Jace ambled back to Viv, doing her best to wipe down the table while keeping her shoulder stable. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. “You don’t have to do that,” he said low enough only she could hear it.
“I don’t like standing around and doing nothing.”
More like there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she’d show disrespect to his mother by not making an effort, which only went to show how well the two of them would get along. It might take a few hours of Ninette grilling Viv twenty ways to Sunday to get there, but they’d suit just fine in the end.
The men meandered toward the back staircase that led to the basement, but paused at the top.
“You coming?” Trevor said.
“Yeah.” Jace turned Vivienne in his arms and lowered his voice. “Need to talk business with the guys. Just hang with the girls and relax, all right?”
Her volley back to him was just as quiet, but held a whole lot more heat. “You realize you introduced me to your mom with messy hair, barefoot and with no bra.”
“You give my mom time to share and you’ll figure out none of those things mean shit to her.” He kissed her forehead and slipped away, giving his mom a pointed look on his way to his brothers. “Take care of my girl for me.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Ninette sealed up a tub of leftovers and yanked open the refrigerator door. “Because we gentle creatures can’t take care of ourselves.” She winked to lighten the barb, but he took it how she meant it. Butt the hell out and let me handle this the way I want. As if any living being had a chance of telling Ninette Kennedy how to run her life.
With one last peek at Vivienne, he followed the guys down the hardwood steps to the basement. He might have put his penchant for dark woods and old-world decor to work in the rest of the house, but down here it was Man Cave 101. Stonework walls and dark wood ceiling beams were the only traces it even belonged in the same house. Aside from the two sixty-five-inch TVs mounted side by side on the far wall, the pool table, and the pinball machine, every piece of furniture came courtesy of one of the brother’s pasts. Zeke’s worn couch, Axel’s haggard recliners and Trevor’s milk crates holding up an oversize door he’d used as a coffee table back when Axel and Jace had first found him.
They filed around the first conference table Jace had bought right after he’d closed on his first club. The maple wood was scarred and didn’t have a single matching chair around it, but it held some damned fine memories. He sat at the end seat he always took, Axel taking up the other. “Knox, you get anything on the tapes?”
“Got a shot of the shooter from the parking lot cameras. Definitely male. Might be good enough to get facial recognition somewhere else, but he did a good job covering up what he could. Hat, hoodie, glasses, bulky clothes, the whole bit. Shot out of the parking lot in a silver Taurus old enough my grandma’s sewing machine could outrun it. No plates.”
“Can’t imagine that shot was for Viv,” Trevor said. “If she hadn’t sidestepped exactly when she did, that bullet would have nailed you square in the chest.”
Axel plunked his beer to the tabletop. “Had to be Hugo. No one else pissed and ballsy enough to make that kind of move.”
“I’m not buying it.” Beck pushed the gray wool slipper chair he’d picked up at an auction far enough away he could prop his size fourteen Adidas on the edge. “Moreno might be pissed, but he’s not an idiot. The kind of money he’s losing ain’t enough to risk a run-in with cops. If he wanted to hurt you, it wouldn’t have been with a parking lot full of potential witnesses, either.”
“What if he was trying to get to me by targeting Viv?” Jace said.
Beck laced his hands behind his head. “Makes more sense the shooter wanted you. And I still don’t think the one pulling the shots was Moreno. Had to be someone else.”
Zeke leaned in and planted his elbows on the table, those too shrewd eyes of his zeroed in on Jace. “Then Vivienne’s safe and can go home.”
“She’s not going anywhere.”
Every man stared him down. Trev, Beck and Knox managed neutral expressions, but Axel and Zeke both looked like they were up for one hell of a debate.
Axel rubbed his thumb through his beard. “What’s to keep her here if there’s no harm for the lass?”
Fuck. Of all his brothers, he’d expected Axel to back his play. Not be the first to throw up an obstacle. “The only way she’s leaving is if it’s what she wants.”
