his ego’s bruised.”

  “Man like Diesel trying to cover his ass is a dangerous thing,” Big Daddy says.

  “And it makes him act funny,” Tank says, nodding. “I passed word on to Diesel that I had eyes on Justine in this county. That got him interested, real fast, and I usually have to do more convincing that something is worth his time. That means he’s hungry for a lead.”

  “A lead we’re going to feed him?” I ask, cracking a grim smile.

  Tank grins and winks. “Bingo, G.I. Joe.”

  “Can we kill him after we’re done here?” Big Daddy asks Breaker nonchalantly, and Bones snickers.

  “Sounds like you have something in mind for this?” I ask, leaning back and crossing my arms, glancing at Justine and trying to think ahead to where she factors into this.

  It’s impossible not to feel on-guard for her sake. She’s got more spirit than I gave her credit for, and although she’s still naive, she’s got the guts deep down to get her hands dirty, and that’s more than I can say for most people. But I don’t want her getting tossed around by this crowd.

  It might break her her before she even grows into her full potential. I can’t let that happen.

  “I do,” Tank says with a deep breath. “If you want to get Diesel out of hiding and into the open, the best way to do that at this second is that girl right there,” he says, pointing a finger at Justine. “Diesel knows I’m in this area. I’ll report to him that I snatched Strawberry Blondie over there, and that I’m hightailing it away from your club.”

  “So, that you pulled the same shit I pulled on him?” I ask.

  “Exactly,” Tank says with a firm nod. “I tell him I don’t want to lead him back to his place, and I’ll suggest a meeting point we’ve used before.”

  “Will he buy that?” I ask, interested so far.

  “He’ll be suspicious,” Tank says, “and that’s the catch. I’ll need to prove that I’ve really got her with me when we go to the meeting place. Meaning, send pictures, videos, that kind of thing. He trusts me, but he’ll take precautions.”

  “He’s not stupid,” Big Daddy admits.

  “No,” Tank admits, chuckling. “Don’t make that mistake. You wouldn’t be the first.”

  “Hell no,” I say firmly, putting a hand on Justine’s knee.

  “See?” Tank says with a frown to Breaker, jabbing a thumb at me.

  “Ironside-” Breaker says, but I’m not having it.

  “I’m not letting you use her as bait,” I growl. “You have any idea what she’s been through?”

  “Hell of a lot, if she’s riding with you,” Tank says with a chuckle, and I see red, rising to my feet and getting ready to climb up onto the table and drop kick that smug bastard into the wall.

  But I feel a hand on mine.

  It’s small and soft, and its owner gives me a look that seems to make the anger melt away like snow in the sunshine. It’s almost like a drug, it gives me so much pause so quickly. She smiles up at me appreciatively, but I understand her intentions, and I slowly sit back down. She wants to speak for herself, and she has the right to do so. She’s not a child.

  “Actually,” she says, looking around the room at everyone, “I...I want to do anything I can to make sure what happened to me doesn’t happen to anyone else. And if that means taking a little risk,” she says, looking back up at me, “then I want to at least hear it out.”

  “I’m not putting you in harm’s way,” I say firmly, feeling my protective instincts aching between the urge to let her stand on her own two feet and keep her sheltered.

  “If we don’t have her actually there to deliver,” Tank says, “he won’t buy it.”

  “Then we need to think of another way,” I insist, slamming my fist on the table. “Think about it. If you fake a hostage exchange with Diesel, you’re the one who is going to be suspicious, so he’ll have guns trained on you--while you’re holding Justine. And if they so much as smell anything going wrong, they’ll open fire on the both of you.”

  “Well-” Tank starts.

  “And assuming you’re a good actor under pressure,” I go on, “which you probably are, I’ll admit, because you’re still alive so far-”

  “Thanks,” Tank slips in quickly.

  “Then you still have Justine right in the middle of where we’d need to be opening fire from cover wherever we’re hiding. She’s in too many crosshairs at too many times for too many things to go wrong.”

  “You got a better idea, Drill Sergeant?” Tank snarls. “I’m all ears.”

  “Matter of fact, I do,” I say firmly, standing up and putting my hands on the table to cast a glare around at everyone. “And Prez, you’ll have to excuse me for talking club business around outsiders, but when we crossed back into Wyoming from Utah, we left three bodies of Diesel’s men behind us. No one left to report back, but it’ll only be a matter of time before they check that patrol route when those three don’t check in.”

  “I assume you’ve got a good reason for that,” Breaker says earnestly. “But that does mean we should expect revenge. And soon.”

  “Exactly,” I say, nodding. “I crossed paths with ‘em by chance and had no choice but to do what I did if I wanted to make it out of Utah alive. If Tank weren’t here and we were on our own, my first thought would be to get Justine out of the state and far away from here, immediately.”

  “That’s true,” Breaker agrees, nodding and crossing his arms. “It’s the move I’d make, too.”

  “And it’s probably the one Diesel is going to anticipate,” I say carefully, pointing a finger at Tank. “So when you go back to Diesel and give him a tip that Breaker is about to personally move Justine across state lines…”

  “He’ll grab the bait,” Tank admits, crossing his arms and frowning but nodding.

