Iron & Bone (Lock & Key #3) (43 page)

Notch snorted as he glanced at me and then back at Alejandro. “You really want to do this?”

He pressed his lips together. “You’re the one who wanted the One-Eyed Jacks and the Flames of Hell to understand that you and I mean business, big business. Two birds, one stone, my friend. For both of us. I told you I’d provide for your needs.”

Notch exhaled a cloud of smoke and signaled to two of his brothers. Fists flew at me, slamming into my middle. One landed on my scar, the stinging throb shooting through me. A blow to my side had me doubled over, crashing to the ground. Pain exploded in my skull.

“I wanna see the Jack crawl.” Notch laughed.

I raised myself up but got kicked down. And again. My muscles strained and shuddered. I rolled over, the sun needling my eyes. I pushed up, but a jab to my lower back had me sprawled in the earth. Dirt and dust scoured my dry mouth.

A large hand pulled me up from the ground and shoved me forward.

“Go. Run like a hen. Run!” Alejandro’s voice pierced my ears.

“Yeah, give him a head start. Make this more fun,” came Notch’s lazy voice behind me.

My blurry eyes fell on my snake coiled tight over my arm, his damn ugly face glaring at me, fangs at the ready, broken bones in his mouth.

The bones I’d broken.

Alejandro’s bodyguard at my back shoved me again.

“Never again, never go back.”

I spun, bashing my handcuffed fists into his throat. He croaked and wheezed, crumpling to the ground. I spotted his gun and propelled myself forward, lunging for the weapon just beyond his feet. I grabbed the handle, but my useless fingers were numb. The fucking gun tumbled from my grasp.

“Shit!”

My head reeled. I forced my eyes to focus.

Shots rang out, yelling split the air. The peal of a semiautomatic ripped around me. I smashed my face into the hard ground.

“No!”

My eyes sprang up at the sound of his voice.

Alejandro trained a sleek, shiny weapon at me.
Was it engraved?

“You’re mine! Mine!” he hissed.

Crack. Crack.

He snapped back as if by an invisible force, disappearing from view.

I crawled to the side and reached for the gun again, my hands sweaty, my fingers sticking to the handle. I rolled onto my back and pulled myself up, pain lashing through me like tongues of fire.

I had to be ready for him.
Have to be ready.

I stretched my arms, the gun shaking in my hands.

A roar exploded in the back of my skull. A blur of black battered me, and the gun was ripped from my grasp.

“Fuck!”

A Blade pounded my jaw, my chest, the blows hammering through me.

“Son of a bitch!” I rammed my feet into his middle, and again to his crotch. He howled.

Thick pops went off in the air, and his body flinched and seemed to stop in midair, blood spurting over me. I spotted the glint on his belt and snatched his gun as his lifeless hulk heaved on top of me. With a grunt, I shoved him off me, raising myself up again.

And there he was.

Alejandro’s huge dark eyes glared at me like flags in the distance. His mouth opened wide in an ugly yell as he pointed his weapon at me.

I aimed through the haze, my shoulders shuddering. Alejandro collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His jaw loose, his hand wavering over the dried grass, like a useless last-minute flag of surrender, and then it flopped down. I blinked, crawling backwards.

The shot to his head had come from behind him.

What the fuck was going on?

Black dots appeared over the horizon, dots moving, a swarm of dots. The ground rose up, and my eyes hit dirt, my skull thudding on the hard surface.

I trembled, my fingers digging in the earth. Using the surge of adrenaline flying through me, I pushed myself over and fell on my back. A breeze tripped over my face, and I opened my mouth to take in a gulp. I blinked, my eyes straining in the sunlight. Bulky clouds briskly slid across the streaky blue sky.

How do those fuckers move so fast? So silently?

“Bro!”

Butler
.

Hands lifted me up. “Fuck, he’s bleeding.”

“We gotta go, man. Feds are on the way.”

Catch’s and Dready’s voices buzzed somewhere over me. Shuffling, thudding, stamping pounded all around me.

“Get him up. He can’t move. Let’s go!”

“You’re safe, Bone. Don’t worry. I’m here with you. Right here.”

A soft hand brushed over my forehead, easing the cold that had seeped through my flesh and the shuddering in my veins.

A light kiss on my lips.

Jill
.

“Thanks for coming, Doc,” a hoarse male voice said in the distance.

More voices, footsteps.

“The doctor said you’re going to be fine, Bone. Thank God.” Another kiss on my hand.

Her eyes hovered over me, her wavy hair tickling my face.

My fingers uncurled in her hand. “Jill.” Needles pricked my throat.

“Right here. We’re at the Flames’ clubhouse. Their doctor just cleaned you up. It’s all good.”

“Jill, what—”

“I’ll go get Butler for you. I’ll be right back.”

I pulled on her, my one hand bringing her within inches of my face. “What the hell did you do?”

She blinked. “I chose love. Love, not fear.”

I locked on those gray-blue eyes of hers, my lungs pinching in my chest.
Iron in her bones.

