Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  Suede fingered the hem of the blanket she’d wrapped around herself. Sinclair brothers seemed to be climbing out of the woodwork, all except the right one.

  “Hey, I’ve got a question for you. What’s your mother’s personal assistant like?”

  “Mitchell Franks?” Her hands went to her belly at that creep’s name. Cramps clenched at the memories she wanted to forget. “He’s nice enough, I guess,” she said, hoping the quaver in her voice didn’t give her away. “Kind of a brownnoser, but that’s the type Mom hires. Why?”

  “Does he always go on vacations with her?”

  “Yes, he organizes her daily schedule and itinerary when she travels.”

  “So he’s her press-agent as well?”

  “Yes. He is.” Suede nodded as Mitchell’s stern insistence that she make an appointment to see her mom came back to her. ‘Your mother’s time is more important than you are, Miss Tennyson. You know that. We’ve been over this before.’ That time Suede had needed one of her parent’s signatures since the high school dance was being held out of town. She didn’t go.

  “Do you like him?” Chance asked.

  What a question. She met him head on to deflect her nerves. “No. He had no use for me. I was just a kid that bugged him. I got in his way.” Unless he wanted something from me.

  “How so?”

  Suede rolled her eyes, masking her true feelings on the subject. “Mitch is...” What’s a good word for two-faced? Despicable? Pervert? “...different. He caters to Mom, and he’s protective of her.” Just not her daughter. She was fair game.

  Chance must’ve heard the hesitation in her voice. “Suede…?” He drew her name out. “You don’t like Mitch. Why?”

  She pinched her lips and told part of the truth. “H-he lies, Chance. He tells my Mom what she wants to hear, then he treats Mom’s secretary like she’s stupid behind Mom’s back. He blames her when things go wrong, and…” Suede swallowed hard, remembering the den of snakes she’d escaped. “He lied about me.” Worse, Mom believed him.

  “Specifics, Suede. Give me details.”

  The room closed in, and it was suddenly hard to swallow. “It’s nothing. It happened a long time ago and…” I don’t want to think about—that.

  “You’re safe now, Suede,” Chance murmured in her ear. “Whatever you say stays between you and me.”

  She nodded, sure of that singular comforting bit of knowledge even as her eyes filled with tears. But to tell Chance this? To admit she’d been used by Mitch, too? Crap, by every male she’d ever known until now? “I’m reading one of your mother’s books,” she said to change the subject.

  Static crackled over the line. “Whoa. Now we’ve got lightning and thunder. Crazy weather up here. One of Mom’s books, huh? I’ll be—”

  Snap. The phone went dead. Suede shifted the receiver from her ear, staring at her chance to share the thing that never should’ve happened to a fifteen-year-old girl. A daughter, for hell’s sake.

  “You lose him?”

  She looked up into Pagan’s green eyes at that well-meaning question. I never had him. “It’s storming up there,” she told him for lack of anything better to say.

  He nodded. “Montana blizzards can get wild.”

  “Will he be okay?” I am not going to cry. Of course he’ll be okay. He’s invincible. He doesn’t need me, either. What am I thinking? I almost told him. Everything.

  Pagan nodded. “This is what we do, Suede. We get into places others can’t. We do the impossible without the press being in our face, and we do it without fanfare or recognition. He’ll be home before you know it, you’ll see.”

  “I’m not leaving until he does.” Why that popped out of her mouth, Suede hadn’t a clue, but it felt right. Where else could she go? Back home to Salem? To her parents? Like they’d care.

  For the first time in her life she found herself surrounded by a family that watched out for each other. She heard their love for each other in their voices. Little things defined it, like Chance calling his brother a cocker spaniel. Like Pagan fixing lunch for her while Chance went to confront York.

  Worry lines crinkled Pagan’s forehead. “You don’t feel good, do you? Your cheeks are red.”

  I’m not sure I’ll ever feel good again. “No, I’m fine.” I just need to sleep for a week and then leave.

  There was no fooling Pagan. “No, you’re not. Go back to bed and take your meds. Dinner’s in half an hour. I’m making chicken stir-fry. Would you like soy sauce with that?”

