Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  “Yeah, that’s when Dad skipped out on us and got himself killed.” Pagan shoved his long legs forward as he toed out of his boots. “Mom had just hit the big time with one of her books. New York Times bestseller. Guess it pissed him off. Big ego, small brain, you know the type. He went on a three-week drunk. Never came back.”

  “I’m sorry,” Suede murmured. She surely knew that type of male.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not like any of us miss him, but Mom…” A sigh escaped Pagan as he interlocked his fingers behind his head, his eyes cast up to the ceiling. “We all miss Mom. She was unforgettable.”

  Suede’s heart clenched. Pagan’s voice had mellowed at every mention of his mother. These rugged men weren’t so rugged after all. They loved their mom. “Chance said she was an author?”

  The dark curls at the top of his head trembled as he nodded, still looking up. “She was. We lost her…” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “The same day Chance…” Pagan trailed off. “I don’t know why I’m talking about this. It’s not like you’re interested and—”

  “I am interested,” tripped off of her tongue before her common sense could rein it in. “I care. I mean, it sounds like you and your brother were close to your mom.” Wouldn’t that be something?

  He nodded. “She told us stories when we were kids. She took us camping. We lived in San Diego then. It’s a big Navy town, so I guess it’s no wonder we all joined up.”

  “You and Kruze and—”

  “Yeah. Chance. He started it, no, that’s not right. Mom started it. She was one of those dyed in the wool, don’t-step-on-my-flag, love-it-or-leave-it patriots. She and a friend of hers taught us to shoot before we hit kindergarten, then taught us to stand up for truth and justice. The American way. All that stuff.”

  His gaze hadn’t moved from the ceiling, so naturally, Suede’s eyes were drawn to the heavy wooden rafters overhead, too. She hadn’t noticed the rustic metal stars decorating them until then, nor the pinecones carved into the polished timbers. So much time and effort spent on beauty most people would never see. “It’s lovely,” she whispered.

  “That she was.” Pagan slapped his palms to his thighs, misunderstanding, yet saying the right words.

  Suede gulped, afraid to ask. “What happened to her?”

  His chin dropped and his lashes fell. With his longish hair hiding his eyes and his heavy brows, he looked more sinister than sad. Until glimmering eyes peered out through all that shaggy hair and said, “Stage four bone cancer. We never knew she’d already had breast cancer when she was younger or that it came back in her bones. ‘Course we never knew she wasn’t supposed to have children either, but she did a lot of things they said couldn’t be done.”

  “I’m sorry,” Suede said. How awful to actually love your mother only to lose her so early.

  Pagan cleared his throat. “Yeah, well…” His voice trailed off until his eyes scrolled back to her.

  Wait a minute. “Your mother was Scarlett Sinclair? That author? The one who wrote My Enemy Tryst?” What were the odds that Suede would now be in that famous woman’s son’s home?

  He nodded, a tender glint in the corner of his eye. “That’s the one. She would’ve liked you, ’course she would’ve kicked your butt for some of the stunts you’ve pulled, too. Mom was a stickler for education and reading. For amounting to something in the world. For doing good even when no one’s looking.” His index finger lifted off the armrest, pointing straight ahead to a massive set of bookshelves built out of the same gleaming wood as the rest of the cabin. “Chance keeps her books over there if you need something to read while you’re here. There’s no TV this far north.”

  Suede followed the direction he’d pointed. “I might just take you up on that.”

  “You do that,” Pagan agreed, smoothing his hands over his thighs as he eased to the edge of his chair, the leather creaking with the shift of weight. “But right now, I’ve got to give Gallo his treat, and it’s time you rested. May I help you back to bed, or would you rather stay out here by the fire?”

  “Here,” Suede answered. She might be exhausted, but she’d had enough of being alone.

  He paused at the edge of his seat, his eyes narrowed. “You’re nothing like I thought you were.”

  She grunted. “What was that, a slut?”

  His head shook. “No, I wasn’t thinking that, but you’re…” He seemed to be searching for the right word. “Soft,” he ended up saying, “not hard and coarse or bitchy like most hookers. Not trashy.”

