He nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’ve heard that some of your classmates hold the Lean Dogs responsible.”
His gaze flared; she watched him jump all over his pet theory with both feet.
“Yeah,” he said, “a lot of them do. Everybody around here knows the Lean Dogs are fucking trash.”
“Everybody?” she asked, frowning. “I only ask because I’m new in town – in the United States, in fact.”
He nodded. “I wondered about the accent.”
“Bit of a sore thumb, I’m afraid.” She smiled and held up both palms as if to say guilty, and earned a smile from him in response. And a quick check-out: his gaze traveled down her torso, the sensible black t-shirt she wore under her unzipped jacket, and back up, lingering a moment on her mouth. Little pervert.
“Nah, it’s…” He trailed off. Wisely.
Unseen, Axelle mimed gagging.
“Anyway. You were saying: the Lean Dogs?”
He blinked, refocusing. “Yeah. They suck.”
“You called them ‘trash.’ That’s harsh.”
He leaned forward, earnest – excited about this line of questioning. “Yeah, it’s like – I dunno if they have MCs like that where you’re from” – if only he knew – “but those guys should all be in jail. They deal drugs, and they’re, like, pimps or something. If they see a girl they like, they just take her, and then force her to have sex with all their friends. It’s sick.”
“Sounds like it,” she said, dryly, not at all surprised when he missed her tone. “But why would the city allow people like them to roam the streets, doing what they will?”
“That’s what I’m saying!” He’d shouted, and his cheeks reddened; his head lowered along with his voice. “I think everybody’s afraid of them. They totally kill anybody who gets in their way.”
Eden said, “Goodness. How do the people of Knoxville sleep at night?”
~*~
“Laying it on a bit thick,” Fox murmured to himself, a smile tugging at his lips. He and Tenny had settled into the booth behind Eden’s, and each question sounded more and more like a line delivered on stage. Fortunately, Jimmy Connors was an idiot; plus, he trusted Eden to read the boy correctly and adjust her acting accordingly.
Across the table, Tenny was slouched sideways, his back to the wall, his long legs sticking off the end of the booth while he ripped open sugar packets and poured them one after the other into his coffee, his expression one of performative boredom.
Speaking of laying it on thick…
“Would you like to pretend to read?” Fox asked, tapping the magazine he’d spread out in front of himself for show. “Or are you determined to give yourself diabetes?”
His only response was a flicker of dark lashes as Tenny darted him a glance and then plucked up another sugar packet.
The thing about Tenny was: no one liked him. And he was probably keen enough to know that himself. It was his own fault, Fox knew: he wasn’t just prickly, but outright cruel. Sneers instead of smiles, cutting insults instead of good-natured ribbing. He was a perfect actor, and he was perfectly miserable.
Though, Fox had seen some changes in him since they got back from Texas. Small things, like saying “yes, sir” when Ghost gave an order; things like being respectful of Eden. Even she’d noticed, and had commented.
But mostly, the changes pertained to Reese.
Fox had asked once, and Tenny had denied it with one of his uglier sneers, but Fox wasn’t the sort who failed to notice things. Tenny liked Reese. Even when he was insulting him, or bad-mouthing him, or telling him he needed to work on “being human,” Fox could see the glimmer of true affection in his eyes. Around Reese – which he always was – some of the tension had dropped from his shoulders; his sneers had lost their sharp edge, and some of them had even resembled true smiles. Fox had heard the whispers from some of the other Dogs, the lifted brows and throat-clearings; he knew that Tenny had introduced Reese to the delights of the Lean Bitches – and then kept introducing him, again and again, and that neither boy ever took a woman alone. Fox didn’t care about gossip, and he damn sure didn’t care what direction Tenny’s bedroom leanings took.
But the last few days, the tension was back, and the sneers were lethal, and something had happened. If it had been the sort of thing you could bring up within an MC, Fox would have called it a lover’s spat.
“Were there any Lean Dogs at your party the night of Allie’s disappearance?” Eden asked behind him, and Fox refocused on the task at hand.
