Page 50 of Iron Will
“We’re clear,” he shouts.
“We need some help here!” I call back. “Chaco’s down!”
Fifteen minutes later,the Dos Santos cartel has hauled off the traitor I punched out — no doubt taking him somewhere to extract as much intel out of him as possible before shooting the motherfucker. A doc has arrived — a large, rotund man who takes one look at Chaco and shoos us all out of the back room except for a few of Chaco’s men. By now my ass is burning from the gunshot wound, but I’ve figured out it’s just a surface wound and fairly clean, so it ain’t as bad as it could have been. Axel sends Mal in to the doc to grab some bandages and a shot of something to numb the pain.
“You good to ride, brother?” Axel asks me as Mal comes back.
“Yeah,” I grit out. “I’ll be okay. Just need to patch this shit up.”
“Well, I ain’t doin’ it,” Mal jokes. “I ain’t gettin’ any closer to your hairy ass than I have to.”
“You dream of that shit,” I fire back. “Just give me the goddamn stuff and let me do it myself. It’ll be good enough until I can have Reno take a look at it when I get back.” Reno’s our resident medical guy. He was a medic in Afghanistan, and the fucker knows his shit.
I’m getting ready to hobble off to the bathroom to tape myself up when something occurs to me.
“Hey, where’s the old guy?” I frown, nodding toward the front register where the owner was sitting earlier.
Dante’s lip curls. “The guards Chaco had posted outside the restaurant caught him runnin’ away before the attack.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head. “He was in on it, too. Goddamnit.”
“Yeah,” Axel agrees, disgusted. “Safe to say, that’s the last time he’ll betray the Dos Santos cartel. Or anyone else.”
20
Laney
Rourke is gone when I wake up the next morning.
At first, I think maybe he’s just gotten up before me. But as I lie in bed, the silence in the house tells me he’s not here. And when I finally raise myself up to a sitting position, I see his clothes are gone as well. The imprint of his head on the pillow next to me is the only indicator that last night wasn’t a dream.
Well, that, and the pleasant soreness between my legs.
He didn’t leave a note or anything. Nothing to say when he left, or why. As I haul myself up out of bed and start my morning routine, I try to tell myself that’s a good thing. I mean, what was I expecting him to say?Laney, you’re the love of my life, I’ll count the seconds until I can come back and sweep you away to our new life together?
I mean, that’s just silly.
Would I even want him to say that?
WhatdoI want, anyway?
It’s safe to say my feelings about last night are confused. On the one hand, I have to be honest — sex with Rourke Powers was the best I’ve ever had. Even the frenetic first time, pushed up against the wall of my living room, ranks among the all-time best orgasms I’ve ever had. And then, the second time…
My face flames at the memory. Oh my God. I had no idea it could feel like that. Hard, and soft, and frantic, and slow. I always laughed at that ridiculous expression,The earth moved. But honestly?
After last night, I sort of get it.
I wonder over my morning cup of coffee whether I’m even going to see Rourke again. The thought that I might not sends a pang of alarm through my chest. But realistically, there’s no reason I would. Is there? I mean, we aren’t dating. We aren’t even exactly friends. More like two opponents who united around a common enemy. Last night was just a victory celebration. A victory celebration with mind-blowing sex, yes. But I’m pretty sure that’s all it was.
And that’s probably all it should be. I’m hardly Rourke’s type. Granted, I don’t know what his type is, exactly, but I’m guessing it’s more like Cyndi. Leggy. Busty. Looking like she’d be perfect as a model at a Harley show.
I’m just Laney the social worker. As he makes sure not to let me forget.
On the ride to work, I’m still trying to talk myself into thinking it’s okay if last night was the end of Rourke and me. But the fact that I have literally been thinking about him for every single second since I woke up tells me it’s going to be tough to shove him out of my head.
It’s been a long time since I pined after a boy — since my freshman year of college to be exact, when my secret crush Jim Iocca got drunk at an off-campus party and kissed me, then proceeded to ignore me for the entire rest of the year. I was a ridiculous mess about it, following him around and just “happening” to show up at places I knew he would be.
I refuse to be such a weirdo about this thing with Rourke.You’re a strong, mature woman, I chide myself.Besides, we’re from two different worlds. You’re not his type, and he’s not yours.