Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4)

by Lauren Gilley

  ~*~

  The next morning, the sun played through the sleek auburn lengths of Ian’s hair as he spun his desk chair in lazy circles. Downstairs in the funeral parlor part of his operation, the staff had seemed to be expecting them, a lackey in a suit leading them up to the office straightaway.

  Ian stopped spinning, face turned toward the window, giving them a glimpse of his profile. It was theatric, the way he folded his hands together and brought the fingertips up to the end of his nose. Drama queen. Literally. “Am I to understand,” he said, “that you’re defying your father’s orders and going against him to stage a secret rescue operation?”

  “If you wanna say it all fancy like that, sure. That’s what I’m doing.”

  He inhaled, shoulders lifting and then falling. His eyes flicked over. Large eyes, bright with emotion. “He’ll kick you out of the club for this, you know.”

  “Give a shit,” Aidan said, holding steady eye contact, wanting his sincerity to translate. “If he lets my best friend get killed, that’s not a club I want to be a part of.”

  Expression sparking with interest, Ian swiveled around, facing them now. He glanced at Carter and then Fox in turn. “Do your brothers here share your sentiments?”

  “No idea. I won’t ask them to take a fall for this. I’ll take full credit for the whole fucked up mess.”

  “I want to ensure that you’re all equally committed, you understand. No sense backing balky horses.”

  “Aidan was my sponsor when I came into the club,” Carter said. “I’m with him. All the way.”

  What a change of tides. Had they been alone, Aidan would have pulled him into a hug, such was his sudden surge of gratitude. But instead he tipped his head toward Fox, silently asking.

  “I don’t balk,” he said, voice flat.

  “That’s about the biggest answer you’re gonna get out of him,” Aidan said.

  Ian drummed his fingers together, seemed to consider.

  “It’s Kev,” Aidan prodded. “I know you–”

  “Yes, obviously I’m in.” He sighed. “But I can’t involve my men. That would kick off a Middle-Earth-scale battle neither you nor Knoxville could handle at present.” He held out his arms, inviting them to look at his expensive gray suit, open-throated sky blue shirt. “So you have me, and whatever money and supplies you need from me.”

  Aidan snorted. “We have you? Yeah, Rambo, that’ll be a big help.”

  Ian grinned darkly. “Just you wait, darling. As you would say, you don’t know shit about me.”

  ~*~

  How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? He didn’t know or care. All he wanted was for someone to put a bullet through his frontal lobe. He was destined for insanity anyway, right? No one could handle the aftereffects of his life thus far. This new torture was physical only; it hadn’t touched his mind – that was already damaged beyond repair. And this was an old familiar pain, that of violation and misuse. He felt the welling of blood and knew that this had been bad; this had been worse than with the paying customers. This had been about making a point and fighting hard against their own sick delight in the act.

  Through the wall of bars that separated them, Whitney was sobbing quietly.

  Tango rolled his head toward her, but his eyes were puffy, his vision glazed-over. He hated that she’d witnessed it all, but he wasn’t sorry that he’d saved her from it. “S’okay,” he mumbled, voice getting stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. “I’m alright.” He tried to lift a hand to demonstrate, but the limb only shuddered on the concrete.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Whitney chanted. And then, in a low, fierce voice: “I have to get us out of here. I have to.”

  Thirty-Three

  On Halloween, they’d raided every known Ellison property, and an afternoon of recon proved that none of those houses had been put back to use. Which meant Tango was being held somewhere off the map.

  “I have an idea,” Aidan told Ian over the phone. “I’ll call you back when I know something.”

  The guy drew breath to say something in response, and Aidan hung up on him. He didn’t have time for all that proper grammar bullshit.

  “You actually have an idea?” Carter asked.

  “Yeah.” He pocketed his phone and glanced toward the parking lot as he heard the drone of an engine. Mercy was back in one of the club trucks with lunch. “After work,” he said, under his breath, as his brother-in-law climbed out of the truck and carried a half dozen takeout containers from Stella’s over to the picnic table.

