Albie knew their names were John, Raymond, and Denny. He knew they met here at this coffee shop three times a week, bags loaded with textbooks. And he knew, through the thumb drive intel, careful observation and recon, that they were part of a group called Bryan, named for its founding member, used as a way to talk about it without stirring any suspicion. And he knew that Bryan was planning to set off a series of car bombs in the city.
“No, I’m telling you,” Raymond said. “It’s 1066, not 1065.”
“Says who?” Denny asked.
“Says every history book ever!”
“Google it,” John suggested.
“You Google it.”
A history paper. Three friends, working on a school assignment…planning to blow up civilians.
Albie wondered, briefly, in one of those occasional attacks of conscience, if it was his place to judge these three. Was he any better? He, patch-holding member of one of the largest outlaw organizations in the world. Owner of a secret weapons cache, who’d killed men with bullets, with machetes, with garrotes…with his own two hands. Perhaps it wasn’t his place to find sin in the bloodthirsty dreams of three students, three boys, three…innocents.
But no one was ever really innocent, were they?
And nations lived and died by the violent actions of dark-hearted men.
So he stood, made a show of draining his tea and leaving his paper. And as he passed their table, he pressed a tracking device beneath the collar of Raymond’s jacket, left tossed haphazardly over the back of the chair.
He went outside to wait for them to leave, and then he would follow them.
~*~
Michelle
Albie called while she watched Tommy insinuate himself into the day’s boxing routines.
“Niko,” she called, from her spot on a bench, coffee in-hand. “Charge him for lessons if he keeps messing up your schedule.”
“It’s fine,” Niko said with a laugh. “Gives me someone to demonstrate on.”
“Without busting up the clients,” she agreed, “I like it.”
“Hey.” Tommy – who by this point she’d figured was trying to get a little more practice and some pointers without looking weak in front of his London brethren back home – turned a frown toward her. “I’m not getting–”
Niko’s gloved fist connected with his jaw.
Michelle bit back a laugh and fished her ringing phone from her bag. The sight of Albie’s number on the screen was both a relief and a press of worry in her chest. She loved hearing from him; she always feared he was calling with bad news.
“Hi,” she greeted.
“Hello, love.” He didn’t sound panicked, but with his next sentence, he conveyed urgency. “Where’s your uncle? I’ve been trying to reach him.”
“Currently getting his ass handed to him in the ring.”
“Am not!” Tommy called, and then let out an oomph as he was bested yet again. “Damn it.”
“Keep your gloves in tighter,” Niko suggested.
“What do you need?” Michelle asked into her phone. (Phone – she was well and truly American now, damn it. She hoped her man appreciated that; if their morning shower was anything to go by, he did.)
“I need for him and Miles to come home,” Albie said, matter-of-fact. “We need all the manpower we can get.”
She sat up straight on the bench, feeling like an invisible wire had been pulled at the top of her head, drawing her to complete attention. “Do you need more manpower than them?”
She heard him take a deep breath, and when he spoke, his words sounded careful, his tone gentle. “No, sweetheart. We’re fine. We–”
“Things have quieted down here,” she interrupted. “If you need help, say so. Candy owes me a trip to London anyway.”
Albie sighed. “You know that I love you. And that I respect you. And that I have a surprisingly forward-thinking attitude toward women despite the fact that I’m an outlaw biker, yeah?”
“I do. I also know you don’t like to endanger anyone. And to that I say ‘fuck off.’ Tell me what you need, Uncle. We’re coming.”
~*~
She found Candy in the office – her office, hers and Jenny’s – clicking through the spreadsheets on the computer, eyebrows raised in silent pleasure as he looked at their haul from the first few weeks of business.
“So,” he said without looking up as she entered, “I have this old lady who’s real damn smart, and she’s figured out how to run a bar that actually makes this club some money. Go figure.”
“Go figure,” she echoed, perching on the edge of the desk beside him. She reached absently to rake her fingers through the gelled blonde spikes of his hair. He leaned into the touch, making a contented sound in the back of his throat that was probably unconscious.
“Candy.”
He finally glanced over at her, and she hated how soft his expression was, because she knew she was about to alter his peaceful mood.
“Albie called. London needs help.”
He blinked, but his expression didn’t change, and he said, “How soon can we get there?”
~*~
“We’re meeting up with Walsh in Knoxville and flying on to London from there,” Michelle said, shoving one last pair of socks into her rolling bag and zipping it up. The sound of the zipper running hit her stomach like a punch. She was a little breathless and dizzy, and couldn’t put it all down to excitement.
On the other side of Candy’s bed, Jenny nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah, it’s…” She wanted to sit down, suddenly, so she did. “God, I think I’m actually nervous.” She held up a trembling hand to demonstrate. “Shit.”
Jenny smiled. “I didn’t think that was possible.” When Michelle shook her head, she said, “You’ve gotten comfy here.”
“Yeah, I…yeah.” When she left work every night, she thought to herself I want to go home. And that’s just what the sanctuary in the clubhouse had become for her: home. When she thought now about her cramped flat in London, the tiny kitchen and the lonely bed, and the rain streaking down the windows, her nostalgia was nothing but a passing twinge. She didn’t think of walking back into that place with any warmth.
