by Portia Gray
Walking into the hallway and the living room… shirtless.
"Shit," she said it out loud this time, closing her eyes and waiting for the fallout. She pulled jeans from a drawer and yanked them on, zipper just done up as she hit the hallway herself.
"Oh, good morning, Quentin," she heard Thelma saying as she rounded the corner to the living room. "Arielle." Her name was added on with a big shit-eating grin, and Arielle tried to make eyes telling Thelma to play it cooler than that.
"Q? What are you doing here?" Calvin asked, plopping onto the couch, remote in his hand forgotten. His eyes flicked to Arielle then got wider. He was about to ask something else then Quentin started talking.
"I'm here to make you breakfast, Chuckles." He pulled his shirt on, then pointed to Calvin with meaning. "Fancy breakfast."
Arielle melted just a little. How'd he know about‘fancy’ breakfast?
Calvin frowned. "Is it your birthday?"
"No. Sometimes you just deserve fancy breakfast." He shot a wink at Arielle. "Like when you get lucky the night before."
"Oh God…" Arielle muttered. Aunt Thelma grinned wider.
Calvin frowned deeper. "Did you go to the casino?"
Quentin cracked up and Arielle covered her face with both hands. "Yeah Chuckles. You got it. Hit the jackpot, too." She lowered her hands to just cover her mouth, feeling her cheeks warm. Quentin was smiling at her and the warmth sunk further down her neck and chest. Aunt Thelma was still grinning like the cat-that-got-the-cream. "Let's go buddy, help me make Aunt Arielle breakfast. Okay?"
Calvin got to his feet and followed Quentin without question. She shared another look with her aunt. It was probably too much to hope for that Aunt Thelma still wasn't talking to her, right?
"Aunt Thelma," Quentin greeted her with great familiarity, lowering his head to kiss her cheek before passing by.
"Good to see you again, Quentin," Thelma returned, clearly pleased.
When they were alone Arielle exhaled, flopping into the arm chair and covering her head with her arms. "Shit," she muttered.
"Arielle—"
"I'm sorry," she cut Thelma off, "he's been here the last two days. He's been wonderful to me. I…I couldn't help it."
There was no answer, so when she uncovered her head she was surprised that Thelma was sitting on the sofa across from her, hands on knees and still grinning.
"Arielle honey, where'd your hair go?"
Arielle frowned, then flattened both palms to her head. "Oh my God, that's right. I…I shaved it off yesterday."
"What does Quentin think of it? Like I need to ask."
Arielle bit her lip. "He helped me do it."
Thelma bit her lip too, and her eyebrows rose in a way that meant she was tearing up. "You look beautiful, Arielle. I wish you always looked this…happy."
She must be nuts. "I'm embarrassed," Arielle admitted.
"For what? You're a consenting adult." Arielle shook her head. "You look great, honey. The color in your cheeks is back. Your eyes are bright and lively again. He's almost as good for you as your treatments will be."
Arielle sniffed. "Aunt Thelma…" she paused. She didn't have that girl talk friend anymore. A few of the ladies at the Town Office might have been close enough for that but now that she wasn't working with them they were just…former co-workers. Aunt Thelma really was all she had. "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Him," she whispered back. "He's going to hurt me. He's going to break my heart, I know it."
Thelma got to her feet then knelt in front of her to hug her. "Arielle honey, sometimes I just know things too. And I know that a man asking a nine-year-old to help him make fancy breakfast and build a motorcycle is not going to hurt you like that."
"Thelma—"
"A man that helps a girl shave her hair off isn't just hanging around to love her and leave her. A man who looks at you when you're at a low point and still decides to be there the next morning has more on his mind than getting his rocks off. And a man who wants to wait to make sure you're ready is ready to be more than just another night."
Arielle had to smile. "You're so wise, Aunt Thelma."
"And you're braver than you think." Thelma pinched her cheek. "Now. Let's hope you earned us all a really good fancy breakfast."
