Prodigal Son (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 3)

by Lauren Gilley

  Axelle said, “Hell yes,” with a tired sigh.

  Downstairs, now that the sun had set – they’d been in that meeting forever, it seemed like; Eden felt like she was back with the Service – the pub was jumping with what was probably its usual crowd. There were some civilians, recognizable for their lack of leather and tattoos, but the crowd was mostly Lean Dogs letting off steam after a day’s work.

  Eden was dubiously eyeing two available stools at the bar, wedged between two hulking, hairy, ink-covered Dogs, when someone caught her eye and waved from a corner table. It was Fox’s sister, Raven.

  She knew a moment’s serious hesitation, was tempted to go to the bar, ask for two whiskeys, and then take hers back to her room for the evening. She wasn’t easily intimidated, and Raven had never given the impression of trying to intimidate, but…Eden had always sensed a threat there. Something unspoken, maybe even ingrained. The well-leashed contempt of a sister who might not agree with her brothers’ lifestyle, but who wouldn’t hesitate to frame an MI5 agent she deemed a threat to that lifestyle.

  But Eden was being silly. She was no longer in the intelligence business, and Raven wouldn’t have waved them over if she hadn’t wanted them at her table.

  “Over there,” Eden said, getting Axelle’s attention, and they wended their way through the crowd.

  When they slid into the booth, Eden immediately realized why Raven had chosen it, and smiled to herself. It was a table with a clear view of the bar, the front door, and a rear exit marked with an illuminated sign. And Raven had the best seat. Eden, and Axelle beside her, would have to crane their necks to see anything over the high back of the booth.

  Eden glanced across at Fox’s sister and got a measuring look. Eden tipped her head. Fair point. And Raven nodded and poured white wine from a bottle into two waiting, empty glasses.

  “You girls didn’t look like you wanted to sit with the riff-raff,” she said, sliding now-full glasses to them.

  Axelle chuckled. “I am riff-raff.”

  “Oh darling, not like them you’re not,” Raven said, dismissively, lifting her own glass to her lips. “Snyder hasn’t showered in days. I thought I’d faint just walking past him.”

  Axelle snuck Eden a questioning look, but Eden could only shake her head. She had the sense a game was afoot, but couldn’t pin it down at the moment. They would have to play along for now.

  “Well, thank you,” Eden said coolly, and sipped her wine.

  “Hmm. We ladies have to stick together in this Neanderthal world, after all.”

  It wasn’t a question, so Eden didn’t answer. It was funny: dealing with Fox, with Devin, with Albie over the past few days, she hadn’t felt even the slightest need to pull out one of her old undercover personas. She had masks – had a whole figurative closet of masks – that she could use to monitor, to hide, to scrutinize, to befriend. She’d thought she would need one with the boys, but it turned out she didn’t. Just plain old Done With Your Shit Eden handled them just fine. But now, across from Raven, with her flawless, sharp-edged bob and her designer dress, Eden felt herself reaching for a persona. A little bit of the old armor.

  Tone light, Eden said, “I’m surprised to see you’re still here.”

  Raven lifted her brows.

  “We never spent much time together, granted, but you didn’t seem to care for this place much back then. It doesn’t seem like that’s changed.”

  A slow, wicked smile cut across Raven’s face; she didn’t much resemble her brothers, save for the eyes, but at the moment she looked startlingly like Charlie. “You’re right. We never spent much time together.”

  A moment of tense, fraught eye contact–

  Broken by a dramatic groan from Axelle. “Yeah, okay, fuck this. If you guys are gonna do the whole alpha-female, super-bitchy rivalry thing? I’m out. Peace.” She slid out of the booth and headed toward the bar, wineglass left behind.

  Eden watched her retreat, then turned back to Raven…who promptly burst out laughing, her sharp smile dissolving into something true and crooked.

  Eden laughed, too, relief washing through her, dragging the hastily-stitched-together persona with it.

  “God,” Raven said, posture relaxing. “Your face. I thought you’d faint dead away.”

