A miniature explosion kicked off in her head. A rat in the club. Someone talking, cutting deals, leading them all into a trap.
“Ruiz?” she guessed.
He shrugged.
“You thought it was me, though.” And the knowledge hurt more than it should have. “You thought it was me,” she repeated. “I guess you still do.”
A bright, hot flare of pain, like a branding iron searing into her, almost as strong as the terrible throbbing in her broken hand. And then it was gone. Rushing away and leaving her exhausted, aching, and defeated.
She looked away from him, sighing, catching a faint glimpse of her reflection in the window. Her mascara and eyeliner had run down her face while she was crying, Alice Cooper-worthy streaks that felt tight when she moved any part of her face.
Quietly, she said, “Every person I’ve ever loved, in any capacity, is tied to this club. Including Candy. It’s the only family I’ve ever known.”
She heard Jinx shift in his chair, but didn’t look at him.
“It’s hurt me, and it’s made me happy, and the thing about family? You don’t ever take your personal shit outside the family. I am a daughter of this club.” She heard the knife-edge of anger come into her voice, and didn’t try to restrain it. “If I ever marry, it will be to a Lean Dog. My sons will be Dogs. I’m not some dumb slut who turned up looking for a good time. This is my world, just as much as it is yours. And you don’t know shit about me, Jinx. If you think I’m a rat, that’s your problem, and not mine.”
Silence. Tubes droning, clock ticking.
She just wanted the doctor to come already, and tell them Candy was okay. Every time she blinked, she saw his lifeless face, and she wanted to scream.
She reached to push her hair back with her right hand, too late remembering that it was a mangled mess, hissing when just lifting it sent hot fire racing down her arm.
“Shit, what happened to your hand?” Jinx asked.
“Someone stomped on it,” she said through her teeth, fighting fresh tears.
His wallet chain rattled as he stood, and then again as he sat down beside her. “Lemme see.”
“Going to finish the job?” she asked, but turned her bruised appendage toward him.
He grimaced when he saw it, fingertips light as feathers as he probed at the multiple breaks. “Why didn’t you say anything to the docs?”
“It’s just my hand. I didn’t want to have to deal with it until we found out…” She had to swallow. “About Candy.”
His gaze flicked up to hers, and it was the first time she’d really had a good look at his eyes when they weren’t glaring daggers at her. A warm, honeyed brown, almost gold at the edges. There was probably a frightfully good looking man under that beard.
He still held her hand, thumb poised over one of the knobbier, more obvious breaks. “Alright, I’m gonna ask one more time, and you be honest with me. Are you helping the ATF?”
“Absolutely not.”
“What are you doing with Candy?”
“I’m…” Nothing but honesty would do. “I’m enjoying the time that I spend with him. Because he’s very sweet to me. And because I haven’t had this much fun in years.” A lump formed in her threat, as she faced her own truth: she hadn’t had fun in years, and a part of her felt like she deserved a little now. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she added. “He’s your VP, and not your boyfriend, right?”
He recoiled a fraction, nostrils flaring. But he said nothing. Gently lowered her hand, let go of her. A beat passed, and then he said, “Candy doesn’t get attached to women.”
“I didn’t suspect that he did.”
“We’ve got a lot of shit going south. I don’t want you distracting him.”
“I’m not.” She snorted. “Think of it as giving him a little peace in the midst of the storm.”
He sent her a wry look. “So if you aren’t a rat, who is?”
“I’d suggest you ask your cartel friends that question.”
He nodded.
Pup reappeared, and he smiled when he saw them sitting together. “Oh, good!” he chirped. “The machine must have already had money in it, and it spit out, like, five bags of Doritos! We can share.”
Nineteen
Jinx
Had it really been just a couple of hours since he’d been shown into the temporary ATF HQ at the precinct? It seemed like it had been weeks instead. Things in his head were different now. Necessarily so.
Riley had been smug and happy as a cat when the desk sergeant showed Jinx into the room. “Mr. Sawyer. Glad you stopped by.”
