Page 53 of Iron Heart

But even as I tell myself this — even as I say it over and over in my mind, trying to tell myself I don’t care — I know one thing for certain: the tears in those ice-cold baby blues as I walked out the door are gonna be with me for a long time.

I don’t wanna go back to my house. I don’t wanna be alone right now, and the only thing worse than that would be running into Dom and having him ask me why I look like the world just caved in on me.

So I do the only other thing I can think of.

I go to the clubhouse and get wasted as shit.

* * *

By the timeI come to the next day, I’m sprawled shirtless on the bed in my apartment at the clubhouse. My head is pounding like a goddamn jackhammer. On the mattress next to me isn’t one of the club girls, but a bottle of Jack.

Correction. A bottle thatusedto be Jack. Now it’s not full of anything but air.

“Fuck me,” I groan, sitting up. “Well, at least I know what freight train it was that hit me.”

Squinting, I peer around the room to survey the damage. My cut’s lying on a chair. My shirt’s on the floor, looking like a dirty rag. I’m alone, thank fuck. Last thing I want to do is make small talk with some chick I don’t remember banging.

My keys and phone are in a pile next to my shirt. With a grunt, I heave myself up off the bed and go over to scoop them up. My head pounds harder.Fuck, that hurts. I close my eyes against the throb for a few seconds, until it starts to recede. Then I thumb the button on my phone to see what time it is.

Four-thirty.

P.M.

P.M.? What the ever-loving Christ?

I blink and stare harder at the screen, convinced I have to be seeing things. But sure enough, that’s what the goddamn thing says. I’ve slept through to the afternoon. What the hell time did I go to bed, anyhow?

My mouth tastes like a skunk died in it. The rest of me feels like I slept in a gutter. In a haze, I shove off my jeans, go into the bathroom, and take a hot shower, fighting through the hangover until I’m starting to feel human again. I finish by turning off all the hot water and freezing my nuts off with a cold blast.

When I step out, I still feel like shit, but at least the pounding in my head has receded a little.

As I go to grab a fresh T-shirt out of the nightstand, a few memories of the night before come trickling back. Tori’s face. Me yelling and storming out of her place. Mal, Rourke, Gage and me setting up shots at the clubhouse bar. Me yelling at someone else, with a pool cue in my hand. Me breaking the pool cue against the wall.

Me on the ground, punching Bama. A couple of the brothers pulling us apart.

Fuck. I let out a groan that sets my head to pounding again. Now I remember what the hell happened last night. I came here trying to get Tori out of my head. Well, I guess I did that, all right. For better or for fucking worse.

I go out into the main room of the clubhouse, hoping to smell some coffee, and then remembering it ain’t morning anymore. In the center of the room, Ranger and Rourke are playing pool. The clack of the balls is so fucking sharp, it sounds like they’re rattling around inside my goddamn skull.

“Jesus, do you have to play pool so goddamn loud?” I wince. I go over to the bar and slide my tired ass onto a stool.

Over at the other end of the bar, Mal is sitting with Cyndi. He’s got a half-full beer in front of him, and it looks like Cyndi’s drinking a Coke or something. As usual, Cyndi is dressed and made up to the fuckin’ nines.

Cyndi gapes when she sees me. “Oh my God, Dante! What happened to you?” she cries.

Next to her, Mal chuckles. “You shoulda been here last night,” he tells her. “Our boy here got a little out of hand.”

“Yeah, about that,” I mutter. “‘Fraid I don’t remember much of it.”

“You came in her about midnight, loaded for bear.” Mal smirks at me. “Proceeded to get drunk as a lord and started tryin’ to pick a fight with anyone who would listen.”

“Jesus,” I groan. “Is it really almost five in the afternoon?”

“Sure is. You’ve been asleep for over twelve hours, brother.” Mal comes over and claps his hand on my shoulder, making me wince again. “What the hell was up with you, anyway? I tried askin’ you last night, but you almost took a swing at me, too.”

From over at the pool table, Ranger cocks his head, considering me with a look on his face I don’t like. Ranger’s a sharp motherfucker. Sometimes too goddamn sharp.

“This got anything to do with that chick we saw outside Della’s?” he calls over. “The blond one you were doin’ the electrical work for?”