Iron & Bone (Lock & Key #3) (6 page)

“I suppose not.” She busied herself with the television remote control. The news flashed by, a soap-opera, a talk show.

I put my phone down on the coffee table. “I’m going to change Snow White’s diaper and put her down for a nap. Would you like me to make you another cup of tea first?”

“No honey, you go ahead and take care of our princess. I’ll survive.”

I headed into my bedroom with Becca. I needed to call Tania and let her know her brother wouldn’t be coming. She’d be disappointed too, but was better at hiding it than her mom. And I’d have to find a way to explain it to our daughter, too. Catch really knew how to make the women in his life happy.

“
BONER, TAKE A PICTURE OF US,
would you?” Grace handed me her cell phone and rushed back to stand with Tania at the front door of the office of Eagle Wings. Tania had come over to say goodbye before she took off for Wisconsin.

I dropped my phone on Grace’s desk.

“Have you not heard of the selfie concept?” Tania asked her, brushing her black hair from her face.

“I want the real deal photo right now,” Grace shot back. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m only going back there to pack up my stuff and hire a lawyer. I’ll be back before you know it—a month or two, tops.”

Tania and Grace threw their arms around each other and laughed. You would’ve thought they were teenagers again.

I aimed Grace’s phone and got the two of them in focus.

Whir-click. Whir-click. Whir-click.

“Wait!” Grace held up her hand. “Jill, get in here with us.”

Jill glanced up at me and joined Grace and Tania, going between them. The three of them smiled huge, and I tapped on the screen.

Whir-click. Whir-click.

“Got it,” I said, putting Grace’s phone on her desk and grabbing mine.

The three of them yakked and hugged some more. Tania opened the front door of the office, and light streamed in, diffusing its gold through Jill’s tumble of wavy strawberry-blonde hair.

I stood stock-still, taking her in: a curvy body in slim-fitting jeans, tired-looking black leather cowboy boots, a turquoise-blue T-shirt with a crisp white jean jacket over it. What little makeup she wore made those incredible eyes pop and didn’t cover up those freckles.

Tania made some dirty wisecrack, and Jill threw her head back and laughed. That rich silky laugh of hers filled my ears, rippling through me. Her sweet face was relaxed, and her eyes, more blue than gray, gleamed in the light.

Whir-click.

I grabbed a bottle of Miner beer from my fridge and drank, savoring the cold brew washing down my dry throat. I tossed my keys, my phone, and my gun on the kitchen counter, and then I drained the bottle. It had been a long day at work, and I was relieved it was finally over.

The
bip bop
from my phone went off. I opened my texts and saw Butler’s code for me to call him back.

Butler had gone nomad last year after he’d been stripped of the presidency of our North Dakota chapter for colluding with a rival club and being totally off his ass on cocaine and whatever else he could find. Out on his own, he’d gotten clean with the help of twelve-step programs and the force of sheer will.

Over the past year, Butler had been doing freelance bounty-hunting for several clubs that were Jack-friendly all over the country. Our national president had given him permission to do so, loaning him out. But Jump, our chapter president and not a fan of Butler, had no idea. Grace had seen him with the Flames of Hell in Nebraska last year, and he’d asked her to keep it quiet, especially from Jump. She’d shared it with me though, and I’d been in closer touch with him ever since.

Butler’s ultimate prey was Creeper, a former Jack who had worked with the same rival club as Butler last year but had gone over to their dark side after the dust had settled. He’d shot Butler and my prospect, Dawes, disappeared from the radar, and even kidnapped Jill’s daughter a few months ago in retaliation for an alleged wrong done to him by Becca’s dad, Catch, a Flames of Hell member.

I opened the bottom drawer and shoved aside the tray of screwdrivers, a small hammer, rope, and plastic ties, sliding out the burner from underneath.

I hit his number. “Hey.”

“Creeper’s with the Blades. They got him protected, on lockdown.”

I drained my bottle. “Prisoner or guest?”

“Not sure yet. You know how these things go.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed a hand across my mouth. “Keep me in the loop.”

“You be ready.”

“I’m ready,” I said. “By the way, Lock wants in.”