The wind rustled leaves. Gravel crunched under his boots. Birds were making a ruckus on top of the grain silo to the east of a ramshackle two-story farmhouse with white clapboard siding that was sagging like the green-shingled roof just decided it was done and was slowly taking the rest of the house with it. Grass stood waist-high around the foundation and the shrubs were taking over the flower beds.
Quentin, Gage, Colton, Dillon and Bishop were all cooling their heels out of the sun in an old stable that was almost scarier than the house it matched. Thank Christ it hadn't been used in decades—that stink in this heat would have been less than pleasant. The doors were closed but a missing board about five-feet up afforded a view and a firing position.
Their bikes were hidden away with them in the stable, the van that Gage drove parked around the back out of sight. Everyone was quiet, but Quentin's head was humming loudly with the urge to cut this Reuben bastard off at the knees. Half his energy was being spent watching out for the dealer that was still tied to a chair right in the middle of the stretch of dirt and gravel between the house and stable. The other half of his energy was fighting off his biggest distraction at the moment.
Now that he was away from that house, and Calvin and Arielle, he was…worried. Fucking scared was more like it. The same elephant was sitting on his chest as the one that parked there the second Arielle fainted in front of him. His own natural reaction to caring about someone.
Walking around dealing with the scum of the earth day-to-day wasn't a problem for him. It hadn't been, anyway. With someone to worry about, someone you want to have around, to protect…it was already exhausting. And he couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, he was going to end up letting her down and maybe even losing her.
And not only because of the scum factor, either. His eyes narrowed on that piece-of-shit dealer and knew this was one thing he could absolutely protect her from. He'd tear men limb from limb if they so much as sneezed around her. He couldn't protect her from him though, and he had a long history of being a fuck-up.
Breaking him out of his own head, two black SUVs rolled up the dirt drive, and Quentin just gave a short, "They're here."
He felt his brothers fall in next to him, and they watched three men get out of one vehicle and four out of the other. They may have been outnumbered but at least they had the element of surprise so far.
That is, until the dealer started squealing like a stuck pig and gesturing to the stable with his head.
"Eight counting the dealer," Dillon reminded them and Quentin heard safeties release as he grabbed his own piece from his back. "Six of us."
"That's him," Colton pointed out, cold and level. "That fat fucker with the hat. That guy matches the dealer's description of Reuben."
He did, too. Heavy set, about six-and-a-half-feet tall, Mexican. Which was interesting since the neo-Nazi fucks were taking orders from him.
Without another word Reuben's hand came up, gun appearing almost out of nowhere, and plugged one into the dealer's head.
"Make that seven," Dillon, ever the smart ass, pointed out.
"Still doesn't feel fair," Quentin chimed in.
Colton was grinning, so was Bishop. It was Bishop who shut everyone up. "You two can let them shoot you if it'll make you feel better about the odds."
The seven assholes started walking their way, and Quentin frowned. "They're not even taking cover."
"What the hell was that dealer saying to them?" Colton whispered as they all, without argument, brought their weapons up shoulder-height.
"Do we take Reuben?" Gage asked.
Bishop make a grunt of indecision. "'I'm kinda in favor of just wiping the shit off my boot heel, you know? What
's the point asking why it stinks and why it picked me?"
"He could be important to talk to, find out who he works for, make sure we're not stepping on any big bad steel-toes," Colton pointed out, none of them looking at each other, all focused on the posse headed their way.
"No dealers in Portus Felix," Bishop muttered back. He really wanted this Reuben guy to be food for the worms.
"Anyone see any blow-back?" Colton asked.
"No," Quentin answered immediately. He wanted him dead so bad he could taste it.
"This is the guy everyone's scared of," Bishop reminded them. "Which points to him being the top. Without him…" he left it at that.
Quentin found himself nodding. Better to ice the fucker now. Get it done in a rain of bullets, then he can go back to Arielle's, look her in the eye and tell her Reuben was no longer a threat. That thought alone made him grin.
"I don't think they know we're here," Gage said. "I got no idea what that asshole said."
