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Rick was doing much the same thing five thousand miles away. He was sitting in a night club, wondering vaguely what he was doing there. He had passed the week at home, just spending time with Mikeyla and moving as if in a dream. But today, he had received by priority overnight mail the emerald-and-diamond ring he had given Midnight a little less than four years before. He had stared down at it as if he couldn’t imagine where it had come from, then closed his hand over it so tightly that it had cut into his palm, drawing blood. Now, he gazed down at the cuts as he lifted a shot of whiskey to his lips.
His sister Allison had dragged him here, hoping to cheer him up. Allison, who had been engaged to one of the barristers at their father’s law firm when he had met Midnight, had gotten married and subsequently broken up with the young man. She told Rick that she had seen how much in love he and Midnight had been, and Joe and Randy as well, and she wanted to wait for love like that. Rick had reminded her tonight, on the way to the club, just how great love was, his voice sharp and angry.
Now he looked out over the dance floor, searching for his sister. She was dancing with some guy, and it looked like she was having a good time. Rick wondered idly if he could leave without her getting mad at him. The DJ started to mix in a new song, and a lot of people started to move to the dance floor, but Allison was heading to the table. Rick leaned back in his chair, his leg up on another one. Unknowingly, he looked a lot like Joe had many years before in the pub the Black Knights had hung out in. He was dressed all in black, his light brown curls as long as ever, his handsome face and deep blue eyes closed off to any approach. The only point of lightness was the gold wedding band he still wore on his left ring finger. It was as if taking it off would sever his and Midnight’s connection forever.
Rick found himself listening to the words of the song. It was an upbeat dance track, something he knew Midnight would like. But the lyrics made him think of her; his hand tightened on the bottle of beer he now held as he closed his eyes, just like in the words of the song. The fresh pain that flooded him felt almost exquisite in its purity. The song played on, and Rick felt each word.
Allison watched her brother, and she knew he was thinking of Midnight. It depressed her to see him this way. She’d never seen her brother so unhappy, not even when Sheila had told him she might be pregnant. The first time, Allison reminded herself. It had eventually come out that Sheila had told him once again that she thought she was pregnant. Allison couldn’t believe it—she knew her brother was smarter than that.
“I have the CD if you like this song,” she said. He opened his eyes, and his lips twitched in a slight smile. He knew she was trying desperately to cheer him up; he also knew her mission was hopeless. But he nodded at her offer. He knew hearing the song over and over would depress him more, but he felt the need to wallow in his dejection.
“Well,” said a voice from behind him. “Look who’s here.”
Rick turned. Teddy Anne stood looking down at him. She took in the look in his eyes, but also the wedding ring he still wore. She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Allison, ever polite, invited her to join them. Rick’s eyes flickered over to his sister, but he didn’t show any real reaction. Allison knew Rick didn’t want anyone to join them, that he wanted to sit and get drunk and stick to himself. But she figured that if nothing else, he wouldn’t be rude enough to walk out with Teddy Anne sitting at the table too.
Allison was asked to dance again a few minutes later, and she went off. Rick ordered another shot of whiskey. “On second thoughts,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out an American hundred-dollar bill. He dropped it on the waitress’ tray. “Bring the whole bottle.”
The waitress’ eyes opened wide—he had just given her a sizeable tip. Megan Jones smiled widely. She’d already decided that he was probably one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen. She even considered making a pass at him. As a rule, Megan didn’t date the men in the bar—at twenty-four, her attractive body and pretty face brought her a lot of attention, especially with the short, tight skirt she wore, with sheer black stockings and three-inch black heels. Her shirt was brown velvet and cropped an inch under her breasts—which were also eye-catching. Rick didn’t even notice; he was busy looking out over the crowd again, ignoring Teddy Anne completely.
