Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2)

by Lauren Gilley

  He looked the same as the last time Candy saw him, which was almost twenty years ago. He greeted his brothers, hugged his niece, and then came to shake Candy’s hand. That was when Candy saw the deep lines around his mouth. The creases at the corners of his eyes. It was a hard life, in Texas, in London, wherever.

  “Derek,” Albie greeted, his grip firm, his eyes serious as he tipped his head back and managed to look like the taller man, though he was a good head shorter than Candy. “Good to see you again.”

  “Ah, don’t flatter me like that,” Candy teased, and Albie squeezed his hand once, a warning, and let go.

  “We should go up and see Phil. He’s been waiting.”

  Right. Straight to business. Candy sighed and wished like hell for a beer, a chair that wasn’t locked into the floor of a plane going through turbulence, and as much greasy pub food as he could eat. But he nodded and said, “Lead the way.”

  Michelle made a move toward the stairs, and Albie stayed her with a hand. “Wait down here with Raven, yeah, love?” he asked, quietly, his voice so much softer than when he’d been giving Candy the eye.

  Michelle drew herself up a little taller, and her gaze flicked over to Candy.

  He shrugged. He wanted her to have a pint with Raven and plan a shopping trip. But he was trying not to be that guy – the one who insisted his little woman be just that.

  Michelle looked back at her uncle and the moment spun out, tense and brittle at the edges. But finally she said, “Yeah,” and turned away from them.

  Candy slipped a hand down the back of her head, smoothing her hair as he passed.

  ~*~

  He always thought of his London trip – way back when – as a smudge of memory, blurry and half-formed. Almost like something he’d heard secondhand. When Michelle reminded him that she’d been out back that night, for the bare knuckle boxing, he’d recalled her in an instant, a bright golden speck that came into focus suddenly, painfully. And now, as Albie led them all up the groaning old staircase to the working heart of the club, that smudge began to tighten a little more.

  It was the smell of the place: old carpet, furniture polish, dust, and gun oil. The floorboards cracked and popped and felt about to buckle beneath his boots. He remembered now the tarnished sconces set in the wallpaper, the long runner that went down the hall, the decorative rosettes in the corners of the doorjambs. An old, storied place; he half-expected to turn his head and catch a ghost passing through the wall.

  Phillip’s office was surprisingly large, and appeared to have been a parlor at some point in the past, the far wall dominated by a fireplace with a grandiose mantle, the windows tall and narrow, fringed with ridiculous floor-length drapes.

  Phillip stood when they entered the room, and Candy recognized all too well the way he pushed up from the desk, the way his knees argued against straightening, the flat look that crossed his face as he worked to control a wince.

  Then the man grinned. “King.”

  The brothers hugged, slapping each other’s backs, hands clapping loudly against the leather of their cuts. Then it was Fox. Then Tommy and Miles were welcomed back with forehead kisses they struggled away from, grinning.

  When Phillip stepped toward him, Candy told his stomach not to tighten. He wasn’t ashamed, wasn’t worried – they’d talked already, for God’s sakes – but he trembled a little on the inside anyway.

  The handshake was warm, dry, calloused on both sides. “It’s been a long time,” Phillip said, gaze indecipherable. “Good to see you again, kid.”

  Someone – Fox probably – snorted.

  “I have to pretend anyway, right?” Phillip asked, grinning.

  ~*~

  Callahan – Callie from downstairs – brought them up a tray of overflowing pints and meat pies. Candy was too hungry to remark that it looked like an oversized Hot Pocket, and then decided that was a bad comparison when he bit into it and found it hot, flaky, savory and delicious. (He would later learn that night that not all English cooking was that good, but props to Callie for the moment.)

  He choked down a bite with a long swallow of beer and said, “So what’s happening?”

  Phillip glanced up from his plate, licking pastry crumbs off his lip and managing to look dignified in the process, and sent him a flat, unreadable look.

  His brothers echoed the stare, and Candy’s cut felt too tight across his shoulders, suddenly. “Is this a tea party or something?” he asked. “No talking? What? I didn’t fly all this way to sit in the corner and be a good boy.”

  Albie took a slow sip from his glass, set it down with a quiet thump. “I think we’re surprised you brought Chelle with you.”

  Candy blinked. “She told you she was coming.” He’d heard her say so over the phone.

  “Yes,” Phillip said, “but we thought you’d insist she stay behind.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re not much good for her if you let her do anything she pleases,” Phillip said, and it sent an unnatural chill skittering beneath Candy’s clothes.

  “We’ve come to an understanding, her and me,” he said, hands curling into fists on the table. “And part of that means we don’t tell each other what to do when it comes to our families.” Anger unfurled in the pit of his stomach, turning the half-a-meat-pie there into a ball of lead. “She’s your daughter, man. You telling me you didn’t want to see her?”

  “That’s irrelevant. I don’t want the guys who blew up the street and sent Tommy to the hospital to see her.”

  Shit, Candy thought, staring down the man’s implacable gaze. Ghost Teague was all Southern boy rage and terror. But Phil? Ghost had nothing on Phil’s subdued malevolence.

  “Yeah, well, no offense to Tommy, but I’m here this time. No one’s gonna touch her.”

  Phillip flicked a small, amused smile. “You never did lack for confidence, did you?”

  Except that he did. When it came to Michelle, he was a confidence-free green boy again, clinging desperately to the warm things in his life.

  “These aren’t cartel thugs or mob bosses,” Albie said, almost gently, like maybe he thought Candy was being stupid. “These are university kids, and random junkies, and tourists. They blend into every crowd in the city. Michelle could be having tea at a coffee shop, and the next thing she knows the whole place is on fire.”

