Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8)

by Lauren Gilley

  Boomer laughed.

  “Okay, first off,” Evan huffed. “I am a sniper.”

  Boomer and Deacon both laughed this time; Carter felt a chuckle building in his throat.

  “I am!” Evam insisted. “You’ve never seen me shoot. You wouldn’t be laughing if you’d seen me shoot.” It was hard to imagine the lanky, floppy-haired kid laid out elegantly on a rooftop, cool and deadly behind the scope of a rifle. “But I’m just a sniper. I get working on hand-to-hand and stuff, but making anyone spar with those two is cruel and unusual punishment, dude.”

  Boomer’s laughter died away, and he nodded. “I hear you. I’ve got at least fifty pounds on Reese, and I know he could wipe the floor with me.”

  “Do they even have to do chores and stuff?” Deacon asked. “I ain’t ever seen one of those bastards holding a broom or pouring a beer.”

  Evan made a face around his next drag. “No. They’re special.”

  It was easy to see why prospects would be angry and jealous about two of their own kind slacking off on the grunt work. But. “I honestly can’t imagine either of them mopping the floor, can you?”

  He got three glum head-shakes. Deacon’s was grim. “They’re hogging all the girls, too.”

  “I didn’t even know Reese knew what girls were,” Boomer said, frowning.

  A flicker of motion at the mouth of the hallway drew Carter’s attention, and a darted glance proved it was Tenny lingering in the well of shadow there, high cheekbones and blue eyes visible above a fitted white t-shirt. His gaze, as glittering and indecipherable as ever, was fixed on Boomer – who hadn’t noticed him yet, silent as he moved.

  Carter nudged Boomer’s boot under the table with his own.

  Boomer pressed on, oblivious. “And, like, not to be that guy, but who would wanna hook up with Reese? He barely even talks. He’s like a fucking statue.”

  “Maybe he’s like a statue where it counts most,” Evan suggested, to Deacon’s sniggering.

  But Boomer was speaking in earnest, warming to the topic. “No, really. He’s a freak – and I don’t mean the good kinda freak, shut up, Deacon. Like, are you honestly gonna tell me he’s a good lay? That he knows how to make a girl feel good? He probably doesn’t even know where to put it in.”

  Tenny’s crisp voice rang out from the shadows. “Perhaps someone was so helpful as to show him where to put it in.”

  All the blood drained from Boomer’s face. His eyes popped comically wide, and he sucked in an audible breath.

  Carter sighed – and braced himself. He’d only ever had a handful of interactions with Tenny, and while he knew Reese was dangerous, and well-trained, and expert, it was Tenny who was most likely to knife one of his club brothers over some small slight.

  Carter remembered, vividly, the conversation they’d had a few weeks before. If anyone ever touches my property, I’ll rip him apart piece by piece, and stop his heart last of all. Tenny and Reese might be on the outs at the moment, for whatever reason, their personal drama awkward and obvious in the way they were never in the same room at the same time anymore, but hearing someone else insult Reese was going to be a triggering offense, Carter knew.

  He whispered, “Don’t make it worse,” as Tenny pushed off the wall and strolled languidly into the room.

  Boomer trembled, faintly.

  Watching Tenny close the distance, unhurried, but alive with elegant tension, was like watching a leopard pad through the tall grass toward an antelope too scared, or too stubborn to run.

  In Boomer’s case, a little bit of both, with a pinch of stupid thrown in.

  Tenny reached their table, and even Carter knew an urge to tighten his hands on his cards. He became hyper aware that he was still in his workout clothes, and that his gun was all the way down the hall in his dorm. A stupid thought – he wasn’t going to have to defend himself.

  Right?

  Tenny laid one hand on the back of Deacon’s chair, and the other on Boomer’s shoulder, deceptively casual. Cocked his hips and surveyed their table; his mouth was soft, his gaze was not. “Poker, hm? Who’s winning?”

  Evan pointed soundlessly to Carter.

  Boomer stared at his cards, his breathing quick and shallow.

