by Portia Gray
As was her new tradition, when she was more under control she collapsed forward onto his chest, whispering a soft and happy "Q" before kissing him sweetly, her back easily accessible like this so he could run his hands all the way up to her neck. When they were alone she'd taken to crying out“Quentin” loudly which was even better.
"My girl's a liar," he said quietly with a grin, lips brushing hers as he spoke.
"What are you talking about?"
He sat up and flipped her to her back, making her gasp then giggle. "You told me you were tired."
She grinned as he kissed her again, he could feel it against his lips. "I was tired," she insisted. "But this negates tired."
He pressed a kiss to her throat then parted from her, headed into the attached bathroom to get rid of the glove and clean up, then returned to her room, pulling on his shorts. After the break-in he axed sleeping naked.
Arielle felt the same. When he came back to bed she'd pulled on that Dead Men T-shirt she'd stolen from his dorm, curling up on her side with the blankets to her hip, wig stowed away where he couldn't see that fucking Styrofoam head, watching him with a smile. The second he settled on his back she was stretched out along his side, hand on his chest, head on his shoulder.
"Colton called our lawyer for you," Quentin said softly, reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp. "He’ll go down to the station tomorrow to talk to Jolene. As far as anyone knows she'd been booked but no one knows what her bail was set at. So our lawyer will let us know that, too."
"Okay," she whispered. "Thank you."
"I'm sorry that happened with you and Calvin there. That sucks."
She nodded.
"Babe, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"We think Reuben might know about the dealers that we got inside his network. Do you have any idea how they might know that?"
There was a pause. "No. Why would you ask me that?"
"Because no one else knows but you and Dead Men, babe."
There was a long pause, then she exhaled. "I…I told Jolene today."
His grip tightened on her, a subconscious reaction. "What?"
"I told Jolene, Reuben hadn't been seen in a while, and she wanted to know how we could be so sure. I told her about the dealers."
Quentin closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "When was this?"
"When we were walking to go for lunch. Just before she got picked up…"
He counted to five. "All right. Thelma didn't know, right?"
"No, absolutely not. I don't think she wants to know more than she does."
Quentin's mind was racing so much so that he didn't realize she'd stiffened in his arms until she spoke. "Shit, Quentin? Did I fuck up?" Judging by her voice she sounded close to tears.
He flicked the lamp back on, and she rose up on an elbow, pulling away from him. He didn't like that; it was as though she was afraid of him now. He rolled to his side, too, and held her by the chin with one hand. "Babe, I'm more worried your sister fucked this up. Did she call once she was taken in?"
Arielle shook her head. "No, no calls and no missed calls while I was out." He cursed under his breath and sat up, feet on the floor, reaching for his jeans. "What are you going to do?"
"I have to call Colton. See if he can find out that she's still actually locked up." He wrestled his cell free of his jeans pocket and flipped it open.
"Will the club hurt her?"
Quentin turned sideways on the bed, meeting Arielle's searching glance head-on. "Babe, we ain't gonna hurt her. But if she did something stupid she'd in danger."
Arielle bit her lip and her brows came together as Bishop answered the cell. "Better be good," was the president's greeting of choice this late at night.
"I might know how Reuben found out about our little Lowriders’ spies."
"How?"
"Arielle told her sister about them today, right before the arrest."
"Goddammit."
"Think you can find out if she's still locked up?"
"I'll try.”
"Keep your phone close. If she's loose you're the one going looking for her. Your girl talked, you find the fucking sister." Then he hung up.
Quentin's jaw clenched, then he snapped his phone shut.
Arielle spoke body language fluently. "I'm sorry. I got you in trouble, didn't I?"
Quentin slid his hand around the back of her neck to pull her close for a quick kiss. "Nah, babe. If your sister talked, she's the one that got me in trouble."
"Shit," she hissed, nearing tears. "I messed up."
"Arielle," he said firmly. "Don't worry. For all we know she's in lock-up and the Lowriders’ guys are loose-lipped. Right?" He didn't feel certain about this, but he didn't like her crying over this shit.
