Iron Heart (Lords of Carnage Ironwood MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  “Um…” I stammer. “He’s just here to rewire the first floor of the house.”

  “Girl! This whole setup is like a porno, but a good one! The hot electrician, here to ‘turn you on’?” Savannah starts to cackle, clapping her hands. “I mean, come on! This shit writes itself!”

  “Sshhhh!!!” I hiss, finger to my lips. “Vannah, can we please not talk about this right now? He could hear us! Besides, I have to get to work.”

  “Okay,” she smirks. “But we are going to talk about it later. This is fate, girl. That man is here for a reason. I can tell you’re power-less against him!”

  I grab Savannah by the shoulders and hustle her out my front door before she can make any more sexy electrician jokes. As I turn to pull the door shut behind me, I glance back toward the kitchen in time to see Dante standing in the threshold, one hand on his toolbelt. His eyes lock on mine.

  And the smolder in those dark orbs tells me he just heard every word Savannah said.

  14

  Dante

  “Bama still got his panties in a wad that the club’s not goin’ with Davakis?” I ask Ranger over burgers at Della’s.

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be pissed about that for a while. Bama’s not your biggest fan to begin with.” Ranger chuckles. “My guess is he had a deal with Davakis that he’d take a cut for himself if the Lords gave him the job.”

  “You might be right about that.” Sounds about like Bama. He’s a greedy bastard, for sure. Got the glint of green in his eyes. And even though I voted yes when the club was deciding whether to patch him in, I’ve had my reservations about that fucker more than once since then.

  “You bringin’ your brother around to the clubhouse soon?” Ranger asks.

  “Yeah.” I swallow the last of my burger. “He’s meetin’ me here in a little bit. I guess he’s just taken possession of his first transport truck. He’s drivin’ it over to show me. Then he’s gonna follow me over to the clubhouse so Axel and Rourke can take a look.”

  We’re just finishing up our food when the bell on the front door rings. Dom swaggers in and comes over to the table, jingling a key ring in his hand.

  “Proud owner of the first vehicle in the Iron City Refrigerated Transport fleet,” he grins, sliding into the booth beside me. He looks across the table and sticks out his hand. “Howdy. I’m Dom, Dante’s much better-looking younger brother.”

  Ranger snorts and pauses for a second, then puts out his hand for a shake. “Well, that ain’t too hard. Ranger.”

  “You assholes gonna stop takin’ up space I need for payin’ customers, or is this one gonna order something?” A booming alto voice calls from across the diner. We turn to see Della herself approaching, a steaming pot of coffee in her right hand.

  Della’s the closest thing our club has to a matriarch. She used to be Bear’s old lady, back in the day — before he cheated on her one time too many and she kicked his ass to the curb. She opened up this diner not too long after they split up. And even though she ain’t with Bear anymore, it’s kind of become the club’s place to go for good, cheap-ass food. She’s good to the Lords, and in exchange for that, we keep the peace and watch over her place.

  Dom hasn’t been here before, so he hasn’t met Della. But he instantly turns on the charm. “Well, hello there, beautiful,” he croons. “Could I get a cup of coffee and a slice of your best homemade pie?”

  Della scoffs. “First off, I ain’t beautiful. Second off, if you think you’re gonna get some sort of friends and family discount for shovin’ your nose up my ass, you got another thing comin’.”

  Across the booth, Ranger practically chokes on a fry, laughing.

  “Del, this is my brother, Dom.” I manage not to roll my eyes.

  “That right? Huh. Yeah, I guess I can see the family resemblance.” She lifts her chin at my brother. “You tell this one that Della’s is a no bullshit zone.” She reaches over to a shelf behind our booth, grabs a clean coffee mug, and slams it down on the table, then fills it with coffee, not bothering to ask him if he wants room for cream. “We got coconut or apple.”

  “Apple,” Dom repeats, subdued.

  Della turns and storms away.

  “Sheezus, what crawled up her ass?” Dom exhales, raising a brow.

