“No offense, brother, but two miserable people shouldn’t keep company with each other in these kinds of situations,” she said, kissing Albie on the cheek.
“Hi, Raven.”
Michelle felt another stupid wave of emotion take hold of her and stepped into her aunt’s offered hug.
“Hello, darling,” Rave said softly into her hair.
Michelle could only nod.
Raven stepped back and said, “I came as soon as I heard. How’s our boy?”
“Awake,” Albie said. “And the blokes are coming up now, so…”
There they were. Michelle heard the muffled stampede of their footfalls and saw a whole lot of black leather and denim headed their way.
“Ah,” Raven said with complete understanding. “Alright, then, Chelle, let’s go. We’ll be downstairs,” she told Albie. “Let us know when she can come back up.”
Michelle didn’t get to argue, but was caught up in Raven’s surprisingly strong arm and steered to the opposite end of the hall, toward the elevators.
“Where’s your father?”
“Baskerville Hall. He’s trying to figure who that was in the street with us.”
Raven made an unhappy sound as they stepped onto the elevator. They were alone in the car, so she said, “I don’t like it. Did they see your faces?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Hmm.”
“If they know who we are, they’ll know we aren’t to be taken likely.”
Raven turned a serious look on her. “Hate to contradict you, but they aren’t to be taken lightly.”
The story was playing on every television in the canteen. How different the scene looked from the outside, through the lenses of news cameras, while smartly dressed reporters explained the gruesome details.
When Michelle ground to a halt, staring at the screen, Raven tugged on her hand. “Don’t look at that. Go find us a table.”
She did, noting that her hair stank of smoke and that there was dark grit beneath her fingernails. Would anyone notice? Would the old woman at the next table lift her head from her tea and toast and just know that Michelle had been there?
She pulled up the hood of her jacket and tried her best to disappear. She didn’t want to be here in this crowded place. She ought to be upstairs with Tommy. Did he feel abandoned? Or was he glad to get her sad, tearful presence out of the way so he could see his friends…
A tray landed in front of her. Two steaming cups of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake with two forks.
Michelle straightened as her aunt slid in across from her. “I thought you didn’t eat sugar.”
“I don’t, which is why we’re splitting it.” A fork was extended toward her. “Eat some of it. Chocolate fixes everything.”
Since that was mostly true, Michelle forked up a bite of cake and forced herself to chew and swallow it. It was canteen cake, but not terrible. There were even sprinkles in the icing.
“They’re giving you grief, aren’t they?” Raven asked.
“Who?”
Dramatic eye roll. “Those idiot new recruits of Phillip’s. They’re being men, as I would expect no less, and it’s got you all turned around. I’ve never seen you like this,” she added, growing serious. “It’s eating at you, being treated like you’re worthless.”
“Not just worthless. But like a liability.” It felt good to say it to someone like this, woman-to-woman, who would understand in a way none of her uncles could. “Like I’m somehow damaging to the club,” she said bitterly.
Raven regarded her a long moment, sipping her coffee. “It’s time, then.”
“For…”
“To take your talents somewhere they’ll be appreciated.” When Michelle started to argue, she pressed on: “Not only are they stupid for not valuing your contribution, but it’s bloody dangerous. Look what happened today. Chelle, I say this to you as a fellow woman: leave the club behind. You deserve so much more than this, love. It’s time to take your life back.”
~*~
After two shared slices of cake, Raven walked her back up to the room, kissed her on the cheek, and left before any “biker grunge” could rub off on her nice suit.
“You’re a princess, Raven,” Albie called after her, and she lifted a hand over her head in farewell.
Tommy’s door opened to emit Rudy, Finn, and Bryce. The Dumbass Squad, in the flesh. They were laughing about something and stopped when they saw her, chuckles dying away.
“Michelle,” Rudy greeted, and though his tone was respectful, she saw the dark glint in his eyes.
She gave them a stiff nod, slipped past them, and shut the door.
Tommy was still awake, his bed elevated, even, but he was as white as the pillowcase beneath his head. As she approached the bed, the smile he’d pasted on for his friends began to fade, face falling slack and exhausted.
“You need to sleep some more,” she said, taking the seat she’d had before.
“And miss that riveting story about Delilah the stripper’s special talent?” He nodded toward the door and she suppressed a chuckle.
“More sleep and smarter friends.”
“I won’t argue with you there.” He reached to adjust his blanket and winced.
Michelle surged to her feet. “Here, let me. Don’t hurt yourself.”
He settled back with a deep, pained sigh as she straightened his sheets and tucked them in around his chest. He had goosebumps on his arms; he was cold. If he would have allowed it, she would have taken the covers up to his chin. As it was, she made a mental note to ask the nurse to turn the heat up.
“Chelle.”
When she looked at his face, it was blurry, and she realized she was about to cry yet again.
“I’m okay,” he said, voice unsteady.
“I know.” She pressed her lips to his forehead. “I know you are.”
~*~
She woke with a start to find the room dark and her neck bent at a terrible angle. She grimaced and sat up, eyes struggling to adjust.