  Some of the laughter faded, becoming a low ache in Eden’s chest. “Guess I’m out of practice.”

  “Yeah, no shit. I didn’t really believe it.” She drained the rest of her wine and reached for the bottle to refill it. “When Albie called me,” she explained, “he said you weren’t Little Miss MI5 anymore. Said he thought you’d lost your nerve for all that. That you wouldn’t pretend you were so far above us now.”

  Her pulse hitched. “I never acted like that…Did I?”

  Raven waved a hand, dismissive. “You didn’t say anything, but I could tell you disapproved of all this.” Her next wave was an elegant flick of her fingers that encompassed the pub, the Hall, the club itself. “That little tight, pretend smile. I’ve always wondered about the women who attach themselves to one of these boys. Is it the thrill? Do they like the danger? Were their lives before absolute shit? Blinded by love? I don’t know. Maybe some combination, maybe none of the above. But you.” She aimed one manicured black nail at Eden’s face. “You weren’t comfortable. It was never going to last with you and Charlie.”

  A slow numbness was creeping over her, replacing the layers of worry. She and Raven had never been friends – and she wasn’t looking for that now – but this still stung, somehow. Hope, whatever tiny particle she’d harbored when she approached the table, bled out.

  “Well,” she said, flat, “it didn’t, so you were right. Congratulations.”

  Raven rolled her eyes, and it was oddly good-natured. “You don’t get it. I’m not gloating. Charlie needed a good influence in his life, God knows, and I think you probably were. But he also needs this club – his brothers, they all do. And you and he were never going to agree on that. So.” She shrugged. “It’s a shame, really, but an unavoidable one.”

  Eden sighed, exhausted suddenly. She reached for her wine and took a healthy slug. “I was never going to…I wouldn’t have…”

  Raven sent her a go on look.

  Why was this hard to say? It had been a long time, and she’d locked all those emotions up tight. The words should have come by rote. But still…

  “I would never have hurt him like that,” she pushed, grinding her teeth a little. “I would never have done anything in a professional capacity to hurt Charlie, or the club. Please know that.”

  Another eyebrow lift. “You want my good opinion.”

  “I want to get this job done. And while I do it, I want to think that the people around me think I’m better than a traitorous spy.”

  Raven snorted, coy now. “Oh, darling, I never thought that.”

  But therein lay the problem: Eden had no idea what she thought.

  ~*~

  There was one stool left, and Albie needed another whiskey, so he slid onto it without any thought for who he was sitting down beside. When he had his drink in-hand, he took a sip and glanced over to see that he was sitting next to Eden’s American assistant/getaway driver. Axelle. Two Es, two Ls.

  A half-full pilsner glass of amber beer sat in front of her on the bar. She traced delicate fingertips through the condensation on the sides. Gaze unfocused, withdrawn.

  Albie wasn’t curious about her. He was not, as a rule, curious about anyone. He had talents, and since those talents didn’t include small talk or getting along with strangers, he didn’t ever put much effort into those things.

  He didn’t owe her an apology for involving her in something dangerous, because Eden was the one who’d done that.

  She hadn’t turned to him, yet, which meant she either hadn’t noticed him, so lost in her own thoughts, or she didn’t want to notice him. Was ignoring him, even, because probably, like most sensible women, she didn’t want anything to do with an outlaw biker – least of all
one who made furniture.

  Also, none of that mattered, because he wasn’t one to go for blonds. Or women his own height, who could look him dead in the eye without craning their necks or standing up on their toes.

  He had absolutely no reason to open his mouth and speak to this girl.

  And yet…

  “You’re not with the others?” he asked.

  Because he was a fucking idiot.

  She turned to him, then, brows lifting in silent question. The bar was lit with strings of fairy lights, and their little pinpricks were reflected in her eyes, a green-blue color that made him think, stupidly, of the ocean.

  He nodded toward the back table, where he’d spotted Raven and Eden on his way through.

  She didn’t follow his line of sight, just grimaced and turned back to her beer, swiping through the condensation with an angry flick of her thumb. “They’re marking their territory or something. I dunno. I’m not into that.”

