Page 67 of Iron Heart
“I will! You, too.”
I tromp across the yard, feeling a strange pang of connection to the weirdness that is Ironwood.
Over at Dante’s, I find myself taking in the scene as I approach the house. I’ve never been here before. The closest I’ve come was that first day at Mildred and Eddie’s. The house itself is simple but in good condition. Landscaping is minimal. The lawn is neatly trimmed, though. The garage door is down, so I don’t know whether Dante’s motorcycle is here or not.
I walk up the front steps, anxious as hell and second-guessing myself the whole way. As I get closer, I see there’s a hand-lettered sign taped up on his screen door.
GO THE FUCK AWAY.
In spite of how tense I’m feeling, I let out a snort of laughter. “Charming.”
I ignore the warning and knock on his door, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. I wait for ten seconds, then twenty. I knock again.
No answer.
Well, so much for this.
I trudge back down the steps, half-relieved, half-disappointed. Maybe this was a bad idea, anyway. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that he’s not here.
But I’m not the type who’s much good at letting something go once I’ve started down a particular path. Now that I’ve decided I need to talk to Dante, I know it’s going to keep eating at me until I can track him down. The only question is, how? Besides the clubhouse and his house, I don’t know much about his routine. And calling him just seems like the wrong approach. Seems like he’d see it’s me calling, and refuse to answer. And I don’t want to leave a message about this. It feels like I need to talk to him in person. I need to be looking at his face to decide what to say, and how to say it.
I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts that I’m not very aware of my surroundings as I drive home. That’s the only explanation I can come up with later for why I never notice the car that must have been following me at least since I left the Lords of Carnage clubhouse.
Back at my place, I park in my usual spot in the driveway. I grab the mail from the box to the right of my front door. Flipping through the envelopes, I go inside, intending to make myself some dinner and figure out what my next move should be.
The doorbell rings a couple of minutes later. Butterflies explode in my chest as I wonder whether there’s any possibility it could be Dante. Maybe Mildred and Eddie told him I was at his house looking for him. For some reason, it doesn’t cross my mind that Dante always knocks. I jump up from the couch and grab the knob, flinging it open to reveal…
No one.
“Hello?” I call out. I push open the screen door and step out onto the empty porch. Leaning over, I take a glance at my driveway, but the only vehicle in it is mine.
In the street, though, is a car I recognize instantly. A jolt of fear hits me as I see it parked there.
The metallic sedan.
My stomach clenches. I move to turn and rush back inside when a rough, steel-strong arm clamps around my neck. I’m pulled backwards, knocking me off my feet, and dragged back toward the door.
The hard barrel of what has to be a gun pokes me roughly in the kidney, making me gasp in pain with what little breath I have left. As I’m jerked backwards into the house, a low, angry voice snarls in my ear.
“You didn’t fool us with your know-nothing act, bitch. You’re gonna tell us what the fuck your game is. Or else, you’re gonna die. The choice is yours.”
I can’t respond — I can’t breathe, can’t think. My hands go to my throat and I start to claw at the man’s arm, desperate for air. For a second, one of my feet lands firmly on the ground, and I use the unexpected purchase to kick backward with my other foot. My heel connects hard, landing a blow to my assailant’s shin. He yells out in pain, his mouth so close to my eardrum that it feels like it could shatter. I flinch, twisting my head away instinctively from the sound.
The gun barrel leaves my ribcage. Before I can register why, a blast of sharp agony hits the side of my head.
I sink into a darkness punctuated by lightening bolts of pain.
27
Dante
It’s days later, and Dom’s been basically AWOL since before the bomb blast at the garage.
Deliveries have been canceled for the next few days, so where he is or what he’s doing ain’t my concern for now. Besides, it’s goddamn nice havin’ him out of my space. I’m no neat freak, but that fucker is a tornado to live with. He leaves a goddamn path of destruction in his wake wherever he goes. After living with him for a while, I’m starting to hear our ma’s voice in my head from my childhood, yelling at him to pick up after himself.
Since I have the house to myself for a little while, I haven’t been hangin’ around the clubhouse as much the past few days. One downside of spending more time alone is my thoughts keep going back to Tori. I don’t know why I thought it’d be easy enough to get over her. I’ve never been in love with any woman before, though, so this is new territory for me. But it’s like she’s taken up residence inside my head. I can’t get rid of her. And the more I think about her, the more I start arguing with myself about whether maybe — just maybe — there’s a way for me to be with this woman and still keep her safe from the danger that surrounds an outlaw MC.
I’m out in my garage in the afternoon doing a needless tune-up on my bike when I get a call from my brother Antony in Cleveland. We don’t talk all that much, so I’m not about to let the call roll to voicemail. I’m on instant alert when I press the answer key.