"Shit," Colton muttered, and everyone shifted like the nerves had set in.
Suddenly Quentin had a moment of clarity, knowing what was bugging Gage and Colton. How could this be the guy running this all-but-clandestine operation, approachinga closed building that he had—allegedly—been warned about. A big-time dealer wouldn't make this mistake.
This guy was... too stupid, frankly.
Quentin was about to answer, but Bishop beat him to it. "Who the fuck cares?" the prez snapped quietly. "On three. One. Two."
The stable erupted in gunfire, the smell of used gunpowder a familiar sting in Quentin's nose. The seven men out in the sunshine literally had no idea what hit them. They were completely shocked as their chests exploded, getting at least seven rounds per stooge before their bodies hit the dirt. When all were down the shooting stopped, leaving behind ringing ears. Quentin winced, rubbing his temple.
"Everyone grab an end," Bishop snapped, pushing the stable doors open. The fresh air felt good, even if it was hotter than hell outside. "Leave these pricks in the stable."
Reuben took five guys to move. The rest were two-person operations with Bishop watching, sucking on the strong end of a cigar.
"You don't want 'em buried?" Quentin asked for clarification while he and Gage hauled a member of Reuben's entourage past their president.
"Doesn't really send a message if they're not found," Bishop pointed out.
When all the bodies were piled up like firewood Bishop declared business "taken care of." Gage climbed up into the van after retrieving the chair the dealer had been tied to—it was Dead Men property after all—and they headed back to Portus Felix town limits. Quentin gave a wave to indicate he was peeling off the formation and headed for his own hood, parking his bike in his driveway. Two more Harleys were on the street outside of Arielle's place, blocking in Thelma's truck.
A prospect was sitting on her front stoop, smoking. He got to his feet as Quentin approached, tossing the butt to the side. "They went to the hospital," the prospect informed him, hiking up his jeans.
"Who else is here with you?"
"Flynn's out back, eye on the yard."
"Good," he declared, then pointed. "And pick up that fucking cigarette butt. Where’d you think you are right now?" The prospect scrambled to retrieve it from under some kind of shrub and Quentin circled the house to the back. Flynn was on the deck, seated in a chair, watching the clouds go by. Looking bored out of his mind. He nodded to Quentin as he climbed the climbed stairs.
"How'd it go?"
Quentin shook his head. "Dunno. Too easy."
"You get him?"
"Yeah. He showed up with a few guys, we thought the dealer was telling him about the set-up, but they started walking up to us like they didn't know we were there. Or who we were." Flynn frowned. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," Quentin continued. "That's this badass dealer everyone's so scared of? He's an idiot." Flynn shrugged. "Or maybe the dealer was begging for mercy. But that makes no sense. He was tied to a chair and bleeding. They had to know it was a set-up." Quentin's head hurt from it, but something didn't feel quite right with all of that.
"Maybe the guy was an idiot."
Quentin shook his head. "Nah. No one would tell us shit about Reuben, man. He wasn't an idiot. People aren't scared of idiots."
"What did Bishop say?"
"Bishop considers it done."
Flynn nodded. "Well, there's your answer man. Hey—this broad got any beer?"
"I do at my place," Quentin answered, still thinking. Then he grinned. "You know how to fix a door lock?"
Chapter Twenty-Two
"He, uh…put the needle in my arm. That's the last thing I really remember. He had two men hold me in place while he shot me up. I didn't even know for sure what it was. I remember flashes of what happened in between but…" Jolene shuddered. "I don't wanna remember any better than that. I know why that guy wanted me. I know what he fucking did."
Arielle was staring at the ground, chewing her thumb nail. Thelma was perched on the edge of the hospital bed, outright sobbing. Calvin was outside on the bench. Thelma wanted to hear this, Arielle did not want Calvin to. Arielle didn't want to hear it herself. When Quentin explained it he may as well have switched over to a foreign language. This wasn't her world, at all. This didn't happen outside of movies; at least, that's how her life used to seem. Even knowing that Jolene was a user didn't make this any more believable.
