In all their time together, Candy couldn’t remember ever taking orders from his friend. “About?”
“Um, Riley. Whatever the fuck the ATF wants.”
“Right. We’re gonna do that. Can I not have my fucking coffee first?”
Jinx glanced down at his hands, the two coffee mugs he held. When his eyes lifted, they were accusing. “Phillip’s kid? Really?”
Something stirred beneath his skin. Anger. Defensiveness. His thoughts flashed to Michelle, tender, sweet, sleepy, sporting major hickeys in front of his mirror as she put her makeup on. The sort of mental image he didn’t like a brother intruding upon in so crass a way.
“What? Now you’re gonna have a say in my sex life?” he challenged.
He thought Jinx would back down, but he didn’t. “It doesn’t normally follow you home.”
“Do me a favor,” Candy said, “and don’t compare Michelle to some bar whore, okay?” He turned back toward the sanctuary. “We’ll have church in ten. When I goddamn feel like it.”
“Sure,” Jinx said, like a man who was doubting and second-guessing.
“What was that?” Colin asked when Candy had returned and shut the door.
“Bullshit,” Candy said, and went back to his room.
Michelle – before bundled up in his bathrobe – was in the process of dressing, pulling a t-shirt down over her bright pink bra. If anything, his anger intensified. He was forty-five, and had endured the nameless, meaningless sex of a true bachelor for years. He’d put his club, his brothers, and his responsibility above all personal pleasures and joys. And here was this sweet little girl who whimpered and cried when he went down on her in the shower, and who liked to tug on his hair, and who kissed his throat and told him he was not just beautiful, but pretty. Pretty, and lonely, and hungry for him, and Jinx would deny him that small joy?
He was suddenly, furiously angry.
Michelle turned to face him, and her expression went from pleased to concerned. “Everything alright?”
“Fine.” He thrust a mug toward her, and she took it uncertainly. “Just stupid club shit.”
Her brows quirked. “Ah.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She studied him as he moved to the bed, sat down, reached for his boots.
“Your boys don’t like you being with me,” she said, and he froze, a chill going down his back.
“Not that you’re with me, in any real sense,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t mean…Anyway. I know some of them don’t like the idea of you being distracted.”
He paused, boots in his hands. “They can fucking get over it.”
She stared at him a moment over the rim of her mug, hope in her eyes, twitch of excitement at the corner of her mouth. “You don’t mean that.”
“Come over here and say that to my face.”
She set the coffee down, slowly, on the dresser, and moved toward him.
When she was in striking distance, he grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, close enough to put his arms around her waist and haul her down to his lap, so they were eye-to-eye. Her arms went around his neck. There was no resistance in her now. He had a feeling that if he promised her something, she’d believe him.
Best to make sure it was real.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she returned, imitating his accent, nose scrunching as she fought a laugh.
“Chelle, I’m serious.”
Her face softened. “Okay.”
“I’m not distracted. Only shit that’s unimportant can be a distraction.”
“Oh…” she said.
“I don’t know what’s happening here,” he admitted. “But it’s between you and me, and it’s not their business. If anyone gives you any shit, even for a second, I want to know about it.”
“Candy…”
“No, I mean it,” he insisted, thinking of his friend’s disgruntled face moments before. “You tell me. And I’ll make it right.”
“I don’t need saving,” she whispered.
“No, you need loving.” He kissed her, and then set her off his lap, got to his feet before he could think too hard about what he’d just said. “I gotta get to church, but I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay.” She sounded a little dazed.
“Work on that list.”
“Sure.”
He felt a hard tug of regret as he left the room, like he’d already disappointed her somehow.
~*~
The storm was still going strong, thunder echoing, rain lashing at the windows. The wind sighed, high up in the eaves, a low whistle.
Ominous.
Candy worked on his first cig of the day and told his brothers what Riley had said the day before.
“There’s a mole?” Gringo asked, disbelieving.
“What else do you think ‘eyes on us’ means?” Jinx asked.
“There’s been nothing on the cameras,” Catcher rushed to say, looking panicked.
“Candy,” Blue said, almost gently. “You know he was just trying to rattle your cage.”
“Yeah.” And that was true, but generally, law enforcement threats weren’t completely fictional. Had Riley been trying to get inside his head? Mess with him? Absolutely.
But did he really have a source within the club somehow? Yesterday, he would have said no. But suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.
He looked at the face of each brother in turn, weighing what he knew against what he didn’t. He’d hand-picked all of them, some for their skills, most for their malleability. If he was honest, he hadn’t been searching for talented members, but for loyal ones.
Though loyalty could be swayed.
“It would be someone new,” Jinx said. “Someone who hasn’t been around that long.” He looked to Candy, expression expectant.
“Colin?” he asked with a snort.
The Cajun drew himself upright. “Hey. If this is gonna turn into a witch hunt…”
“It’s not,” Candy assured. “You’re a lot of things, bro, but a rat ain’t one of them.”
Cowboy squelched a chuckle into his hand.
But Jinx stayed focused, determined. “He didn’t say it was a man.”
Something cold and hard moved through Candy’s belly. “No. He didn’t. You wanna start water-boarding the groupies?”