“It’s okay. Stay there,” her father said, and she relaxed again.
Phillip had dragged a chair up alongside hers and sat pitched forward, elbows braced on its plastic arms.
“How long have you been here?”
“About an hour.”
She darted a glance to the bed and saw that Tommy was still asleep, breathing shallowly, but regularly.
“He’s out of the woods, you know,” Phillip said. “The doctor said surgery went well, and barring infection, he’ll be good as new.”
“But he almost…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“He could have,” Phillip agreed. “Had the knife gone in differently. Yeah. It’s a miracle, really.” His head turned toward her, the nightlight on the wall gleaming in his pale eyes. “The news is calling them homegrown terrorists. Everyone thinks it was some kind of religious shit.”
A sensation like insects crawled across her skin. “Albie thinks they were after the thumb drive.”
“I think he’s right.”
She swallowed. “The man who saw our faces…”
“Dead. Nearly decapitated.” He made a chopping motion against the back of his neck with a faint smile. “They’re speculating one of his own people did it. Disagreement or some such.”
“But?”
“But I don’t know if the others saw.” He gave her a regretful half-smile. “Do you have it still?”
She fished it from her jacket pocket. It felt warm and heavier than it should have. Important. It was a relief to pass it into her father’s capable hand.
“What are you going to do?”
“Open it,” he said, “and figure out why the hell someone wanted it bad enough to blow up a street.” His free hand settled over hers, rough and callused. “But first I’m going to get you somewhere safe.”
“Dad, no.” She came fully awake, heart slamming against her ribs. “You can’t–”
“Can and will, love.”
&
nbsp; She gripped the arms of the chair, chest burning with anger, frustration, and a hot surge of grief. “You would exile me.”
“No. I would protect you.”
She’d known this was coming. If she was honest with herself, she’d been expecting it for the last few years, half-afraid every time he called her into his office that he was about to insist she venture out into the civilian world.
“Michelle.” He pulled her head down to his shoulder, and she let him, exhausted and unwilling to fight. “I’ve been a poor father, putting you at risk the way I have.”
She closed her eyes.
“So I’m going to do the right thing this time. “Don’t call it exile, darling. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
Three
Amarillo, Texas
Candy
“Today?” Jenny exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me she was coming today?”
He shrugged and shoveled in more breakfast. Sausage and leek quiche with grits and fried ham on the side. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Darla was trying to kill them all with hypertension. “You’ve been busy,” he said around a mouthful. “Figured you had more important shit to worry about.”
His sister folded her arms and gave him a look of mixed exasperation and disapproval. “Yeah, I’ve been busy. I’m always going to be busy now.”
Jack, making laps around the common room in his father’s arms, gave an unhappy squeal to reinforce her point.
“See?” Candy said. “That’s exactly why I didn’t bother you with this. It’s not your problem.”
“Derek.” If anything, motherhood had made Jen more ferocious. Some of those soft, uncertain edges of her post-Riley mentality had been filed down to precise angles. This was more like the Jenny she’d been growing up; the girl who’d stepped in to replace their deceased mother. If he was honest, it was a refreshing change. His little sister had been a ghost after Riley got done with her. “Since you don’t have an old lady, the hostess duty falls on me. And Darla, to some extent,” she granted. “Which means if Michelle gets here and the place is a mess, that makes me look bad.”
“And image is everything, right?” he challenged, grinning.
Behind her back, Colin rocked Jack and pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.
“Of course not. But the poor thing’s coming all the way from London, and terrible shit is happening over there, apparently, and I want her to have a nice room ready when she gets here.”
“So go get one ready, then,” he returned.
Her eyes bugged and she made a low growling sound in her throat. “Ass.”
“Aw come on, now. Make Pup…”
But she was already marching from the room, caddy of cleaning supplies in one hand.
Candy looked over at Colin. “Okay, what the hell was that about?”
Colin’s face cycled through a comical sequence of emotions. “It might be my fault.”
“She caught you with your hand in someone else’s cookie jar?”
“No!” His dark brows slanted down in stern disapproval of the suggestion and Candy wanted to laugh.
“So what then?”
“I…” Colin took a deep breath and patted Jack when he started to squirm. “I bought her a ring.”
His bite of quiche hit his stomach like a cannonball. Jenny and Colin were together now. Old man and old lady. Hell, they had a baby together. But there was something in his big brother heart that still cringed every time the two of them took big relationship steps in front of him. That sense of being a bad brother, letting her be grown up and have sex and other things he didn’t want to think about.
“You’re damn right you bought her a ring,” he said, two beats too late. Then… “Wait. That pissed her off? What, was it too small?”
“Jen’s not like that,” Colin said, still scowling. “No, it…” Uncertainty stole over him, and he glanced down at the baby, one huge tan hand cupped against the back of his tiny head. “She said she’s not going to get married again.”
The quiche cannonball in his gut did a somersault. “What?”