  “What’re y’all doing in there?” he called. “Gossiping like chicks?” It sounded only half-teasing.

  “Yeah, exactly,” Aidan said. He thumped Carter in the arm and they went out to eat, tingling under the skin with delayed action.

  The sharp tang of danger lay heavy on the back of Aidan’s tongue. Since deciding on a course of action, he’d begun to feel the stares of his brothers more acutely; imagined them guessing his thoughts, reading his intent to subvert Ghost’s authority. Which glance would be the final deduction? When would it be dragged before MC court and dismantled?

  “They were outta lasagna,” Mercy said as Aidan sat down across from him. “So I got manicotti.”

  “That’s cool.”

  Mercy knew. Oh shit, he knew! His dark eyes were level and serious on the other side of the table, his face – so jovial most of the time – set at sharp angles that brought out the lean meanness of his features.

  “What?” Aidan asked, heart pounding.

  “You’re being weird.”

  He…didn’t know?

  Aidan shook his head and ducked over his food. “Whatever, man.”

  ~*~

  This was the tricky part. He hated that he had to ask for this kind of help, of all helps, but it couldn’t be avoided, and time was of the essence.

  “Wait out here?” he asked Carter in the driveway of Sam’s house. The sun was fast setting, the last dull glimmers flitting along the roof of Sam’s battleship car.

  Carter took off his helmet and pulled out his phone. Ready to call Jazz no doubt. “Yeah, that’s fine.” The screen of his phone lit up, flashing blue across his face, highlighting the small smile there as his thumb moved across the keys.

  Not wanting a front row seat to the Jockstrap & Jazz Sexting Hour, he put his back to his former charge and headed up the back sidewalk with several deep breaths. He attempted to do something to his hair – impossible curly mess that it was. It needed cutting, just like he needed a shave, just like his hoodie needed washing and his cut needed oiling…

  Later. This sudden logjam of belated responsibility would make him crazy if he didn’t parse it out one chore at a time. Right now, he needed to get to Greg, which meant going through Erin’s dipshit boyfriend, which meant –

  He was at the door sooner than he thought he’d be. He wasn’t ready. Tensing, holding his breath, he knocked politely.

  His insides grabbed, a physical pain searing through him as Sam opened the door. She wore loose jeans and a fitted sweater that highlighted her figure and made her seem thinner. Had she lost weight since he’d last held her? Had she been so devastated that she’d had trouble eating? Her beautiful face was like a homing beacon for him. He wanted to wrap her long braid around his wrist and unwind it slowly, piece by piece, until he could bury his hands in the heavy blonde waves and smell the floral notes of her shampoo.

  God, he was a sap.

  God, he loved her so much.

  “Hi,” she said with a brave little smile, knuckling up her glasses. Her cute slip of a nose just didn’t hold them well. “What’s up?”

  “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said before he could catch himself, errand blasted away by the joy of seeing her.

  She blushed.

  “I mean, really, truly, honest to God gorgeous as all hell. Inside and out.”

  Her head tilted, color coming into her cheeks. “Aidan.” A reproach…and a soft, lingering tone
that said so many things. She missed him, and that was encouraging; that enabled him to take a deep breath.

  “Right,” he said. “I need to ask a favor, is why I’m here. Can I come in?” He lifted his hands, showing her his empty palms. “No funny business, I swear.”

  She stepped aside. “Of course. I’m making dinner.”

  He sat down at the kitchen table, stomach rumbling as he smelled whatever she had going in the skillet and knew he wouldn’t be allowed to stay for the meal. Boyfriends got dinner; people who needed to grow up got audiences, but that was it.

  She went to the stove, picked up a wooden spoon and stirred, releasing the tangy smell of heating onions and garlic. “Are you okay?” she asked, eyes darting over, full of concern.

  He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Mostly. I’m working on a way to get Kev back.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  She nodded, face crimping with a sudden burst of emotion. “Good. That’s…good. I…” She looked at him again, falling silent. “God, Aidan, if I could help in any way…”

  “You can, baby,” he assured. “And you’re not gonna like it, but it could be huge for me. For Kev.”

