The Sweet Under His Skin

by Portia Gray

  "I'm not that breakable, Quentin. I thought I was, but as it turns out, I'm pretty fucking tough."

  Her swearing was enough to make him take notice. He'd liked it during the dirty talk before, but like this he was somewhat surprised. Then he had to grin. "Yeah, you are pretty fucking tough."

  "I'm sorry I scared you," she said softly.

  He shook his head. "Don't worry about me." Groaning, he got to his feet. "Relax, okay? Don't get out unless I'm here. I'll be right back."

  He shut her in the bathroom, door closed tight, pulled on a T-shirt and boots and left his dorm room to find out what the hell she should eat next.

  "Hey," he snapped at the bent-over form of a crawler who was grabbing something out from under the bar. "Where's T-bone?"

  It was the blonde from the night before. She straightened and gave him her brightest grin. "Quentin, if you're looking for a threesome I'm right here."

  "Jesus, take an hour off," he mumbled. "Where's T-bone?"

  "I think he's in the bar. Can I help?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. Go change my sheets. They're a mess and the kid's sleeping here again tonight."

  She paled, staring after him as he made his way out. The bar doors were open and he headed for them, squinting against the sun. "T-bone!" he shouted, catching sight of that bald head.

  "What?" the kid shouted back.

  "Come here," he gestured with a hand, T-bone meeting him on the concrete. "Arielle's not doing so well. She's got a fever. What do I give her?"

  T-bone blinked. "I'm not a doctor, Quentin."

  "I know that, smart ass. But what do you think I should give her?"

  "I think you're supposed to starve a fever but she needs liquids, too. There's a ton of fruit in the kitchen. Blend a bunch of it together."

  "Not gonna taste like shit, is it?"

  T-bone shook his head. "Not if it's all fruit."

  "Thanks man."

  "And maybe give her the rest of the day off," T-bone added knowingly. "She needs her strength."

  Quentin was grinning, even though he spat out a reactionary "Fuck you" before heading into the clubhouse.

  Before he was through the door he heard his name and turned, catching sight of Bishop heading his way. "We gotta talk," Bishop said, motioning with his hand for Quentin to follow him.

  So Quentin did, following his prez into the clubhouse and finding a dark corner. Bishop leaned an elbow on the bar, eyes skirting the room. Quentin took up the same position, facing his president and rubbing his chin, waiting for the word.

  "What's up?" he asked eventually.

  "Dante's men want to know what Arielle's sister looks like so they can keep an eye out for her. Well, that what they say anyway."

  Quentin frowned. "What? Why else would they want to see her?"

  Bishop exhaled. "She owed Dante, too. Not a lot, just a few hundred, but she paid him in bunk bills when she was here. She told him her real goddamn name."

  Quentin sighed. "You gotta be kidding me."

  "If she turns up in Portus Felix, using again, I want them to let us know. For the sake of your girlie. Because if she is, we can't trust her. She'll rat you out to cover her own ass, you know that."

  "I know, Bishop," Quentin assured him. "That's why Thelma took her out to the farm."

  "Get a photo from Arielle, I'll pass it along to Dante. And I'll ask him to let her debt slide for the time being."

  "Christ, if it's just a few hundred I'll cover it if it's up his ass that much."

  Bishop gave him a look of disbelief. "Don't you dare start paying that bitch's bills." Quentin looked away, not in the mood to argue. "I mean it, Quentin. Don't pull her bullshit into this club. We'll protect your girl but that junkie is a disaster waiting to happen. Can't trust them, don't forget that."

  "I know," he answered, meeting Bishop's gaze straight on.

  "If anything feels off to you, you let me know. It makes me nervous as shit that Arielle's sister knows as much as she does and is just out there in the wind."

  Quentin and Bishop held eye contact, and something in that moment was unsettling. Quentin's instincts were firing off like mad. Right then he knew that if shit went sour, Jolene was absolutely expendable. And if she betrayed them, she was dead. What would that mean for Arielle?

  Quentin swallowed and nodded. "Okay. I'll get Arielle to check on her regularly, too. Maybe some guilt will keep her smarter."