“It’s easy,” she said, “when I’m here, and things are going well, to assume that everyone back in London is safe and happy too. But they aren’t. And things…things are dangerous there.”
Jenny tilted her head, considering. “You could stay here, if you wanted. Candy would go over there with the boys.”
Michelle shook her head. “My city, my family, my man. You think I’m going to sit that out?”
“No. But I think maybe you want to.”
~*~
Her last night at work before they left. Why did “last” feel so definitive and pressing?
She stood beside the bar and surveyed the loud and rowdy crowd of Texans who’d come in tonight in search of drink, food, company, dancing, and maybe a little fighting later in back. Lots of boots, lots of rhinestones, lots of tight jeans and western shirts. She thought, briefly, about the pale blue cowgirl boots she’d passed up on buying right after she’d gotten to town. She should have splurged; she could have worn them on the plane tomorrow.
She sensed a presence beside her; familiar; comforting. She knew he was there a moment before Tommy braced a hand against the bar and let his shoulder bump companionably into hers.
“You don’t want to leave,” he guessed.
She sent him a sideways look and saw the overhead Christmas lights dancing in his eyes, like he’d been starstruck. She didn’t answer, instead said, “You like Texas.”
He shrugged, but his face did something complicated she didn’t understand. “There are things to like in Texas.”
“Oh really?”
“Really.”
She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t known exactly what he meant. What he felt. They had drifted. And she didn’t think it was too hurtful; more a natural progression of their separ
ation. Of her finding someone who was hers.
“You can stay,” he said.
She turned to face him fully. “Why do people keep saying that?”
He shrugged. “Maybe they’re afraid you won’t come back from London.”
She didn’t answer.
~*~
She’d forgotten how humid Tennessee was. Even in the airport, she could feel the cloying heaviness of moisture in the air.
Walsh waited for them at check-in, Emmie at his side, looking a little pale-faced and worried. And definitely pregnant.
Michelle felt an immediate twinge of guilt.
“You don’t have to come with us,” she whispered as her Uncle King pulled her into a hug.
“Yeah, I do. And Em’ll be fine for a little while.”
She gave him a questioning look to be sure, when they pulled apart.
A moment later, when she hugged Emmie, the petite blonde said, “Family first. I’ve got good help while he’s away.”
~*~
And so they all set off for London, all of them family in some way.
Michelle laced her fingers through Candy’s when they were on the plane, and squeezed his hand tight.
He squeezed back.
He had the window seat, and she turned her head to look at him, saw his glorious golden profile limned in pale winter light. “I love you so much,” she said, on impulse.
“I know you do, baby doll. Which is why you gotta translate all the stupid shit y’all say across the pond.”
She laughed, and the plane taxied toward the runway.
They were off.
Thirty-Six
Candy
He expected to find a Lean Dog waiting for them when they landed at Heathrow. Instead, they found Raven Blake.
Michelle’s aunt wore black leggings, black high-heeled boots, a shapeless black sweater and a burgundy wool coat, and still managed to be glamorous in an obvious way. Maybe it was the whole model thing, or the runway training, but he thought it was probably just her – this aura of a woman who didn’t give a single damn what anyone else thought.
Candy knew when Michelle spotted her because she squeezed his hand a little tighter.
Fox said, “Seriously?”
“Nice to see you too, Charlie.” Raven pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead and her eyes were even bluer in person. “The gang’s all here, I see,” she said, fathomless gaze tracking across her assorted half-brothers. And then it lighted on Michelle.
She opened her arms and Candy felt Michelle’s fingers slide free of his. “Hello, love.”
Michelle dove into the offered hug and they both clung tight. Candy had a view of Raven’s face where it was resting over Michelle’s shoulder, and he saw emotion ripple across her features, a quick cycle of gladness and regret. She didn’t want Michelle in London, but was so glad to see her here, where she belonged.
Candy, though, couldn’t say that he felt any regret. He didn’t regret Michelle loving him, or agreeing to stay in Texas. He didn’t for a second regret keeping her for himself.
But, in this moment, he regretted, just a little, the look on Raven’s face. A look he thought was echoed on his Chelle’s face. He didn’t want her to miss her family in a painful way.
The hug ended and the girls pulled apart, dark and light heads bent together as Raven whispered something that made Michelle laugh.
Then Candy found himself on the receiving end of Raven’s small, mysterious smile. “And this,” she said, stepping toward him, “will be the Candyman.”
“Miss Blake,” he greeted, and offered his hand.
She took it, her grip a quick, firm press of manicured fingers. “And he has manners.” Her smile widened. “Do you hear that?” she asked her brothers. “Manners. Something the lot of you are sorely lacking.”
Then she gave Candy a wink. “I’ve got heaps of questions for you later.”
Oh shit, he thought, stomach tightening. It didn’t matter that he was a grown man – this was his first ever grown-up romantic relationship, and he dreaded the inquisition from any member of his girl’s family. Raven, of course, looked delighted to step in and play mommy.