  “But then we’re just setting up a bloodbath,” Bones points out. “When they move to intercept, we might not have Justine with us, but they won’t come in small numbers, they’ll come with the whole damn pack.”

  “What if we offer to trade me for a ceasefire?” Justine speaks up, and the men stop and look at her.

  She blushes under the sudden attention of the room, but she clears her throat and speaks. “Diesel wants me, and he just...lost...a few people, didn’t he?”

  “He might be willing to bargain for the kind of money that would mean he could make in peace,” I admit, frowning. “That’s not a bad idea, but…”

  “I don’t have to be in the line of fire,” she says, looking up at me with determination in her eyes, “but I’d be on your side, and it would let you both show up thinking you’re there to make peace, not fight, right?”

  “Maybe a biker with a short lifespan might think that,” Tank says with a snort.

  “He’ll come armed,” I agree, “and on guard, but we’ll be able to set the stage before he gets there. That meeting point you mentioned, Tank, he’ll assume he’s comfortable there. We could use that. Justine,” I ask, looking down at her and squeezing her hand. “You’d better be sure that you know what you’re suggesting. And you’d better know I’m not going to leave your side for a second,” I add, tightening my grip on her hand.

  She has a resolute, stubborn look on her face when she looks up at me, and I realize if I don’t meet her halfway, we won’t get anywhere here.

  “Wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t ready for it,” she says.

  “We can keep her in cover,” Bones suggests, “so they can see her and put ‘em at ease, but she can be out of the way.”

  “The place I have in mind is a mine shaft,” Tank says, nodding and stroking his chin. “That...would work perfect, I think.”

  Justine smiles smug
ly up at me.

  “Alright,” I say, relenting and putting a hand on her shoulder. “But I’m keeping you on a short leash.”

  “Big problem with that,” Breaker says, shaking his head. “Hate to burst your bubble, kid, but Diesel knows how much I hate human trafficking. It’s kind of our ‘thing.’ The Heartbreakers were born from a literal fight to stop it. Diesel would see through it.”

  Glancing down at Justine, I give a subtle nod and an assuring smile before looking at Breaker. “You’re right,” I say, “he’d see right through it if you were offering a ceasefire. But if I were the one doing it behind your back, to stop a feud before it turns hot…”

  “Diesel wants blood, but he likes money more,” Tank says, and Breaker sighs, but he finally nods to me firmly.

  “Let’s do it,” he says. “Make the call.”

  Justine

  There is a heavy feeling hanging in the air, dead weight bearing down on my shoulders, making me feel like gravity is focusing on me in particular. I’m sitting on the bed, body tensed and head swimming with confused, panicked thoughts I can’t seem to rein back in no matter how hard I try. Across the room, lit by a pillar of golden afternoon haze, Ironside is perched on the edge of a chair. He’s dressed in his usual attire, his dark hair slicked back and wet after a shower. It’s slowly drying, just like mine. In this pause before the leap we’re supposed to take tonight, we have been subconsciously seeking out those little things that help calm us. For Ironside and me, that’s been a hearty breakfast and a long, leisurely shower together. We took our time cooking this morning, frying up a stack of eggs and bacon that could rival the output of a brunch restaurant on a Sunday. The others greatly appreciated our handiwork, but it was still very apparent that nobody was able to fully enjoy the meal at our proverbial breakfast table. There’s nothing but long faces here at the clubhouse. We can skirt around it. We can pretend nothing is going wrong. We can put on a brave face and proceed as normal, but that doesn’t change the fact that tonight we are facing the beast itself. Everybody knows the risks. And we all prepare ourselves in different ways, including the gorgeous man across the room from me.

  In his hands is possibly the most frightening object I have ever seen: a gun. A big one. Black and shiny, made even shinier by the thorough polishing and cleaning Ironside has been giving it. His handsome face is slightly contorted, twisted into a grim expression. His heavy brows are knitted and furrowed, his sensual lips pressed into a hard line. I can tell he’s focused on the task at hand, but there is a part of him that’s spinning out a complicated web of thoughts beyond even my perception.

  He’s thinking about what we are about to do, what we are all gearing up for. Because the heavy sensation is not contained to just this room-- the whole clubhouse is positively thrumming with it. Everyone is on the same page. We all know exactly what needs to be done, after the update we received from our mole on enemy territory yesterday. The tension is so thick in this building you could pretty much slice it with a knife. Today is the deep breath before the great plunge, the eye of the storm in which we are all caught and suspended, hanging in mid-air with simultaneously too much and not enough to do and no way to fully prepare for the game plan ahead of us. Off and on throughout the day, my heart has been alternating between panicked racing and a steady, resolved rhythm. It’s like my body can’t figure out whether to fight or flight or just relax. After all, we have a little time before we go into battle. But that time isn’t comfortable. It’s the anxious, silent countdown to something potentially dangerous. Well, no-- more like definitely dangerous. Potentially deadly. Though, of course, I’m trying my hardest not to think about it that way. Strangely enough, it’s not even really fear for myself that has me rocked. I will be the bait, a fact that still hasn’t fully sunken in for me yet. I’m worried about Ironside, about his club family, about the ruse we are setting up to trick Diesel. If something goes wrong, there’s no telling how severe the situation could become. There are so many variables to consider, and many of them beyond our control entirely.