  Bishop nodded. "Good. Dante's guys are meeting with one of Reuben's lieutenants tomorrow. They're going to find out where Reuben is right now, see what his next moves are. Or, at least as much as a street-level dealer is allowed to know."

  "Thanks, by the way, for letting Arielle and the kid stay here," Quentin added diplomatically. He wanted to buffer Arielle from Bishop's opinion of Jolene as much as possible. "She doesn't know what all the dangers are. I’ve no idea what she can handle."

  Bishop bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. "I think she can handle more than you're giving her credit for. Make sure she tells you everything she knows, Quentin. And then tell us, okay."

  "She will. And yeah, will do, man.I’m still part of this club."

  "Yeah… Not that I doubt your skills with the ladies, but sex doesn't forge trust."

  "It does with her," Quentin insisted. "But she'll tell me anyway. She has a limited tolerance for her sister, too. She's not an enabler."

  Bishop nodded again. "Good. She doing okay?"

  "She's running a fever. Apparently it's a side effect. Scared the shit out of me."

  "You need anything call Mandy, yeah?"

  "Yeah, of course."

  He made his way back to the dorms, passing the blonde bitch on the way without sparing her a glance, re-entering his room and smiling that the bed was all done up again.

  In the bathroom the water was draining and Arielle was standing in the tub, towel wrapped around her. She smiled at him, raising a leg to step over the side of the tub. He moved in immediately, scooping her up again in his arms.

  "Quentin," she said, exasperated. "I'm fine, I'm feeling better."

  "I don't care," he replied, carrying her into his room.

  "Who made the bed?"

  "The hired help," he replied, setting her down. He yanked open the dresser drawers and was surprised to see he did have some clothes there. A folded T-shirt with Dead Men was the first thing he saw, and he grabbed it, sniffed it, and turned back to Arielle as she was pulling the bedding back. He yanked the towel off of her, and she was spinning around to give him shit when he handed her the shirt. "Wear this," he asked, smiling.

  She grabbed it out an obvious need to not be naked anymore. She pulled it on and it was huge on her, damn near hanging to her knees. The sleeves fell halfway between her elbows and wrists. Fuck, that shirt would likely be too big on him. He had no idea whose it was.

  "It's really soft," she said, rubbing the sleeves with both hands.

  Sweet, he thought to himself. She was the personification of sweet, standing there in the clubhouse in a Dead Men shirt.

  For the first time a twinge in his chest made him wonder what the hell he was doing. His nerves had him doubting his ability to do right by her. I’m still part of this club…

  Then Arielle smiled and climbed into his bed. He lost the thought immediately and went off to fix her some fruit juice.

  "Aunt Arielle! Look!" Calvin shouted from the boxing ring, waving hands over his head that were encased in under-sized boxing gloves.

  She had to laugh. "I see! Pretty cool. Where'd you find those?"

  Quentin gave her a wink. "They're Dillon’s. Unfortunate about those tiny hands, yeah?"

  She just shook her head, taking a sip of her tea and settling onto the chair to watch Calvin's P.E. class. She didn't have a moment to question why she was letting this happen; Calvin was so happy, so confident, and getting actual exercise. His homework had to be done before he could get in the ring, which was a joke because homework for him was about as challenging as it was for he
r to drink her tea.

  Mandy made her way over to where she sat on fantastic high-heel boots, slim fit jeans, a locked and loaded leather jacket and a warm smile.

  Arielle returned the smile with a wave and Mandy took a seat right next to her, exhaling. "How you doing, honey?"

  Arielle shrugged, holding the tea on her leg. "The fevers aren't quite over. Had one this afternoon. It freaked Quentin out, bad."

  Mandy smiled. "Those are normal, right?"

  "Yeah. The chemo messes with everything. I bruise easily, too. Quentin thought he'd hurt me and that freaked him out."

  Mandy gave a laugh. "Poor Quentin. He's not used to giving a shit." Arielle chuckled along with her. "And your little man's learning to throw down?" Mandy gestured to the ring.

  "I don't mind it, actually. There's a certain…gentleman-code to what he's learning."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. He's learning not to throw the first punch. If he ever needs to defend himself, I feel better knowing he can. And I trust him to always try walking away first. He's a smart kid. He knows why bullies bully."

