Page 43 of Iron Hearts

We hadn’t been bothered by the cops or any prosecutors over the Bloody Scorpion thing all week. Neither had Jacksonville nor Ocala. Renegade and The Bishop had a pretty high confidence that it’d be dropped and we wouldn’t hear anything more about it, which told me without telling me, they hadsomebodyin their pocket.

Either that or Ormond Beach was just being smart and taking the gift that they’d been given on a silver fuckin’ platter in putting some Scorpions away.

Like I said,North Floridawasours… and we weren’t done yet. We were moving south as steadily as vetting new members and new chapters coming online would allow, but building an empire like ours was painfully slow going. Move too fast, and don’t vet newcomers right, that’s how you get rats on board your ship. Rats who would chew through the decking and the rigging. Rats who’d put holes in your hull and sink said ship.

Ain’t none of us keen on a trip to Davey Jones’s locker, so it was a slow and steady to win the race type of a deal.

Don’t ask me why my thoughts were meandering in that direction. Probably to keep me cool and steady. My nerves were firing on all cylinders the more I watched the clock and the slower that damn minute hand made its move around the face.

I was more nervous about seeing Rarity again than I was about getting into a firefight – and I didn’t know what that meant.

You’re fucked. That’s what it means,I told myself.

“Yo, Striker!” I heard called up the stairs.

“Yeah!” I called back down them.

“Got Jailbait down here lookin’ for you!” Sounded like Adrian Hernandez – good worker, talented mechanic, and a stellar artist when it came to custom skins for a bike, but damned if he couldn’t mind his own fuckin’ business when it came to some things.

He wanted to move up in the world of the Royal Bastards. Had been in a hang-around tee for the better part of a year, but Renegade just wasn’t ready to make him a prospect. Neither was Shadow, and neither was I. He just didn’t have the street smarts to curb aspects of his outgoing personality and again, loose lips sank ships.

He had a long way to fuckin’ go, but I was pretty sure if he could mature some, he’d make it.

“Send her on up!” I called down and spun in my chair to watch her crest the top of the steps. She was blushing a bright pink.

“I’m twenty-four,” she said, and I grinned and laughed.

“Don’t mind him. He can be a dumb fuck,” I told her.

She looked good. She had on makeup today, and you couldn’t even tell where she’d been clocked. A lot of us had healing bruises and cuts, purple fading on down to sickly yellows, greens, and that tan that was just off-putting to look at.

She looked good in her denim short shorts, her tanned legs almost looking long, and a pair of cute light pink Vans on her feet. She wore a fitted white tee, which was a daring choice for a woman with three brothers who were still toddler-age. I imagined that’s why she wore it – no danger of sticky fingers.

It had a V-neck, short cap sleeves, and some light pink flowers along her ribs on one side.

“You look good,” I complimented.

“Thanks,” she said, taking off her little backpack handbag and dropping into the seat by my desk.

My phone rang just then, and she smiled and gestured for me to answer. I picked up the handset.

“Striker? This is Nightmare. Got a minute?” an unfamiliar voice asked on the other end. I racked my brain for half a second, and it clicked almost right away. Nightmare was a Royal Bastard, but out of Atlanta.

“Nightmare, huh? I’ve heard good things about you from Mav. He said you’d be calling. How can I help?” It’d been a minute since his president, Maverick, had called me up and told me about the dude. Said he was having some issues carrying the mental and emotional load from over in the sandbox.

As fucked up as it was, I didn’thaveany trouble with any of the shit that went on over there. I didn’t know why and actually felt likeIwas somehow the one to come back fucked up fornothaving any real troubles. Still, I faked it well enough to help where I could when it came up like this.

“Mav said you might… you know, get where I’m coming from.”

“I’ve been around long enough to see some shit and to know some shit. What’s eating you?” I asked, ready to listen.

I heard the guy take a deep breath on the other end of the line, and I leaned back in my seat, giving Rarity a wink and holding up a finger to let her know this might be a minute.

“Back when I was with the Army Rangers… there was a mission. Intel was wrong, and I ended up taking out a civilian. A kid. Wrong place, wrong time type of deal. It’s been years, but that shit still gets me, man. Some days, I can’t even look in the fucking mirror.” He sounded… rough, his voice heavy with emotion and cracking.

“I hear you, brother. I’ve got my fair share of ghosts, too. Different details, same load of guilt. You feel like it stains everything you do after, don’t you?” That part was true, but I’d come to grips with it quick, leaving most of it behind in-country. Maybe I was better at compartmentalizing. Who knew?

“Exactly. Even now, being in the Bastards, it feels like I’m just pretending to be something better. Like I’ll never make up for it.”

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