“You sure about that?”

“He needs it. I’d like to give it to him.”

“Let’s give it to him then.”

“Good. Later.”

“Later, man.”

I tossed the burner on the counter. It bounced off my phone, and the screen came to life. My camera was still on. The last photo I had taken appeared in the corner.

I tapped on it to enlarge it, bracing for what I knew full well would appear on the screen.

Jill.

That sensual smile was on her face, hinting at endless silky secrets, and her strawberry-blonde hair was covering one eye while the sunlight created a glow behind her. I enlarged the photo. Her lips were parted, her eyes innocent yet knowing.

Comfort on the edge. Yeah, that summed her up.

My pulse raced, my breath grew short. Fuck, what would she feel like under my hands? That pink mouth opening up to mine?

Unusual streaks of starlight shooting across my black sky—that was what it would be like.

My blood heated.

I closed my eyes as my fingers unbuttoned my jeans. My hand dived in and fisted my hardening cock. I opened my eyes, and they landed on her picture.

I stroked harder, my free hand planted on the counter as I leaned over. My gaze was pinned on her picture, my balls tightening.

My lips on her pale skin.

My tongue twisting with hers.

My hands on her naked flesh, kneading those incredible full tits.

Jill.

Her moans bursting between us, making me throb even harder.

I stroked faster, her smiling face encouraging me, her swollen lips teasing me.

My grip tightening on her soft full hair, the silky strands sliding through my fingers, over my chest, as she moved down my body.

“Jill—” I choked out.

Those grayish-blue eyes were on me, pleading for my touch, pleading for more. For me.

I came, my lungs contracting.

Fuck, she was going to be the end of me.

No, the end of me began a long, long time ago.

I cleaned up and grabbed myself another beer and drank, staring out the window over the sink. The late afternoon sun was burning over the grass, a final blazing hurrah before dusk. An ordinary afternoon, like every other. Ordinary like that horrible morning in Denver had been. It had started out bright and sun-filled like any other morning.

Only, it hadn’t been.

That morning I’d wanted to do something special for my mother. I’d woken up early for school, brushed my teeth, gotten dressed, packed my book bag, and even put matching socks on and tied my laces the right way for a change. I made her tea and toast with lots of butter the way we liked it, set our small table, and I waited for her to wake up. But all the time I sat in my chair, my eyes on her in the big bed, she didn’t move. The blanket and the sheets didn’t move. Her flannel nightgown didn’t move.

I jumped up, knocking over the tea. “Mommy!
Mami
!”

Two days later, at the funeral parlor, I bent over her casket and untangled the rosary from her rigid hands. I had to have it.

I managed to unlace it from her fingers while all the adults spoke loudly, away from the coffin. Only my cousin
,
Inès watched me, her eyes growing wider by the second.

My mother’s fingers were as cold and hard as stone. I flinched, my heart slamming through me. I glanced up at her face even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. It was pulled tight, her mouth drawn. This wasn’t the soft prettiness of my mother.

This was what lifeless meant.

“
Tu
mamá está durmiendo ahora, está mirándote desde el Cielo.”

All the adults spouted some variation of that line at me over and over again.

What baloney.

She wasn’t sleeping or watching me from heaven. She was dead. And it didn’t make me feel any better that she was somewhere else. I wanted her here with me—now. But she wasn’t and never would be again.

This,
this
, was dead—her and me both.

I held back the tears stinging the backs of my eyes, but it was no use. Drops spilled down my face onto her stony fingers.

Two massive hands gripped my shoulders and hauled me back. The rosary snapped in my grip, the cross catching in Mommy’s laced fingers.

“Oh, don’t cry. Boys don’t cry,” said Uncle Johnny. “Enough. Leave her be. Come, take Inès’s hand, and we’ll go home now.”

I was going to live with my mother’s brother, Uncle Juan. Although, now that he was Americanized, he called himself Johnny.

I shoved the rosary in my pocket and took my cousin’s hand while two fingers of her other hand were firmly planted in her mouth. She was nine, a year younger than me, but she still sucked on her fingers whenever she got anxious, which was a lot of the time.