“Were there…what?” Jimmy stumbled, caught off guard.
“The last place Allie was seen was your party,” Eden said, voice going crisp and professional again. “That was two weeks ago. On the fifth, correct?”
“Er…I guess. I think. Maybe?”
“Few too many keg stands that night?”
“I…”
“That’s alright. Her parents have already confirmed it was the fifth. You do remember her father showing up, don’t you? He says he remembers you. That you were very upset.”
“Upset about what?” A note of tension stole into his voice; a prickling of defensiveness. “I don’t know–”
“Allie turned you down. Very publicly. In front of your whole party. Her friend Nicole said it was, quote, ‘brutal.’ That you begged. Quite pathetic, really.”
Squeak of the vinyl booth as Jimmy sat up, his breath huffing in annoyance. “I didn’t even ask her out!”
Fox tapped the table, once, caught Tenny’s gaze, and nodded.
Tenny set down his latest sugar packet – fifteen empties littered the tabletop – and melted to his feet and down the aisle. Like Fox, he wasn’t wearing his cut.
“Multiple witnesses say you did,” Eden said, gravely. “And that you were terribly upset by it, and that, according to Nicole, you went to ‘get smashed,’ and started calling Allie names.”
“I didn’t – Nicole’s a lying bitch!”
The last word rang out through the muted late-afternoon ambiance of the restaurant. Conversations cut off. A passing server halted, and whipped a look over her shoulder toward the angry teen. Fox risked craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Jimmy’s face: beet red and pulsing with fury. Fury too high and hot to be caused by something as simple as getting rejected. Whatever was happening here, it went way beyond missing out on a date with a pretty girl, Fox felt sure.
Eden waited, silent; let it become a tableau; let patrons stare in open-mouthed shock until the silence became damning. Then, as if Jimmy’s outburst hadn’t happened, she said, “So there weren’t any Lean Dogs there?”
“Fuck no,” he hissed.
“What’s the truth here, Jimmy? Do you really think a roving band of bikers snatched your crush out of her car on her way home? Or are you just afraid that pretty young girls are more attracted to sexy bad boys than to mere children like you?”
Fox watched the words hit the boy like a slap, his head rearing back, the flush of anger bleeding out to white.
“Fuck you,” he hissed, and Axelle was already out of the booth and on her feet, giving him an avenue of escape – which he took like a shot.
The moment he was out the door, Eden twisted around to face Fox. “He’s involved,” she said, grimly.
“Oh, definitely.”
Now they just had to figure out how.
Nineteen
When Carter arrived at Bell Bar, he found the front door propped open, a contractor in a hard hat toting a big section of plywood inside. The clatter and hiss of tools greeted him as he followed the guy in, and he paused a moment to survey the progress.
The whole interior had been stripped down to the studs and replumbed. He noted the clean, white PVC and gleaming copper of new pipes; spools of new, plastic-coated wiring, all of it now up to code.
The bar itself was being salvaged, and it was draped now in paper and plastic to keep it safe. That was where Jazz stood, dressed down today in jeans and a light sweater, wearing a more sen
sible pair of wedge sneakers instead of her usual heels. She had plans of some sort unrolled on the bar top, gesturing to them and discussing with one of the workmen, the foreman, Carter guessed.
Jazz glanced up, spotted him, and beamed. “Hey!” Thankfully she left off baby boy in front of all the contractors. “Come see! Ghost is letting me help with the design.”
He felt his brows go up as he crossed to the bar and joined her. “He is?”
“Yeah!” The excitement poured off of her, and he was helpless but to smile back.
He noted the foreman looking between them, reading the moment, then the man nodded and said, “I’m gonna go check on the stairs. Let me know what you decide about the shiplap.”
“Thanks, Todd.” Jazz sent him off with a little wave…and a subtle, but noticeable appreciative glance.
Carter snorted. “Oh, so bikers are out, and contractors are in?”
“What? No.” She looked scandalized – and she blushed. “A girl can look. I know you look.” She leaned in close and whispered, “Sometimes I help you do more than look.”