  “Like the saying goes, she don’t suffer fools gladly,” I reply. “She’s got a bullshit detector like a fuckin’ Geiger counter.”

  “You sayin’ I’m a bullshitter, or a fool?” Dom retorts.

  I just smile.

  “So, Dom. Dante says you’re on the way to the clubhouse after this.” Ranger glances out the window, where Dom’s truck is visible in the parking lot across the street.

  “Yep. Ready to get to work.” Dom gives Ranger his best movie-star grin. “This could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

  “Dante says you’re sure you got the capacity. You a solo operation for now?”

  “Just until I get up and running. I got some good business prospects lined up. Just a matter of time!” Dom shows his teeth again. A young waitress appears with his slice of apple pie, and he gives her a wink as she sets it down in front of him.

  I shove down a wave of irritation. Dom’s in rare form today. He’s got this thing where the more fucked-up his life is, the more confident swagger he shows. Maybe it’s a gambler thing. It’s his tell, if you know how to look for it. First time I saw it was not long after he graduated high school, when he got involved in some shady business with some local shitheads selling stolen electronics out of the back of their truck. For a couple months, he was strutting around town with new clothes and a thousand-dollar watch hangin’ off his arm, acting like the cock of the walk.

  Then one day, the cops ran down the thieves in their truck and threw all their asses in jail. Dante pulled his first disappearing act and skipped town. With about half the balance of our ma’s meager savings account. Which of course, she forgave him for. Because family is family.

  Right now, he’s got his act turned up to eleven.

  My stomach goes sour at the thought.

  Ranger sticks around as I wait for Dom to finish his coffee and pie, and I pick up the tab for all three of us.

  “Come on.” Dom points. “Come take a look at the truck.”

  We cross the street to the large parking lot that serves most of the businesses in this part of downtown. The truck is parked in the middle, straddling a couple of spots.

  “Well?” Dom says proudly. “What do you think?”

  “I think it looks like a refrigerator truck,” I growl.

  It’s in rough shape, looks like. But it’s big enough to transport anything we need to move. It ain’t flashy, but it’s good cover, especially if and when Dom gets some legitimate contracts with organic farmers and shit, like he says he’s going to.

  “Solid enough,” Ranger remarks, nodding. “And yeah, it looks legit. It’ll work.”

  “You want to ride with me to the clubhouse?” Dom asks me. “Or you want me to follow you?”

  “I’ll take my bike, and you can follow me,” I tell him. “I wanna…”

  I trail off, my attention suddenly distracted by a familiar figure crossing the street to the parking lot on the other side. It’s Tori. And she’s with that fuckin’ Pretty Boy from the paper. My muscles tense at the sight of the two of them together — but a second later, he peels off and goes to a car that must be his. Tori continues on, heading to a spot toward our right.

  Maybe sensing she’s being watched, Tori glances over in our direction. Her eyes meet mine.

  I lift my finger in a wave. Her steps slow for a second, like she’s deciding whether to come over. Then she changes course and starts walking toward us.

  Beside me, Dom whistles. “Fuck me, who the hell is that?”

  “She’s uh, a customer of mine,” I mutter. “I’m doing some rewiring on her house.”

  “She ain’t from around here, is she?” Ranger remarks.

  Dom’s lips curve in
to a feral grin. “Jesus Christ, what a hot piece of ass.”

  I can practically see his fuckin’ testosterone surge at the sight of her. A tidal wave of anger rises up inside me before I even realize what’s happening.

  “She’s fuckin’ off limits, you hear me?” I snarl, rounding on him so fast he takes a step back in surprise. “She ain’t one of your fuck bunnies.”

  “What the hell, brother?” Dom yelps. His wide eyes narrow as he considers me. “You tappin’ that?”

  “No,” I growl. “And you ain’t either.”

  “Oh, I get it, you want her for yourself, is that it? What, did she shut your ass down?” He snickers. “You’re losin’ your touch, bro. I remember a time where all you had to do was snap your fingers and every girl in town would come running.”

  “Fuck you. She ain’t your piece of meat. You got that?”