  Tenny’s hand shifted on Boomer’s shoulder, knuckles white as he gripped. He smiled, then, all teeth and malicious intent. “What’s the matter, Boomer?” Disdain coated the name like oil. “Suddenly shy? I thought you were interesting in putting things–”

  The front door opened, to Carter’s immense relief. A momentary relief – the boards creaked, but there were no audible footfalls, and when he turned, it was Reese standing there, tense and ready, his gaze going straight to Tenny.

  Carter considered sliding down under the table.

  But Reese said, “There’s an intruder on the property.”

  ~*~

  They found the back gate standing open, its chain cut, and a boat tied up at their pier. It was a small ski boat, and its sides were striped with a custom paint job, some obnoxiously flashy decals of shark fins and skier silhouettes. There was no logo, but Carter had no doubt who’d done the paint work.

  He stepped down off the dock, gun in his hand – he hadn’t changed clothes, but he’d thought to go and arm himself. It was cool down here by the water, but that wasn’t the reason he shivered a little.

  He surveyed the three prospects standing in front of him, looking to him, as the only fully-patched member present. Reese and Tenny had slunk off, melted into the shadows with promises of finding the boater – and Carter had no doubt they would, God help the poor bastard once he was caught – but Boomer, Deacon, and Evan had turned to him automatically for orders.

  It was a bit of a headrush, to be honest. A novel situation, for sure.

  “Okay,” Carter said. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is that little rat Jimmy Connors.” Stranger though the kid may have been, he was starting to hate the bastard. “Which means he’s a teenager, and a shit one at that, but we don’t want to kill the kid.”

  He earned three nods.

  “They could be anywhere on the property at this point.” And doing all sorts of harm. “They can’t run on foot worth a damn, so they’ll come back for the boat. Evan, stay here and yell if they turn up.”

  “Right.”

  “You two” – Boomer and Deacon – “head toward the bike shop and make sure they didn’t go for any of the businesses down that way. If you see a light on, guard the exits, and call me. Do not move in on your own.” The last had been stern – maybe too stern, a bad impression of Ghost – but both of them nodded.

  Carter headed back toward the scrap yard. He had a feeling Jimmy, and whichever stupid friend he’d brought, would have designs on the clubhouse itself, and sneaking up on them through the tangled, metal jungle of the scrap yard would be the best way to get the drop on them. Carter wanted them caught, and questioned; maybe even hauled down to the precinct by Fielding for trespassing on private property, have their little cages rattled. A few years ago, he would have wanted to shoo them away like flies; tonight, for a variety of reasons, he wanted more than that.

  He was sliding between two old stripped-down pickups when he heard a shriek. The chain on the gate here was cut, too, and he stepped through into the concrete backyard of the clubhouse to find two dark shapes crouched over two felled ones, and a third boy, still on his feet, running for dear life. In the glow of the security light, Carter registered Reese belting one guy’s hands behind his back, standing, a boot braced between his shoulder blades.

  Tenny smacked the other one’s head off the pavement, rendering him limp, and sprang lightly to his feet.

  “Jesus, don’t kill him,” Carter admonished, storming toward them. “I want them conscious.”

  Tenny turned to him with a mild expression, not even winded, and lifted a single brow. “You’ll be wanting that one to run away, then?”

  Carter glanced at the kid’s retreating back, the hood of his jacket slapping
as he sprinted for the grass, and the gate, and the river.

  There was a rock at Carter’s feet, small, ping-pong ball size.

  With a sigh, he bent, picked it up, and drew a bead on the retreating teenager. Felt his body settle automatically into the old stance, the one he’d revived and been exercising during his workouts with Elijah.

  Tenny snorted. “And you worried about me killing this one, hypocrite.”

  Carter threw. The rock disappeared into the darkness, but a moment later, the kid tripped and went face-down, skidding across the grass with a quiet yelp.

  “Still got it,” he muttered, and went to collect his captive.

  Twenty-Six

  “I wanna question them,” Carter said, his voice firm, his arms folded. Reese hadn’t ever seen him try to project anything like authority, but he was doing an admirable job of it tonight, and, given he was the only patched member present, he supposed it was only right – and easy – to follow orders.

