by Portia Gray
When she was still he pulled his hand free, her eyes bright and watching as he licked her off his fingers. Then he grabbed her right hand, licking her first two fingers off, too, smiling widely. "That's a good girl," he muttered, pleased as shit when she blushed again but didn't pull her hand away. He kissed her forehead. "Stay here. If you want anything from the kitchen help yourself. I think T-bone even keeps some of his organic shit in there if the mood hits you for some healthy-torture shit."
"Okay," she whispered, and he was still pretty tickled she was breathless and pink.
"And if you get the urge to do that again," he mumbled, kissing her quickly, "you better wait for me. I wanna watch." She trembled, and he was grinning as he got up. "Later, babe."
Leaving her shut in his room he sought out T-bone, told her that Arielle was napping but that she might need another shit milkshake when she woke up.
"Shit milkshake?" T-bone was understandably confused.
"That thing you told her to make in the blender. Tastes like crap? Is it really that good for her?"
T-bonewas nodding. "Of course. The antioxidants alone will help with—"
"Never mind explaining it, can you just get her one when she wakes up?"
"Sure"
"Thanks man. Appreciate it."
"You ready, Quentin?" Bishop was barking from the clubhouse doorway.
"Absolutely," he replied, sliding on his shades and following his president into the sunshine flooding the clubhouse entrance.
Arielle woke from her nap feeling…renewed. After a long, thorough stretch she got dressed, donned the wig and left the presumed safety of Quentin's room. She meandered down a dim hallway, eyes on the photos and posters she walked past.
The hallway turned out to the main room from there, and she crossed her arms, inhaling deeply and waiting to see things she wasn't going to like. But the room was empty, save for T-bone sitting at the bar, drinking a beer and turning to look at her over his shoulder.
"Well there she is. Sleeping Beauty. How you doing?"
Arielle felt herself smile, striding across the room to climb onto the stool next to him. "I'm good thanks, T-bone. How are you?"
"Drinking at two in the afternoon. That should say it all." She laughed at that, covering a yawn. "How much more of that chemo you got left?" he asked, his voice rolling out like a not-welcoming growl. But his expression was kind and concerned.
"I'm done the first course. One more to go, about two weeks' worth of treatments."
He nodded. "That's rough. I wish you well with that."
"Thank you," she said eventually, a little uncomfortable. Again, she wasn't used to everyone knowing her business.
“Oh, I made you something.” He pulled out a small paper sandwich bag in one hand which he held up and shook. "I made you some of my famous low-fat bran muffins."
She frowned. "You make…muffins?"
He set them on the bar in front of her. "These are special just for you. So no sharing, and keep them away from that kid, too." Arielle frowned. "They're pot muffins. Half a muffin per serving, okay? My special ingredient makes them a bit pricey." She blinked, mouth falling open. One, there was pot baked into the muffins in that bag. Two, he made them for her. Three, she wasn't used to having people help her this much. "Everything okay, blue eyes?"
She jumped, realizing she was staring at that bag without talking. He was eyeing her up strangely.
"That's so nice of you," she said lamely, smiling. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Now he looked uncomfortable. "Just hope you like 'em."
T-bone raised his beer and Arielle opened the bag. They smelled amazing.
"What are you up to now?" he asked.
"I don't know. I was wondering if there was something out here I could help with."
T-bone shook his head. "You're supposed to rest. I suggest you do that or Quentin'll tie you to the bed. Unless, of course, you don't see that as a deterrent." Her cheeks were warm again and T-bone coughed up a laugh. "So fun to have a blusher around this place."
She got to her feet. "Is…is there tea in the kitchen?"
"Sure is. Just past that walk-in freezer, there's a kettle and some dry goods on the shelf right above. Go ahead, make yourself at home."
She smiled her thanks, taking the bag with her through the front part of the kitchen, past a heavy door that sure looked like a walk-in freezer and found the kettle easily. On a shelf above were some tea bags, instant coffee, sugar and coffee creamer. She filled the kettle in a nearby sink, plugged it in, then tore a muffin in half and tried a bite.
