I sat back, letting the tension melt out of my shoulders. The club below throbbed with bass, a thousand strangers getting off to the women grinding before them oblivious to the war brewing above their heads.
I watched the monitors for a while, letting the city’s light blur together.
Let them think they’d won. Let Iron Valor celebrate.
The next round was already mine.
Chapter 18
Arsenal
Iwoke before sunrise, a habit I’d never managed to break, and rolled out of bed with Harper still curled against the pillow, her hair spilled in a golden snarl. She barely stirred. I stood for a full minute just watching her chest rise and fall. She looked better in sleep, the sharp lines of her face relaxed, her lips parted, her cheekbones less hollow. Some of the tension had left her body, but not all. Even in rest, she clung to the edge of the mattress, as if the world might tip her off any second.
I showered and dressed in the dark, pulling on jeans and a clean Iron Valor tee, careful not to make a sound. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror: my eyes were brighter thanthey’d been in years; my skin had life. I pulled my hair up into a loose bun and brushed my teeth. My mind kept flashing back to the way Harper had screamed my name when she came all over my cock last night over and over again. I swear my mind was clearer this morning than it’s been in years. She’s fucked life back into every facet of my being. Our bond had connected more than her soul to mine. It’s like it’s enhanced every part of me. Shit. I looked in the mirror again. This is what happiness looked like.
The kitchen was quiet, the digital clock on the stove glowing 5:42. I brewed a pot of coffee. Not the freeze-dried shit I’d lived off of in Afghanistan but robust gourmet stuff you buy in a bag. I drank it standing up, bare feet cold on the tile. Each sip scalded my throat, but I didn’t care. I needed to be awake, clear-headed. Today, I would have to eat the biggest crow of my entire fucking life.
I mentally replayed my apology a dozen times before I finished the mug. It was simple enough: I’d acted like an asshole to my brothers for years, resenting every one of them who found a mate or a little patch of peace. I’d shit on their happiness, insulted their women, made a goddamn art of being impossible to love. If I were being honest, I’d never expected to get called on it. Iron Valor didn’t do therapy sessions, and we sure as hell didn’t do group hugs. We did violence, and we did loyalty, sometimes both in the same breath. But Bronc had called church, and that meant this was the perfect time for facing the music.
I set the empty mug in the sink, shrugged into my cut, crammed my feet into my boots, and scribbled a note for Harper in block letters:
WENT TO THE CLUBHOUSE. BACK LATER.
WAKE UP SLOW. EAT SOMETHING.
LOVE YOU.
—J
I hesitated, then underlined “WAKE UP SLOW.” She needed the rest. She needed to know I’d be coming back.
I made my way downstairs as slowly as possible, keeping my head down, replaying every instance of my being a prick to the people who were my family. The list was too long. I didn’t know if I’d ever make it right. Maybe that wasn’t the point. Maybe you just started with today and hoped it stacked up.
The first floor of the pack house was dark except for a couple of wall sconces. I could smell the slow burn of last night’s embers, the faint trace of beer and barbecue. I walked through the great room heading toward the basement stairs, reveling in the stillness. I was early, of course—old military habits and a lifetime of being the first one into the breach. I headed for the den, only to find Bronc already there.
He sat on the leather couch, boots up on the coffee table, staring into the fire. Even in the dim light, he looked like a statue: ramrod spine, arms folded, eyes set in that blue steel. The only thing that gave him away as human was the mug of coffee cradled in both hands. I realized, not for the first time, that Bronc had a way of commanding the room even when it was empty.
“Morning, boss,” I said, keeping my voice low.
He looked up, face unreadable. “Arsenal. Couldn’t sleep?”
I shrugged. “You know how I do when I got things.”
Bronc grunted, which was as close to a laugh as he usually got. He gestured to the opposite chair. “Sit. Might as well get this over with.”
I sat, hands knotted together, elbows on my knees. For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the low pop of a coal in the fireplace.
Finally, Bronc broke the silence. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind.” He sipped his coffee. “But I need you dialed in today.”
I nodded. “You’ll get my best. You always do.”
“Not always,” Bronc said, his tone so flat it almost stung. “You give your best to the job. Not to the people.”
I flinched, because he was right.
He looked at me for a long time, those blue eyes boring right through all the bullshit. “You got something to say, Jess?”
I swallowed, forcing myself not to look away. “I’ve been a dick to the brothers. And to you. For a long time.”