There had been a time when he would have been tempted to tangle a hand in her hair and kiss her. But there were people watching, and he didn’t feel that pull today. “Hm,” he hummed, gaze going to the plans. “What’s this?”
“Our options.”
Mostly, it looked like paint swatches and photos of other materials. But a closer inspection proved they were grouped in four distinct “looks.”
“Todd thinks this one,” she said, pointing to a quadrant full of white, horizontal wood walls, black iron fixtures, and pale wood furniture. White and gray tiles, and vinyl in charcoal and dove. “It’s that whole modern farmhouse look.”
He snorted. “I’m guessing that’s not your favorite.”
“Not for Bell Bar, no.” She tapped the diagonal quadrant, one full of dark woods, gleaming brass, historical tile, and deep red vinyl. “I think it still needs to look a little like it used to. Like Bell Bar – but fancier, maybe. Not so much beer neon, but still like sort of…European-y, you know?”
The look she’d picked reminded him of the photos he’d seen of Baskerville Hall in London. “I like it, too.” He gave an approving nod. “Don’t let some guy named Todd push you into picking something that’s not right. Go with your gut.”
She chuckled. “What’s wrong with the name Todd?”
“It’s just so…Toddy.”
She laughed again, and reached up to pat his cheek. “Jealous, baby boy?”
“No.” And, really, he wasn’t. “Ava’s having a dinner tonight. Six-thirtyish,” he said. “She invited me, and said Aidan and Sam, and Tango and Whitney were coming. You wanna go?”
“Oh, sweetie, I can’t. I have class tonight until seven-thirty.”
“Shit. I forgot.” He frowned. “I’m sure you could come by after you got out. We could save a plate. Ava wouldn’t…mind.” He trailed off in response to her smile – another of those soft, sad, close-lipped things she’d given him the night they were together last.
A night that was getting farther and farther away without any intimate contact since. No sleepovers, no sex, no makeouts. Nothing but a few hasty pecks, and smiles that tasted more and more of regret.
“Jazz,” he said, and heard the question in his voice. Do you still want this? Do you still want me?
She patted his chest, hand lingering after. “We’ll do something tomorrow night, huh? Something fun. But you go enjoy hanging out with your friends tonight, honey. I won’t mind at all.”
Your friends. That made it seem like she didn’t count herself as his friend.
~*~
“I followed him to Cook’s Coffee,” Tenny said, with only the barest gesture toward the photos he’d snapped: now displayed on Ratchet’s laptop for all to see. “He met a friend, and they sat outside on the patio. Their conversation was quiet, and terse, and not of the sort you would want to have in public.” His accent was very posh and professional when he gave a report, Reese noticed; even crisper than his usual, which he’d self-described as “BBC proper.”
“Specifics?” Fox prompted, brows lifted in expectation.
Tenny – pacing back and forth across the width of the common room – lifted his hands to gesture and put on a sulky, American teenage accent. “Dude, her parents hired a detective! They’re gonna find out!”
“Find out what?” Ghost asked, his tone tight – with impatience, Reese interpreted. Though Ghost seemed to find Fox’s repertoire of accents and mannerisms entertaining, he didn’t share that sentiment when it came to Fox’s younger brother.
Because Tenny was an incurable asshole. One who still wasn’t behaving normally around Reese.
Once upon a time, that sort of thing would never have bothered him. But now…
Tenny halted, and turned, the tips of his fingers braced against a tabletop in a deceptively light stance; Reese knew he could have spun from it into a roundhouse kick without any obvious effort. “They weren’t nearly that helpful. Lots of wondering what the police knew, and about the Dogs.”
Fox made a please elaborate gesture. “About how the Dogs…?”
“How you questioned his father and, quote, tried to scare him at the shop. And about how he loathes you all, apparently, though don’t credit him enough to think he uttered the word loathe.”
“We,” Fox said.
Tenny’s brows went up, in turn.
“You’re a Lean Dog prospect. When you refer to the Dogs, you should say we.”