It tasted really good. For a bran muffin there were a lot of flavors going on. She could taste cinnamon, nutmeg, apple, and…she could see the pot. She was done her recommended serving by the time the kettle squealed, then she hunted down a mug and poured the water over a green tea bag. As she dusted the crumbs off her hands and waited next to the counter for her tea to steep she heard voices in the front of the kitchen.
"What a weird fucking day," woman Number One was huffing, and Arielle heard dishes being loaded into the industrial dishwasher she'd walked past.
"Tell me about it. I don't get it." Woman Number Two sounded equally pouty.
Number One was rolling overtop her friend. "Can’t believe our Quentin is locking it down."
Number Two was still agreeing. "I really don't get that. Is it true she had cancer?"
"She's wearing a wig, dipshit. Why else would she do that?"
"Mandy said breast cancer. She had surgery." A third woman joined in.
"That's something I won't do to get his attention. I didn't even know he liked amputees that much," Number One tittered away.
"Don't be a bitch," Number Three said.
"Are you her best friend? Because old ladies tend to not like us very much," Number Two shot back.
"I think she's pretty." Number Three was easily Arielle's favourite.
"That's nice. She's pretty," Number One used a whiney voice to make fun of Number Three. "Isn't Quentin one of your favorites?"
"God knows he can get it done, and he is the best looking here," Number Two mumbled.
Arielle felt her stomach heave a bit, and she covered her mouth.
"I saw them before, in his room, kissing." Ah, Number Three was the towel girl.
"Did they ask you to join in?" Number One still thought she was terribly funny. Number Two agreed. "You know how he likes a full set of tits."
Arielle winced, hating this high school bullshit hurt she had bubbling up.
"No, he's not like that with her," Number Three still sounded convinced. "I mean, he was kissing her, and it looked…it looked like it was nice."
"You like watching now?" Number Two didn't have Number One's talent for forcing her friend to laugh at every joke.
"He was kissing her like he cared, you guys. She's not some morbid curiosity. He likes her. For real. So you're all just gonna have to kiss Bayle's big delicious dick goodbye."
"Quentin Bayle kisses like a nasty motherfucker, if he kisses you at all. We all know that. You trying to make nice with some skank that just walks in here expecting us to respect her based on absolutely nothing?"
"How about the fact that it's not your place to treat her any differently?" That voice Arielle knew very well. Mandy.
Arielle grabbed the bag and her mug of tea, tea bag still soaking, and darted past everyone assembled at the front of the kitchen. One woman whispered "Oh shit," as she passed, but Arielle refused to look at anyone so she wasn't sure who it was. She rushed for the hallway, shutting herself in Quentin's room and wiping at her eyes angrily when she realized she was crying.
"Don't," she sputtered to herself. "Don't let them do that. This isn't high school for God’s sake."
A soft knock broke through her own sniffling misery, and she set all her stuff down on the dresser before trying to look normal. On a deep breath she yanked the door open. Of course, it was Mandy looking very concerned.
"Arielle?"
"That doesn't matter," Mandy said gently, pushing her way into the room and shutting the door. "You don't run from them, hun. You walk around here head high knowing that you're no crawler, you're someone that a Dead Man cares about. They have to respect you. Which means you make then respect you."
Arielle exhaled, dropping to the edge of the bed. "I just found out what a corpse crawler is, Mandy. Today. After I got here. It's a lot to absorb."
Mandy sat next to her. "I know it is. You're from so far outside of all this I'm surprised you're here at all. But I'm glad you are."
Arielle smiled but doubted it reached her eyes. "Thanks."
"Crawlers hope to catch a Dead Men's eye. They all want to be old ladies, forgetting that the way to a man's heart is to not let him anywhere near the pussy until he's good and hooked." Mandy raised her eyebrows like she was sharing a good old-fashioned girl-talk truth. Arielle just knew she was blushing again. "Crawlers think by impressing them in bed they'll end up with them. We all know men want pussy that they think they trained. As in, unplowed field." Again, trying to bridge a friendship that was miles from what Arielle knew what to do with.
