Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2)

by Lauren Gilley

  “You’re talking to someone?” Candy grew more curious, and moved toward the bed.

  She held up a hand to hold him off.

  “Michelle, I demand to meet this man right now,” Raven said.

  Completely defeated, Michelle said, “I’m Skyping with my aunt. Raven.”

  “Is that the model?” His brows went up, and he looked amused now, all bad humor gone.

  “Does that matter?” she snapped.

  He chuckled. “No, no, not like that.”

  “Helllooooo!” Raven called.

  Oh, this was terrible.

  Michelle turned the computer around on the bed, and Candy knelt down in front of it, so he and Raven were face-to-face…so to speak.

  “Raven,” Michelle said, with great regret. “This is Derek. Derek, my aunt Raven.”

  “Oooohh!” Raven’s voice was tinny and small through the laptop speakers. “Well hello there, handsome. You aren’t Derek, you’re Candyman Snow.” Candy was grinning. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Michelle, you bad, bad girl.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Candy said, with a wink for the screen.

  “Candy!” Michelle hissed.

  Raven laughed.

  “I’ll talk to you later, Raven,” Michelle said, and closed the laptop.

  Candy turned a laughing gaze up to her. “That wasn’t polite.”

  “Neither is she most of the time.” She wanted to pull an imaginary hat down over her face, anything to keep him from seeing how beet red she had to be by now.

  Candy looked boyish and pleased, a little pink along his cheeks, too. “You were talking about me.”

  “I definitely was not.”

  “Sure. That’s why she wanted to ‘meet’ me. Because you weren’t talking about me.”

  “She saw this.” She slapped a hand to the bite mark. “And that’s not my fault.”

  “Oh, I think you must want me to prove that it was.”

  She couldn’t help it; she had to smile back. “You’re terrible.”

  “I know. You think it’s cute, though.”

  She sighed. “Unfortunately.”

  He climbed up on the bed and sat beside her, reclined back on his elbows.

  “How did church go?”

  He made a face. “It went.”

  “That bad?”

  His eyes slid over to her. “No one’s been giving you hassle, have they?”

  She bit her lip and thought about Jinx yesterday. Candy’s best friend. Would he believe her if she told him? Probably. But was it worth driving a wedge between them? A lifetime of living with men told her no, it wasn’t.

  “What?”

  “No. No one has.”

  He looked doubtful, but didn’t press the issue.

  “I think,” Michelle said, gently, “that you ought to be more worried about the hassle the ATF is giving you.”

  He winced and flopped back to lie staring at the ceiling. “Yeah.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Pretty bad.” He exhaled deeply through his nostrils. “But none of my years on earth have been spent in jail. I don’t think now’s gonna be the time that breaks the record.”

  Seventeen

  Candy

  “Well, nothing’s rotten,” Duke said. He was crouched down on the floor, examining the now-exposed floorboards they’d unearthed beneath the carpet.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  Duke bore an eerie resemblance to the late great John Wayne. It wasn’t exact, and sometimes people didn’t even see it, but in certain lights, at certain angles, it was uncanny. Now was one of those times, as he tipped his head back to regard Candy. Like always, it sent a little ripple across his skin; like looking at a movie come to life. “Well, we’ll have to refinish them.”

  “So we will.” He made a mental checkmark beside Floors in his checklist and resumed his inspection.

  It was amazing how quickly you could take a place apart. They’d been at it for about three hours, and the dumpster outside now held the furniture, the torn-up carpet, and the demo’d bathroom tile and fixtures. Candy ached from carrying and hauling, a good ache. He had sweat sliding beneath his clothes and when he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, he felt the grit of dirt.

  He was having a blast.

  The last two weeks had been insane. Dealing with the bank, coming to an offer with Chester, accelerated closing, some zoning bullshit with the city. It was in the midst of all this drama that he realized just how much he wanted Odell’s for himself. No longer simply a business move, but a personal one.

  Michelle had seemed to know that, reassuring him that it would all work out, petting his hair like he was a dog….which he loved. There were lots of things about their arrangement he was loving.

  Finally, Odell’s was theirs, and it was demo day. It felt more like Christmas morning.

  “What are we doing with all of this?” Cowboy asked, claw end of a hammer stuck in the wall paneling.

  “Ripping it out.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Toilets?” someone called.

  “Trash!” Candy called back.

  “For real?”

  “For real.”

  Michelle sat on the edge of the bar, since the stools were gone, legs crossed, booted foot swinging through the air, the physical tension contrasting with the calmness of her voice as she talked on the phone. “Yes, but we’ll be needing six sinks, and not three. Yes. No, I have someone to install them. No. Yes.” She bit her lip and looked like she tried not to sigh. “That would be lovely. Yes. Thank you.” She disconnected and rolled her eyes. “After he got past the fact that I have a ‘really weird accent,’ he says he can move up the delivery date.”

  “Good.”

  She slipped her phone away and then really looked at him, smiling. “You’re filthy.”

  “I think we established that this morning.”

  “I mean, you’re covered in actual dirt.”

  He plucked the short sleeve of his shirt and rubbed it along his chin; it came away brown with grime. “Ew.”