  Wow. Most hookers. So that was how he saw her. What an ugly comparison. A quiet huff escaped through her nostrils. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “So what changed?” he asked, his gaze piercing. “You went from zero to sixty, then back to zero pretty damned fast.”

  Suede had the grace to squirm. He thought she’d done drugs. That’s what he’d meant, and he was right to think that. Her behavior had been wildly erratic the last year, even to her. It was difficult to put into words the jolting conversion she’d so recently experienced. Her fingernails were suddenly easier to look at than her handsome benefactor, only they were as shredded as her past. Where to begin?

  “I guess, umm, everything changed when I should’ve died last night,” she murmured to herself. “Until your brother resuscitated me and brought me back to life, I was a skank, Pagan. I know that. I was nothing but throwaway trash, but he...” God, it was true. “He saved me.” In more ways than one. “He made me realize I could go back to being what I used to be, or I could move forward and be someone better. I could change. He made me believe in myself again.”

  It was strange. Suede had thought of herself as nothing most of her life, but to finally have someone believe in her was—she swallowed hard—life altering. She should’ve been strong enough to make those changes before, but all that enlightenment hadn’t come until she truly was at the end of her worthless life. Only now she knew better. She had never been worthless. Just lost. Just searching.

  Pagan slapped his thigh, grabbing her attention. When she made eye contact, he winked like he knew a secret. “That’s Chance for you. Sorry to break it to you, but Big Brother’s got a savior complex. He’s always saving the world. Guess it comes from being the oldest and having a crap dad like we did. He’s got this idea in his hard head he has to take care of Kruze and me like we’re still little boys, that he’s the man of the house” —this was said with considerable swagger— “especially since Mom passed.”

  “He’s a good man,” Suede whispered.

  “He’s a pain in the ass, is what he is, “Pagan teased, “but I’m glad he found you. You’re good for Chance. I can tell.”

  A huff of ‘who me?’ nearly snorted out of Suede’s nostrils. She rolled her eyes instead. “I doubt that, but thanks for saying so.”

  A genuine smile lit Pagan’s rugged features, changing him into Chance’s kid brother. For a split second, Suede glimpsed Scarlett Sinclair’s baby boy. How strange. The more she got to know these guys, the more she liked their mother.

  “Want me to get you one of Mom’s books to read? That’ll keep you busy.”

  He almost made it sound as if she were staying. Wouldn’t that be a fairytale come true? Suede decided to play along. She wasn’t up to leaving at the moment anyway. “Sure. That would be nice.”

  “Which title?” His brow lifted, and Suede nearly laughed. Pagan knew she’d never read any of his mother’s works. She could tell by the way he’d just baited her. She’d only known who wrote My Enemy Tryst because it had hit the jackpot last year as a blockbuster movie. And wasn’t that sad? Scarlett was more famous now that she’d died, now that she’d left behind the boys she’d loved, the boys who still grieved for her. It didn’t seem fair.

  Suede spiked a brow back at Pagan, but knew it couldn’t match his in ferocity. “Bring it on, Pagan. I want to read them all. How about we start at the beginning?”

  His face cracked into a teasing smile. “You do know she wrote over two hundred
novels, don’t you? They’re not exactly short little fairytales. You might be here a while.”

  Wouldn’t that be nice? She rubbed her hands together, her plans to leave indefinitely postponed. “Then you’d better get cracking, hadn’t you?”

  He cocked his head at her. “I know what Chance sees in you, Suede. You’re… nice.”

  She bowed her head at that simple compliment. These Sinclair boys had a way of getting to her. Their wonderful mother, too. It seemed as if Scarlett hadn’t left them behind, but lingered in this cabin and those elegant stars overhead. “I didn’t used to be, but where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?”

  Pagan sent her a sly wink. “You got it, sister.”

  A tear came out of nowhere. Suede dashed it away, her heart unexpectedly So. Damned. Full. Pagan had just made her feel like family.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shit, it’s cold up here. Chance jerked the thermal pad from his pocket, gave it a snap to activate the chemicals, then shoved it under the frozen cheeks of his ass. All he’d heard from inside so far amounted to nothing more than backbiting, pacing, and snoring. If these yahoos didn’t start talking more, Chance was headed back to the empty cabin. It might not be warm, but it offered protection from the wicked wind biting at him.