“Yeah, I’m not staying,” he’d said. His chest had constricted painfully, and he’d had to force himself to breathe normally. He was having a physical reaction to this place; understandable, given all the ways in which he could have been arrested on the spot.
He sat down. “What sort of deal are you offering?”
Riley’s brows quirked. “When did I say ‘deal’?”
“That’s what it means when a cop talks about helping people, and being lenient. It meals I rat, and you cut me a deal, right? So what kind of deal?” Just saying the words left his mouth dry. His heart galloped.
Riley tilted his head and pretended to consider. “Well, there’s always immunity, obviously. I’m not sure I could swing wit pro, but you might need it, given the circumstances…”
“Here’s my other question,” Jinx interrupted. “If you already have a source within the club, one who can feed you all sorts of info, why in the hell would you start talking deals with me? Don’t you have a deal with them? Isn’t this already in motion? You only need one rat, not two.”
Riley’s face spasmed. A fast glimpse of “oh shit” before he locked it down.
Busted.
“Right.” Jinx shoved to his feet. “You might want to tell your agent, whoever he is, that we’re not fucking stupid.” He turned his back on the man and left the precinct.
Back in the flatbed, he took a long moment to concentrate on his heartbeat, getting it under control.
So now he knew two things. One: the ATF was getting intel somehow. Two: so far none of it was that useful, and Riley was starting to get twitchy, and reaching at straws.
Did that rule out Michelle? Not entirely. At least not in his mind. It bothered him too greatly that Candy was inside out over her; he couldn’t help but think that there was something strange at play.
Conflicted, pissed off, he started the flatbed and headed back to the clubhouse. Pup was the only one around, so he grabbed the kid on the promise of lunch and they headed into town to see if they were needed at the Odell’s disaster…
Then they’d seen the trucks parked off on the side of the road. Had seen the bike, and recognized it as Candy’s. The rest had been a whirlwind.
Now he stood just inside the hanging privacy curtain of a semi-private exam room, arms folded, watching a nurse hand Michelle a thick wad of aftercare literature. The doctor had stabilized the fractures with a clunky brace and given her strict instructions not to remove it, lest she worsen the damage. She was in a sling, and her expression was absolutely miserable.
Jinx felt sorry for her.
He heard shoes squeak on the tile behind him and turned to look as Pup drew to a bouncy halt.
“He’s out of surgery and waking up. Doc says we can come see him.”
Michelle jumped down off the table, startling the nurse, wincing as the jar went up to her hand. “Shit,” she whispered, but wasted no time, heading toward them.
“Now, you need to be very careful,” the nurse said.
“I will.” Michelle reached his side, said, “Let’s go,” and stepped out into the hall.
“Um, Mrs. Snow,” the nurse called.
Michelle pressed on, paperwork clenched in her good hand, eyes straight ahead. “What room is he in?” she asked Pup.
There was a good chance, Jinx mused, that he’d misjudged the hell out of the girl. Not that he was going to admit t
hat to her anytime soon.
“Upstairs,” Pup said, leading the way. “And he’s all by himself.”
“Good,” Jinx said. “’Cause we need to have a conversation.”
~*~
Michelle
She wasn’t sure, but she thought seeing him was worse than wondering. She came to a staggering halt when she crossed the threshold of his room, bit down hard on her lip to keep from exclaiming.
His face. His poor, pretty, strong face.
One eye was swollen almost shut, and the tire iron had left a crimson impression that was already beginning to purple. Angry bruising, deep lacerations held together with plasters. The injuries made him look older, vulnerable. And then there was the rest of him: chest swathed in thick white padding and bandages, skin pale as death beneath the hospital gown.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and glanced up to find Jinx looking down at her, expression unreadable.
“He’s alive,” he said, almost gently, and she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“He’s that,” she agreed, and walked to the bed.
