Iron & Bone (Lock & Key #3) (39 page)

I glanced at the impressive fireplace and the high wall of stone over it.

This house was Boner’s quiet castle of solitude away from the uproar of the clubhouse, but wasn’t it big for a man alone? A man who had been an adamant bachelor all his adult life? Why invest money in it, work on it, if he wasn’t planning on filling it with his own family one day?

My toes curled into the sofa cushion as I pretended for a second that this was my house, and I could wander around in it and feel completely comfortable in it.

But I already do feel comfortable in it.

There I was, like a teenager with my out-of-wedlock kid living in my ex-boyfriend’s childhood room. Camped out and cramped with all of my and Becca’s earthly possessions, but we did enjoy living with Rae and Tania. I liked living with women who had positive energy. I hadn’t had that in a long while.

I belonged and would always belong, thanks to my daughter.

And here was Boner, all alone in this roomy house. Clean, organized, able to be filled, yet he kept it empty.

We were on opposite ends of the spectrum.

My gaze lingered on the open kitchen with its sleek tiled countertop, dark wood floors, and black-and-stainless steel appliances. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone. Maybe in the back of his mind he was hoping, preparing, wishing for another kind of future.

I moved to put my mug on the coffee table. A big piece of paper lay there with
Firefly
written in big letters in Boner’s handwriting. Writing was visible on the other side of it, and I turned the paper over.

A poem.

A new poem.

A poem about a firefly.

He wrote a poem for me.

For me.

For me.

For me.

He’d said he hadn’t written anything in a long while, and all the others had been about her.

But now, there was me.

Me and Boner.

A shiver raced over my neck, and warmth flooded my insides at the memory of our lovemaking last night. His lips at my ear, his shaky voice uttering incendiary words just for me.

And now this gorgeous poem. I pressed the paper against my chest, my eyes closing.

My man, my lover, my heartbeat.

My phone pinged with a text. I grabbed it from the coffee table.

Grace.

Where’s your old man? LOL Is he avoiding me?

I laughed and tapped the button to call her.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Oh, geez. Did I wake you? I didn’t realize it was so early. I’m sorry.”

“No, not at all. I’m sitting here in Boner’s house, drinking herbal tea, and Becca’s coloring.”

“Oh shoot! That explains it then.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I’ve been trying to reach him since last night, but he hasn’t been answering. I intruded on your special night together. I’m sorry.”

“He didn’t say that you’d called, and I didn’t hear his phone ring at all.”

“He actually shut his ringer off? Wow, he never does that. Good for him. I hope it was a really, really special night then. Is he still asleep?”

“Grace, he’s not here. He left first thing this morning with the guys.”

“He did?”

“They went on a run somewhere. He said he was meeting everyone at the club and taking off.”

“Really? Wait, hang on.”

Grace asked Lock about a run, and his deep voice was muffled in the background over the line. Lock usually didn’t go on runs, with Eagle Wings being so busy.

“Honey, there’s no run anywhere. In fact, everyone’s been told to stay put,” said Grace, her voice thinner than before.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. “But Boner made it sound like he would be with Butler and Kicker.”

“No, Jill, nobody left.”

Something cold and hard coated my chest. “But he left first thing, just after five.”

“Did he tell you where?”

“No, he just said…”

“If that bright life could come true, baby, I’d want it with you.”

If.

If?

He’d told me he loved me, said good-bye, and left me a poem, a testament of his soul.

I clutched the phone tighter. “Grace, he’s been acting a little strange lately. Moody, withdrawn, emotional.”

“Honey, none of those things are strange for him.”

“True, but he’s been different the past couple of days. I’ve felt it. Last night, he told me about his life in Denver—before the One-Eyed Jacks.”

“He did?” The surprised tone in her voice was unmistakable.

“Do you know anything about what happened, why exactly he left Denver? He said he’d never shared it with anyone—just with Dig, of course—but I was wondering if you had any insight because…” I took in a breath to squash the wave of emotion that threatened to crash over me.

“Jill, what is it?”

“I think he went back to Denver today, and it may not be a good thing,” I whispered.

“Oh, shit.”

My stomach hardened. “What is it? What do you know?”

She let out a heavy exhale. “The only thing Dig ever told me was that, back in Denver, right before they’d left, he had helped Boner kill someone.”

“Who? Who was it?”