  Suede replaced the phone in its charger. “I can help with dinner,” she offered one last time.

  “Are you kidding? Chance would kick my ass if I let you do anything but rest while he’s gone, now off with you.” Pagan canted his head toward Chance’s open bedroom door, his emerald eyes aglitter.

  A lump caught in her throat. “Thanks Pagan,” she murmured, biting her lip at the helplessness swarming into her eyes like a flood.

  Up went both dark brows. “For what?”

  “For treating me like family. It means a lot.” More than you know.

  He shrugged. “Blame that on Mom. Chance too. They’re the ones who kept us together when things got tough.”

  Suede lifted her chin, not going to cry, damn it. “I am tired.”

  Pagan let out a soft whistle as he offered his elbow. “Gallo, come. Let’s take your girlfriend back to bed.”

  Claws scratching up the wooden hall floor announced the dog’s enthusiastic arrival. She hadn’t noticed he wasn’t in his usual spot.

  “There, now you’ll have company,” he said at the door. “I won’t be long. Just need a shower after my workout. Go on, get.”

  “Come Gallo,” Suede told Chance’s dog. “Let’s go back to bed.”

  Darned if the happy-go-lucky pup didn’t beat her to it.

  *****

  “You disobeyed a direct order.”

  Chance cranked his neck to the side, stiff from the cold and pissed at the unhappy reception his call to Sullivan had gotten. “Not yet, I haven’t. York is still in my sights, but I’d appreciate a candid answer while I wait. Did you conspire with Mitch Tennyson to end York or not? Is that why you sent Pagan here without vetting this mission with me? To do your dirty work?”

  “Goddamn it.” Something banged on the Senator’s end. Might have been his fist.

  Chance waited. He’d poked a hornet’s nest, but damn it. The bullshit ended today. If Sullivan was dirty, the SOBs were nothing but a hit squad, and the Sinclair boys were out of there.

  “Son-of-a-goddamned-bitch!” Sullivan hissed this time, apparently seething mad. Well, good. That makes two of us.

  “You know I’ll follow you to hell and back, Senator, but you didn’t hire me because I’m a brainless killer. Level with me. What’s York done to merit execution, and why didn’t you go through the channels that you set up?”

  The silence stretched and Chance let it. He’d said his piece. The ball was now in a Washington D.C. court.

  “He’s got Tennyson’s wife,” finally hissed out of Sullivan like the air out of a flat tire.

  Like hell he does. “Then why doesn’t Pagan know that?” Chance snapped, tired of the run around. “From what he just told me, Mrs. Tennyson boarded the Gusta Marie, a cruise ship headed to Puerta Vallarta. Pagan double-checked her ID and confirmed her presence aboard ship with the captain. Vera Tennyson is on vacation and her personal assistant Mitchell Franks is with her. Here’s another thing, Tennyson withdrew five million from his Swiss bank account late yesterday afternoon. Explain that. Is he paying you off?”

  “He what?” Sullivan barked. “That lying son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Level with me, sir. How close are you and the Governor?” Close enough to kiss his ass without verifying his story? Close enough to do his dirty work for him?

  “I thought we were friends, not that we’ve seen each other much over the years. He’s been busy.”

  Sick of the double-talk, Chance called, “Bullshit! T
ell me right damned now what’s going on, or my brothers and I are out of here!”

  A grunt rumbled over the connection. “’Bout son-of-a-bitchin’ time. Now, you sound like the man I hired. I’ve been waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass.” Sullivan almost sounded pleased with himself.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What’s going on, Chance, is that Lionel York’s taken over the Portland Port Authority, one by one.” The senator’s West Texas drawl was back, too. “The authority is comprised of nine commissioners, each appointed by his buddy, the Governor. Their responsibilities range from overseeing the daily operations to playing softball with international shipping conglomerates, enticing them to ship into and out of Portland. It’s big business and it’s political as hell. The man who gets the lucrative job of running the show is the Port Commissioner. He’s the one who controls what comes into and out of those docks, what foreign shipping lines he wants to do business with, and who he leases terminals to.”

  “Keep talking,” Chance ordered.

  “Just so you know upfront, I’ve already acquired the go-ahead from all the other SOBs as far as terminating York and a few others. You’re the only hold-out.”