  He felt his own brows go up. “They’re fighting?”

  “Maybe? Who knows. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

  He snuck another glance, and saw that Raven was smiling. Granted, it her was sly, model-world, I’ve-got-a-secret smile, but they didn’t appear to be actually arguing.

  Albie decided to leave it for the time being, and focused instead on Axelle. He felt a sudden wave of guilt. It was true she’d taken the job as Eden’s assistant, driver, whatever else she was, but she certainly hadn’t asked for any of this.

  “Hey, I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” he said. “Dad has a way of…well, ruining everything.”

  “Dads’ll do that.” She lifted her glass and took a healthy swig. She didn’t look at him, and it felt pointed.

  “Yours too, huh?” He wasn’t sure why he was talking to her; it felt awkward to keep silent, he guessed. Some latent obligation that came with dragging strangers into his family drama.

  Her lashes flickered as she slanted him a narrow glance. Unreadable.

  “Alright. I can take a hint.” He started to slide off his stool.

  Her hand darted out, landing on the bar beside his glass. She didn’t touch him, but it was still a reach.

  He waited.

  She turned her head slow, and he gauged her expression to be one of careful composure. She was young – younger than him, anyway – and he thought it was impressive, the way she kept her face smooth and neutral, like she’d practiced it in the mirror. Maybe she was just good – Charlie was good like that, a good actor and a smooth criminal, made for tricky jobs. But he didn’t think so. He thought, to go from Nashville to London, to wind up driving a getaway car like she’d been born behind the wheel, she’d had the sort of life that forced a girl to practice looking like she didn’t give a damn.

  She met his gaze, unflinching. “For the record, I tried to convince Eden to back out of this job when we found out who she was hunting for. Before they, you know, tried to kill her.”

  He wasn’t surprised. “Too dangerous?”

  One corner of her mouth twitched. It looked deliberate. “When I found out every one of Devin Green’s sons was a Lean Dog, I said, ‘Why the hell would you wanna help those drug-dealing assholes?’” She shrugged. “Seemed like a waste of resources.”

  Okay, that was kind of a surprise.

  “You’re not a fan, I take it.”

  She smiled, and it didn’t touch her eyes. “My father OD’d on coke he bought from the Knoxville Dogs, so…no. Not a fan.” She threw back the rest of her beer and slipped off her stool. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Albie watched her go, just…dumbfounded.

  She didn’t look back.

  ~*~

  The first glass of wine seemed to relax Raven, and the following two loosened her tongue. Feeling very much on unsteady ground, Eden resolved to sip her own drink and just listen, adding only a prompting question here and there, as Raven talked about her modeling work, its seedy underbelly, the ways she hated sitting still at photo shoots, and how she was now worried that the Pseudonym product she’d been slathering over her face might have been made of “fucking clone stem cells or whatever shit Dad was talking about.”

  Finally, rosy-cheeked from the wine, but clear-eyed, Raven planted both elbows on the table, pinned Eden back against the booth with a look, and said, “So really. No games. Why in the bloody hell did you take this case?”

  “I…”

  “If you say it’s because you care, I’ll actually think more of you, not less.”

  “Oh.” That should have been a relief, but instead it settled like a weight in her chest. She didn’t care if she had the approval of Fox’s family. Nothing she was doing was to get in anyone’s good graces.

  But she remembered years before, a late-night conversation, the lights out, her head resting on Fox’s shoulder, the two of them naked in his bed. He hadn’t been living at Baskerville then; his cramped little flat had smelled of the tea and whiskey they’d spilled on the rug, and his heart had thumped strong and steady beneath her cheek. She’d asked after his dad for the first time, because she already knew the story of his mother and his eight crazy half-siblings. “That must be quite the tale,” she’d said, mostly teasing, but he’d gone stiff and still beneath her. “It is,” was all he’d said. “He’s an asshole.” And she’d known, without him saying, that very old, very carefully sealed-off wounds lingered beneath his skin.