  She took a deep breath too, and nodded. “Okay.”

  “I need Erin to get me in contact with Jesse. He knows somebody I need to have a little chat with.”

  She considered a moment. “This won’t affect Erin?”

  “Not even a little.”

  She nodded. “Hold on.” And left the room, calling, “Erin! Can you come down here a second?”

  Both sisters entered a moment later, Erin shocking in her state of cleanliness and youth. She wore no makeup, and was in jeans and a tame sweatshirt.

  “Hi,” she said, sliding into the chair beside him. “Sam said you needed something?”

  “Yeah, kid. It’s a favor, and it’s a big one, but it’ll really help me out if you can come through.”

  She fiddled with the cuffs of her sweatshirt, glanced at her sister and earned a nod of encouragement. “Okay.”

  “Can you give me Jesse’s number?”

  She looked startled. “Um, why?”

  He wanted to grit his teeth and shake her for being a teenager. Damn, had he been that way at sixteen? He felt extremely sorry for Mags, having to deal with him back then.

  “A friend of mine,” he said, forcing patience, “my best friend since high school. My bro, you know?”

  She nodded, growing solemn.

  “He’s been abducted by some really bad guys.”

  “Aid,” Sam said, just a breath. But she didn’t try to stop him. It was time Erin learned that there were more important things in life than eye liner.

  Erin gulped visibly.

  “There’s someone I need to talk to about this,” Aidan continued. “And the only way I can think to get hold of him is through your boyfriend.”

  “Jesse?” Some of her distress eased and she curled her lip in derision. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

  “Good for you,” he said, and meant it. “But I tried going by his place and he’s not there. Do you know where I can find him?”

  She nodded. “He likes to go to the pool hall with his friends.”

  The pool hall that had once been converted into the Carpathians’ clubhouse, then burned, then been refurbished and reopened as a shiny new hangout spot for college kids.

  “Awesome. Thank you. That’s a big help.”

  Erin looked pleased. “What are you gonna do to Jesse?”

  “Nothing too bad,” Aidan said, and gave her a wink.

  She giggled.

  “Erin, how’s the homework coming?” Sam asked, clearly trying to derail this line of conversation.

  Erin got up from her chair and headed out of the room. “Working on it.”

  Sam dumped a package of ground beef into the skillet and it landed with a hiss. “You aren’t actually going to do anything to Jesse, are you? I can’t stand the little shithead, but I don’t know if he deserves a beating.”

  “I don’t care about Jesse,” he assured. “And I figure he’ll sing his lungs out the second I get hold of him.”

  She snorted.

  His business now conducted, there was nothing holding Aidan here. Except the way steam from the pan was curling the loose wisps of Sam’s braid. And the way his insides throbbed with warmth as he watched her work.

  “What’re you making?” he asked, and saw a little tension steal across her shoulders. Helping out with Kev was one thing, but he guessed small talk made her nervous. It made him nervous.

  “Tacos,” she replied. She attempted a weak smile. “It’s Tuesday, after all.”

  “It smells good.”

  “Thanks.”

  A beat, then:

  “Sam–”

  “Aidan–”

  They stopped and started at the same time, gazes meeting.

  Aidan dipped his head. “Ladies first.”

  She took a deep breath. “How are you holding up with all of this?” Her blue-green eyes were serious and sympathetic behind her glasses. “Are you okay?”

  “Actually, yeah.” He gave her a grim smile. “I mean, I have no idea what I’m gonna do with a little girl. I don’t even know how to change a diaper, much less have a tea party. I’m terrified. And every time I think about Kev I wanna puke. And sitting here right now, looking at you, I miss you so much it hurts. It hurts bad, Sam. Because I wanna lay you over this table and tear your jeans off.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “And I want you to sleep beside me and tell me it’s all gonna work out. So I’m pretty fucked up,” he concluded. “But I’m okay, yeah. I can handle it.”

  Then he turned it back on her. “How ‘bout you? You okay, baby?”

