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  After what feels like hours, I catch my breath and try to do something more sane than huddle down like I’m waiting for a tornado to finish me off. I climb out of the tub and strip down. Then, I turn the tap on and let it get warm before plugging the basin. It fills slowly, and the white noise of the water running is soothing. At least the sound keeps me from hearing the kids playing outside. From hearing Logan’s gunshot in my mind over and over again.

  I settle down into the warm water and turn the tap off. It continues to drip occasionally, not quite sealing shut all the way. I scoot down and submerge my entire body in the water, leaving my nose and eyes above the water line. I breathe slowly, focusing on a distant point past the bathroom wall. I try to imagine it as a place where I could escape, maybe with Logan, and we could try again. Maybe the timing wouldn’t be so fucked up. He wouldn’t be in a motorcycle club. Does that really matter? Isn’t that why I was attracted to him in the first place...?

  Do I even know him? I choke the thoughts down and just breathe. The water ripples gently away from my nose with each breath I take. Soon the dripping of the faucet stops, and I feel exhausted again. I rest my head against the basin and manage to get comfortable enough, and I fall asleep.

  . . .

  The front door’s knob is jiggled and shaken. The deadbolt clicks open and the door swings ajar. Footsteps stomp through the house, and I try to count them from my hiding place. Only one set of steps. Only one man.

  I groan and look for something to use as a weapon. The revolver resting on the basin's edge is useless to me. The stranger paces through the apartment, hurrying back and forth between the kitchen and living room. It can’t be Logan. It’s too aggressive. Finally, the light turns on in the bathroom and I brace myself for the inevitable. A hand creeps along the wall and grasps the curtain, and I try to make out the figure on the other side of the opaque plastic. His shadow is large and looming, definitely bigger than Logan’s. With a scrape of the shower liner rings, the hand pulls open the curtain and the man stares down at me. Rattlesnake stares down at me with eyes filled with darkened fury. Naked and defenseless, I throw myself at him. But just as I collapse, a hand shakes my shoulder and I wake up from my dazed half-dream. I look up to find Logan sitting on the side of the tub, a pained look on his face.

  I want to cry. He looks relieved to see me, and grabs my extended hand to help me up to my feet. I pick up the revolver off the side of the tub and shove it into his hands. His hands curl around it instinctively, and he looks a bit shocked. “What are you doing in here?” he finally asks as I drip water all over the bathroom floor.

  “Hiding,” I admit without hesitation. “What else was I supposed to do? You left me here alone.” I grab a towel hanging on the rack and dry myself off, still numb from the dream to even care if he sees me naked. Not like he hasn’t before.

  “Not by choice.”

  I want to be angry at him, but I can’t. I’m too relieved that he’s here again. I get dressed in my jeans and the shirt I was wearing. Still looking haggard. I have a million questions, but I also have a dying appetite that just clawed to the surface as he came back home.

  “I’m hungry.” I grumble. My stomach roars. My anxiety probably kept my appetite strangled until now. He looks to the kitchen and then back to me. “Where were you?” I ask.

  “I had to see a friend about this whole thing.” He goes into the kitchen and cracks open the fridge, pulling out some deli meat and bread.

  “Thing? You mean this fucking mess? Who was that fucking asshole last night? Rattlesnake?” I repeat the name he used. I follow him into the kitchen, my hunger only making me more irritable. I walk right up to him and press myself between the counter and his chest.

  He doesn’t move an inch. He exhales and I feel his breath wrap around my throat and slip down into my shirt. My chest is still moist from the bath, and my shirt is sticking to my skin a little. It makes his breath only feel that much cooler on my skin, that much more intoxicating. His eyes are determined and after a few moments of tension, he scoots me aside and starts preparing the sandwiches.

  “Rattlesnake. A member of another motorcycle club. They think we’re edging in on their turf. I know it’s a clusterfuck, I’m trying to keep everything calm,” he explains. “I went and saw the old president of my club.”