“That’s what I said.” Colin sounded grim. “And then I said, ‘What, are you gonna have a baby with me and then marry some other guy’?”
“And how’d that go?”
“I think she thought about hitting me.”
Candy pushed his half-eaten breakfast away, no longer hungry. “Hmm.”
“Look, man,” Colin said, sounding uncomfortable, “don’t say anything to her about it, okay? I’m betting she doesn’t want anyone else to know.”
“Just because you patched in doesn’t mean you get to give orders.”
“It’s not an order,” Colin said, quiet, serious, and almost pleading. “Just a request.”
Candy made a face. “Yeah. Sure.”
He climbed off his stool and carried his plate to the kitchen, not wanting to look at Colin’s dejected puppy face anymore. The clubhouse had cleared out quick when Jenny first started her tirade about having everything ready for Michelle – a tirade that now made sense.
“Darla,” he said as he set his plate down. “Was I supposed to give better warning about the Calloway girl coming?”
She gave him a sideways look as she scrubbed the skillet beneath the tap. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m glad I don’t have an old lady to worry about. One sister’s bad enough.”
She chuckled. “You don’t mean that.”
“Sure I do.”
“Uh-huh.”
~*~
He’d gotten the call about a week ago. He’d spent the night in a waitress’s bed and he’d rolled over at five in the morning to dig his ringing cell from his jeans pocket on the floor. “Mmph,” the girl had said behind him, and one of her manicured hands had grabbed at his shoulder, trying to keep him under the covers with her.
“Candy,” Albie Cross’s voice had greeted. “Did I wake you up?”
Candy had smiled tiredly. “Would you care if you did?”
Albie laughed. “Not especially.”
But laughter aside, if someone from London was calling him before the sun was up, then something was bad wrong on the other side of the pond. As he listened, he managed to tug his jeans on one-handed, light a smoke, and paced around the waitress’s kitchen while Albie explained the bombing and Phillip Calloway’s subsequent fear.
They’d called Walsh first, Albie explained, and that was where Michelle was headed now. But Walsh had heard Candy was looking for an accountant, and had suggested they call Texas.
It hadn’t been much of a decision, really. Michelle was club family, and blood family to a large number of his brothers. She was trustworthy. And one little girl wouldn’t displace things at the clubhouse, so it was more a case of not turning her away rather than inviting her out.
Either way, her arrival was imminent. Walsh was driving out with her, and until the moment she showed up on his doorstep, Candy wasn’t going to worry about her. Unlike his sister, apparently.
He found Jinx out front, doling out the day’s orders to the salvage crew.
“Uh, bro,” Gringo said, turning to him. “What’s with Jen?”
“The kid fucked up already?” Blue asked of Colin.
Candy shook his head and tried not to grimace too harshly. He didn’t like talking family shit with the guys. “Nah. Girl stuff or some shit.”
Sage nods all around, as if any of the bachelor dumbasses knew jack shit about “girl stuff.”
“Speaking of ladies,” Gringo said. “When’s Phillip’s girl getting in?”
“Later. And before you even think it, no. No you may not fuck Phillip’s only kid. Got it?”
“Hey.” Gringo had the nerve to look affronted. “Did I say anything about that? For all we know, she’s ugly as shit.”
Yeah, she might be. Who knew. Candy had no clue what she might look like. She’d been a cute kid, little cherub face and flyaway blonde hair; he remembered her asleep on one of the club
house sofas, cuddled up beside her uncle, Tommy, who Phillip had pulled out of an orphanage and raised as a son.
A strange family, Phillip’s. Maybe because he was the oldest, or maybe just because that’s who he was, he’d taken it upon himself to look after the whole brood of half-siblings. Candy was impressed he remembered them all: Phillip, Walsh, Albie, Fox, Raven, Shane, Tommy, Miles, and Cassandra. Nine – their father had sired nine children. The thought gave him heart palpitations.
“You’re not gonna even look at her,” Candy told Gringo, “so it won’t matter what she looks like.”
“Don’t worry,” Fox said from his perch on one of the flatbeds. “She wouldn’t have him anyway.”
Everyone laughed and Gringo turned red around the ears.
“Right,” Candy said. “Can we stop talking about chicks and go make some money?”
~*~
Michelle
“God, it’s like another world out here,” Michelle said to herself as the landscape slipped past the window. The initial shock of the US east coast was rapidly being eclipsed by the shock of the Midwest. The endless, whitewashed blue dome of the sky. The infinite road laid out before and behind them, sizzling black pavement livid with cracks and asphalt patches. When she rolled down the window, the air smelled thin and hot.
“I like Tennessee better myself,” Walsh said from behind the wheel. “But it’s not so bad out here.”
When she glanced across the cab at him, she saw the downward curve of his mouth, and she felt guilty again.
“Uncle King.”
His eyes were the same shocking blue as everyone else’s, and they seemed to glow against the desert backdrop beyond his window.
“You aren’t going to apologize again, are you?” she teased, and he gave her a rare grin.
“Out of character, isn’t it?”
Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) Page 3