~*~
It was a half hour before he came fully awake. Michelle took the chair by his head, and Jinx and Pup made no fuss about it, both of them half-watching the TV up on the wall. They hadn’t been able to find the remote, and were stuck watching some sort of home renovation show. Exhausted from the drain-away of adrenaline, Michelle had been fast falling asleep when she heard the sheets rustle, and she snapped to full awareness.
“Fuck,” Candy muttered, good eye fluttering open, face screwing up with a wince that, thanks to the bruising, made him curse again and wince harder. “Shit, did I stop a truck with my face?”
“Might as well have,” Michelle said, dryly, but her heart leapt and pattered, and tears pricked her eyes.
His head rolled toward her voice, and somehow, he managed to smile. It was even cocky, though she knew it took an effort. An effort he was making for her.
Her eyes glazed over and she blinked to no avail.
“Hey now,” he said, voice rough. “Don’t do that. I can’t look that ugly.”
She wiped at her eyes. “You brute.”
He sat up a little, grunting with pain.
“No, don’t sit up.” She tried to reach for him, realized her dominant hand was strapped across her chest, and reached with the left instead.
He noticed. “Shit, baby doll, your hand.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s in a fucking sling!”
“You’re talking a lot for someone who just woke up from surgery.”
“Good,” a female voice said from the doorway. “He can explain what the hell happened.”
It was Jenny, tall and formidable as an Amazon warrior, baby held on her hip, eyes flashing with worry.
Michelle opened her mouth to say that he was okay…And started crying quietly instead. Damn her!
Jenny rushed into the room. “Oh, hell. It’s alright. He’s alright. You’re alright, aren’t you?” she asked Candy. She reached Michelle and put her free arm around her shoulders. It felt wonderful; she hadn’t known how badly she needed a hug.
“I just wanna know what the hell happened to her hand,” Candy said, and Michelle smiled through her tears.
“A cowboy boot happened,” she managed to choke out.
“Motherfuckers,” Candy hissed. “They are so fucking dead. They are past dead.”
Jenny heaved a deep breath. “Well, I guess you’re not dying if you’re cussing like that.”
“Somebody get me out of this bed.”
“No,” Michelle and Jenny said in unison.
“Jesus,” he said under his breath.
Jinx stood up and dragged his chair over by Michelle’s, offering it to Jenny, who sat with a quick “thanks.”
“What happened out there?” she asked the room in general. “Pup just said it was an accident over the phone.”
Jinx gestured and Pup got up to close the door. The click was a sinister sound.
“Nothing leaves this room,” Jinx said, and looked pointedly at both women.
Jenny snorted.
Michelle said, “Like I said before.” And sent him a meaningful eyebrow lift. Then she looked up at Jenny. “The Chupacabras, they said their names were. Jorge Ruiz from the Chupacabras. They pushed us off the road, and, well…” She turned to Candy as way of explanation.
He found the button for his bed and it elevated, which made him wince yet again, which made Michelle want to fluff his pillows, or stroke his hair, or hit him or something.
“The Chupacabra cartel?” Jenny asked, incredulous. “Did you do something to piss them off? Derek, seriously?”
He rolled his eyes. Well, the one that wasn’t swollen shut, anyway. “No. But they think I got one of their guys picked up by the feds.” He glared at her as best he could. “Not that it’s for you to know.”
“You almost die on the side of the road, I get to know why,” she fired back.
“Wait,” Jinx said. “Our…merchandise?”
“In Riley’s hot little hands.”
“Shit. Thank God we wear gloves when we touch the shit.”
Candy murmured an agreement.
“So,” Michelle said, taking a deep breath, “not to be the obnoxious newcomer recap girl, but someone – or maybe several someones – wants your heads on pikes. Correct?”
Jinx sighed.
Candy tried to shrug. “Probably a long list.”
“Yeah,” Jenny said, “except right now, it’s Riley and a bunch of Mexican drug lords. And for at least one of them, it’s personal.”
“Personal how?” Michelle asked.