  “That’s not you? You always seem to be in control of everything.” I hover over his shoulder, my mouth watering at the sandwiches. He spreads mayonnaise on a slice of bread and puts some meat on it before closing the sandwich. He turns and hands it to me.

  “No. You hit the president of the club, remember? I was just temporary. Besides, he didn’t say anything helpful, just bullshit.”

  I take a bite of the sandwich and remain standing. He’s still staring at me, his eyes curious and suggestive. The cold floor makes my toes ache, but I don’t want to move from this spot, away from him. Still keeping my eyes trained on his, I swallow a bite of my sandwich and finally ask. “Who are you, anyway?”

  He pushes past me with a gentle nudge of my shoulder and sits on the couch that I slept on last night. I follow him over to the coffee table and stand across from him. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I want to know. I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

  “You can trust me.”

  I finish my sandwich, my hunger subsiding a little. I fold my arms across my chest and cock my head. “You’re a murdering motorcyclist. How can I trust someone like that?”

  He looks back at me. “I saved your life, Cassie. Isn’t that enough?”

  “You didn’t even let me try and protect myself.” He doesn’t see where I’m going with this. I pick up the revolver from the kitchen counter and shove the handle into his chest for what feels like the millionth time since I found it in the duffel bag. He stares at me.

  “You need to teach me how to use this thing. I’m no fucking good to you if I can’t even shoot a gun.”

  “You can’t shoot a gun?”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. He nods. “Right... Well, I can’t teach you right now, I have to leave again. I didn’t get a chance to tell the boys what was going on.”

  “Don’t you have a fucking phone?” I scream, and stomp my feet. “Can’t you just call them? You can’t leave me here again!” I feel flustered and ridiculous, but what else can I do? He feels like he’s always going warm and then turning cold. Like the day he left the duffel bag with me, he just fucking left. “You can’t keep doing this shit, leaving me in the dark. You got me tied up in this.”

  “I can’t. I have to face them.” He stands up and moves toward the door going cold again. I grab his wrist and pull him toward me, and without a word he embraces me. I dig my forehead against his chest, drinking in his scent and feeling his strong arms wrap around my shoulders. He squeezes me tightly and whispers my name, barely loud enough for me to hear. I shudder and grasp at his shirt, pulling him even tighter against me.

  “Just tell me what’s happening,” I say softly. I pull away from him and drag my fingers across his shirt. He feels almost hot to the touch, but maybe I’m just shivering. His eyes meet mine and I feel them grow deep and sorrowful.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you. The crew doesn’t know about you, and neither does the president. I’ve been lying to them this whole time.”

  I’m silent and break eye contact. He continues, “Now another shitty club, the Skeletons, are on to my little white lie and are trying to threaten me by using you. I can’t let them do that.”

  I flush, both out of anger and embarrassment. Am I that weak? I’ve been acting it, haven’t I? “I’m just a burden that you have to take care of, then.”

  He shakes his head and tilts my chin up with a gentle finger. “No. You’re not a burden. You’re something much different... a jewel worth protecting.” As the words leave his lips, I hear them ring true. I’ve had men lie to me before, telling me that I’m their queen or I’m the most be
autiful person in the world. But I could always tell with them. With Logan, his honesty reverberates in my very soul. My heart races and I sink against his chest, holding him.

  “But you’re hiding me. From your crew. Your friends.”

  “It isn’t like that... I’m not ashamed. It’s complicated, you realize that don’t you? That’s why I can’t just call them. I have to face them myself.”

  I bury my face again and hide my shame. He’s right. I don’t understand completely. It’s all foreign to me. With my mouth muffled against his shirt, I answer. “Take me with you then.”

  “What?”

  “If you’re going to go admit all your lies, just take me with you.” I look up and meet his eyes. The movement breaks my tears free and they slide down my cheeks and drip onto his shirt. “I can’t be safe if I’m here alone.”

  “What if they're angry? You...”