“Some local drug dealer, a gang-leader type who was Boner’s boss.”

“Boner killed him?”

“Yes. Because of a girl.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.
Inès
.

“Dig only told me because it was the first time he’d ever witnessed a kill like that. They were teenagers back then. It had blown him away. It was that awful.”

“What do you mean?”

“Boner used an iron crowbar.”

“Smashing bones turned into a high-paying job though. It became my trademark. I was real popular in certain circles.”

“They ran, they left Denver that night. Boner’s never been back since, he always said he couldn’t go back.”

My stomach clenched, my head swirled, a sour brew boiled in the back of my throat.

“Jill, Boner doesn’t know that I know that. I’ve never brought it up, and he’s never shared. Jill? Jill? Are you there?”

AFTER ALMOST SIX HOURS ON THE ROAD
, I entered the Denver city limits on I-25. I flexed my gloved fingers on my handlebars and stretched my back as I lowered my speed in traffic.

I had returned to do what I had to do.

Here I was, running toward the very thing that had threatened me for so long, toward what had kept me running all these years.

And even though it filled me with dread, a lightness seeped through my chest, and a slight grin stole over my lips.
I hadn't realized it earlier, but I now knew with conviction that the running in my heart and soul had finally ended.

The cops were the ones who picked me up off the pavement after the Calderones had taken off with Inès. Following a trip to the ER to sew me up, I got hauled off to jail on assault and attempted robbery charges. Some guy had been paid to play the victim, saying he’d slashed me in self-defense. It wasn’t difficult to find witnesses on the street who were more than willing to tell the Calderones’ well-paid version of the God’s honest truth.

I knew it was only a matter of time until I got implicated in my uncle’s death, if not any of the many, many other deaths and assaults for which I was responsible. I’d be in prison all my life or on death row in no time.

Fuck no.

Not for them.

Not for her.

I ended up in a juvie detention center. I got into plenty of fights, starting most of them myself, but one guy didn’t take the bait. Only one
—
Jake Pence, who would later become the One-Eyed Jacks’ Dig Quillen.

“Relax your ass already,” he said to me after dragging me out of yet another confrontation. “Lay low for fuck’s sake. Use it when it counts.”

He had a mop of dirty-blond hair and a get-the-fuck-out-of-my-face glower permanently engraved on his pretty-boy anglo features.

Jake sure as hell
didn’t look like he belonged
in juvie
with the rest of us. Juvie wasn’t about making friends, but we’d gravitated toward each other. He was like me—couldn’t sit still, burning to
get out,
burning to
be free of other people’s power over him. I saw it in his cold sand-colored eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way he didn’t talk to anyone.

Anyone but me.

We hung out, made a plan, bided our time. One night, it all clicked into place, and we ran. We made it
onto the roof
and jumped over and down into a dumpster where we waited in the muck until the truck came to haul it away hours later.

We were free.

“You still want to find her?” Jake asked as we sat on a curb, devouring half-eaten burritos we’d found in a garbage can.

“I have to.”

“True love sure is one fucked up proposition,” he muttered wiping his fingers on his dirty jeans.

“I gotta talk sense into her.”

“If that’s what you want, but we need to get the hell out of here.”

A group of young boys kicked around a soccer ball in the street in front of us. They looked about the same age I’d been when my mother died.

“I can’t imagine my life without her, man. She’s always been there for me, and I can’t just leave her behind. Bottom line, before we go, I need to make sure she’s okay.”

Jake shrugged. “Let’s get this over with.”

Two days later we found her. She was shopping at this small pricey boutique.

“Inès.”

Her tense eyes met mine. They swam in something I had no part of, like a strange liquor or a strong expensive
perfume.

Was she afraid of me, as if I were some sort of stranger?

She had lots of makeup on, new clothes. She was someone else.

I blurted out my speech about how I forgave her, how everything would be better from now on. We’d finally leave Denver and it would be the two of us again, the way it was meant to be, the way it had always been; all we’d ever known.

“Santiago, I can’t come with you. I don’t want to.”

“They’ve got you confused. Don’t you see? You’re their prisoner. For what? For their money? Their attention?”

“They’re good to me.”

“Good to you? No. They’re not good at all.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s go, Inès. Come on.”

“Stop it. Let go of me.”

“I can’t!” I spit out
,
shuddering. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can. You have to!”