“Let’s go get coffee and I’ll explain.”
She didn’t want to leave Candy’s side, if she was honest. But when she looked at him, he managed a smile for her and said, “Jinxie will hold my hand the whole time you’re gone.”
“Ugh.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead as she stood. “You’re terrible.”
~*~
Word of big events traveled to London from the States, and so Michelle knew of the power shift that had taken place in Texas eight years earlier. She didn’t know the personal tragedy of it, though, and she listened to it over bad coffee in the hospital canteen.
Agent Riley – the fed who’d stopped by Odell’s that first day – was the older brother of Jenny’s outlaw ex-husband, Jud. Now very dead at Jenny’s hands. Hands that shook when she relayed that part of the story.
Michelle was impressed, and sympathetic, and also curious. “How does one brother end up a cop and the other an outlaw?” she asked when Jenny had good hold of her emotions again.
“They had a weird home life growing up,” Jenny said. “They’re dad was a cop who went dirty and, from what I could always tell, hit their mom. Up until she split town.” She shook her head. “Elijah went one way, and Jud the other. But they were still brothers, and they still loved each other. Back in the day, the guys saw it as a good thing: ATF as family meant fewer risks of raids and arrests. And that was true for a long time.”
She shook her head. “But their dad. That violence…Jud was a little shit, but we always thought it was funny, and kind of cute. We ignored the signs that he had zero self-control. That, and, it got much worse with time. Especially when Candy left home.” She shrugged and attempted a sad grin. “What can I say: I have shit taste in men.”
“Not anymore, though,” Michelle said.
The sad smile twitched sideways. “Right.” But it wasn’t a resounding answer.
Michelle made a mental note to bring up Colin and the state of things at a safer time. “So Agent Riley wants blood.”
“And apparently the cartel does too.”
“No big thing,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes. “Jesus. A day in the life.”
“Isn’t it awesome?”
“What’s awesome?” a familiar British voice asked beside them, and Fox appeared from nowhere, dragging a chair
up to their table and straddling it.
“Seeing my Uncle Charlie,” Michelle said, sincerely, and leaned over to hug him around the neck with her good arm. She really liked Jenny, and they were becoming better friends, but there was nothing like one of her uncles when she was still shaking inside from recent trauma. “When did you get here?” she asked as he hugged her back.
He gave her a hard, sure squeeze and pulled back. “About a half hour ago.”
“Have we been down here that long?” It hadn’t felt like it.
“Clucking away like chickens,” he affirmed.
Jenny gave him an arch look.
“Beautiful chickens, I might add.”
“How–” Michelle started to ask, feeling guilty now, since she’d been away so long.
“Asking for you,” Fox said. “He’s getting tired, wants his girl.”
There came that pesky lump in her throat again. She nodded. “Right. I’ll see you in a bit.” She stood.
“I’ll head home,” Jenny said, though it looked like it took effort to do so. “You’ll keep me updated?”
“Of course.”
The twins were waiting just outside the door, intending to escort her, obviously. They fell in behind her, moving in sync, creeping her out a little. But creepy protection was better than none, she supposed.
Jinx was standing sentry outside the door. Things might be better, but she knew they weren’t right. That would take time. She squared up her shoulders and said, “Fox said he wanted to see me.”
Jinx nodded, looking down at her with less hostility than before. “Doc said he needs to get some rest. You missed the cops coming by and questioning him about the GSW.”
She grimaced.
“We told ‘em it was a drive-by thing. Didn’t get a look at the guys.”
“All you can say, I guess.” Then, because she felt it was the right way to start mending fences, she said, “You know him best. How is he? How is he really?”
His brows jumped, and his expression softened. “He’s Candy, so he’s tough, and he only complains about stupid shit, like the food. But he’s hurting. He feels like shit. He’s pissed and scared that he couldn’t take on eight guys all by himself. And he’s worried you’re afraid and won’t want to stay.”
Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) Page 20