  “I know what I did. You think I meant to hit that biker that day? I was trying to see if it was you. The man with the smoldering eyes,” I admit. “What else can you do? They’re your crew, don’t you trust them?” I feel like I should have trusted Sara. She was my friend and my roommate, after all. “I put my roommate in more danger because I never told her what was going on. I’m sure she would’ve liked to not watch you barge in and kill a man.”

  He’s silent. He hugs me again and then releases me. I lose my balance and stumble back onto the couch. He goes to the front door and grabs the handle. “You’re right.”

  I breath a sigh of relief and look at the revolver again. He grabs my attention by clearing his throat. “Come on.”

  “Really?” My eyes light up, but I feel a nervous tension knot in my chest. “But...”

  “You’re right about them being trustworthy. We can do this together, but not if you stay here. I know these guys, and I won’t let them touch you. If one of them dares to do anything, they’ll answer to me.” He shoots me an arrogant smile. I can’t deny him. He’s never let anyone hurt me yet, despite probably causing most of the dangerous situations I've been in. He waves for me to join him. “Come on,” he repeats waving his hand for me to follow. “We have to fix this.”

  Outside the apartment, the kids are still playing around. They pause when they see us coming, following us with their wide eyes. Are they admiring Logan or studying him? Logan doesn't seem to pay them any mind. I must just be paranoid. Logan climbs on his motorcycle and starts it. I grab his shoulder to balance myself as I throw a leg over it, feeling the warmth of the leather seat seep through my unwashed old jeans. The vibration of the engine is surprising, even though I rode the bike the other day. Thinking back to this morning, I hardly remember it. It was all a blur.

  He twists his right hand and we pull off the curb. I clench my wrists together and lock myself around his waist, following his every movement as we turn out of the neighborhood and onto the main road.

  My mouth feels dry. Will they recognize me from the bar? From the accident? No... if they had recognized me from the accident, I would have been in deep shit at the bar. I’m sure of that much.

  The wind cuts around Logan and touches my face. I scoot closer and hug his back, resting my face against the stitched-on patches that fill the back of his vest. The stitching scratches at my face, like day old stubble. But the wind is cold and Logan is warm. I can do this. I can face his club. Especially if I’m with him.

  CHAPTER 3 — LOGAN

  “What are you doing here, Bomb?” Driver asks as I walk into the bar. All the men turn to face me, including Surge who’s taken his place at the front of the group again, like nothing has happened. Like he hadn't been hit, or I hadn’t killed a man. Does the rest of the crew even know? In either case, I'm demoted again. What else should I have expected? I’m kind of pissed that it even makes me feel any kind of regret. I never wanted to be president in the first place.

  I pull on Cassie’s wrist and drag her inside, but she’s reluctant like a scared cat. She’s stiff, but she does follow behind me. The door shuts closed behind us.

  All the men gawk as she steps inside the bar. Petrol drops a cigarette from his lips onto the velvet, only to have Sword snuff it out with his thumb. The men are all silent. It’s clear I have to be the first to break the tension.

  Cassie and I walk up to the front of the bar and I grab two stools for us to sit on. Before we do, I clear my throat and announce myself. “This is Cassie,” I admit. I glance at her, and she gives me a nervous look, like she doesn’t want me to go on. We both decided this was the way to go, didn’t we?

  “She’s the one who hit Surge two weeks ago.”

  The silence vanishes and is replaced with murmuring as the men compete to be the first to say that they knew it or they told each other. The roar is quieted by Surge who slams his fist on the pool table. The force rattles beer bottles and plates against each other. “All right! Everyone shut up! Let the man talk already, Jesus.”

  I’m surprised, I still can’t tell if he’s angry or not. I didn’t leave him in the best of spirits after all. He’s always been a hard man to read, even though I’ve known him for so long.

  Cassie is cowering behind me, her fingers digging into my arm. I half-expected Surge to announce her execution and have her killed, but he seems pretty level-headed right now. It wouldn’t have mattered, I would have died before he got within an inch of her if killing her was what he wanted to do. “I got her involved in all this shit, and I’m only bringing her here because she needs our help.”