“We had an agreement,” Beckett said. “No women at Haven without buy-in from the rest of us. This is our safe ground. Lots of information laying around for someone we’re not all on board with. Hell, man. You heard what dinner was like. Everyone’s afraid to talk for fear we’ll let slip something we shouldn’t.”
“You’re using Haven resources for her too,” Knox said. “Using Misty for that shopping trip, background checks, security coverage—”
“Hookin’ her up with our clients and havin’ me run interference,” Axel added.
Jace fisted his hand on the armrest. “You got a point to make, brother, then quit shimmying up to it and get it out there.”
Axel shook his head. “Not one man in this room that’s got a problem throwin’ down for someone who’s yours, but you haven’t claimed her. Not with us.”
The urge to fidget crawled up his spine, and he’d have given at least a grand for a decent Scotch and a toothpick. Admitting to Viv how he felt had been a no-brainer, an instinctive move he couldn’t have avoided any more than he could stop breathing. But this...
Every man sat motionless, their easy posture belying the tension in their eyes. Accepting the risk Viv represented for him personally was one thing, but putting his brothers’ lives and businesses in jeopardy was something else altogether. He didn’t even know if Viv would stay. How would they look at him in days or weeks from now if she bolted after they lowered their guards?
They’d hold you up and keep you strong the way family should.
Clean as a freshly honed blade, the thought sheared straight to the heart of the matter. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it, and they’d do it together.
He met each man’s gaze one at a time. “If you’d do these things for me, you do ’em for her.” He ended with a nod to Axel, the one brother who’d been with him from the time he was three. “She’s mine.”
* * *
On the scale of most awkward moments, contributing to dinner cleanup with only one arm and two women she didn’t know had to rank as one of Viv’s top contenders. She swept the last of the table crumbs into the palm on her injured side, and bit back a curse at the stabbing pain in her shoulder.
“You ever spend time with Jace when he’s in a foul mood?” Ninette said from behind the sink.
Vivienne shuffled to the trashcan and shook the crumbs free. “Once or twice. My sister in particular seems to prod his nasty side to the surface.”
“Then you know it’s not a side of him that’s fun to be around. So, why don’t you sit and keep me and Sylvie company instead of prodding that shoulder of yours. Rally shouldn’t take too long tonight.”
“I can’t—”
“You take advantage a week or more from now and act like a princess, that’s one thing, but no one’s gonna think bad of you if you take care of yourself right now. For God’s sake, you got shot. When else can you take a load off?”
Sylvie took the pan Ninette handed over to dry. “Childbirth, that’s when. Ye ask me, any woman who cares for a child, born or adopted, needs at least three weeks’ hazard pay per year.”
The two women whooped and high-fived with an easy camaraderie that could only come from years in each other’s presence.
Funny, Viv couldn’t remember her mother ever hanging out with other women like that. Gossiping and meddling in other people’s business when she shouldn’t, yes. But any easy, lighthearted fri
endships? No.
Viv finished straightening the chairs around the huge table and eased into one along the side near the wall. “What’s rally?”
Ninette’s laughter died off. “My boy brings you out to Haven but doesn’t share the business he and his brothers do down there?”
“I’m not sure I’m too clear on the whole Haven business either.”
Ninette slanted a sideways look at Sylvie and dried her hands on a towel. “What has he told you?”
“I know it’s special. Only family. You and Sylvie, and his brothers.”
Ninette opened a side drawer from the built-in planner desk and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She tapped one free and anchored it between her lips. “He tell you anything about how he grew up? How he got that nasty scar?”
If Viv could’ve curled up into an inconspicuous ball and just rolled into a dark corner, now would’ve been a fantastic time to do it. Between the slow throb in her shoulder and the after-haze of her pain meds, she was already maxed out on discomfort. Ninette’s questions ratcheted things up to a level she wasn’t prepared to handle. “I figured when he was ready to tell me he would.”