  “And?” Chance bit out. He wasn’t ready to capitulate just because Sullivan said that everyone else had blackballed York and his friends. Some deaths were worth waiting for. So was the truth.

  “And the FBI has been watching York weasel his way into Oregon politics step-by-step. As soon as one of those commissioners resigns, or dies, as in two recent instances we’re aware of, Tennyson’s filled those vacancies with York’s associates: one with North Korean ties, another associated with the cartel in Colombia. Sound fishy to you?”

  “Sounds illegal. That’s what this is about, York’s strong-arming Tennyson? That’s why Suede Tennyson’s attempted murder?”

  “I wish it were that simple. We believe there’s someone behind the scenes pulling the strings, someone with more clout that either Tennyson or York. Remember Pablo Escobar?”

  The name from the eighties and nineties rang a bell. “The Colombian drug lord? What’s he got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing, but this guy, whoever he is, is on the same fast-track today as Escobar was back then. Since York decided he liked Portland, more of the city’s police officers, judges, and local officials have been murdered. Last month, Homeland Defense lost two agents tracking weapons at the Portland International Airport, another one over at the Troutdale Airport.”

  “You do know Miss Hex is in Portland,” Chance said, baiting his friend to reveal more. “What’s her stake in this?”

  “Wish I knew, but the Rio Brothers are already there. That means their boss, Viktor Patrone wants in. Be advised, both Miss Hex and the Rio boys are now sanctioned hits.” He cleared his throat. “Pending your concurrence, that is. I don’t need to tell you that we’re looking at an all out drug war in the Northwest if we don’t step in now.”

  “Do you know Julio Juarez?”

  Sullivan hissed. “Shit. That’s Wilhelm Gonzales’ personal body guard. How’s he involved?”

  “Not exactly sure, but York’s supposed to meet with him and—”

  “Juarez is Gonzales’s muscle. If he’s working with York, and if Patrone’s in league with Tennyson, Jesus H. Christ—”

  “We’ve got a drug war coming to Portland,” Chance finished. Gonzales was the only upstart drug lord in Colombia not under Patrone’s heel. They’d battled plenty in South America, and it looked like their gruesome, bloody war would soon be on American shores.

  “You’ve got my agreement, Senator, but why didn’t you tell me this up front?” Chance asked.

  “Because you’re right...” Sullivan let out a sigh as deep as the Grand Canyon. “I do have a mole in my organization. I had to make sure it wasn’t you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When dinner didn’t materialize as promised, Suede took matters into her own hands. She never could ignore her grumbling stomach. Back on her feet again, she aimed for the hallway Pagan had taken, then thought twice. She knew her way around a kitchen. “Let’s make dinner, shall we?” she asked the gangly puppy at her heels.

  The kitchen was a surprise. Snow peas, bean sprouts, shiitake mushrooms, broccoli, and bamboo shoots had been rinsed, sliced and drained and now rested in a large colander beside the sink. Pagan planned to make stir fry from scratch? Interesting, but not what she’d expected. Most men ordered out. This guy actually cooked with real food?

  She checked for a steamer full of rice or a pan of rice noodles at the ready. When she found none, she got creative. This was right up her alley. To protect her tender fingers, she snooped until she found a box of nitrile kitchen gloves under the sink. Then she went to work.

  In no time at all, thanks to Pagan’s astute preparations, Suede had a wok full of the diced, marinated chicken pieces she’d found in the refrigerator, now sizzling on the front stove burner. The vegetables went into the wok next. To that she added her own mixture of fish sauce, soy sauce, egg, and rice wine, then drained the linguine-size rice noodles that took her five quick seconds of prep time in boiling water.

  By the time she garnished her masterpieces with slivered scallions, toasted almonds, and sliced boiled eggs, again courtesy of Chance’s brother, Suede was tired but content. Her thigh was killing her, but she’d proved she wasn’t a complete drain on this family. There was a small measure of satisfaction in that.