"I remember him forcing himself on me the first time. I couldn't fight, I was too out of it. The next clear thing I remember is waking up here."
Thelma was shaking her head. "Oh honey," she whimpered. "You need to get out of all this."
Jolene nodded, then set her big blue eyes on Arielle. "Maybe Arielle's new friends will help me."
Arielle could have laughed if she wasn't so disturbed by Jolene's story. "They try to keep drug dealers out of town, so they were already after these guys. I'm not sure how much you will factor in what happens next. They only called an ambulance for you because they recognized you."
Thelma's head swiveled around. "Arielle, watch your tone."
Arielle shook her head. "This big bad dealer she's talking about selling her is going to come here. He knows where Calvin and I live. I just want to know if he'd come looking for me for a reason. Jolene?"
Jolene blinked a couple times. Arielle knew she was in danger of making Thelma angry again, but she kept her eyes on Jolene.
"I…I told him you had money, thinking he'd let me go so I could come and get it. Then I was going to disappear."
"How much money could this be?" Thelma asked to break the tension. "Maybe I could—"
"Forty grand," Jolene said sullenly, looking away from Arielle.
The pause was long. "Forty? Forty-thousand dollars?" Thelma confirmed. Jolene nodded.
"And he thinks I have that sitting around?" Arielle urged her on. Again, Jolene nodded. Arielle wanted to cry. She took a deep breath. "If I gave you ten grand, how much time would that get you?"
Thelma looked at her in surprise, but Jolene was shaking her head. "All or nothing. I tried to steal from him, too. He's pissed off."
Thelma was even further back in the whole Street Education factor of Jolene's life. She was just staring at Jolene like her entire world order had toppled over. Arielle could so relate.
"We can't buy her any forgiveness," Arielle assured Thelma. "Like always, she has to depend on others to clean up her messes."
"Arielle." Thelma's tone was warning and low, and that's when she knew she'd gone too far. "This is your sister. And after what she just told us?"
"I hate that it happened," Arielle threw back, "I'd never wish that for her. But now these people know where I live, Aunt Thelma. And Calvin, too. So my concern is kind of on our side right now."
"Once Jolene's out of the hospital you, Jolene and Calvin are coming to the farm," Thelma decided.
Arielle was already shaking her head. "I'm staying with Quentin. So's Calvin."
"Arielle
, honey—"
"No," Arielle cut in, "trust me Thelma, this is the safest place for him."
"She's right," Jolene cut in. "Dead Men will kill to keep what they care about safe."
Now Thelma was startled all over again. "Kill?"
Arielle was a bit surprised by that, too. But…thinking back, she should have suspected as much. Quentin had never told her about killing anyone; beating people up, yes. She filed it away under the Discuss Later tab. For the moment she had to get out of the room. So she did.
In the hall she took a deep breath, smiling at Calvin to show him everything was fine. One of the Dead Men called T-bone had been sitting next to him, arms crossed on his chest, listening to Calvin read from that library book out loud. He was grinning, too.
T-bonenodded to Arielle as she parked her ass on the other side of Calvin, putting her arm around him. "’If your mind is truly, profoundly stuck, then it might be much better off than when it was loaded with ideas’," Calvin was saying and Arielle had to smile.
"I must be really well off then," Arielle muttered, kissing the top of his head.
"Is everything okay?" T-bone asked politely, eyes darting to the door.
Arielle had to get used to people knowing what was up with her troubles, but it was proving difficult. "Yeah. She was just explaining to Aunt Thelma how bad everything had been."
The large hairy biker nodded. "T-bone," she said, trying to sound light and cheerfully curious.
"Yeah?"
"Can I talk to you?" she stood and jerked her head down the hallway. "Over here?" He cast his brown eyes to Calvin, nodded, stood and followed her down the hallway a few yards. She turned, biting her thumb nail again. "If I ask a question, will you promise to answer?"