Teddy Anne watched him. She was wearing a white silk sleeveless blouse, open invitingly just above her breasts, and skin-tight black pants with a chain belt that accentuated her slim figure. She had gotten even more rowdy since Rick and Midnight’s engagement party. Rick’s rejection had sent her into a tailspin. Just when she’d gotten over him, here he was again. His dark, brooding silence served to attract rather than repel her. She moved to sit next to him. His deep blue eyes fell on her, but there was no interest in them.
“So what are you doing home?” she asked. She had to put her lips up to his ear so he could hear her over the music. She inhaled the smell of him. He always wore the same cologne; it was spicy, but very masculine, and combined with the smell of the leather jacket he wore, it was a heady scent. Teddy discovered that she still wasn’t immune to this man. She never had been able to get used to his sharp good looks or the way he spoke, or the way his eyes could look right inside her. He wasn’t looking at her now, and she found herself wanting to make him, so she could feel the electricity of his gaze again.
“Visiting,” he said simply.
“I see.” Teddy nodded. She knew something had to be going on in America for him to be back and looking as morose as he did. She hoped that his marriage was over. Her pride was still injured from her and Midnight’s confrontation the night of the engagement party. Midnight had challenged Teddy to try and take Rick back. Teddy had thought it would be easy—she’d been very wrong. Rick had ended up wounding her deeply, a wound that had just started to heal. Now Teddy figured she had another chance to win him back. She watched as Rick set down the empty beer bottle, and saw the cuts on his hand.
“Good lord, Richard,” she said, reaching out to take his hand and looking more closely at his palm. “What have you done to yourself?” She looked up at him. He was gazing down at the cuts as if he didn’t really know how they’d gotten there. “Does it hurt?” she asked. The gashes were surprisingly deep, the solitaire stone having ground into his hand—he hadn’t felt it at the time.
Even now, he looked down at his hand with only mild curiosity. He opened and closed it, as if checking to see if it hurt. It did when he made a fist or opened his hand too wide. The sharp pain felt good. It was as if by inflicting it on himself, he was somehow atoning for the pain he was causing Midnight and Mikeyla. His daughter asked about her mother frequently, and it hurt Rick every time. He knew that taking her all the way to England had been an asshole thing to do, but he’d managed to convince himself that it would be for the best. Now, as he looked up at Teddy and saw the concern mixed with desire in her eyes, he felt himself sink a little deeper into the mire.
The waitress showed up with the bottle of Jack Daniels, and Rick looked up at her gratefully. He broke the seal on the bottle and, taking the glass the waitress had set down on the table, proceeded to pour shot after shot, drinking them down in succession. When he looked at Teddy again, he felt the beginnings of the numbness he was searching for. Teddy’s eyes reflected surprise at his disposition—she’d never seen him drink himself into a stupor. They’d always drunk together, but Rick never overindulged, always wary of losing his edge. He had always been happy and gregarious, drunk or not.
“What has that woman done to you?” she said.
“Done?” Rick’s eyes were on her again, but she could tell he wasn’t really seeing her.
“Yes, done, Richard.” She reached out to touch his hand, ironically brushing the cold metal of his wedding ring. “You’ve never been like this. She’s changed you.”
Rick didn’t say anything. His eyes had gone to her fingers on his. He idly compared her highly manicured hand to Midnight’s small,
unpolished hands. Rick knew he was drunk, and that if he continued to drink he wouldn’t feel anything anymore. That was his goal, and Teddy was distracting him.
“Teddy,” he said, his voice low, his lips right next to her ear. “Don’t you have somewhere to go?”
Teddy’s breath caught in her throat at his sudden nearness. She could feel his breath on her ear, and she could smell the whiskey on it. But it made her almost shudder with yearning for him. Turning her head just slightly, she looked into his eyes. His face was so close to hers, and she wanted him so much. “Anywhere you are, Richard,” she said, her eyes telling him everything her body was screaming at her.