  Dizzy from being on her feet for so long, she took a break to survey her handiwork. This meal wasn’t equal to the gourmet dishes by some of the great chefs in Hollywood, but it would feed two hungry men, hopefully three if Chance showed. Better yet, the guys could grab what they wanted buffet-style. She wasn’t up to setting a grand table with the pricey cutlery she’d spied in the drawer, though it was tempting. Rest. She wanted back in Chance’s bed and a quick nap before dinner.

  The Sinclair kitchen was a foodie’s dream, stocked with utensils and culinary equipment a master chef would use, enticing for a woman who’d rather be behind the counter whipping up a batch of sour cream and onion pancakes than dealing with the drama of the celebrity world. Just the thought of all she’d endured with York, soured her empty stomach.

  “Why ever did I stay with him?” she wondered out loud.

  Gallo sat patiently under the table watching, his soulful brown eyes so expressive she thought he might actually talk. “What do you think, Gallo? Did we do good today or what?”

  The dog’s big ears flopped with his one quick nod and a growly whine.

  “You talk, don’t you?”

  Another floppy-eared nod and a whine and he slid to his belly, his gaze fast on her.

  Suede couldn’t resist. She’d never owned a dog, and this guy was too cute to resist. Off came the gloves. As carefully as possible, she eased to her knees and joined him. “Can you shake hands, I mean paws?”

  His ears flopped as one big paw landed in her extended palm.

  She squeezed his paw. “What else can you do? Roll over?” That would be so cool.

  Gallo’s long nose twitched and over he went, scrambling to get back on his belly and feet, his eyes wide and expressive and... Expectant?

  “Ha!” Suede nearly squealed. “I’m supposed to reward you when you do good, huh? That’s what you’re waiting for. You’re still learning tricks, but you’ve learned about treats, haven’t you? I know just what you’d like.”

  She pushed to her knees, then jumped to her feet, going for a slice of that chilled roast in the refrigerator. Too fast. The kitchen spun like a tilt-a-whirl and down she went. Falling to the floor wouldn’t have mattered, but she landed on her left hip, and… ouch. Her forehead collided with the edge of one of the wooden chairs, and stars… Suede saw bright, spinning stars that weren’t connected to the overhead rafters.

  The sound of deep male voices approaching worried her, but there was nothing to be done. Her energy had left her high and dry.

  Cha
nce’s brothers found her on the floor with Gallo sitting on her lap. “Gallo! Off!” Pagan roared as he dropped to his knees. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, no, he’s a good boy,” Suede said as she tugged Gallo back to her side. “St-stay b-boy.” Wow, that one little fall took the wind out of her. She lowered her head, sure she might still pass out, but swallowing hard so she didn’t throw up. “You were busy and I... I fixed dinner.”

  “What were you thinking?” Pagan asked as one big hand cupped her shoulder. “You’re trembling, woman. I told you to go to bed.”

  Suede lifted her chin at the caveman rationale. “I did, but I was hungry, and you were busy, and…”

  “She did a right fine job,” another male spoke. That had to be Kruze. Suede could barely stand to meet his appreciative gaze. My goodness, Kruze Sinclair was as handsome as his brothers with that mop of black hair and those deep green eyes. He stayed at the door, his arm sprawled over his head while he gripped the doorjamb. Where did these guys get those massive shoulders and biceps?

  Just great. Why look like a simpering female in front of one Sinclair brother when it was more embarrassing to fall on your ass in front of two? Could this day get any worse? Yes. Just lifting her head to look at these guys caused rolling, boiling chaos in her stomach.

  Suede swallowed hard and pushed away from Pagan, not going to ruin her perfect dinner by hurling in the kitchen. Instead of getting out of her way so she could crawl, he hoisted her off the floor like a sack of potatoes, and she landed in his arms. He cradled her against him, the last place she wanted to be, if and when her stomach won.

  Too much motion. Not helping!

  “No,” she grumbled. “You don’t understand.”

  “Be still. I need to look at that cut. You’re bleeding and Chance will—”

  “I’m going to throw up. You have to let me down,” she croaked, her belly muscles already retching from the double whammy of being dizzy and the sudden change in altitude.

  Pagan was a tall man, but he could run. Suede made it into Chance’s bathroom before she lost her cookies. By then, all she wanted was to be left to die alone from embarrassment.