He heard a nervous chuckle or two, but probably they were all picking up on Jinx’s not-so-subtle suggestion.
Fox flicked the top off his old Zippo lighter, again and again, and said, “I’d hate to think you were saying something about my niece, Jinxie.”
Quick as the lightning that flashed beyond the window, a frisson of tension passed down the center of the table.
In a calm voice, Candy said, “Don’t worry, Fox. I’m sure nobody wants to suggest that a little bitty girl who’s come all the way from London would somehow be in the ATF’s pocket. Nobody wants to say that about Phillip Calloway’s daughter. And I’m sure nobody wants to say that about my girl.”
Every head turned toward him.
“If somebody’s got shit to say about Michelle,” he said, “they better say it to me. ‘Cause if I catch someone saying shit to her, you’re gonna need to make an appointment with the dentist. Understood?”
“Understood,” they chorused.
Jinx looked down at this hands.
What in the hell, Candy wondered, was happening to his best friend?
Sixteen
Emmie
The trick was to stay very still. She was fine when she went to bed. In fact, she was so very not-nauseas in the evenings that she could start to think about cravings. Like, say, for peppermint chocolate chip ice cream. And her husband. If he minded all the sex, he didn’t say so. In fact, judging by the way he was now pressing up against her back and nuzzling her hair, he was digging said cravings.
But it was important to be slow and careful, lest this was a queasy morning. She never had any idea until she was fully upright.
It was just after d
awn, pale winter sunlight creeping in slow panels across the bedroom floor. The central heat thrummed through the walls, and she was drowsy, content, warm, enjoying the unhurried way Walsh’s hand slipped inside her tank top and cupped her breast. An undemanding touch, but one that stirred her, a low buzz of excitement in her belly.
She kicked one leg through the sheets and closed her eyes, sighed deeply. “God, I’m lazy.”
“You’re pregnant,” he countered. His voice sounded alert; he’d been awake for a while, never much of one for sleeping, but he’d kept quiet so he didn’t wake her. Sweet man.
“But the horses.”
“Are being taken care of. You don’t have to get up at all if you don’t want to.”
She sighed. “That doesn’t feel right.”
“That’s because you, love, don’t know how to relax.”
She snorted. “Says the workaholic.”
He laughed quietly in his throat, and kissed her temple. “I’m taking a shower.”
“See, making me feel guilty, going to be productive.”
“If I stayed in bed with you all day, you’d go crazy.”
“True.”
One more kiss and he slid away. She missed his warmth against her back, and rucked the covers up higher over her shoulder.
She’d just heard the shower cut on when Walsh’s phone rang. With a groan, she rolled over to his side and pulled the blaring cell off the nightstand. If it was club stuff, she’d just be asked to take a message. With the disasters of this MC life, she’d learned that emergencies happened, and calls were better taken, if possible.
She relaxed a little when she saw the screen and it read RAVEN.
“Hello.”
“You’re not my brother,” a crisp English voice said, friendly, but with that undercurrent of cool that beautiful women always seemed to pull off effortlessly.
“No,” Emmie said, smiling as she flopped down onto Walsh’s pillow, nose filled with the scent of his hair paste.
“How are you, darling?” Raven asked. “Not too sick I hope.”
Emmie had never met Walsh’s model half-sister, but she’d seen pictures, and Raven had called to introduce herself a while back; they traded emails and occasional calls, and it was impossible to dislike the woman. “Pretty sick, but not at the moment, and nothing worse than expected.”
Raven clucked sympathetically. “Poor dear. You know I wish you all the best, but how dreadful children are, even from the moment of conception.”
Emmie laughed. “At least you’re honest.”
“There is that.” Her voice warmed. “And you know your little bundle will be completely precious to look at. You blonde-haired little darlings, you. Speaking of which, where is your adorable little husband?”
Emmie had to bite back another laugh. Probably Walsh knew his sister talked like this, but it was never going to stop being hilarious to imagine his quiet outrage in response. “He’s in the shower,” she said. “You want to hold for him?”
“No, that’s okay. I was going to see if he’s talked to Michelle. I was about to ring her, and wanted to know the story first.”
Poor Michelle. Emmie didn’t envy anyone so moved to tears that she couldn’t help breaking down in an airport; knowing she was related to Walsh, and Shane, and Fox, and Phillip? Those tears weren’t to be taken lightly. She’d been young, and pretty, the resemblance to Walsh strong; they could have been siblings, or father and daughter. It had given Emmie a sudden, unexpected vision of their own child, and what she might look like some day. She hadn’t been able to spend much time with Michelle, but she’d felt that instant click of compatibility, same as she had with Walsh, back when they’d first met. These people, his family, they spoke her language. Wonderfully enough, they were her people now, and she was delighted to be part of the rag-tag bunch.
“She called and talked to Walsh a couple nights ago, wanting his opinion on something work-related. He said she sounded sad, and homesick, but that he thinks she’s getting on alright.”
“What sort of work?”
“Something to do with the Texas chapter, I think.”
“Ugh,” Raven said, sighing. “I’d so hoped she’d take my advice.”
“Which was?”