  “You should never have listened to Tennyson,” Baritone muttered.

  “Shut up,” York shot back at him, his voice low and filled with menace.

  The snoring stopped. “Whose idea was it to dump her all the way out here?” Alto asked. “We’re in the middle of nowhere for Christ’s sake.”

  “Mine,” York ground out.

  “Shit man, why?”

  “Because I needed her to die like everyone thought she lived, in the nude and strung out on drugs.”

  “You could’ve accomplished that in LA, where it’s warm.”

  “Too many investigative reporters in that town. It had to happen here.”

  “Yeah, but that chick never did drugs like your other girls,” Baritone muttered. “She was different, know what I mean?”

  “I don’t get it. You drugged her when you wanted her to look like a porn star, but she was a good girl,” Alto added. “All she ever did wrong was try to please you.”

  Chance forgot the cold. Don’t stop talking now, you bastards.

  “But nobody knew that, did they?” York bit out. His hired help’s taunting was obviously pissing him off. “They only saw the hysterical celebrity preening every chance she got.”

  “So what did you get out of this shitty deal?” Baritone asked. “Tennyson has what he wants, but…” He coughed and Chance could imagine him covering his mouth to maybe hide his amusement. “’Scuse me, boss, but it seems all you got is the shaft.”

  “I was supposed to get free access to all Oregon ports,” York hissed. “From the confluence of the Willamette and the Columbia Rivers, I should’ve been the boss, but now...” Something thumped, possibly his fist on a table. “Why don’t you shut your fuckin’ mouths? You work for me! You’re not my buddies. You’re not even good enough to lick the soles of my boots!”

  Ah, here it comes, the much-televised berserker behind the suave playboy façade. It was surprising York had held onto his control this long.

  “Sorry, boss,” Alto said. “We don’t mean nuthin’. We’re just cold and hungry and—”

  “How’d I know there’d be no food in this goddamned rig?”

  No food? Well, well, well. Chance grinned. Except for what York had done to Suede, this guy was a joke. These three were stuck up here during one of the worst storms of the century without heat or food? His eyes strayed to the generator again. Karma can be such a nasty bitch.

  But wasn’t that interesting? The smiling, backslapping Governor Tennyson had off-loaded his independent, and once upon a time headstrong daughter, to York in exchange for free access to all Oregon ports. What an asshole. So far, Chance had yet to see anything in Suede to validate the media’s vicious portrayal of her. Drugs, huh?

  All this time, she’d been trying to get her father’s attention, but what’d he do? Disowned her. Of course, she’d disowned him first when she’d sought and was granted emancipation, but shit. She was a sixteen-year-old kid when she’d pulled that coup. It wasn’t hard to see what had propelled Suede to this point in her life. She needed to be wanted. But now Chance wondered. Who gave her that emancipation idea? Who helped her find a lawyer? Who the hell set her up with York? Was Tennyson responsible for all of that, too?

  More pacing came from inside the rig, then York muttered, for once his voice loud enough. “She was a pain in the ass from the start.”

  “But you got what you wanted, right?” Alto asked. “You got her gone and the footage to prove it to Tennyson?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Baritone spoke up. “I filmed her from where she couldn’t see me. I got a nice clear shot of her falling, but with the snow and all, that’s all I got. Couldn’t see her land. That woulda been sweet.”

  Sweet?! Watching a twenty-year-old woman falling to her death was sweet? Sons-of-bitches! Chance gritted his molars loud enough they cracked.

  “It would’ve been better if you’d got her falling in the nude like you were supposed to, but guess it’ll have to do,” Alto said, his voice oddly soothing. “You think Tennyson will buy it?”

  “He will if he knows what’s good for him. I’m tired of the bastard. He’s not getting the tapes, and I don’t care if—”

  “It’s on a USB drive,” Baritone interrupted. “Not tapes. We don’t use—”

  “I don’t give a shit if it’s on the moon!” York bellowed. “Julio Juarez is coming in Tuesday. If I’m not there…”

  Chance couldn’t make out York’s last words. What tapes and who the hell is Julio Juarez?