“He was nine when he got it. Grew up overnight because of things I wished he’d never been exposed to. Though I gotta say, it made him a hell of a man. He knows what he wants, goes after it and does it with honor. Might not be the way other people would do it, or the way it’s supposed to be done, but he does it all the same.” She flicked an ash in the ashtray and blew out a slow stream of smoke. “What is he to you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Jace. The boys say you’re not the usual type he gravitates to. Say he’s dancing to a different tune because of you.”
A warm buzz fanned out beneath Viv’s skin and her face went hot. “I can appreciate you worrying about your son, but I’m pretty sure he’s fully grown and more than capable of figuring out who he wants to dance with and how.”
Sylvie chuckled with the same devilish belly laugh Axel favored, even if it was on a much higher octave. She hung her dishtowel on the oven handle and sauntered toward the kitchen table. “Uptight or not, our girl’s got a wee bit of fire underneath.”
Viv straightened in her chair. “Uptight? You have no idea who I am or where I came from.”
Just like Jace, Ninette cocked one perfectly arched eyebrow high and grinned as wicked as a cat after a canary appetizer. “Don’t I?”
All the fight in her whooshed out as sure as she’d been whacked in the gut, and a sharp pinch started up at her temple to match the pain in her shoulder. “He told you?”
Ninette blew out a hard puff of smoke and her eyes twinkled. “Nope. Sylvie sweet-talked Knox.”
She found this conversation funny? Viv could barely call up enough memories to smile about, let alone laugh.
“And just so you know,” Ninette added, “Jace’ll wreak havoc on Knox for spilling. So, unless you have a strong dislike for Knox, you might not want to share that tidbit.”
“And Knox knows because...”
“He’s the one who did the digging,” Sylvie finished. “Always does. Either him or Beck.”
Great. If Knox and the moms knew, then odds were good everyone did.
The table’s smooth, matte finish filled her vision. The urge to run, bolt and bar herself inside her townhouse, or maybe even tuck tail and scurry back to Oklahoma, practically burned the soles of her feet. A lot of good that would do with a fuzzy head and no car, though.
Sylvie sidled up beside her, tilted Viv’s face toward her with a grip on her chin, and cupped her cheek. The soft, gentle smile on the woman’s face was the picture-perfect version Viv had imagined growing up, patient and attentive. “No one here without a past, lass.” She stepped away and tapped Ninette on the shoulder as she headed to the big, arched exit. “I’m headed upstairs. Bring Viv if she’s up for it. And some popcorn. I need a snack ta go with my Charlie Hunnam fix. But ye’d best find a way ta get our girl’s foot off the gas before Jace gets back. Way she’s lookin’, we’re bound ta end up a car short and Jace a loose cannon.”
Our girl. It was the second time she’d used that expression, and Viv still couldn’t figure out how to process it.
Ninette pulled another long drag from her cigarette and let it out slow. She propped her elbow on the kitchen table and rolled the pad of her thumb along one fingertip, not the least bit concerned how close the smoldering tip of her cigarette hovered near her perfect blond hair. “You gonna let loose with the questions? Or are you gonna keep poor Sylvie from her Sons of Anarchy fix?”
“What questions?”
“The ones burning behind those pretty gray eyes of yours.”
Viv blinked and ducked her head. “A person’s past should be up to the individual to share. They’re just details without the context.”
“Is that really what’s bothering you? That we all know you grew up rough?”
Was it? Between her financial strain, Callie’s spiraling behavior and getting shot, it was a wonder anything about her past even fazed her at this point. Sure, she wasn’t proud of her past, but it was something she should have been given the opportunity to offer when she wanted. “Jace broke my trust the way he went about getting it. He could’ve asked.”
“I told you, Jace sees what he wants and goes after it. Does whatever it takes to make it happen.”
“At the expense of what’s right?”
Ninette snuffed her cigarette in the crystal ashtray and huffed out a laugh. “Who defines what’s right? Did he hurt you? Use what he learned against you? Have you even stopped long enough to consider why he did it?”
“He said they sweep any person’s home that works close to them, but that he didn’t want the men in my house.”