  Charlie Fox loved his father, on some level, and he hated that he did. And that was the only reason Eden had stuck with the case once she learned Devin was at the heart of it.

  But apparently, Raven looked at her and saw just another pathetic woman pining after a bad boy biker.

  “Thank you for the wine,” Eden said, sliding out of the booth. “It was good to see you again, Raven.”

  “Mmhm,” Raven murmured. “Same to you.”

  Eden walked toward the bar with the weight of Raven’s gaze against her back. She resisted the urge to shrug beneath its onslaught.

  There was an empty seat at the bar, and she climbed onto it. The prospect acting as bartender swooped in immediately; at the moment, she was the only woman sitting here and he must have honed right in on her.

  “Whiskey, please,” she said. “I don’t care what kind. On the rocks.”

  He nodded and went to fix it.

  “So,” a familiar voice said to her right, and she groaned when she realized who she’d sat down beside. “You girls looked cozy.”

  She slanted Albie a withering glance and found that he wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t even teasing. This family was so damn calculating…but he didn’t look like that, either. He almost…

  “Raven’s very protective,” Albie said with a shrug. “She wouldn’t want anyone to think that, but she is. Whatever she said, don’t take it too seriously. She likes to be mysterious and threatening.”

  Huh.

  Her whiskey arrived, and she drained it in one long, burning swallow, ice clicking against her teeth. “Leave the bottle,” she told the prospect.

  “Went that well, huh?”

  Eden sighed as she poured herself another drink. “You don’t have to talk to me.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want me to?”

  “Ugh. Oh my God, Albie, just…don’t. I’m too tired for this. If you want to vaguely threaten me, or warn me off, or hate me, fine, but…tomorrow. Please. Right now, I’d really like to get drunk and go to bed.”

  “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

  She waited.

  “But…”

  “Here we go.”

  He chuckled. “No, wait, hold on. It’s not bad, I promise. I’m not my sister, and I don’t care what Fox gets up to so long as it doesn’t affect me.”

  “’Gets up to.’ How flattering.”

  His next laugh was more of a tired sigh. “God, just…Look.” When she glanced over from the corner of her eye, she saw him push a hand through his hair, expression pinched. “You two deserve each other, you know?”
he muttered.

  “What?” Her stomach did not flip. And if it did, it was just the alcohol.

  “I asked about your assistant. Axelle.” A lie, but one she would gladly jump on with both feet.

  “What about her?” she asked, edge of defensiveness creeping into her voice, turning so she could really gauge his expression.

  He looked disinterested – he always looked like that. But one corner of his mouth ticked downward in a tiny frown. “She blames her dad’s death on the Dogs.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  His frown deepened. “And you brought her here.”

  “Not on purpose. Albie.” She gave him a stern look. “It’s safe to say that nothing that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours has gone as planned. Okay?”

  He lifted his glass with a little nod. “Okay. Fair enough.”

  ~*~

  Fox didn’t remember falling asleep, but he obviously had, because suddenly he was waking up, blinking dumbly at the smooth plaster of the ceiling. His eyes were crusty, and his mouth tasted like something had died in it, and his head throbbed.

  It had been a long, long time since he drank so much that he blacked out.

  He rolled onto his side, groaning against the way his headache traveled, like a weight inside his skull that rolled with him, and his hand landed on something that crinkled. A piece of paper. A note, he realized, as he brought it up to his face and squinted at it. It took an embarrassing amount of time before the words resolved themselves, and then he recognized Tommy’s handwriting.

  You got up at midnight and had three more drinks. I made you drink water and put you back to bed. You can thank me later!!!

  Three more. No wonder he couldn’t remember anything.

  He fumbled with a shaking hand across the bedspread until he found his mobile and checked the time. Five after six in the morning. Weak, milky sunlight fell through the gap in the curtains in a diffuse cloud. He heard the distant sounds of humanity from deeper in the building – a place with this many inhabitants was never truly silent – but not the hectic rush of a truly-awake Baskerville.