Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8)

by Lauren Gilley

  “No, I’m serious. It’s…honestly intimidating.”

  A beat. Ava said, “You’re serious.”

  “Duh.”

  “Leah” – concerned now – “we’ve been best friends for most of our lives. It’s just me, and Mom; and Holly and Kris are really sweet; and Sam, and Whitney, and Mina.”

  “I know. But. I want to measure up.”

  “Leah,” Ava said again, gently chiding. “It isn’t like that. I don’t want you to worry. You’re already family.”

  Leah sank down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know why I’m being so weird about this.”

  “Because new things are scary,” Ava said, sagely. “Even if you know it’s okay, you freak out anyway.”

  “Says the girl who never freaks out.”

  Ava snorted. “Please. My stomach was in knots the first time Mercy and I went to one of these parties together.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Leah said, chuckling at the very idea.

  “I was! Mercy and I had never been together openly in front of everyone else. When I was seventeen, that was – anyway. Dad was still kind of Dadding-out about it, and we’d eloped on our way to New Orleans, and hadn’t even invited my mom, and I was pregnant, and he was still healing up, and so much had changed since the last party.” A deep breath rustled across the phone. “I’d been Ghost and Maggie’s daughter my whole life to all the men and women in that club, and suddenly I’d taken a step up on the hierarchy ladder. I didn’t know if these people I’d grown up around would see me as an adult, and as an old lady, or if they’d think I was pretending.

  “Damn. Okay, now I get why you’re nervous.”

  “See?”

  They laughed together, quietly. Leah said, “But it worked out all right for you.”

  “Exactly. And it will for you, too.”

  There was something cathartic about expressing fears, and having them reflected back in a friend’s voice. Leah hung up feeling lighter, and more determined. She finally settled on black jeans, a plain white top, and boots that, while printed with flowers, had chunky soles. Punk leaning cute, she thought.

  The outfit certainly got a quick, appreciative glance from Carter when he turned up on her doorstep at seven-thirty. He gave himself a shake, and met her gaze, offering a small, new-smelling helmet to her.

  “No, it’s okay, you can look,” she said, laughing, pleased.

  He did, dragging his teeth across his lower lip in a much more blatant show of interest, and, oh, that did things to her.

  She snapped the helmet on – somehow, it was a perfect fit, and she wondered if he’d measured her head or something while she was sleeping – to hide her sudden blush. “Ready to go?”

  “If you are.” His gaze flicked back up to hers, cleared, and she saw a faint glimmer of concern. “Ava said you were nervous.”

  “That traitor. Some best friend she is.”

  “No, that’s – she’s looking out for you. That’s something I’d want to know.” He tipped his head. “Are you nervous?”

  “A little,” she lied. She’d managed to suppress most of it while she dressed and did her hair, but now her pulse was thumping again.

  He took one of her hands, and pulled her in – but not for the heated kiss she’d expected. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and stroked her arms, and rested – well, attempted to rest his forehead against hers. He pressed his to her helmet, instead.

  “This usually works better without a helmet.”

  She snorted. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll get over it.”

  When he drew back, he gave her a soft look. “Ready?”

  “Yep.” And, thumping pulse or not, she was.

  ~*~

  Reese still struggled with parties as a concept.

  The ones he’d witnessed here at Dartmoor involved less bloodshed than the ones in Denver had – not to mention his sister wasn’t on display in chains, men invited to “look but not touch.” And, no longer a virgin himself, he was beginning to see the appeal it held for most of the Dogs: the opportunity to relax, get drunk, and enjoy the attentions of a beautiful girl – or two, or three. But he wasn’t sure why anyone wanted to enjoy those things in a loud room surrounded by all his friends. And his grasp of conversation was still fragile enough that watching people gather in knots, heads bent in close to talk above the wail of the music, baffled him.

  That was all normal.

  What wasn’t normal was the frothing of emotion in his belly every time he glanced across the room and spotted Tenny.

