Page 47 of Iron Hearts

His other hand was likewise decorated in rings, and it wasn’t lost on me that they more than likely served as something very akin to brass knuckles in a fight.

“I’m the chapter’s road captain. Do you know what that means?” he asked.

“Vaguely,” I answered truthfully. “You pick some things up working in a biker bar for the last three years.”

He laughed, nodded, and said, “Yeah, I suppose you do.”

“You’re in charge of mapping out and leading the runs, right? You’re the man with the plan.”

He nodded and eyed me like I’d said something both interesting and that’d pleased him. As stupid as it may be, I glowed from the pleased look.

“That’s about the right of it,” he answered. “The devil’s in the details when you’re the man with the plan. You gotta be the one up front, the head of the pack. It’s a position of alotof responsibility. Not only do I need to know where the fuck I’m going – I need to have alternate routes planned and am responsible for the safety of thewholeride. Situational awareness is a must. If shit’s going sideways up ahead, I’m responsible for alerting every rider down the line.”

I nodded. “Okay,” I murmured. I hadn’t realized there wasthatmuch to it.

“I guess the whole hypervigilance and situational awareness thing was drilled into me in the Army. It was practically our religion on the Stryker brigade, and once that switch got flipped?” He shrugged. “It never went off again. I notice things that most people wouldn’t. I noticed at the bar that you didn’t have your nails done, but in all the pictures in your bedroom, they werealwaysdone, and in quite a few of them, yours matched your mom’s.”

He'd noticed that?

“You’ve been through a mess of shit. I figured it would be a nice treat.”

“It is,” I breathed. “Thank you.”

He winked at me and got up.

“Relax, enjoy yourself, think about what you might like to eat. We’ll grab a bite after a while when you get hungry. On me – no arguments.”

“You’re going to spoil me,” I tried to protest.

All he said as he walked back to the sitting area was, “Yeah, and? You deserve it.”

CHAPTERNINETEEN

Striker…

She looked softly contemplative for the rest of her service at the nail salon. She was oddly quiet as I paid and left a hefty tip for a job well done. That thoughtful silence didn’t change when we stepped back out front of the salon.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her gently, skimming fingertips along the underside of her arm from elbow to her fingers, holding her hand loosely in my own.

“I guess I just don’t understandwhyI deserve it. I didn’t do anything…”

I snorted and asked, “You’re joking, right?”

She shook her head, genuinely mystified.

“Youareararity,little miss Rarity,” I said with a smile. “How you gonna stand there and tell me you don’t deserve a little spoiling yourself when you do so much for everyone else?”

She stared up at me and didn’t say a word. We stood like that for a long moment, each of us just soaking in the silence and each other’s presence until I let her out of whatever predicament she maybe thought I had her in by saying, “Have a taste for anything in particular for lunch?”

“You’re a confusing man, Striker. Wonderful, but confusing,” she said finally, and I had to laugh at that.

“Thanks, I think,” I said.

“Oh, that absolutely was meant to be a compliment,” she responded, and she grinned.

“Well, alright then,” I said, putting on my sunglasses. “I like the sound of that.”

I got on the bike, walked it back out of the parking space, and waved her in to climb aboard. We took the ride back through the sun-soaked streets, and I took us up over the Lion’s Bridge that spanned the Intracoastal waterway that divided St. Augustine. It was the stateliest bridge around, proud and precious, and gave some of the best damn views and photo ops that wasn’t the lighthouse or theCastillo de San Marcos. The Castillo was the old Spanish fort built from coquina.

---