"I told her, then I immediately knew I shouldn't have. Shit. I'm so stupid."
He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, which she didn't do in return. Her palms were covering her face while she cried, and he fought down a violent urge to wrap his arms around her sister's neck and squeeze.
Quentin fully believed that junkie ratted out the Lowriders’ men. She was probably hoping to erase some of her debt with that Intel. Then what? Reuben would send someone post her bond so she could go back to him? Then she'd owe him even more money? Then, knowing her, she'd run. And not in a clever way, either. She'd run in a‘sit at the bus station in full view all night waiting for the first bus to leave’ kind of way.
His cell rang, and as he reached for it Arielle pulled away, curled up with her legs to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees. He was rubbing her back when he answered.
"Bishop?"
"She's fucking out. Released just before the cashier left for the day. Some guy in jeans and a sweatshirt, hat, nondescript. She's out there with Intel and we have no fucking idea where she is."
Quentin was nodding now, getting to his feet and reaching for his clothes. "Okay, okay. I'm going out looking for her. I'm starting at the bus station."
"You find her you call me and bring her to the clubhouse. She'll be locked down there so she can't pull any more stupid shit."
Quentin inhaled, casting a concerned look at Arielle. "We don't know that she actually told anyone, Bishop."
"Yeah? That makes me feel better. Thanks, Quentin," he snapped before hanging up.
Quentin closed his phone with a quiet "Shit," then pulled his shirt on and sat on the edge of the bed. Arielle was still in a protective ball.
"Babe?" he asked softly.
"Yeah?" she replied, not looking up.
"I'm gonna find her before Reuben gets her, okay?"
"Okay."
"Babe?" No answer this time. "Arielle, you didn't mess up. We'll get Jolene and we'll make sure she's safe, okay?"
"Okay."
He stood up, leaned over to kiss the top of her head. "Hey," he whispered, making her look up at him. "None of this should touch you, remember? This is gutter shit, and you're one of the good people."
"Am I?"
He brushed his lips on hers. "Absolutely." Then he headed down the hall, made sure Calvin was safely tucked in, and left the house as silently as he could.
The soft sound of the television woke her gently, and immediately Arielle knew she was still alone. She turned her head to the side, where Quentin usually slept, and sure enough, the bed was empty. She sat up stretching, looking at the clock. It was ten in the morning; she'd really slept in today.
Shoving the blankets off her legs before standing, Arielle covered a yawn with one hand and pulled on some flannel pajama pants before heading down the hall to the living room. Calvin was spread out on the sofa, immersed in television. She frowned when she saw a very young Jack Nicholson and an incredibly young Dennis Hopper on the screen, then realized he was watching Easy Rider. No surprise there, at least it was edited for TV.
"Morning, Peanut," she greeted him with a kiss on the head. "What should we have for breakfast?"
"Can we have panca
kes?"
She smiled and ruffled up his hair. "You got it."
"Would you like me to help?
"No, sweetie, I got it. Thanks though."
She was storing the completed pancakes in the warm stove when her phone rang. She picked up the cordless, holding it between her cheek and shoulder as she pulled maple syrup out of the cupboard. "Hello?"
"Arielle? Have you heard from Jolene yet?"
Crap, Aunt Thelma. "Oh, Aunt Thelma," Arielle started, setting the syrup on the table and flopping into a chair. "I think Jolene did something stupid yesterday."
"What? What did she do?" There was an exhausted acceptance to this in Thelma's voice.
"Someone posted bail for her. She got out late last night and didn't call me, I'm guessing she's not with you either?"
"No, she's not. I called there today to ask how much her bail was and they said it had been posted by some young guy."
Arielle rubbed her forehead. "Quentin had to tell the club last night. He's been out all night trying to find her before Reuben does."
"That girl…what are we going to do with her?"