“Sure,” he said.
“Not that I’m not happy to see you, sis,” Walsh said, stepping in to hug his sister, “but I was expecting one of the boys.”
She hugged him back and sighed. “All the ‘boys’ are up to their eyebrows in panic about whatever terrible thing you’ve got planned. I offered to come. And since I’ve got the Rover.” She shrugged. “I’ll take you to the Hall.”
“That’s real sweet,” Tommy told her, stepping in for his own hug.
“Uh-huh. You just remember that the next time I need a favor.”
“Of course,” Miles said.
Fox stood with his hands in his pockets, bag slung over his shoulder, looking supremely bored with the proceedings. Raven folded her arms and squared off from him, and she, Candy decided with a grin, was the sibling who could take him on, toe-to-toe.
“Charles,” she said, crisply, “where is my hug?”
“Left it in America.”
She reached forward and tweaked the tip of his nose. “Asshole.” Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, which finally got him to put an arm around her and give her a squeeze.
“We should get moving,” Walsh said, eyeing the escalators.
“All work and no play,” Raven admonished, but she found Michelle and linked their arms. “Come along, then.” And she and Michelle led the way.
Candy ended up beside Fox. “So, let’s just say I felt like it…can I do that to your nose?”
“If you want my favorite knife through your hand, sure, go for it.”
In the parking lot, Raven led them to a hulking black Land Rover Defender. Roof rack, winch, the works.
Candy whistled. “Didn’t take you for a safari girl, Raven.”
She shrugged and hit the remote; the doors unlocked with a thump. “Just an international woman of mystery, I suppose.”
“Or just rich as fuck,” Miles offered.
“That too. Pile in or I’m leaving you here.”
~*~
The thing he’d always liked most about London was its steadiness. American cities were changeable as the weather: whole blocks growing or shrinking, earthmovers altering their footprints and skylines almost daily. He still remembered coming home from New York, the way the sight of Amarillo, after seven years, had tugged at his gut in an unpleasant way. A place was never the same as you’d left it. It continued to live on without you.
But London was an Old World city, its history layered into the cobbles. Into the dark patina of stains on brick and stone walls. Small things changed, everyday sorts of things. But London was London was London, forever, and the certainty of that was grounding, soothed his flight-rattled nerves.
Through the windshield (windscreen, Raven had said), tattered clouds scudded across a sky the color of old acid wash jeans. The sky was different here: close, but pale, clammy in his mind’s eye. He didn’t know how much of that was fact or prejudice. The sidewalks were dry, crisp wind barreling down them, pedestrians bundled into thick coats and scarves. The cityscape, all grays and browns, and hints of steel, crowded in close on either side of the Rover.
For all its steadiness, no part of it spoke of home to him. But this was Michelle’s home, wasn’t it? He’d grown so used to seeing her in his dusty, blue-bowl-sky stretch of Texas that he’d been unable to imagine her anywhere else.
Now, though, as he studied her profile, framed in the Rover’s window, he saw the way the rain-worn bricks and stones of this city complemented her porcelain complexion, the way it turned her hair to spun gold.
As if she sensed him watching, she turned and caught his gaze, offered him a smile. “Okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
Behind the wheel, Raven glanced over at Walsh, where he rode shotgun beside her. “You miss it?” she asked, voice teasing.
“Yeah. No
thing like smog and the smell of piss in the alley when you get up every morning.” He shrugged. “Nah. Farm trumps city every day of the week.”
“You’re so precious,” Raven said. “You little blondie with your little blonde wife, and blonde babies, and your ponies. I love it.”
Candy snorted.
“We don’t know if the baby’s blonde yet,” Walsh said, mock serious.
“I refuse to think of an alternative.”
“What he doesn’t know,” Fox said, where he was wedged in at Candy’s left. “Is that it’s gonna be dark-headed, ‘cause it’s actually mine.”
Walsh waited three whole seconds before he turned around, half-climbed over the seat, and tried to punch his brother in the face.
Fox burst into cackling laughter and Raven nearly ran off the road as she fought to get her giggling under control.
~*~
Baskerville Hall looked as Victorian and foreboding as Candy remembered. It was a dour brick façade; some of the streaky soot stains bleeding from the second story windows had probably been there since the Industrial Revolution.
Down the stairs, though, through the heavy wooden door, the inside of the pub was warm, glowing, hoppy, and delightfully London, all dark woods and leathers and scuffed floors.
The guy behind the bar wore a cut, and he looked up when he heard them come in, wide smile splitting his face. “Ho ho!” he called, clapping his hands together, startling the half-asleep drunk on the stool in front of him. “Look who it is! Family reunion, is it?”
“Something like that,” Walsh said. “How’ve you been, Callie?”
The drunk shifted around to look at them. Candy figured they must seem like zombies, exhausted from the flight, dark circles smudged beneath their eyes.
“Callahan, where’s–” Raven started, and Albie appeared from the stairway alcove off to their left.
Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) Page 35