“That’s right. He could’ve handed the job off to someone who wouldn’t have cared, but he didn’t. There’s not a single thing he learned that anyone holds against you.” She leaned into the table, arms crossed across the top and studied Viv. “What Sylvie said is right. We don’t judge. We don’t have the room to.” Her gaze slid to the side and a wry smirk twisted her lips before she looked back at Viv. “Jace was nine years old when he found out I was a prostitute. That was the same night he killed a man to keep a john from killing me.”
Reality stopped. Even Viv’s breath and heartbeat seemed to trip while her mind scrambled to process the full impact of Ninette’s blunt statement. “I don’t...” What could she say? Nowhere on her list of polite responses did she have anything close to adequate. “Nine?”
“Nine.” Ninette shook her head and stared down at the table. “I didn’t have protection. I figured it was better to play it safe with higher-end clients and not share my earnings with anyone. More money to sock away so Jace could have a good life. An education. One of those clients liked me a little too much and followed me home one night. Long story short, he got a little crazy and pulled a knife. Jace got it away, but earned those scars in the process. It ended with Jace burying that knife in the man’s throat. I’ve tried for years to get him to spend some of the money he’s earned to fix the scars, but he says it’s a reminder—to protect the people he loves, and to remember where he came from.”
She stood, taking the ashtray with her, and strolled back to the kitchen island. “Lots of different ways to move through this life. You gotta decide what kind of man you want with you on the way.” She set the ashtray down and ambled toward the same exit Sylvie had taken. “The popcorn’s in the pantry, middle shelf, but hurry up. Soon as those boys are out of rally, Jace’ll sweep you back into isolation and you’re bound to miss a great Hunnam butt shot.”
Chapter 22
Bright lights danced behind Viv’s eyelids and nudged her foggy mind up from sleep. Licking her parched lips, she lifted her head to get her bearings and flinched at the sharp reprimand from her shoulder. She braced for another tweak and forced
the recliner’s backrest up a little higher anyway.
Beside her, Ruger lifted his head, ears perked and ready for a command.
“Not yet, buddy. Give me a minute to reboot my brain and I’ll smuggle you outside for a break.”
He huffed and rested his head back on the makeshift bed Jace had made out of old blankets. She couldn’t really blame him for being bored. As napping spots went, Jace’s office had proven a dark and comfortable oasis when he’d first headed off to work on Monday, but after nearly two full days of nonstop sleeping, she was just about ready to swear off pain pills and solitude forever.
Oh, who was she kidding. She hadn’t just been sleeping, she’d been hiding. No matter how much she wanted to tell herself otherwise, her conscience had been ramping up its internal lashings for the last twenty-four hours. She wasn’t normally a wimp when it came to getting to know other people, but for some reason she just hadn’t been able to force herself out of her pity party long enough to muster the courage to face Jace’s mom again.
Mindful of her shoulder this time around, she shifted the soft chenille blanket to one side of the recliner, reached for the button to lower the power footrest, and froze.
She hadn’t had a blanket when she’d fallen asleep. And her laptop was closed and plugged up to the charger across the room instead of in her lap where it had been the last she remembered.
Late-afternoon sun slanted through the barely cracked plantation shutters along the far wall, the dark chestnut stain reflecting the bold rays up onto the vaulted ceiling. Standing, she snatched her cell phone off Jace’s massive desk.
4:14 p.m.
Jace had said he wouldn’t be home until 5:30 or 6:00 at the earliest, but he’d said something similar the last two days and always ended up home early, both times loaded up with her favorite takeout and a ridiculous number of desserts.
Outside the window, Haven’s picturesque entrance stretched at least the length of a football field. Even with the grass dulled to a soft winter brown, it could easily have graced a postcard, especially with the house’s tall peaks, chocolate facing, and tumbled stonework. She still hadn’t been able to decide if it was more of a rustic ranch style, or a mountain chateau. Maybe a little of both.
Rough & Tumble (The Haven Brotherhood) Page 20