  She giggled. This chick – she actually giggled, and it was cute as hell. It was turning him into the sort of shameless idiot who would do just about anything to make her do it. “The man with a reputation for knocking people’s teeth out says ‘ew’?”

  “When necessary.”

  He was struck by the urge to spread her legs and belly up to the bar between them. So he did, hands latched on her thighs, belt buckle kissing the edge of the bar. She tightened around his hips, a quick squeeze, pure reflex, he figured. Her hands landed on his chest, and her head tipped back, eyes going soft. It was growing so easy between them, these freefalling rushes of sexual energy.

  Dangerous, dangerous.

  “In front of everyone?” she asked quietly.

  Yes, he thought. Because he wanted to lay public claim to her. Even if this wasn’t public, but just the club.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth –

  And Cletus popped up behind the bar.

  “Jesus!” Candy’s heart leapt. “What the hell are you doing back there?”

  “Counting glasses.” He had one in his hands, a pint glass, turning it round and round, that creepy gaze of his pinned somewhere in the vicinity of Candy’s shoulder.

  It pissed him off more than he would have thought. “Yeah, well…we’re buying new ones anyway. So quit.”

  “Oh.” Cletus kept staring.

  “Walk away,” Candy told him.

  “Right.”

  Michelle plucked at his shirt. “That was rather mean.”

  He snorted. “I don’t like being interrupted.”

  “He’s harmless,” she countered, and the look on her face told him she knew just how much so. “And we really shouldn’t be making a spectacle.”

  “Why not?”

  She pulled back, surprised. “Because…because we aren’t together.”

&n
bsp; A flash of irritation. Little rise of anger. But he said, “We’re touching right now, aren’t we? How much more together can you get?” He even threw in an eyebrow waggle for good measure.

  She sighed. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  He shifted back a step, suddenly cold all over. Why was she doing this? Was she pushing for more? Or distancing herself?

  “Then what the hell do you mean?” he asked, tone sour.

  She let go of his shirt.

  “Chelle.”

  His phone rang.

  ~*~

  Michelle

  She was ashamed of herself. She didn’t know how else to put it. She wasn’t angry, wasn’t afraid, wasn’t hesitant. No, it was shame she felt, each time she allowed herself to get pulled a little closer to the center of the whirlpool that was her relationship with Candy.

  She’d been raised street smart, book smart, and heart smart. Knives and slick little pistols pressed into her hands by Albie. An arm across the shoulders and a brotherly kiss on the cheek from Tommy. Fashion advice – mostly ignored – and no-nonsense life advice from Raven. Ridiculous millennial jokes from Miles. Target practice with Fox. Financial planning from Walsh. And the love and confidence of her father. She’d been taught that blades, and bullets, and men, could hurt you. And she’d learned that her gender wasn’t a limiting factor.

  But suddenly that firm mental image she’d always had of her family, and her place within it, was sitting crooked in its frame, and she knew that she had to do the thing every member of her family did at some point: fight for self-preservation. Leaning on people wasn’t their style. So even though it hurt, and she hated it, and she felt like half of her heart was missing, she needed to sit down and map out the rest of her life. Figure out where she was going, and how she would go about getting there.

  And what was she doing instead? Playing with Candyman, like some sort of airhead trollop with nothing better to do. Sharing his bed, sharing the quiet, unsaid secrets that traveled through their skin in the dark of night. She was treading water, working for a club that didn’t have use for her. And for what? A good shag?

  It hit her at times throughout the day, like now, that hot press of shame inside her, like a fist in her belly. She’d spent her whole life trying to become something besides “just another girl.” And yet here she was, with this domineering man between her legs, his plaything. And in moments like these, his smile, and his humor, and the way he made her laugh didn’t feel like much consolation.

  He sent her a questioning, dark sort of look as he stepped away from her to answer his phone. “Yeah?” he said into the mobile, gaze still pinned on her, making her want to squirm.

  It wasn’t his fault, the way she reacted. He wasn’t doing anything intentional or wrong. But it just was, this feeling of hers, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

  This was why it was never smart to rush into things. This was why it was a bad idea to sleep with Dogs.

  “What?” Candy asked into the mobile, brows knitting together. “Yeah, I…yeah. That’s fine. Let me know.” He disconnected, frowning.

  “Problem?” Michelle asked.

  “Yeah. Whatever’s going on in your head.”

  She sighed.

  “Also, Jinx says the flatbeds need new tires.”

  Jinx again. He hadn’t said anything else to her, but she felt the glacial cold pouring off the man each time she passed him in the hall. There was an animosity there, and she was pretty sure it was some sort of disapproval. Otherwise, it would mean he was jealous that she was hoarding his best friend, or something, and that was just stupid.

  “What?” Candy asked, and she realized she’d made a face.

  “What? Oh, nothing.” She shook her head. “So I thought we’d talk about essentials, and speaking of the glasses–”

  “No, fuck the glasses. How ‘bout speaking of this?” He motioned between the two of them with his index finger.

  Michelle bit her lip. “What about this?”

  “Why is it awesome sometimes, and then others, you get all weird?”

  “I don’t get ‘weird.’”