  “Our help?” Sword says. He reclines in his chair. “This ain’t a sorority.” He slams his beer on the table and Petrol agrees with a hearty nod. I wonder if Sword recognizes her, but I don’t push the issue. Probably better if he doesn’t for right now.

  Cassie tugs at my arm a little and whispers in my ear. “I want to go, Logan. They don’t want to help us.”

  I turn my head to listen but don’t answer. Just wait, I want to say. She’ll see. They might be kids, but they’re good ones... at least, decent enough. A grizzled crew would be impossible to sway, but the young blood in this one might be different. “I’m only here to tell you that I’ve been lying about it,” I eye Surge. “And sometimes a man needs to admit he’s wrong.”

  A relatively positive murmur shivers through the group of men.

  “I still don’t know what you want us to do about it,” Six-Shooter says. His eyes move past me and obviously catch Cassie’s, because he grins. “Unless she needs a special kind of help.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” I say. “Haven’t you heard about the Skeletons? Didn’t Surge tell you?”

  All the men turn from me and look at Surge. An obvious No is spreading across their faces, followed by curiosity. I shake my head.

  “I thought you’d be back to tell them yourself, Bomb. You’re the president around here, ain’t cha?” Surge says. He crosses his arms and leans back against the bar, looking smug and satisfied. So this is what he had in mind. Tank follows his lead and rests against the pillar next to him. Even you, Tank? I thought you had my back at least.

  “Jesus, Surge, I thought you’d be president again when you came back.” It’s like he’s trying to fuck with me. Get me to spill everything, like some kind of hazing ritual. Surge doesn’t answer but simply shakes his head and holds up his right hand, palm facing outward. An old scar runs across it diagonally.

  I bite my tongue and lower my head. I open my right fist and gaze at my own scar. Blood-brothers. The men sitting around the table all take glances at their scars, none being very inconspicuous about it. I’d even say they have a little humility.

  Nothing else to do but go on. “I got Cassie’s information and made sure she didn’t tell the cops nothin’ we didn’t want them knowing. Standard procedure from where I come from.” I look at Surge. “The Skeletons must’ve found out about it because they had Rattlesnake go to her home and try something on her, and I intervened and... killed him.”

  Silence. I scan the crowd for reactions. When I pass ove
r Driver, he’s staring at Cassie like he’s studying her. He looks at me. “That’s the chick we saw at the bar, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I bite out. “It is.”

  Surge is next. “I knew you were involved with some woman, Bomb. The minute you didn’t tell me you had the information from the driver, I knew you’d gotten yourself twisted up in something.” He pauses and unfolds his arms. “Regardless, I want to say this is your personal problem. Not the crew’s. But...”

  I wait for him to finish but he doesn’t. Cassie’s slipped even further behind my back. “Surge, if she hadn’t hit you, which I’m sure we would’ve all liked a lot more, you wouldn’t have found out about that tumor. Maybe until it was too late.”

  Surge’s stoic expression cracks into a smile. “You’re right,” he admits, dropping his hands to his sides. “I’m afraid this is personal for our entire crew. With Rifle turning his back on us and The Skeletons very interested in dealing a crippling blow to our morale, this would be just the ticket, wouldn’t it? Flushing your lies out to expose you and get us to turn against you. We can’t fall into their hands like that.”

  The boys agree with some slight hesitation, but Driver is the first to be audibly upset. “I can’t believe you lied to us,” he says. He hesitates and cuts ‘us’ harshly, as if he meant to say something else.

  Surge speaks up, “Logan, the woman can stay here... for a little while, while you try and figure out what you’re going to do.”

  I stare at him, surprised. The other men seem shocked, too. Surge calls out each of the men's names, “These are the men, Cassie: Six-Shooter, Driver, Petrol and Sword, and Tank and well, you know Bomb... Now for you, Bomb, I need to talk to you,” Surge says, pointing at me. “Alone.” I release Cassie’s hand and let her settle among the other bikers, her nervousness spread across her face like a giant tattoo.