  The last week had kept both of them busy with unsuccessful searches for Luis Cantrell. When he wasn’t out riding around in groups, walking through warehouses and vacant homes, Fox was pushing him in sparring matches – sparring with him himself, rather than pitting him against Tenny and sitting back, seemingly indifferent. Reese had the sense a storm was coming, and he’d pushed himself, on his runs, in the weight room, on the mats. Fox was quick and expert, full of tricks, but Reese could pin him half the time, and Fox had grinned, pleased, to find that out.

  He and Tenny ran together, and trained together, ate most meals together. Tenny would talk, and he would tease, a little, no longer furious – but not himself, either. A tension still lingered. No longer thorny, but dangerous, still, Reese sensed; he could touch it, trace its edges with his fingertips, thought he might, given time, be able to fully map its contours and pin a name to it.

  He couldn’t name what he felt tonight, but he had a sense that was because he didn’t want to.

  Tenny sat in the corner of the leather sectional, a girl on either side of him, beneath the arms he’d draped along the back of the sofa. Neither were familiar. Both were young, and dark-haired, wearing short, tight dresses and spike heels. The one on Tenny’s left hooked a leg up over Tenny’s knee and turned her body into him, pressing her breasts into his ribs until they threatened to spill out of her dress. The other one laughed, and traced long, red nails down the buttons of his shirt.

  Tenny wore one of his masks – Reese recognized it. A smile like a blade, eyes low-lidded, voice dropped low and sultry. It was an act – Reese knew it was an act – but his stomach burned, and his fingers twitched on his glass of vodka, and he hurt, deep in the tissues beneath his breastbone.

  He didn’t understand. He didn’t want to feel this way. But.

  “You alright?” someone asked beside him.

  He turned, tamping down his initial startle response. Carter stood beside him, a drink in each hand: something dark and on the rocks, and a glass of wine. He’d brought Leah tonight; Reese spotted her now over at a table with Ava and Maggie.

  “Yes,” he said, automatically. People didn’t usually stick around to find out more once he gave a simple, single-syllable answer. No one really cared, he didn’t sense, save Mercy and Fox. Fox because he didn’t like to see assets squandered, and Mercy because he was – kind. Despite his delight in violence. No one else ever did more than nod and move on.

  But Carter frowned at him. And then his gaze shifted – to Tenny, Reese realized with a sick lurch. “Maybe go talk to him,” Carter suggested. And then: “For what it’s worth, I think he’s as miserable as you.” He shrugged and moved off.

  Reese looked back to Tenny – and the squirmy, unpleasant feeling in his gut intensified. Tenny was kissing the girl on his right, with the red fingernails. A showy, obscene kiss, with lots of tongue. The other girl palmed his cock through his jeans, and Tenny laughed into the first one’s mouth.

  Reese turned away, and drained his glass, shocked at himself. The vodka burned, and tasted terrible. It sent heat spiraling through his stomach, his veins – his head.

  He stood a moment, one hand braced on the edge of the bar, just breathing, feeling the warmth suffuse his limbs, and soften the sharp corners of his mind.

  When he turned back, Tenny was looking at him. One of the girls had straddled his lap, and was kissing his neck, while his hand swept down low at the small of her back – shifted to he
r ass, and squeezed. The other girl nibbled at his ear, then tongued it, theatrical and obscene. Tenny’s mouth was hidden behind the first girl’s shoulder, but his gaze was electric; hard, and dark, and pinned on Reese.

  He read it as a challenge. A defiance.

  Talk to him, Carter had said.

  Date, his sister had said – his sister who was seated cozily with Roman now, talking and laughing quietly, content, and taken care of. He couldn’t begin to understand what his sister wanted, what she’d achieved for herself. She loved Roman, and she said he loved her, too, and she was happy with him.

  And Reese wanted to throw his empty glass down onto the floor just to watch it shatter.

  But Carter had said something else: I think he’s as miserable as you.

  Reese set his glass carefully on the bar, and walked toward Tenny.

  It was slow progress. RJ had three women around them, all of them dancing poorly, drunkenly, in time to a too-loud song. Another girl made a grab for Reese’s sleeve, one that he shook off. He had to step around Dublin and Briscoe’s heated pool game debate. Samantha and Whitney stepped in front of him with polite excuses, headed for the bar and refills.