  “Well.” She sniffed. “I can’t sleep. And I’m trying really hard not to cry right now. But yeah, I’m okay too.” She swallowed. “God, Aidan, I miss you.”

  He stood, and his feet propelled him to the stove. She didn’t resist when he captured her face in both hands, cradling her gently. She shivered, the little ripples of movement telegraphing up his arms.

  “I wanna give you your space,” he said, voice raw. “I know you need time to think, because I’m a lot to take on. Fucked up me and my fucked up baggage.”

  “Don’t say that about yourself,” she whispered fiercely. “You’re not fucked up.”

  He pressed on, determined now. “I have a baby coming, and I have a club, and a bad habit of doing stupid shit. You deserve better than that.”

  Her eyes moved across his face, filling with moisture. Her lips trembled as she breathed through them.

  “But I’ve gotta ask…” He didn’t finish; kissed her instead.

  Her mouth was soft and sweet as always, lips supple beneath his tongue as he pressed for entry.

  Her hands landed on his chest, fingers flexing, tips pressing against his pecs. She leaned into him, head tipping back as the kiss deepened.

  He wanted inside her. That was his first, vivid thought, as he felt the shapes of her breasts through her sweater. He wanted to strip her down and take her up against the kitchen counter while her dinner burned beside them.

  But that was the sort of thinking that had led him to so many mistakes. This wasn’t just about her body; he wanted inside her heart and mind, too, and that would require a grace he’d never possessed before.

  With a groan of disappointment, he pulled back from her. Her lips were parted and glistening, her eyes half-lidded and hungry. He almost broke his own promise and dove back in headfirst. But he made himself reach to stroke her face.

  “You’re the woman I’ve been needing my whole life,” he said, throat tight. “You’re my old lady. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you in my life.”

  He kissed her again before she could respond, quickly, and then left.

  ~*~

  As Erin predicted, Jesse was at the pool hall, and he was happy to cooperate in order to save face
in front of his friends. As Aidan and Carter stood witness, he called Greg (whom he knew as G) and arranged a meeting at Hamilton House for two hours later.

  “What are you gonna do?” Jesse asked as he pocketed his phone.

  Aidan gave him a chilly smile. “None of your damn business.”

  One hour and fifty-five minutes later, Aidan waited in the mildewed kitchen of Hamilton House, listening to rats scrabble overhead.

  “Damn,” Carter muttered. “And I thought this place was creepy during a party.”

  “Yeah.”

  The moon was nearly full, but between the boarded-over windows and the thick overgrown magnolias outside, only the rare stray moonbeams slipped through the cracks to slant across the floor. It was a dark, haunted place tonight, full of whispers that had gotten caught in the cobwebs, air laced with damp smells and menace. It made Aidan think of the night Mason Stephens had brought his sister here and beat her into unconsciousness. A shudder moved through him, and he wondered if Carter was thinking about that night too.

  The house vibrated, suddenly, shifting under the weight of a single step at the front door. “Yo, Jesse?” Greg called, voice echoing as he moved toward the ballroom.

  Carter changed his voice, affecting irritation and boredom. “Back here, in the kitchen.”

  Mumbled cursing. Sound of a trip and a struggle for balance. “Jesus, it’s dark as shit in here.” His breathing became audible as he passed through the threshold of the kitchen. “Turn on a damn light.”

  “Okay,” Carter said. But he waited. And the steps drew closer, closer.

  The light came on with a bright flare, a high-powered Energizer number that could have doubled as a weapon.

  Greg brought an arm up to shield his eyes, and Aidan jumped on him, tackling him to the ground.

  “Hey! What the–”

  Greg was a small guy, but he was wiry and quick, and Aidan knew he had to make short work of this capture if he was going to pull it off. He flipped Greg to his stomach and managed to snag his wrists. He bucked and kicked and squirmed. Shit, Aidan was going to lose his grip…

  Carter knelt beside him. “Here.” He produced a zip tie and cinched Greg’s wrists together, flashlight sitting on the floor and casting giant, spider-like shadows of Greg’s hands onto the far wall.