She let go of my hand, and my back sank onto the table I was lying on.

Moments later, Butler dug a hand in my hair. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Tell me—”

He leaned over me. “Seems the Feds have been on the Blades’ asses for a while. Finger tipped off his contact inside, and the Feds trailed Alejandro from Denver into Nebraska, straight to the Blades’ weapons stash, that old bunker you’d mentioned. Turns out, they’ve been after that location for a while now like everybody else. Not to mention, a crack at the Calderas Group. Huge win for them. Huge win for us. Feds were grateful, and we got you free and clear out of the deal.”

“You went to Finger?”

“Not me. Jill. She’s the one who figured out you had gone to Denver. She ran down here, talked to Finger herself. Didn’t waste any time doing it.”

“Jesus.” I swallowed. “And Calderone?”

“Fucker’s dead.” Butler slanted his head. “What the hell were you thinking, bro?”

My chest squeezed painfully—and not from being beaten and bruised and shot at. I fisted a hand in Butler’s shirt. “He was coming for me, was gonna get to Jill. Eventually him and Notch would have come for the club. I had to keep Jill and the baby safe. Had to—”

“All right.” Butler heaved a sigh, his blue eyes clouding, his hand sliding over my forehead. “I know, man. I know.”

WE WERE HOME
.

Becca and I were staying with Boner at his house for a few days.

Boner’s bruises and cuts were healing, and he was getting his energy back, but he remained sullen and quiet. Earlier this morning when he’d seen his bike standing in his driveway again, he actually smiled, but then he went back to his melancholy.

I brought our tea in the living room. Becca was still sleeping, and I was glad. I had something special to give to him.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood back from the fireplace, studying the orange flames licking high in the hearth.

“You got to promise me something, Jill. Don’t you ever take off like that again without telling anyone where you’re going, especially when it’s to another club.”

“I made an executive decision.”

He turned to me. “Jesus. Between Grace, Lock, and you, by the time this kid is born, he or she is gonna be hell on wheels.”

“Most likely.”

I handed him a faded blue antique tin box, which was decorated with a hand-painted eagle holding an American flag in its claws.

“What’s this?”

“A gift for you. I have another one, too, but this first.”

He held up the small antique cigar box, inspecting the eagle. “You collecting antiques now, like Tania?”

“No. Grace gave that to me. It was Wreck’s.”

Wreck was Lock’s older brother, who had died years ago. He had brought Boner and Dig into the club and had been their mentor.

“Tania found it while going through his stuff,” I added. “It was perfect for what I had in mind, and Lock wanted you to have it, too.”

He laid his hand on top of the box, a quiet, solemn gesture. “Wreck and his eagles.”

“Open it.”

He pushed open the top of the old box, and the tin creaked. A stack of creased papers was folded inside. “What’s all this?” He picked through them.

His face lifted, and his eyes met mine. Eyes that questioned, eyes that brimmed with tension.

“Jillee—”

“Those poems are a part of you. A part of you I think you kept trying to trash or hide from view, but you couldn’t. They’re beautiful and awful, and they’re yours. They should be shown some honor and allowed to rest in a special place in your house. You need to come to peace with them. With her.”

“It helped, writing them.”

“Yes, it does help. I keep journals. Have for a long time.”

He licked his bottom lip, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. “This fire would come up, and I’d get it out. Then, I’d stuff them wherever.” His shoulders jerked up and fell. “Bad memories, unanswered questions.”

“You kept them as pieces, shedding as you went.”

He nodded, his lips a firm line. “Pieces.”

“Are you still asking her why?”

“No. Not anymore.” His clear eyes met mine. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry I read them. I feel like I intruded on your privacy. The last thing I want to do is to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m glad you read them.”

I pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I’m proud of the bones you smashed. I don’t care if that’s bad or wrong or foul. I don’t think it is. You took your revenge. You exacted your price of justice. You made your mark and torched it into the earth. In all that darkness, you did good things—for you, for Inès, for Dig, Grace, for me. For your club.”

“It’s not all good.” His voice shook.

Tears spilled down my face. “I know, baby. It never is.”

We held each other, our choppy breaths mingling, as we wiped at each other’s tear-stained faces with our lips.

He released me, took the poems from the box, and tossed them into the fire. “I don’t want them. Don’t need to hold on to them,” he said, staring at the blackened papers curling in the flames. He placed the tin box on the mantel and led me to the sofa.

I touched his leg. “I have something else for you.”

“Don’t get up—”

“Wait.” I went to the front door where I’d left my handbag. I pulled out the suede pouch and gave it to him.

His jaw tensed as he loosened the tie of the small black bag. The rosary fell into his hands.

“I had it fixed,” I said.

“Fixed?”

“It was broken. I know the cross can never be replaced. Frankly, I didn’t think it should be. Its cross was unique, and it’s with your mom. It’s hers.”

He held up the rosary, and the new pendant I’d found for it swung at the end. His hand went around it, holding it up.

“It’s a new cross,” I whispered. “For you.”