  Then he stood in front of Tenny, and Tenny rested his head back against the couch, while the girl in his lap kept grinding against him and kissing his throat. “Problem?” he asked, all crisp and proper and disinterested.

  But his eyes – oh, his eyes blazed.

  Reese might have been an idiot and not understood all that he should, but he knew that now was a time to press, and not to retreat. “I want to talk to you,” he said, and his voice cracked on talk. Talking was not what filled his mind in bold, colorful imagery.

  Tenny sighed, like he was bored, but his eyes flashed, and Reese saw the way his breath caught, momentarily. “Yes, yes. Ladies. What do you say we take this somewhere more private?”

  The women murmured approval. The one on Tenny’s lap leaned in to nibble at his throat; she left a red smear of lipstick behind, just above the scar there, the mark left by the bullet that had nearly killed him the night Reese saved his life.

  That smudge sent a wash of unproductive emotion through him, too hot and ugly to name. Emboldened him, so his voice came out harsh and grating when he said, “No.”

  His tone startled the women. Both of them turned to look at him.

  “I want to talk to you. Tell them to stay here.”

  One of the women murmured something – Reese wasn’t sure which one; his gaze was pinned on Tenny.

  Tenny, whose self-satisfied, lion-at-leisure expression froze, and then melted, leaving him flat and expressionless. Operative mode, cold and efficient. “This is a party,” he said, like Reese was stupid.

  Reese matched him, stare for stare, mask for mask – though he could feel the anger lifting off himself like vapor, and knew it must be visible to Tenny. “I don’t care. I want to talk to you.”

  It was the third time he’d said it, and Tenny finally reacted. He gathered himself to stand, and the woman with the red lipstick slid off his lap and back to the couch. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said with a big, put-upon sigh. “I have to go and deal with this little problem.”

  The words didn’t sting as they’d no doubt been intended. Reese was too furious to be hurt by slights. Every second Tenny delayed – straightening his cut, swiping a hand back through his perfectly slicked hair – wound his anger another notch tighter. His jaw and throat felt tense; he wanted to bare his teeth.

  Instead, he stepped back, and gestured, and Tenny set off in front of him, rolling his eyes dramatically.

  He led the way down the hall, where the music was only a dull rush like the ocean; where several doors closed on laughing intertwined couples. Absently, Reese noted Chanel and Boomer. Stephanie preceded Deacon into a room, already reaching back for the zipper of her dress. Reese searched himself for anything like jealousy, but it wasn’t there. It was good she’d found someone else for the night; he didn’t want any third parties involved in this conversation.

  They went to Reese’s dorm, because that was where they always went. Tenny strolled into the room with an affected swagger, and stood with his hips cocked, and his hands braced on them, heaving another dramatic sigh.

  Reese closed the door and leaned back against it. He didn’t speak at first, which was stupid, given he’d been the one who insisted on this, and given that–

  “Okay, so.” Tenny turned around and gestured to him, his expression one of crafted boredom. “Let’s have this talk.”

  –he was going to do that.

  Fuck it, Reese thought, in a very unlike him fit of pique. That was something Aidan would have said, but maybe he needed to be more like Aidan, now. He’d been hesitant, and reserved, still out of his depth in this particular arena. But Tenny was playing some kind of game, and he was tired of it. He wasn’t moving from this door, or letting Tenny out of the room, until he had some sort of answer.

  “Were you going to have sex with those women?”

  “I’m still going to, if you’ll hurry this along,” Tenny said with an impatient motion. “I’d invite you to play, but you’ve not been much fun lately.” The last he said with a sneer.

  “You’re the one who started acting strange,” Reese shot back. “You keep leaving the room. You won’t talk. You’re the one who ran away when I kissed you.”

  Tenny’s expression clouded; the anger sparked quick, had been waiting just beneath the surface. It rushed now to darken his cheeks with blood, and to draw his brows together. “I didn’t run away–”

  “You did,” Reese insisted. “I kissed you, and you got up and ran away, and you wouldn’t look at me after that for days.”