Arielle swallowed. "I think I messed up, Aunt Thelma. I told her some club stuff just yesterday, and last night Quentin said the bad guys know about it now and…shit, Thelma. That's all my fault. I told Jolene something and now the bad guys know about it."
Thelma sighed. "If Jolene told anyone anything, she's the one that messed up. Trust me."
Arielle raised her eyebrows at the language on a Sunday morning. "That's what Quentin said. But I think the club…well, I don't even know what I can tell you."
"Don't tell me anything unless you're asking me to take you and Calvin in. You're right, there's a lot going on I'd rather not know about, but if you two are in danger you need to come here. I mean it, honey. And if he cares about you, Quentin will understand that."
Arielle knew that, too. She didn't know where the certainty came from, but Thelma was right. As always.
"If they find her, I'll call you," Arielle promised, switching tracks slightly. "And if we need to leave town, I'm coming to you. Absolutely." Thelma sighed and Arielle winced. "I'm sorry you're getting pulled into this."
"None of this is your fault Arielle."
"If I didn't have that bizarre but charismatic neighbor—"
"Jolene would still find a way to self-destruct," Thelma finished for her, cutting her off. "As much as Quentin and his friends might make things trickier, this isn't their fault, either. I am, however, worried if Jolene's pissed them off on top of everything else."
Arielle bit her lip. "Quentin said they won't hurt her."
Thelma sighed. Again. "Is he the president?”
“He won’t let them hurt her…”
Another sigh. "Arielle—"
"He won't," she insisted, stronger. "Not because he cares about her, but because it would hurt me and Calvin. He won't let that happen."
"All I'm saying, honey," Thelma went on gently, "is that it won't be up to Quentin."
Arielle let the calm coldness seep in at that statement. "So they'll kill her?"
"I don't know, honey. Jolene's the one that said they kill to protect what's theirs."
Arielle fiddled with the hem of the Dead Men T-shirt she suddenly wanted to be out of. "Thelma, this is bad."
"Arielle, honey—"
"No, this is bad. I think…shit," she whispered, losing her nerve and pinching the bridge of her nose.
"What, honey? Is there something else?"
"I think I'm falling in love with him." Long pause on that one. "When I realized what Jolene might have done, I wasn't worried about her, or me. I was worried I got him in trouble."
Thelma took a moment, and her tone stayed soft. "I know this might seem…exciting or—"
"No," Arielle interrupted. "It's not that. It's not that at all. I'm talking about having him here sitting on my couch and watching TV with me and Calvin. The way he laughs and jokes with him like a buddy. I'm talking about waking up to him calling me babe and kissing my shoulder. Having him make me a stupid fruit smoothie without complaining." She stopped because her eyes were wet and she didn't want to alarm Calvin, who'd stayed in the other room this entire time. Thelma was silent again.
"I am, aren't I? I'm falling in love? That's why I'm so panicked that I might have got him in trouble? He's not mad at me about this but if this is bad, I mean really bad with Jolene, what if he hates me for it?"
"Honey, please calm down."
"That's what this is, right?" It was a hushed, horrified whisper. "This panic. This tightness around my heart?"
"Arielle, listen." Thelma almost sounded like she was smiling, but that was impossible. "On any given day I would be so happy for you over this. But you're smart to be worried, honey. If you decide to take it all the way with Quentin, be his one-and-only-forever, you have to be all-in. Accepting of everything he is and not want him to change. He won't leave the club, Arielle. That will always be part of his life and yours if you share it with him. Not just until all this drug dealer nonsense is sorted. That club is forever, and I hate to be a pessimist but once this drama is over another one will be right behind it because that's his life, Arielle."
"I know," she whispered. "But I want him, Thelma. I want him so much."
Thelma sighed softly. "I will always worry about you and Calvin, but I can't stop you from doing anything, Arielle. You're an adult, and Calvin's your legal ward. I trust you to take good care of the both of you. And as much as I trust Quentin to take care of you—and I really do,honey, I mean that—it won't always be his call. You have to keep that in mind, too. You have to be true to him and that club."