  Interrogations were never held in the clubhouse, a rule that Reese already knew, and which Carter reinforced. Evan and Deacon were sent ahead to the bike shop, along with specific instructions given by Carter in a calm, authoritative tone.

  He and Tenny had worked silently to bind their three captives with duct tape, and they sat now huddled against the bar, waiting to be transported, all awake now, and in various stages of panic. All staring up at them with wide eyes and trembling lips, pale, hair plastered to their sweaty foreheads. Two of them Reese recognized from the night outside Bell Bar, when he and Tenny had jumped down from the glassless window and frightened them, their little charade with Carter. The third was unknown, but just as greasy, pimply, and unremarkable as his friends.

  Reese glanced toward Tenny, but Tenny didn’t glance back; watched their captives with hawkish intensity, eyes gleaming, lips frozen in a tight smile. Anticipation, Reese thought, with a mounting sense of foreboding.

  The change in Carter was remarkable. He propped his hands on his hips, and there was something very Ghost-like about his stance, and his air, despite the baggy workout shorts and t-shirt. He wasn’t wearing any of the patched leather regalia of a Dog – the regalia that struck fear in the hearts of regular citizens. By all rights, he shouldn’t have looked intimidating, with his golden hair, and his blue eyes, and his clean-cut style…but something had shifted in him. Something dark and hard making itself known at last. Whatever it was, whatever had inspired it, it had these three boys cowering.

  “Jimmy,” he said, nudging one in the shoe with his own. “What brings you out tonight?” There was a hint – just a faint one – of Mercy’s Cajun drawl in his voice. He’d watched the extractor do this, and was going to copy his tactics as best he could, of which Reese approved. He wondered how far Carter would want to take it.

  The boy – Jimmy – took a big breath and said, “We were just out for a joyride. Please don’t tell my dad – he’ll be pissed we took the boat.”

  “A joy ride. With bolt cutters,” Carter deadpanned. “Right. Try again.”

  Jimmy looked up at him, breathing harshly through his mouth a moment. And then his jaw firmed, and his nostrils flared, and he said, “You hit me in the head with a fucking rock. Your buddy bounced Kyle’s head off the concrete. You’ll get arrested for that.”

  Carter regarded him, and then slowly sank into a crouch, his voice dropping low. “Only if you can prove it.”

  Jimmy’s eyes widened.

  Reese looked again toward Tenny, an automatic gesture, seeking out his partner in arms, his club brother, his friend, delighted with this transformation in Carter.

  But Tenny still wouldn’t look at him.

  Thumping footfalls heralded Evan’s return. “We’re ready.” His voice quavered a bit, and Reese remembered that he’d been worked over in London; he knew exactly what awaited these boys.

  Carter stood, and turned to face Reese. “Call Mercy.”

  Reese nodded.

  “Gag them and bring them.”

  Tenny finally moved, but he never made eye contact with Reese as they sealed the boys’ mouths with duct tape, hoisted them to their feet, and marched them out into the night.

  Some prisoners would have tried to make a run for it, even with their hands bound behind their backs. Reese and Tenny could have managed to get loose, incapacitate their captors, and then walk, not run, away.

  But these were high school boys, and so they walked, and went into the bike shop when ushered, where the windows had been covered with black trash bags, and three chairs awaited above the drain in the floor. They sat when pushed into the chairs, and Reese secured them all himself, to make sure the tape would hold.

  “Alright, Jimmy,” Carter said.

  Tenny stepped forward and snatched the tape from his mouth, leaving him gasping and hissing.

  “You ready to tell me what you were really doing?”

  Behind him, Reese heard Deacon mutter, “Shouldn’t we wait for Mercy?”

  “He’ll be here soon,” Boomer whispered back. “Let him get scared, and when Merc comes in, he’ll wet himself.”

  Reese didn’t think there was any such plan in place. He thought Carter was flexing his muscles a little, taking the lead, for once. It wasn’t Reese’s business in either case.

  “I told you!” Jimmy said. “We took my dad’s boat. And you fucking psychos–”

  A hand landed on the top of his head; rested almost gently over his hair. It was Tenny, who’d paced around the perimeter of the shop and melted forward out of the shadows, his cheeks hollow in the gloom, his eyes gleaming like blue glass.