  He snorted. “Why don’t you want me to kiss you in front of everyone?”

  She darted a glance around the building, picking out his brothers as they went about their various tasks, then back to Candy, just as he edged in closer again, invading her space. “It’s not like that…”

  He heaved a deep sigh. Reached out and put his hands on her thighs again; they were heavy and possessive. “Alright, look. I’ll cut you a break, on account of you being just a kid.”

  “Ahem?”

  “Don’t ‘ahem’ me. You’re not a librarian.” He twitched a grin, but then tamped it down. “You’re young. You’re very young. Way too young for me.” His hands squeezed. “Not that I’m complaining. And most of the time, you’re so grown up, I don’t think about your age. But you’re acting like a kid right now, baby doll, and I just don’t get it.”

  She bit back what she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “And how am I acting like a ‘kid’?”

  He leaned in closer, so his face was just above hers. Close enough for her to see the striations in his eyes; close enough to feel his breath against her lips. Close enough to make her want to dive headfirst into that whirlpool of his. “Because you get all shy, and you pout, and you start changing your mind.” He grinned. “And I have to remind you what fun is.”

  She had to smile, at least a little. “I have to tell you, darling, that ‘kids’ dive right into love without thinking about anything. It’s you grown people who question themselves and sulk.”

  His grin widened, teeth flashing, and he breathed a laugh. “So you admit it then?”

  “Children never think twice, Candy. Children never have plans of their own to consider.”

  “And what plans have you got, baby?”

  “Not becoming someone’s sex toy, for one.”

  “You don’t even believe that.” Another fraction of an inch, just that much closer. “And you said ‘love.’”

  “I didn’t–”

  He stole a kiss. A long one, fitting his mouth to hers in that way that was becoming so familiar and delightful. It sent needles darting along the soles of her feet; curled her toes.

  “I want to kiss you in front of people,” he said as he pulled back.

  “I…” She didn’t know. She was reeling at this point. Damn the man, he made it very hard to think.

  “Tell me about the glasses,” he prompted.

  “You’re a terrible man, you know.”

  “I know. And you love it.”

  She shoved him, which made him laugh, and of course he didn’t budge. But she felt instantly bad for the gesture, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Kissed his cheek.

  “Your brain’s a scary place, isn’t it?” he asked in her ear.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry. Mine is too.”

  ~*~

  Jinx

  Tires. That was the excuse he’d given, should Candy and the boys arrive back and find that he wasn’t back yet from his latest salvage run. And really, he was going to go price some tires, when he was done with this. But for now, he parked behind the police precinct, in the back, where tech vans were kept, and felt hopelessness descend.

  He couldn’t believe this was happening.

  Well, he could, but he’d never thought he’d be caught up in it. He’d always seen himself as Candy’s right hand man, his champion, his backup. He’d never thought he might end up on the other side, somehow.

  It had started a few weeks ago. Out on a run solo, stopping in at Starbucks for an iced coffee – double sugar, no cream – to get him through the midafternoon slump. Fielding interested glances from the tattooed barista girl who probably thought he was some sort of tamable bad boy looking for the right girl to pin him down.

  Someone had cleared his throat behind him, and he’d turned, expecting some hipster he’d supposedly cut in front of, and
instead found Agent Elijah Riley, ATF, looking as clean and douchey as ever.

  “Mr. Sawyer,” Riley had greeted. “Afternoon. I wondered if I might have a word.”

  And by “word,” he hadn’t meant what Jinx immediately thought, which was somewhere in the neighborhood of “go fuck yourself.”

  Jinx shrugged and faced the register. Took his change, dropped all of it in the tip jar, which earned him a grin from barista girl.

  Riley followed him out into the parking lot. Caught up with him at the flatbed. “Jinx,” he said, and hearing his club name come from the man’s mouth had sent a hard chill skittering down Jinx’s back.

  “What?” he snapped, rounding on him, glaring at him through the dark lenses of his shades.

  Riley put his hands up, the picture of innocence. “Like I said, I wanted a word.”

  “So say it.”

  “There’s a mole in your club.”

  It was so ludicrous, he actually laughed. “Nice try, asshole.”

  “I’m serious.” Riley put a hand on the truck’s door to keep it shut. “Listen, it surprised me, too, but there’s someone delivering intel on your club to us, leaving it anonymously, but it’s got to be someone on the inside, who knows y’all’s comings and goings. Meetings. Certain types of meeting,” he stressed.

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’ll hook myself up to a polygraph right now.”

  Shit.

  “If that’s true, and there is a mole, then why would you tell me?” But he knew why: to stir shit up.

  “Let’s just say,” Riley said, a creepy light coming into his eyes, “that anyone who helped me with important information would be viewed leniently by the judge.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m hitting the club with RICO charges. But if someone were to cooperate with me…”

  He had to say it now. “Go fuck yourself,” Jinx said and climbed into the truck.

  The window was open, and through it, Riley said, “This is a recent turn of events. Whoever’s ratting, he hasn’t been around long. If it even is a ‘he.’” His brows twitched in a meaningful way, and then Jinx threw the truck in gear and almost ran over his toes.