  Dom opens his mouth to say something to me, but Tori’s in earshot now so he has the decency to shut the hell up.

  “Hi,” she smiles as she approaches, looking a little shy. Her hair is down today — first time I’ve seen it that way. It’s thick and wavy, hanging down to her breasts, a little wild. For some reason I think of a painting of Venus I saw once in a book when I look at her.

  “Funny running into you here.” Tori lifts her eyes to mine. Those icy baby blues soften a little, then shift over to Dom. “Hi,” she repeats, giving him a little nod. “I’m Tori.”

  “Ranger.”

  “Dominic,” he says. He gives her his best lady-killer grin and his standard line. “I’m Dante’s smarter and much better-looking little brother.”

  The corners of Tori’s mouth curve up politely. “Pleased to meet you,” she says politely. “Do you live here in Ironwood?”

  “I do now,” he replies, then lifts a hand and slaps the side of the truck. “Starting up a business here. Refrigerated transport.” He lets his gaze linger on her. “Hope I’ll be seein’ more of you around town. Ironwood sure looks a lot better than it did last time I was here.”

  Tori tucks a lock of thick hair behind her ear. I think she blushes.

  I just might fuckin’ kill my little brother right here in front of her.

  “Well,” she murmurs, stammering a little. “Um, I’m just on my way out to do a story.” She shifts her eyes back to me, and her smile comes back. “A local psychic who apparently has predicted the wins and losses of every game the high school football team has played for the past ten years.”

  “Oh yeah. Beulah,” Ranger nods. “Everyone knows about that. How the hell is that even news?”

  Tori shakes her head ruefully. “It’s not. My editor wants a full feature on her. Focusing on her life story.”

  I give her a serious look. “Sounds about as exciting as Jesus appearing in someone’s lawn.”

  “Slow news week,” she chuckles, lifting a shoulder. “As they all are. Are you going over to my place today?”

  I shake my head. “No time for it today. Tomorrow, probably.”

  “Okay.” Tori turns to Dom, then to Ranger. “It was nice meeting you.”

  Dom all but leers back at her. “Believe me, honey, the pleasure is all mine.”

  The three of us watch her walk away. “Stop staring at her ass, you fucker,” I grit out at my brother through clenched teeth.

  “It’s a free country,” he shoots back. “Thank God for women who sway when they walk. Lord have mercy.”

  Ranger raises his brows at us.

  “I’m gonna take off. I got some shit to do. I’ll see you back at the clubhouse later, Dante.”

  “Okay, brother. See ya.”

  Ranger strides back toward the diner, where his bike is parked next to mine.

  “Come on,” I growl, trying to ignore how appealing punching him in the face would be right now. “Follow me to the clubhouse. And keep up. I ain’t slowin’ down for your ass.”

  Back across the street, I hop on my bike and start her up, then pull away from the curb. I don’t bother to look behind me to see if Dom is there. Fuck him if he loses me.

  On the way to the clubhouse, my thoughts keep turning back to Tori. I don’t know why it’s been so hard to stay away from her, but damned if it hasn’t been. All I know is, every time she’s around, my cock practically jumps out of my goddamn jeans. And if yesterday and today are any indication, I ain’t the only one. If Pretty Boy at the paper wasn’t enough, now I gotta worry about my own brother tryin’ to get her in the sack. Shit, even Ranger was lookin’ like he was gettin’ ideas.

  Hell, I shouldn’t even care about any of this shit. Like Dom said, it’s a free fuckin’ country. It’s free to look, and Tori ain’t mine to protect. Dom’s kind of a whore as far as women are concerned, but then again, I suppose so am I. It ain’t like I’m actually worried for Tori’s welfare. Is it?

  The keys to Tori’s house are in the front left pocket of my jeans right now. I can feel one of them slightly digging into the skin of my thigh.

  I could shift my weight to make it stop. But I don’t. I like that it makes me think of her.

  I think back to the fuse I left on her countertop a couple days ago. It was an impulse. Sort of an I was here message. At the time, I didn’t think too much about it.