Arielle got up and headed for her tea. "Sorry. I'm making you uncomfortable. I'm being blunt because that's what it takes to deal with these biker whores. They need to know their place. And you do not want them trying to one-up you with Quentin. They think they can get to you that easily, they will make it a sport, hun." Arielle took a sip of her tea. It was still too hot. "Believe me," Mandy said, getting up and heading for the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. "Keep Quentin happy and you'll have nothing to worry about there. From what I see you've got his cock wound around your little finger."
Mandy left at that, the room suddenly much more comfortable. Arielle took another sip of tea, then carried the mug with her to the bathroom. She shoved the plug in the drain and started running some water, squirting her body wash into the stream to make a bubble bath. Then she went back to make sure the door was locked.
She'd had plenty of learning for the day.
"You really think we can trust this prick?" Dillon asked, squinting behind his shades across Portus Felix Desert.
Quentin shrugged, eyes on the two body guards the Nazi Lowriders' president, Dante, brought along. "Can't trust him, no. But he's a business man. That shit on the streets killing people makes his business tank, too. No reason for him to fuck us over, really."
Dillon made a sound of derision. "Makes my skin crawl, getting in bed with that lot."
Quentin ground out his cigarette, then picked it up and tossed it in a garbage can. There were in a nice place, after all. "I just want this Reuben prick gone."
They both watched Dante and his guards continue to powwow with Bishop, standing strong with Colton and Gage at his back.
"So…you're taking things with this girl seriously then," Dillon broached casually, inhaling a deep draw on his smoke.
"Jesus Christ," Quentin snarled. "What is with all the fucking chick talk lately?"
"Just curious."
"Do something constructive with your time and knit me a fucking scarf."
"Quentin, you can't be surprised that we're all a bit gob-smacked that a girl has you all tied up in knots. A regular girl, a cute, innocent, sweet as honey girl—"
"I know how great she is, cut that shit out."
Dillon laughed again. "Just hope she's still as mad for you when all her problems go away, that's all."
"What the fuck's that mean?"
Dillon made a face of indifference, shrugging. "You're doing a lot for her, Quentin. You're proving you're a good man by being all things for her. Protecting her, taking care of her while she's sick. Helping with the kid. Straightening out shit with her sister."
"You have a point, right?"
"I'm just saying, once her sister's shit is sorted, she's out of harm's way and on the road to good health, going back to work"—he shrugged—"she still gonna want you around?"
Quentin felt a lump in the middle of his throat that sunk down to the centre of his chest.
"Hey, don't sweat it brother." Dillon slapped his shoulder. "She's a lovely girl, she truly is. I'm just saying that paying the power bill and school recitals are a poor substitute for someone making dead bodies out of the people who want to hurt you. That's all."
"Shit," Quentin muttered, staring down at his feet, feeling sick.
"I'm sure I'm off base," Dillon offered, like that might help.
Quentin gave him a sideways eyeball. "Yeah."
The convo across the desert broke up, and Quentin and Dillon were back as attention as Bishop approached, lighting a half-used smoke.
"What's the word?" Quentin asked. "They know the guy that broke in?"
"Oh yeah, that's Reuben's step-brother," Bishop confirmed.
"Shit," Quentin hissed.
"He and Reuben don't get along. Unfortunately his dad, Reuben's step-father, is quite fond of his son. He's also a trusted confidante of a known Mexican drug supplier, heavily connected to a drug cartel."
"Fuck me," Quentin covered his face with both hands, digging his fingers deep into his eye sockets. Christ, he fucked this up.
"So what's the plan?" Dillon wanted to know.
"Dante's letting Reuben recruit two of his trusted guys as dealers. They report back on who Reuben actually fucking is, and we go from there."
"You trust him?" This from Dillon again.