Rick sucked in his breath sharply, seeing her naked desire. It had been so long since he’d been with Midnight, or even Sheila. His body responded even as his heart backpedaled. Without a word he stood and, taking Teddy’s hand, led her from the club. Once in the parking lot, she guided him to her car—she knew he was in no condition to drive. She turned to him, looking up into his eyes. She started to speak, but Rick’s lips silenced her. After that, she couldn’t catch her breath long enough to try to talk.
Rick shoved her roughly against the passenger door of her car, his lips bruising hers in his fervor. He didn’t want her to say anything—he didn’t want to think about what he was doing and what it would mean. He felt her hands in his hair, and he reached up, taking them and bringing them back down, holding them to her sides. Midnight always entwined her hands in his hair when they kissed, and he didn’t want to be reminded of that.
Keeping her hands where they were, he pressed his body pressed against her, and his lips devoured hers. Teddy wanted him more than she had ever wanted a man, including when they had been together before. His intensity was almost frightening, but it was exciting too. She found herself identifying with those women who liked the “rough stuff,” and when Rick’s hands released hers and clutched her upper arms, his fingers digging into the delicate skin, she almost gasped at the contact.
“Do it, Richard,” she whispered harshly, all control gone now. “Do it, now, here.” She was writhing with the desire for him to touch her further. She cried out when he stepped back and looked down at her. It was as if someone had thrown cold water in his face. Within moments he was scowling, his eyes reflecting the frustration he felt.
When she had spoken his name, her voice so full of passion, it had made him think of Midnight and how she sounded when they made love. It had been a glaring difference, and it had made him feel the sharp guilt instantly. Now the idea of what he had been about to do made him feel absolutely sick. He turned away from Teddy and strode off, not looking back. He blindly walked down the streets of London. He didn’t pay any attention to where he was going—he just walked. He was still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but his mind was turning over and over with the thoughts of his wife. His hands were clenched into fists and stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. Ironically, he had pulled out his Black Knights jacket that evening, having felt nostalgic when he found it in his closet.
Rick was surprised when he walked into someone coming the opposite way. He raised his eyes to look into the face of a much younger man. The boy reached out and attempted to shove Rick backward; Rick took one step back, but didn’t stumble backward as the young man had expected. Rick looked him over. He was wearing ripped jeans, a dirty-looking T-shirt, and an equally dirty jean jacket with a chain running down the front left side. He looked like all the kids he’d dealt with in the gangs in America.
Kevin Clark looked at the man whose path he had purposely stood in. He didn’t know who the fuck this guy thought he was, but he was on the Coyotes’ turf, and Kevin meant to teach him a lesson.
As Rick watched, the young man drew out a switchblade. Rick grinned openly, shaking his head at the irony. Here he was, five thousand miles from FORS, and he was facing a gang member again.
“Kid…” Rick said, narrowing his eyes. He saw that more men were moving toward him, and he found himself wishing he could legally carry here. Not that it mattered whether or not it was legal—he still had his gun placed snugly in its holster at the small of his back. But if he actually had to shoot someone, his dad would be bailing him out of jail later, and it wouldn’t do a lot for his law enforcement career in America.
“You think you can take me, man?” the young man said, brandishing his knife. Rick moved so that his back was against the nearest wall, so no one could get behind him. His police training was kicking in automatically.
“I don’t think I can, kid,” he said confidently. “I know.”
“Bullshit!” the kid yelled, and charged at Rick. Rick simply waited, then stepped aside at the last minute, bringing his fist up under the outstretched knife and punching the kid in the stomach.
Kevin fell to the ground coughing, in shock. He had figured the older man for an easy mark. He lashed out with the knife, catching Rick on the leg but only slicing his pants as Rick jumped back.
Someone grabbed Rick from behind. In moving away from Kevin, he had mistakenly turned his back on someone else. Rick relaxed just enough for the person holding him to think he wasn’t going to fight, and then jammed his elbow into their ribs. He heard the man yelp, and Rick grabbed one of the arms still holding him and flipped the man over his shoulder. He looked around him, and was just turning to grapple with yet another young man when he heard his name.