  "Any word on your sister?" Mandy asked after a moment of watching Calvin plow a few jabs into Quentin’s hands.

  Arielle shook her head. "No,” she answered, taking another sip of tea. “Thelma's monitoring her phone calls to make sure nothing weird is happening. I'm just hoping this is the event that sobers her up."

  Mandy opened her purse. "Speaking of substance abuse," she said wryly, "I brought you a bit more ganga to help with your appetite." She kept the bag below the edge of her bag, out of sight. "Might be good in a brownie."

  Arielle looked around, like they might actually get busted here. "Oh. Thank you. Umm, T-bone brought me pot muffins, too. They're really good."

  Mandy nodded and closed her purse again. "Good. Glad my boys are taking care of you."

  "They really are. Everyone is."

  "And don't worry about the bitches around here. You're a Dead Men's woman, you don't have to deal with that shit. Remember that."

  Arielle nodded. "Thanks, Mandy."

  There was another pause while they watched a bit more sparring that damn near ended with Quentin singing soprano, making them both bust out laughing. "Hey, Chuckles, that's one place a sportsman never hits a man, understand?" she could hear Quentin saying through his own laughter.

  "So," Arielle wasn't sure how to broach this, but all living arrangements considered this felt important. "I know that the club is…an illegal organization. But, do the guys really condone…murder?"

  Mandy's head snapped around. "Where you getting that from, hun?"

  Arielle inhaled. "Quentin. Well, I heard it from my sister and Quentin confirmed it. He also said that if I had any questions I should talk to you. You living this life for as long as you have." Well, that didn't come out right. "I mean—"

  Mandy put a hand on her arm. "I understand what you meant, hun. Don't worry, it takes worse than that to really offend me. But as far as the club goes"—she took a deep breath—"everyone's looking for a place they belong. Maybe our parents were not great at the parenting thing. Maybe we were orphans. Maybe we were abandoned by both or one of our parents. Maybe we made one mistake and everyone, society included, turned their backs on us. This is a place where all us misfits belong. It's a chance for the guys to have a home, family, jobs, money, and a place where they feel appreciated. When the good people turn their backs on you, there's not a lot a person can do to survive. We give them that life."

  "And because that life sometimes skirts the edges of civilization extreme measures are needed?" she supplied.

  Mandy nodded. "And you can't ignore the fact that some people just need more stimulation to be happy. Nine-to-five isn't for everyone, honey. And sometimes this life can be pretty damn fun." Mandy's eyes twinkled when she said it. "You like riding on the back of Quentin's bike?'

  Arielle smiled. "Yes..."

  "You like how ferocious he can be to protect you?"

  She nodded, feeling sheepish now. "Yes."

  Mandy leaned in closer. "He acts on basic instincts. It's primal. It's not all bogged down in good manners. Sterilized humanity. It's closer to how we're meant to be, honey."

  She frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Protect what's yours. No one has any right to tell anyone else how to live their lives. As long as you're not infringing on anyone else's freedoms, what right does anyone else have to tell you how to live? What's proper?"

  Arielle blinked. "I see. That's the outlaw part," she said, looking at Quentin.

  "Damn right," Mandy replied. "And when those little compartments you convince yourself are meant to be your home start to feel cramped, someone has to come along and remind you how easy it is to breathe when you just…step outside."

  Arielle pondered that. She's always had that feeling around Quentin; wild, unbridled man and the urgent drive to live that was completely alien to her. And refreshing. The danger he posed was what she wanted to feel, too.

  She was bogged down. She'd never regret it, but her life went on pause the exact moment Calvin was born. She knew she'd have to be back-up parent, even if Jolene did get her act together. Even sober Jolene was flighty and scattered. Jolene would be the parent forgetting to pick up her kid from chess club.

  Arielle was a serious person with a serious job who gravitated to added responsibilities. She wasn't a romantic. She was too practical for that.

  Quentin made her life wonderfully messy and unpredictable. She'd never do that on her own; just enjoy herself. He made it okay, he gave her permission to let go and have fun and laugh and even have something as normal as sex with abandon. She didn't know how he did it, but he did. She knew it wasn't exactly romantic, but there was something in that that was intense and urgent and…well, close to romantic, anyway.

