Page 36 of Iron Fist

We’re expecting at least fifty people today, counting our club and the Wretched Souls. Since this is an adults-only event, a couple of the club girls, as well as Eden and Axel’s nanny Mariah, are taking care of the Lords of Carnage kids at Axel’s house for the day. Most of the rest of us are here already, waiting for the Souls to show up. The atmosphere is festive, with a little underlying tension.

Seems like the old ladies are pretty damn excited about having a day to party and not worry about their kids. They brought a bunch of side dishes and desserts, and set them up on tables outside for everyone to help themselves. Now that they’re done with their part, The alcohol is flowing, the music is thumping, and the women are shouting and laughing almost as loud as the men. I walk past a large group of them, not paying much attention, as I make my way over to the roasting spit to see if I can grab a sample of meat. It smells damn good, and my stomach is rumbling like a Harley engine.

“Hey there, brother,” Dante calls out as I approach. He’s standing near Red, who’s supervising the roasting process and exchanging jabs and tips.

“Hey.” I nod toward a huge mound of meat that’s already been cooked and taken off the spit. “That looks ready to eat.”

“Help yourself,” Red tells me. “We ain’t started serving yet, but it’s ready for sure. Buns are over there.”

I grab a plate and a couple of buns from a huge stack, then stick a large-pronged fork into the meat and make myself two large ones. Over at the next table, there’s plates full of fixin’s, and a huge vat of potato salad just begging for me to eat some. I’m in a good damn mood, seeing all this food. All the shit that’s been on my mind lately evaporates for a while, and I get ready to just party and have a good time.

As I heap food on my plate, a low rumble of engines sounds off in the distance. The Wretched Souls are here. Two dozen or so motorcycles file in through the compound gates. Like choreography, they pull up in rows and park their bikes. Axel and Rourke head over to meet them. I watch as Axel approaches Leadbelly, the Wretched Souls prez. The two of them speak for a few seconds, then shake hands. Leadbelly calls out something to the rest of the Wretched Souls. Loud laughter rises up. Axel claps him on the back and points him toward the roasting pig.

In minutes, the Wretched Souls are descending on the food and the kegs of beer that are lined up next to the food tables. Our prospects are manning the kegs, and will be for the whole day. I finish my sandwiches and go inside to grab one of my own beers from the cooler so I don’t have to wait in line.

When I come back out of the clubhouse, Mal comes up to me, a plate of food in his hands. “It’s a good damn thing we got this new compound with all this land,” he remarks. “Look at this fuckin’ crowd. We never could have done this at the old clubhouse.”

“No shit. You think it’s a good idea to let the Souls know where we are, though?”

Mal snickers. “No way we could hide out here. Shit, our patch of land is big enough you can probably see it on Google Maps. Anyone who lives in Ironwood could tell them where we are. Our safety comes from the security systems Yoda’s put in place, and bein’ in a place where no one can sneak up on us or get close enough to us to surprise us.” His eyes sweep the compound. “We’re as safe out here as we can possibly be.”

Someone turns up the music even louder. The Wretched Souls let out a collective whoop. Looks like this show is on the road.

Two hours later,I’m over talking bikes with Matthias, Mal, and a dude from the Wretched Souls who rode here on a 1999 Harley Softail custom build. I’m asking him about the guy who did the work when Mal turns away for a second to look at something. Turning back, he says, “Hey, Rogue, I didn’t know you brought your wife to the barbecue. You two back together, then?”

What the fuck?

I follow Mal’s gaze to see Rory standing in a group of old ladies.

The first thing I notices is that she’s looking hot as fucking hell. She’s got on a tight burnout tank top, faded jean shorts that mold to her ass, and lace-up ankle boots. Her aviator shades glint in the sun, her blond hair brushing her tanned shoulders.Jesus. In an instant, my dick is so hard it fucking hurts.

Mal’s words echo my thoughts. “Fuck me running, that girl is hot,” he declares.

“Shut it,” I snap.

“What?” Mal turns back to me and snickers. “Ain’t I allowed to look?”

Rory must feel eyes on her. She looks around for a moment, then glances over at us. We lock gazes.

A second passes, then two.

She inhales and quickly looks away.

“How the fuck did she get in here?” I hiss under my breath.

“What, you didn’t bring her?” Mal asks, puzzled.

“No I fucking did not,” I bite out. “But I bet I can figure out who did.”

Fucking nosy-ass old ladies. I’d bet my left nut Tori is behind this somehow. I toss my empty beer in a trash can a couple feet away and stomp toward the group of women. Sure enough, when Tori catches sight of me, her face curves into a guilty little grin.

“The fuck are you doing here?” I demand when Rory turns to me.

She blanches, but then a moment later recovers, straightening. “What business is it of yours?”

I bark out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is club property. It is exactly my business.”

“Eden invited me,” she says, looking over at the prez’s wife.

---