“Rick Debenshire, what the hell?”
Rick turned, looking back at the man he had just felled. His eyes narrowed for a minute, and then he began to smile. “Tom Allen! Sonofabitch!” He held his hand out to the other man, helping him up off the ground. Tom was holding his ribs gingerly, but he was smiling. He held his hand up to the other members of the gang, who had paused.
“It’s okay,” Tom said, his accent thick. “He’s cool—known him for years.”
“So he’ll give us his wallet without a fight,” Kevin said, eyeing Rick angrily, pissed about being taken out so easily.
Tom looked over at Kevin sharply. “Kev, I think if you’re smart, you’ll be backin’ off now. Rick here could take you, me, and half the gang without battin’ an eyelash.”
Rick was grinning at the other man.
“An’ just how do you know?” Kevin said, loath to let go of his anger.
“’Cause I was in the Knights with him, Kev. Now shut up!” Tom said. The rest of the gang looked sufficiently cowed. He glanced over at Rick. “Heard you became a cop. That true?”
Rick nodded. “In the States, yeah.”
Tom looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide how to take the fact that his former friend was a police officer now. Then he inclined his head, indicating a bar a few doors down. “Come on.”
They spent the next hour catching up. Tom Allen had actually been a very junior member of the Knights, having only been fifteen at the time. Now, at twenty-five, he ran the Coyotes, but he assured Rick that they just dabbled in the light stuff, much like the Knights had. “I don’t go for all that drug dealin’ an’ shit.”
Rick nodded. “Good thing.” His voice was serious, but his eyes showed humor. He was pretty far gone, after sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels with Allen. Tom’s eyes fell on Rick’s wedding band.
“You married, man?”
Rick looked as if he were considering the question for a moment. “For now,” he said finally.
“An’ what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Things aren’t workin’ out.” He didn’t really want to talk about it.
“She get fat or somethin’?” Tom said, grinning. “You were always into the ladies. Can’t imagine one that could hold you down.”
Rick gave the other man a measured look. He pulled out his billfold and flipped to a picture of Joe and Midnight. The photo had been taken at a party a couple of years back. Midnight was wearing all black—jeans, boots, and a satin shirt. Her hair was wild, and she and Joe were laughing. He showed the picture to Tom.
Tom whistled, hi
s eyes almost bugging out of his head. “An’ she’s in the States?” Rick nodded. “What the fuck’re you doin’ here?” Then he looked at the picture again. “That Joe?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s he doin’?” Tom asked, surprised to see the former leader of the Knights with Rick’s wife.
“He’s good—he’s married too.” He showed Tom a picture of Randy and Joe.
“Nice piece.” Tom said, grinning.
“Yeah,” Rick said, his face serious. “Anyway, he’s a cop too. In fact, he’s my boss, and Midnight’s his.”
“Midnight?”
“My wife.”
“She’s your boss too, then?” Tom looked shocked.
“Yeah. Scary, ain’t it?” Rick said, his eyes bleak.
“Incredible’s more like it.” Tom leaned back in his chair and looked Rick over. “So what’s goin’ on with you and her?”
Rick shrugged. “It’s a long story, man. Let’s just say we don’t see eye to eye on anythin’ these days.”
“You love her?” Tom asked, surprising even himself with the question.
“Too goddamned much,” Rick said, shaking his head ruefully.
Tom looked back at his longtime friend, surprised by the vehemence in his voice. He had never seen Rick Debenshire in love, and he could tell Rick was definitely in deep with this one.
They spent another hour talking and drinking. Finally, Tom called him a cab and sent him home safe and sound. Rick thought about the old days on the ride back to his parents’ house. He remembered Tom as a pretty nice kid, but he hoped the man didn’t plan to make the gang his life. Rick knew better than anyone, with the exception of Joe and Midnight, that being in a gang could be hazardous to one’s health.
Betrayals Stand (MidKnight Blue Book 5) Page 9