  Tenny bared his teeth, and Reese fought not to echo the movement; they were both bristled up like dogs about to fight. Reese felt adrenaline flood his veins.

  “I didn’t,” Tenny started again.

  Reese said, “Why is it okay for you to kiss me” – and a lot more than that, besides – “but I can’t kiss you?”

  Tenny’s eyes flashed, one bright flare – fear, fury, a frenetic, violent burst of energy. “Because I can’t control it that way!” he said. Shouted. A gasp, really, hoarse and wild, but it seemed to echo – at least in Reese’s mind.

  He felt dizzy, and remembered to take a breath, small and insufficient. “Why do you want to control–”

  A stupid question, because he understood all too well the need to control one’s environment. It was the only way to maintain the upper hand; to complete an op successfully. This wasn’t an op, this was…

  Tenny lashed out, suddenly. Reese had half-expected it. He got his hand up in time to block the punch thrown at his face – but not the low sucker-punch that caught him in the ribs.

  It hurt; it knocked the breath from his lungs. But for all that it was a gentle blow. Tenny hadn’t meant to break anything, even if they were face-to-face, now, and Tenny was snarling at him audibly, and his breath came in sharp punches, hot on Reese’s face.

  He pushed down the pain, twisted his hand, and caught Tenny’s wrist with it, gripped it hard. Tenny made a grab for his hair, and got a fist twisted up tight in it. Reese could pull away, but he’d lose a chunk of hair, and he didn’t think–

  Tenny dragged him in, and then their mouths collided with a clack of teeth.

  Reese felt his lip split. Tasted blood.

  And then Tenny’s mouth softened, and he felt his own jaw go loose in automatic response. Even with a hand pulling painfully in his hair, and Tenny’s body bowed and tensed against his, the trust was immediate. Tenny licked into his mouth with a low, wounded noise, and then they were kissing hard, wet and raw, and hungry. Reese was so hungry for it.

  He let go of Tenny’s wrist and gripped the front of his shirt instead, between the open halves of his cut; felt the pounding throb of his heartbeat through fabric and skin and heaving muscle.

  Tenny’s fingers spasmed against his scalp, and he stepped backward, towing Reese w
ith him by his hair. They reached the bed, stumbled, and Tenny fell back across it and dragged Reese down on top of him.

  Reese flailed a second, getting his knees under him, finding his balance. Their mouths never broke apart. Reese couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t want to stop, licking into one another in turn, a push and pull, ebb and flow.

  Tenny pushed his other hand into Reese’s hair, but gentle this time; holding his hair back, fingertips scratching at his scalp, holding him close. They closed, and pulled Reese back a little.

  Their mouths came apart with an obscene sound, and they panted against one another.

  Reese licked tender lips, and glanced down at him with glazed eyes – not at all prepared for the sight that greeted him.

  As he watched, blinking his vision clear, Tenny’s face screwed up; he closed his eyes, and turned his face away, lips trembling.

  Reese braced both hands on the mattress and pushed up on his arms, putting more space between them. Tenny let go of his hair with one hand, and pressed it over his own eyes, breath shuddering out of him in a full-body shiver.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to feel this way.”

  Reese took a few deep breaths, trying to get his thoughts together. He’d gotten hard shockingly fast, and he could feel that Tenny was in the same state, but Tenny sounded fragile and full of cracks, like he might cry, and that wasn’t something to be solved with their cocks out.

  “You don’t want to feel what way?” he finally asked.

  “You’re an idiot. I hate you.”

  I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, Reese had thought, at first, up until he hadn’t thought that at all.

  He shifted, so he could lay down on his side – heard Tenny take a few more unsteady breaths and curse softly, under his breath – and then reached for him. Gathered him up and pulled him close, so Tenny was on top of him, now. Put his arms round him, tight, the comfort of close compression, and guided his overheated face into his own throat with a hand on the back of his head.

  “No,” Tenny said – whimpered. “No, no, no.” But he went unresisting as a doll, and he pushed his face hard into Reese’s pulse. Clutched at his shirt with both hands.