  But now, I wonder if it was a message more to myself than her.

  A fuse blows when there’s too much heat flowing between the two sides.

  It’s supposed to keep you safe.

  There’s too much heat between Tori and me. A current too strong to ignore.

  I’m starting to wonder if there’s an explosion coming. And there sure as hell ain’t a fuse between us to prevent it.

  15

  Tori

  The latest issue of the Post-Gazette is waiting for me on the bottom step of my front porch when I get home from work. Somehow, I’d forgotten today was Wednesday, which is weird. Maybe it’s because Frank was out sick today. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been preoccupied wondering whether Dante would be here at the house when I got back.

  I haven’t seen much of Dante since I ran into him in the parking lot last week. He’s been here at the house mostly when I’m at work.

  I’ve been more disappointed than I should be on the days when I come home and he’s already gone for the day. I’ve tried to tell myself it’s because I’m anxious to have this wiring project finished, but that’s not really what it is. The fact is, I like seeing him. And even though he still makes me nervous as hell, I like talking to him, too. Especially when he’s finished up for the day and he relaxes out of work mode a little. Sometimes he’s even kind of funny, when he wants to be.

  And like Savannah said, he isn’t exactly hard on the eyes.

  I pick up the paper as I trudge up the front steps and glance at the front page. Right there, above the fold, is my story about Beulah, the local psychic. I stare at my byline for a second: By Victoria Lowe. Pursing my lips, I inwardly cringe at the fact that this story, like the others I’ve written for the Ironwood paper, will soon be online, as well. There for all posterity.

  My career, ladies and gentlemen.

  The front door is unlocked, and I push it open and step through into the foyer. “Dante?” I call.

  “In the basement!”

  Reassured, I try to ignore the little flip of excitement my stomach does, and head up to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. I grab my comfiest pair of jeans from the chair where they’re hanging, put on a loose flowy tank top, and shove my feet into my flip flops. On the way back down the stairs, I feel something in my back pocket dig into my butt slightly. I put my hand inside.

  It’s the fuse.

  I finger it for a second, a little embarrassed that I’ve held onto it instead of just throwing it away. I glance over at my waste basket, and take a step toward it. But at the last minute, I quietly shove the fuse back into my jeans.

  Back downstairs, I wander around a little bit, trying to decide what to do. It’s strange having someone else in my space, especially someone
as distracting as Dante. Even though he’s downstairs, I still feel his presence as though he’s in the room with me.

  I put a hand up to my face, and push a lock of my hair behind my ear — noticing that my movements are self-conscious. Like I’m trying to look casually sexy and graceful, just in case he comes around the corner.

  Ugh.

  Blowing out an irritated breath, I mentally curse myself for being such an idiot. I look toward the kitchen and consider starting some dinner for myself, but I’m not really hungry, and besides, I don’t know how much longer Dante is going to be here. I sure as hell don’t want him to come in and stand there watching me eat.

  I can’t quite figure out what to do with myself. I’ve been on my computer all day, so staring at a screen holds no appeal. Besides, I feel strangely sheepish about him coming up here and judging my choice of TV programs. Maybe I should just go upstairs and hide out in my bedroom until he leaves? He never goes up to the second floor, since there’s no wiring to redo.

  I stand in the middle of the living room, looking around at my surroundings. Having Dante in my house makes me consider everything with an outsider’s eye. I remember what he said the first time he was here, about the furniture not really looking like my style. He’s right, of course. None of this is stuff I would have chosen for myself. I haven’t changed anything since I moved in. Even my bedding and comforter are Aunt Jeanne’s. I guess it’s partly because this stuff is all in perfectly good condition, if a little worn.

  But if I’m honest, the deeper reason probably has something to do with denial.

  I know Aunt Jeanne meant for this house, this town, this job — this life — to be a present to me. She liked old things — objects that have a history to them — but even so, she wasn’t particularly sentimental. She wouldn’t have minded if I changed things around. So it’s not that I’m trying to preserve the house as it was when she lived here. She would have hated for me to think of this place or anything in it as a burden or a weight.