  So here we are, sitting here in this room, both of us trying to think about absolutely anything but the challenge ahead. I lean back against the pillows, stretching out my legs as I watch Ironside put aside one gun and start cleaning and loading the next one. His hands smooth along the sleek metal base, artfully using a rag and cleaning solution to make sure the weapon is in working order. Personally, I have always had a bit of a block up when it comes to guns. Weapons in general just tend to make me nervous. I don’t like the idea of causing anybody pain, much less intentionally endangering someone’s life. I know the men we will be dealing with are bad guys. I understand that, and I am starting to figure out that some people are just bad-- not worth the time to convert. There was a time when I believed all people were good on the inside, even in the face of evidence to the contrary. But ever since what happened with my father, it’s harder for me to make excuses for people, especially bad men. So much of the grief I have endured was at the hands of men.

  Though I have to admit to myself that there is one man I know will never let me down, and he is sitting across the room from me. And my god, he looks like a dark angel with the afternoon light spilling generously over his striking form. The way he handles his weapons reminds me of the way he handles my body-- with caution and care, but also with a sexy sense of self-assurance that shines through in every little thing he does. I get the feeling that Ironside is the kind of guy who pretty much always knows what he’s doing. He keeps cool-headed and steady-handed in every situation, even when things are tense. The way he lied so smoothly to that cop who was looking for me still amazes me. And the way he cleans his guns makes my heart race a little faster. I hate to admit how hot he looks right now, but it’s true. Part of it is mechanical, watching those hands carry out a menial task with such rugged elegance and swagger. But I know another part of the appeal is the image that he has things under control. He knows how to hold a gun. He knows how to pull the trigger and I know he’s not afraid to do it if the situation requires it. In fact, I have a feeling he might even be better-equipped to handle a gun than the other guys are, and that’s saying something.

  So maybe, I should say something. You know, since this could be our last time spent together. I have no way of knowing what tomorrow holds, but for now, we’re both here. Might as well make the most of it, right?

  “You look hot as hell cleaning that gun,” I tell him, already blushing at the way those dirty words feel in my mouth.

  Ironside slowly raises his gaze to meet mine, and when his dark eyes lock on me, I feel dizzy. He’s so handsome it almost makes me nervous. I remember something my mother once told me years ago… “There’s nothing more dangerous on this earth than a good-looking man.”

  Maybe she’s right, but I’m embracing the danger. Why not? As far as I’m concerned, the world as I know it could end tonight.

  “And you look pretty as a peach sitting in that bed,” he tosses back, along with a breezy smile that could make a nun swoon.

  “You know how to handle one of those, huh?” I ask, gesturing broadly toward the gun.

  “I can handle any of them,” he answers confidently. “Or all of them.”

  “Impressive. I can’t say I’ve come across that kind of knowledge in my years on earth,” I reply with a soft smile. “You’ve lived a different life than me.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” he sighs. “You know, I don’t talk about this all too often. Really, not at all. But what the hell, the future is never promised, so here goes. You want to know what kind of life taught me how to handle all these guns? Well, there’s a big stretch of coast in northern Africa where those memories got made. I was barely old enough to join up, but they let me in. I guess they saw something in me.”

  “They?” I ask, tilting my head.

  He stares at the window, but his gaze looks much more distant.

  “The Marines,” he answers. “I was young and starry-eyed. Just a dumb kid.
Thought I was gonna save the world. Yeah, they loved that. Right off the bat, they had me in the tropics: sweating my ass off, carrying a gun bigger than some people’s kindergarteners, fighting every day just to stay alive to see tomorrow.”

  “Why were you sent there? What happened?” I ask, turning to face him more directly.

  “There were these smugglers causing big trouble in the region. Not just your run-of-the-mill black market smugglers bringing contraband items across international borders, either. They were smuggling humans,” he explains.

  My eyes go wide. “Oh god,” I murmur.

  Ironside sets down the gun and steeples his fingers, peering at me with a glint in his eye.

  “There are very bad people in this world, Justine. I know them. You know them. Bad people are everywhere. Sometimes, you don’t know who to trust. I mean, I don’t have to tell you about that,” he says pointedly.

  “My own father let me down,” I mumble.

  “Exactly,” Ironside says. There’s a softness, an apology in his tone. He understands. Of course, he does. He goes on. “It’s important to make sure you’re putting in what you’re getting out. Trust is a two-way street, and it’s the number one thing that can make or break a family. When I got sent off to North Africa, I had to find a new family. At first, I tried to go it alone. I thought I could tough it out. I was always athletic and outdoorsy, anyway. But I wasn’t used to that kind of responsibility. They had me searching out the worst of the worst. Drug and sex traffickers, all with blood on their hands. I learned real quick that the only way I was going to survive was if I banded together with my brothers in arms. So, we did. We formed a pack. We did everything as a pack-- it’s true what they say about having safety in numbers.”

  “How long were you there? How did you get out alive?” I press him.