"For the moment, yeah."
"Any help is welcome," Gage cut in.
"So for the time being we watch Aunt Arielle and that kid like hawks. We're sure the aunt is off Reuben's radar?" Bishop asked.
Quentin nodded. "Jolene swore she didn't keep that address on her, was pretty sure she never even mentioned her aunt. Can't see why she would, it was Arielle she said could pay off her debt."
Bishop shook his head. "Stupid bitch. All right, let's head back to the clubhouse. I wanna do random patrols looking for dealers, too. Not to bust it up, just to keep track of how many there are and where they are, keeping an eye on their operations," Bishop said, leading the way to their bikes.
At the clubhouse Quentin headed right for his room, locking the door behind him. His bed was empty but he heard splashing from the bathroom and felt a grin. She was in the bath.
He left his kutte on the bed and knocked on the door with a knuckle, then pushed it open just as Arielle curled herself up, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. If it wasn't so humid she'd likely be blushing again.
"Hey," he said, closing the door behind him. "How you doing?"
"Good. After the nap I woke up and really wanted a bath."
He knelt next to the tub, elbows on the edge. "So this is why you smell so good."
She grinned. "Is that what you smell on me? My body wash?"
"Flowers and sweet, babe. That's what you smell like."
She looked away, resting her chin on her knees. "How was your…wherever you went?"
"Uneventful," he answered, wishing he could crawl in that tub with her. "Hey, everything okay?"
She shrugged. "Yeah. Just trying to absorb everything and…adapt."
He grabbed her around the back of the neck and leaned her towards him for a kiss. But with the taste of her and this smell so deep in his head he couldn't just give her a soft peck. He had to taste her completely, his tongue sliding into her mouth to tease her, bringing out the softest moan that made him hard instantly. He pulled back, then tilted the arm holding her neck to see his watch.
"Shit," he mumbled.
"What?"
"School's out in fifteen minutes. Not enough time."
She gave the shy and embarrassed smile as he stood, his eyes trying to see more of her in that murky water. "Damn," he was muttering as he left the bathroom and his dorm room.
He was almost through the clubhouse when M
andy's voice stopped him. "Hey Quentin. How's Arielle?"
He frowned. "She's having a bath. Why?"
Mandy paused. "Did she say anything?"
He shook his head. "About what?"
"Nothing," Mandy said brightly.
He narrowed his eyes. "Mandy? What's going on?"
"Nothing, hun. I like that girl, though." Before he could wonder what Mandy had done now she wasoff and running again. "Where’re you going?"
"To get Calvin from school."
"Want to take mine?"
"Nah," he laughed. "I'm thinking…the Dyna."
"Shit, Quentin. You better be careful."
"Always."
Quentin watched the flood of little people evacuating Portus Felix Elementary, finding Calvin in the group eventually. He was walking alone, hands holding the straps of his backpack. When he saw Quentin his face lit up and he was grinning like mad, which made Quentin crack up.
Then as he kept an eye out, a kid crossed Calvin's path and knocked him right down. Totally on purpose.
"Hey!" Quentin shouted, already moving, hooking his sunglasses on his shirt and pointing. "I saw that." Calvin picked himself up, dusting grass off his hands as Quentin reached him. "You okay, Charlie?" Quentin had Calvin by the shoulder as the kid brushed grass off his knees.
"That’s him," Calvin said quietly. "That's Brady."
The Brady kid was staring up at Quentin, luckily looking absolutely terrified. "Did you do that on purpose?" Quentin asked. Brady was frozen in place and mute. "Where's your dad?" Quentin demanded.
The kid's eyes shot to the line of cars parked at the curb, and a man was already circling his pick up and looking their way. Quentin cracked his knuckles.
"Hey!" The guy shouted. "You got something to say to my kid?"
He didn't see the kutte until he was close enough for Quentin to clock his reaction to it. It made him falter in his quick stride, but he eventually recovered and stepped forward, grabbing his kid and raising his chin.