  Furthermore, when she was really having trouble convincing herself the world was worth sticking around for, he convinced her it was.

  "Uh oh," Mandy muttered, and Arielle realized the woman was grinning knowingly.

  "What?" Arielle asked, her face growing warm.

  "I know that look. I got that look at eighteen, when I met Bishop," Mandy recalled fondly. "So wild, could give a fuck what anyone thought. I mean, for an eighteen year old what's more dangerous than that?"

  Arielle laughed. "I guess I'm a late bloomer."

  Mandy's face grew serious. "Quentin cares about you a hell of a lot. The way he's fallen into this relationship mode with you has shocked the shit out of me, to be perfectly honest. I like seeing him like this. He's got some focus, some purpose. I can tell he's happy."

  Arielle was looking down at her hands, uncomfortable again with how in her business people could get. But if Mandy was right, this wasn't her man's friend poking her nose in. This was a caring sister making sure her brother was going to be well taken care of.

  "Thanks Mandy. He's…he's really good to me. Not what I expected when I first met him."

  Mandy's smile widened. "I bet."

  "I just hope this stuff with Reuben ends soon. I can't keep Calvin here for too long. It's not a place for people to really live in," she said carefully.

  "They'll clean it up," Mandy assured her with a pat on her leg. "And when the hair grows back in, you should really consider keeping it like this." She nodded upward to Arielle's wig. "It's hot on you, honey."

  Arielle grinned. "Thanks, Mandy."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "Stay where Flynn and T-bone can see you," Quentin repeated for about the eighth time in three minutes. "You got the Taser, right?"

  Arielle, sighed, rolling her eyes and stopping on the front stoop. "Quentin, yes. I do. And there's an RPG in the trunk of the car, too. And Calvin's packing."

  He felt himself grin at that, leaning forward to touch his mouth to hers quickly. "Smart ass."

  "You like it when I'm a smart ass," she quipped back, and he felt a thrill run right through his pleasure centre.

  "Yeah I do," he admitted, reac
hing around her and pulling her closer by the ass with both hands.

  "Quentin, I have to go—"

  "I know," he cut her off, leaning his head down for a real kiss, deep, wet, with tongue. As annoyed as she was with him she immediately softened her posture, fitting against his chest perfectly with a sigh. It made him grin against her lips.

  "Damn you," she muttered when he lifted his head, and he gave both cheeks a squeeze.

  "Just worried about you and Calvin, babe."

  She nodded. "I know. But don't your badass sources say Reuben is back in LA?"

  He nodded. "Reuben is. His asshole minions are everywhere else."

  "We've got bodyguards," she reminded him softly, and it killed him that she was bothered by how much he worried about her. Like it was an inconvenience for him.

  "Let one of them sleep on the couch tonight," he requested softly. This was the first night they were apart since he'd actually claimed her as his woman. "I wish I was coming," he admitted softly.

  "You're busy," she reminded him, hands running up his shoulders. "And you freak Jolene out a bit."

  There was a reason for that. Arielle's sister might be five weeks sober but only two of those were conscious and sober. Arielle was hopeful, so he didn't dare crush that but the junkie made him skittish, especially when she came to Portus Felix to hang out and have lunch with his girl and Calvin. He didn't play polite to hide this. Every time the bitch was around he gave her a good dose of stink-eye to keep her good and twitchy.

  "Call for anything, babe. I'll turn around and come right back."

  "Okay," she gave him that, rising up on her toes to kiss him. "No skanks. Don't get hurt. Don't get caught."

  He had to grin. Sweet Arielle was adapting to outlaw life a little better than he'd expected. He watched her bound down the steps to her car. Both her and Calvin waved goodbye and he lifted his hand as they pulled away, then kept an eye out as Flynn and T-bone followed her on their bikes.

  Arielle was heading back to chemo in a few days, and she wanted a nice afternoon out before that. It was just a lunch out and some shopping in Portus Felix, and asking her to lock herself away seemed cruel after putting her through nearly a week of clubhouse life.