Arielle frowned. "How do you know so much about this?"
Thelma allowed a slight laugh. "They call themselves a club, but they all follow the same gang mentality, honey. They replace the family that people never had."
Arielle remembered her conversation with Mandy. "Holy shit," she whispered.
"Like I said; you're an adult, you take care of yourself and there's nothing I can say or do about it. But I'd be lying if I said the thought of this life touching Calvin doesn't terrify me."
"Are you okay, Aunt Arielle?" The voice was soft, coming from the archway. Arielle looked up, almost feeling guilty.
"Hey, Peanut," she said brightly, wiping her eyes and holding a hand out. He came forward, took her hand and let her hug him. "I'm talking to Aunt Thelma. You want to say hi?"
"Okay," he replied agreeably.
A chicken-shit move—pawning her aunt off to the adorable nephew to avoid more tough talk—but that's all Arielle was capable of. She got up to finish setting the table for pancakes, mind churning and gut rolling the whole time.
"Have you slept yet?" Colton asked, and Quentin was a half-second slow turning to face his vice president.
"Nah," he mumbled roughly, rubbing his forehead.
"Go get some sleep," Colton advised. "If we find her I'll call you."
Quentin shook his head, downing the last dregs of a greasy-spoon diner cup of coffee. "Nah, Bishop said this is on me."
Colton sighed, studying his mug. "If it's anyone's fault it's the junkie's."
"I know. But I told Arielle."
Colton shrugged. "She didn't go to the bad guys, either."
Quentin shifted on the bench. "Doesn't matter, man. It's on me to contain this."
Colton was quiet again, thinking. The fucker was always thinking. "I don't know what Bishop's going to do when we find her," Colton said. “He’s been gunning for her right from the start.”
Quentin shrugged. "Me either."
"What if she's done for?"
Quentin set his jaw and looked out the window at the Sunday-morning traffic. "Then she's done for," he answered, hoping it sounded indifferent.
Because he wasn't indifferent to that idea. He was scared shitless that Bishop was going to kill Jolene on sight. He personally couldn’t give a shit, but he had no idea how he'd look Arielle in the e
ye again.
"You'll live with that?" Colton asked, looking like he didn't believe it.
"Bishop's the president."
Colton checked for far-reaching ears, then leaned closer. "I'm having a problem with it Quentin, and I know you do too. You're not okay with Bishop killing her."
"So what then?" he said back, low and caustic. "We let her go on her happy, trip-the-light-fantastic way? Fucking up all over the place? She'll get herself done in anyway. We're saving someone else the headache."
Colton pursed his lips together and looked away, shaking his head. Quentin hoped that convo was done.
Dillon rejoined them from his bathroom break. Quentin had been riding all over Portus Felix all night, then in the next morning Colton sent a text that he and Dillon would come help hunt down the junkie. They'd found nothing, and none of the motel desk clerks or nightlife bartenders had seen her.
"You look like shit," Dillon remarked, digging a pack of smokes from a pocket in his kutte. "You should sleep. Let me and Colton take over. I'm sure Gage will help, too." Colton nodded with a pointed look in Quentin's direction.
"Bishop said this was my job," Quentin replied without emotion.
"And if you crash your bike because you fell asleep the rest of us get shit for letting you ride," Dillon replied smoothly, always with a smartass answer for everything.
"Go home, grab a few hours' shut eye, then call me to see where we're at," Colton recommended, moving his empty mug out of the way. "I'll make sure no one hurts her."
Quentin didn't miss the way Dillon's eyes flicked to Colton in confusion. Still, it did sound like a good idea to go see Arielle. That always made him feel better.
He nodded. "Okay. But call me in three hours, okay? I'll meet up with you guys wherever you are."
"Just make sure you sleep," Colton advised with his smart-ass grin.
"Oh, Quentin!" Dillon said in a falsetto, eyes up towards Quentin as he stood, stupid grin on his face.