  Baritone grunted. “You’ll be there, boss. Tennyson ain’t so big you can’t shave him down to size. Once he sees what happened to his kid, he’ll straighten up. You’ll get what’s coming to you. You’ll see.”

  So, York’s threatening Tennyson? Was that what this was all about, killing Tennyson’s daughter to prove York meant business? Was Juarez a hit man with a contract on Tennyson now that Suede was, as far as York knew, dead? Then what? Who had a good shot at the Oregon governorship once Tennyson was gone? York? One of his buddies? Tennyson’s wife?

  The earpiece in Chance’s ear canal came to startling life as Pagan said, “Comm check,” loud and clear.

  “You’re a little late, Baby Brother,” Chance teased.

  “I’ve been busy. I made soup. Homemade soup. It took time.”

  A grin tugged at Chance’s lips. Imagine that, Pagan in the kitchen with an apron on. “How’s Suede?”

  “Good, real good. She ate a small bowl of soup and a piece of toast, but she’s tired. She’s had a busy day.”

  That spiked Chance’s brow. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, she took a shower, and she’s been out in the living room with me and Gallo. I had to change the bandage on her rump though, so don’t go ballistic for me touching your woman when you get back. She couldn’t reach it, and it was bleeding, and I could, and…” Pagan trailed off.

  Chance let the ‘your woman’ comment slide. He could see his brother raking his fingers over his head, embarrassed that he’d been even a tiny bit intimate with a woman like Suede. Pagan was a mystery. As much as he wanted and needed a good woman in his life, Chance doubted he’d know what to do with one when he caught one. It just had better not be Suede, damn his handsome ass.

  “So she ate? Have you kept up with her meds? Don’t forget to give her the antibiotic at bedtime.” The thought of Pagan putting Suede to bed irked Chance. He blocked what might be a tender goodnight scene from his mind. York needed to start talking.

  “Of course,” Pagan replied. “She took two pain pills at lunch, and I think they put her to sleep. She was reading one of Mom’s books, but now she and Gallo are snuggled on the couch. You should see them. Gallo likes her.”

  Almost as much as I
do. “So why’d you call?” Chance asked to get his mind back on the job.

  “I’ve been checking for a connection between Sullivan and Tennyson.”

  “And?”

  “Well, this is where it gets interesting. I came across an email…”

  Chance rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you hacked the boss’s server.”

  “No, oh, hell no.”

  “You lying son-of-a-gun. You did!” Chance hissed. Pagan never could lie.

  “Yeah, okay, so I hacked Sullivan’s server. He’s not being square with us. Do you want to know what I found or not?”

  “Spill.”

  “An email from Tennyson to Sullivan, dated three days ago. Tennyson sounded desperate. He outright asked Sullivan to rescue his daughter from Lionel York. Said he didn’t want her involved with a known drug lord. Said he’d pay anything if Sullivan could make York disappear.”

  Which might explain Pagan’s current assignment, the one Chance had taken over. Even as Chance thought that, a prickle of unease skated up his spine. Would Sullivan act on an old frat buddy’s request for help just because he had the means? He couldn’t believe the man he respected would stoop that low.

  “Not buying it,” Chance said. “Why would Tennyson ask that of anyone, Sullivan in particular? That’s conspiracy to commit, plain and simple. Tennyson might have been trolling for insider information. What was Sullivan’s answer?”

  “Haven’t found one yet. Hang on a sec. That you Kruze?” Pagan bellowed to the side.

  Great. Now both his horny brothers were warm and snug at his place with Suede while he froze his ass off on the mountaintop. If that didn’t add a shot of nitro to his already thrumming need to protect her, nothing did.

  “Come back to me, Pagan,” Chance prompted, tapping his mic to get his brother’s attention.

  “Chance, Kruze just showed.” Pagan again. Like I couldn’t hear that? “And I just discovered we’ve got another player in this mess, Victoria Hex. Ever heard of her?”

  “Wait a minute. One thing at a time. Did Sullivan respond to Tennyson’s request or not?”