“To disentangle herself from this fucking club.” There was a sound of expensive china clicking together; Emmie envisioned her sister-in-law sitting in bed, a rainy view of London, a fancy teacup in a saucer, plate of bakery scones.
“I think Phillip was hoping that too,” Emmie said, frowning. Walsh had told her of the plan to slowly wean Michelle from the club, to get her a life of her own. She’d felt resentful on Michelle’s behalf.
“Oh, but he went about it all wrong. Pig-headed man. I told him as much, just yesterday. And of course he didn’t listen. ‘Raven, you’re making this pub look snobbish with your designer everything.’ He’s so polite,” she said, disgusted. “Sometimes I wish he’d just curse and be an asshole out in the open.”
“Can I offer an opinion?” Emmie ventured.
“Okay.”
“I don’t know Michelle that well, but I’ve gotten to know Ava Lécuyer fairly well in the last year and a half. I think the daughters of the club are just as loyal as the sons. They can’t leave it behind. And they love it just as much – sometimes I wonder if maybe they love it more, because they know they have to affect it through their men.”
“Hmm. Yes, I can see that,” Raven said, thoughtfully. “But Michelle doesn’t have a man.”
“She has her uncles. And probably a girl like her couldn’t fall in love with a man who didn’t wear the black dog.”
“Listen to you, sounding like a proper old lady.”
Emmie smirked to herself. “Did it ever tempt you?”
“The club? Did I ever find myself on the back of someone’s motorbike, do you mean? No.” She paused, then: “Though I can see the appeal.” Said faintly, quietly, full of memory.
“Who was he?” Emmie asked.
“It doesn’t matter. He didn’t fit into my world, and I didn’t fit into his.” Sound of the teacup again, more forceful this time. “Anyway, I think I’ll ring Michelle.”
“Right. Tell her I said hello.”
“Love to you and King.” She made a kissing sound, and then hung up.
“Bye,” Emmie said to the dial tone, and then hung up too.
She was staring at the ceiling, thinking, when Walsh emerged from the bathroom, towel around his hips. “Did I hear you talking to someone?”
“Raven called.” She rolled her head so she could look at him, the water droplets caught in his chest hair. He never took the time necessary to dry off properly. “She was worried about Michelle.”
“Oh.” He looked a little concerned, under his blank expression. He turned to his dresser, scratching at his hair. “Well, she can ring her if she wants.”
“She was going to. She just wanted to get a read on things first.”
He snorted. “Raven and her manners.”
“I know. Funny how the ladies in your family have such impeccable ones while you boys are a bunch of savages.”
He smirked when he turned around, t-shirt in-hand. “I ought to show you savage.”
“Hmph.”
He lay on the bed beside her, on his stomach, propped up on his elbows so his face was suspended above hers. The corners of his eyes were crimped up with humor, deep lines radiating back.
“What did you tell her?” he asked.
“I told her I thought Michelle was sad, but adjusting.”
“Probably true.”
“I also expressed my displeasure in all of you conspiring to get rid of her.”
“You know that’s not how it is.”
“That’s the only way she can see it, in her position.”
“I do hate it when you make sense.”
“No you don’t. That’s why you married me.”
He smiled, and kissed her.
~*~
Michelle
“Ah, there you are. I love technology,” Raven said. She looked as posh and put-together as ever on the other side of the Skype connection, even rumpled from sleep and in white lounge pants and t-shirt. She was still in bed, having a luxuriant morning, with a delicate china cup of tea. Visible behind her was the iron bedstead and a mound of pillows, all covered in expensive Egyptian cotton.
“Morning,” Michelle said, and sipped her coffee, stifling a yawn.
“You look exhausted, darling,” Raven said, frowning. “You ought to be sunbathing and giving your father a great big trans-Atlantic middle finger. What have you been doing?”
A collage of very specific, very arousing scenes from last night cartwheeled through her mind, and she felt her face warm. “Um…”
“Oh my God.” Rave slammed her tea down and pitched forward, putting her face right up to the web cam. “That’s a guilty sex blush if I ever saw one.”
Michelle brushed her hair back, hands fidgety. “No, I–”
“And you have a bite mark the size of my fist on your neck!” Raven exclaimed.
“Oh, bugger.” She thought her face might catch fire if it got any warmer. She reached to touch the mark and found it tender. Makeup hadn’t covered it, so she’d resolved to hide it with her hair, but obviously, that wasn’t a foolproof method.
Raven laughed, delighted, eyes dancing. “Chelley Marie, you devil you. Forget what I said about sunbathing. Shagging is a much better way to pass the time.”
Michelle groaned.
“Who is this lucky boy?”
The bedroom door opened, and there was Candy, expression dark and withdrawn; he was unhappy about whatever had been said in church.
“Oh,” Michelle said, caught between her gossipy aunt and her too-fresh-to-talk-about love interest, and just…caught.
His eyes came to her, softening intentionally, and then he looked curious. “What are you doing?”
“Michelle,” Raven said. “What’s happening? I hear a voice. Is that him? That’s him, isn’t it! Turn me around, I want to meet him.”
“Fuck,” Michelle said under her breath.
Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) Page 17