  He tsked. “Manners, manners.”

  Jimmy’s eyes rolled upward, but he didn’t move his head, frozen beneath Tenny’s bare touch.

  “You aren’t in any position to be throwing that kind of language around.”

  Jimmy swallowed, shaking all over. He wet his lips. “Your voice. It’s you.”

  “Who, me?” Tenny asked innocently, shifting into the rough American accent he’d used the night he and Reese spooked Jimmy and his friend.

  One of the others – still gagged – whipped his head around, gaze rolling as he tried to catch a glimpse of Tenny.

  Reese’s hands curled to fists at his sides. Tenny was being reckless, giving himself away like this. They’d had their faces painted that night; none of these three would have recognized them if they’d kept quiet.

  But Tenny was a showman. He’d been trained as one. He’d been playing as one that night in Amarillo when he got shot; when he’d been bored, and stupid, and nearly died, his blood pouring out between Reese’s fingers.

  Carter said, “I would take his advice. You aren’t the one in the driver’s seat here. And if you want to start talking police, you’re the one who snuck onto private property – and cut your way through two gates.” He glanced toward Boomer. “What was in their bags?”

  “Besides the bolt cutters?” One of them had been carrying a backpack, and Boomer upended it on a work table. A few flash drives clattered down onto the surface, a can of spray paint, and a camera.

  Carter’s eyes widened, fractionally, before he smoothed his features and glanced back. “Gonna leave some real creative insults on our wall and then take pics to show your friends at school?”

  Jimmy’s throat moved as he swallowed; his lips pressed together into a thin line, and he didn’t answer.

  “I heard you were bragging about having some kinda photo evidence we took Allie,” Carter said, and Reese could feel his own surprise echoed by the others in the room – save for Tenny, who hovered, unmoving, shiny gaze trained on the back of Jimmy’s neck. “You thought you’d bring your camera, get the shots you needed, download Photoshop and go to town, huh?”

  No answer, again.

  “Why are you so hellbent on convincing everyone the Dogs did this?” Carter asked. “None of us have ever even laid eyes on you. The club doesn’t own a shop that competes with your dad’s. You’re trying to get every kid at your schoo
l against us – and for what? As cover? You killed Allie Henderson and now you want us to take the fall for it?”

  Fear flashed in his eyes. He took in another sharp breath, but he held his tongue.

  One of the other boys had bowed his head, and closed his eyes, tears glimmering on his cheeks.

  “Just tell me,” Carter said. “You aren’t strong or brave enough to handle what’ll happen if you don’t.”

  Jimmy wet his lips again, but hesitated.

  Tenny didn’t. He closed his hand into a fist in Jimmy’s hair, and yanked the boy’s head back, startling a yell from him. His other hand whipped into view, knife glinting in the glow of the cage lights, and he pressed the naked blade against the boy’s exposed throat. Hard enough to dent the skin.

  Jimmy sucked in a harsh breath.

  “Don’t move,” Tenny said, pleasantly. His gaze was wild with malice. “You’ll cut yourself.”

  One of the other boys shouted behind his duct tape, struggling fruitlessly at his bonds.

  Shock pressed grooves around Carter’s mouth. He was losing control of the situation, and probably didn’t know how to get it back.

  Jimmy’s chest worked in desperate gasps, hands twitching, whole body vibrating, save his head and neck, held rigidly still. Reese could see his pulse in his throat, running rabbit-fast against the edge of the knife.

  “I don’t think you understand,” Tenny said. “You don’t have any leverage here. There’s no police, no concerned citizens. No Daddy Dearest to shield you. You are tied hand and foot to a chair, and my knife is very sharp. Your only weapon is information, and if I were you, I’d start deploying it.” He lifted his brows in invitation, his smile fanged and so wide and false it was ugly.

  “Let him go,” Carter said, and Tenny didn’t move a moment. “Now, let him go.”

  Slowly, the knife pulled back a fraction, and Tenny righted the boy’s head, though he kept hold of his hair, and he fired a dark look from beneath his lashes at Carter.