Tenny blinked in momentary shock. Then he tapped his fingers twice on the tabletop and resumed his previous expression. “Yes. Well. He isn’t a fan, regardless.”
Fox said, “The boy’s involved, most definitely. Whether he killed the girl himself, or knows who did, he’s not innocent.”
“Boss,” Mercy said, “I think it’s time for a little…” He offered a gesture that looked, at least to Reese, like the motion of turning a screwdriver. Mercy had several of those in his tacklebox; he’d offered Reese a thorough tour of it, once, and Reese had found its contents gratifyingly satisfactory.
Ghost sighed. “Probably. We’ll let Eden tail him for a few days, see if she can find anything. I really want some hard evidence before we move. And I don’t want to fuck this kid up too badly.” He lifted an admonishing finger toward Mercy.
Mercy tipped his head back in mock dismay.
Mock. Reese could decipher that sort of thing now. He thought the feeling that surged inside him when he recognized an emotion might have been pride.
“Holding pattern for now,” Ghost said, sweeping the whole room with a look. “Ears to the ground, everyone. Right now, I’m just glad the graffiti bullshit seems to have stopped.” He clapped his hands, once, and the informal meeting disbanded.
Reese’s gaze, as it tended to do lately, sought Tenny. It would be good to spar. The weather was still cool enough that an afternoon run was possible, and he felt full of coiled energy in need of an outlet, any outlet.
But Tenny’s gaze skittered away when Reese tried to pin it.
Reese stood, pulse giving a hard thump, intending to cross the room.
But Mercy stepped in front of him, blocking the way. Reese almost ducked around him, but checked the impulse – used to, he would never have done such a thing, not when he respected Mercy as much as he did.
He couldn’t keep his hands from closing into fists, though, nor tell his pulse to settle.
Mercy noticed. He tipped his head. “You alright?” They hadn’t spent as much time together since Tenny came along. Partly because Fox had kept him busy with training. But also because Reese had begun, in quiet moments, to seek Tenny’s company instead of Mercy’s.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m alright.”
The twist of Mercy’s lips proved he didn’t think so, but he didn’t comment. Only reached out to clap Reese on the shoulder. “Ava’s having a dinner thing tonight if you wanna come by. It’s pot luck, but there’s always plent
y of food, so you don’t have to worry about bringing anything.”
The idea of “bringing anything” to a dinner was mind-boggling, though he knew that was the etiquette.
Without meaning to, he glanced toward Tenny again, now walking past them, headed for the kitchen.
Mercy, far more observant than some of his club brothers gave credit, missed little, and glanced that way, too. “Hm? Oh. I mean. I guess you could bring him. Ava’s not afraid of him or anything. Just, maybe tell him to not be as much of an asshole as usual, okay?” He squeezed Reese’s shoulder and stepped back. “Six-thirty for drinks, food at seven.”
Reese nodded, and went to follow Tenny. Behind him, he heard Ghost saying, “I’m not invited?”
“Younger generation only, boss, sorry.”
Fox said something unintelligible that had Mercy laughing, and Ghost going, “You know what…”
In the kitchen, Tenny stood in front of the open fridge, rooting through the soda cans on the top shelf, clucking disappointedly to himself – which was odd. If left alone, and not forced into performing, he wasn’t the sort of person who talked to himself. He would talk to Reese, sometimes, after a girl had left the dorm room, and the sweat was drying; Tenny would work on a cigarette and wonder aloud. Innocent questions. Random musings. That hadn’t happened that last night with Stephanie, and it hadn’t happened since.
Reese pulled up short behind him, missing their normal interactions a moment – and then realized with a lurch that, given things hadn’t been normal, but that Tenny undoubtedly recognized the soft sound of his footfalls, that this was an act. This humming and grumbling. Tenny was performing – for his benefit.
Or, rather, to hide from him.
He finally selected a soda and turned back around, letting the fridge door slap shut behind him. He met and held Reese’s gaze as he popped the tab and took the first sip. “What?” he asked, after, eyebrows moving into their Annoyed setting.
Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8) Page 16