  Candy shrugged, but he felt a crawling sensation beneath his skin, like ants. “So she doesn’t go get tea.”

  Phillip grinned. “Ah. So you see the problem of my daughter. It’s a gallant attempt, Derek, but this is why I sent her away. Too much of her mother in her.”

  “Insulting your wife?” Candy bit out.

  “Never. Insulting the world that never let my women be as independent as they wanted to be.”

  ~*~

  Michelle

  “Nothing’s changed,” Michelle said as she slid into her favorite booth across from Raven.

  “You think it would have?” Raven’s brows lifted, a little amused, a little mocking. “This isn’t the sort of place that changes in a few months.”

  “I know, but…” She sipped her pint and let her gaze wander across the interior of the pub. Same neon, same hardwood, same scent of the hot deep fryer and cold hops.

  “You hoped I wouldn’t come,” she said, quietly, knowing it was true.

  “Of course I wanted you to come, darling. I was dying to see you.”

  Michelle drew aimless patterns in the condensation on her glass with a fingertip. “I’m tired of this,” she admitted.

  “Tired of what?” Said so gently it made her suddenly ache for the wisdom and comfort of her mother.

  “Everyone having an opinion about where I should be and what I should be doing, and me giving a damn about it.”

  A beat passed. Then Raven said, “That was always your problem, you know, giving a damn what we all thought.”

  “Didn’t stop any of you, though.”

  “Love, that’s our job. Tryi
ng to make you wiser than us. Raising you up right. We’re all the seed of Devin, you know,” she said, like an admission. “We all wanted better than that for you.”

  Michelle closed her eyes and felt the familiar, betraying burn of tears. “Why would anyone want me to do different than my family’s done?”

  “Because this club was the best Phil could do for himself. For his brothers and sisters. But he made sure to do better for you.”

  Michelle shook her head, glanced across the room, wresting control of her emotions.

  Raven laid a hand on the table, palm-up. “Come on, let’s see the war wound.”

  Michelle put her right hand in Raven’s grasp, watched her aunt delicately probe the healed bones with her fingertips.

  “You know,” Raven said, “when you were ten, I asked Phillip to let you come live with me.”

  “You what? I’ve never heard that.”

  “No, I’d imagine not. Phillip wouldn’t have wanted you to have the choice. All your life,” she sighed, “he’s needed you for himself. And finally, when he sees the error of his ways and tries to let you go, you’re deeply entrenched. And he has to pack you off to America.

  “I yelled at him. After you left,” she continued. “I called him names and let him know exactly what kind of asshole he was for lying about the reason he sent you off.”

  “It wasn’t a total lie.”

  “No.”

  “But I’m not sure I care at this point.”

  Raven squeezed her fingers.

  “He’s my father, but that doesn’t mean he’s always right, or kind, or looking out for my best interests. He’s just a dad, not a god.”

  Raven smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say so. He’s smarter than he looks, isn’t he? Your Candyman.”

  “And a better man than most give him credit for. Unlike Dad, he doesn’t care who I am.”

  Raven nodded. “Then I wholeheartedly approve.”

  The front door opened with a squeal, and Michelle stiffened out of old habit. A chorus of voices stumbled over one another, and a knot of London Dogs entered the pub, jostling one another and laughing about it.

  She saw the hair first, the deep, deep black of it, almost blue under the lights. Then she heard his laugh; traced the familiar set of his shoulders with imaginary hands before she knew she was doing it.

  And then he turned and she saw the washed-out blue of his eyes.

  Even worse than that, he saw her.

  “Paul,” she said in a choked whisper, before his grin crinkled his eyes up at the corners and he headed her way.

  “What?” Raven asked, twisting to look. “Oh, Paul. Yes, he was released a few weeks ago. I’m sure it was the usual trollop-filled affair, his homecoming party.”

  “No.” Michelle tried to swallow. “Paul. He and I…before he went away–”

  Raven lurched forward again, goggle-eyed. “You shagged?”

  “For a while, yeah.”

  And then he was standing beside their table.

  Thirty-Seven

  Candy

  Albie arranged a sequence of surveillance photos across Phillip’s desk, and they all leaned in to examine them. Messy-looking college age kids with backpacks, expensive phones, and straggly beards meeting in coffee shops, walking down the street, greeting one another at the mouths of alleys. Even though some of them were smiling, talking with one another, there was an air of stiffness in each photo. Anxiety caught in the creases of elbows, nerves lingering in the corners of smiles.

  “This is where they meet,” Albie said, tapping a photo of three young men going through a peeling yellow door set in a brick wall. “It’s an old textile factory, one that never got converted into flats. Currently being leased by Bryan Cartwright.” He moved to another photo, this one of a man who looked homeless – the wild hair, patchy beard, old surplus coat bundled in around his throat. “Founder of Bryan’s Path to Higher Understanding. His followers just call it Bryan.”

  “Creative,” someone said.

  “Yeah, it gets better,” Albie continued. “That drive Tommy and Chelle stole? This was on it.” A printed list of names. “Cartwright has at least twelve aliases, that we know of, anyway. He’s got ties to a half dozen terrorist organizations and is wanted in five countries.” More photos, Cartwright with varying hairstyles, sometimes clean-shaven, sometimes with glasses.

  “What does he want?” Candy asked.

  “His business is chaos,” Phillip said. “He comes into a city and warps the impressionable young people. Fills their heads with evil shit and sics them on the citizenry.”

  “A human bomb,” Fox said. “Hates capitalism, hates the world, hates himself.” He shrugged. “There will never be a shortage of these kinds of idiots.”

  “So he’s a delusional terrorist asshole,” Candy said with a sigh. “Why hasn’t he been arrested somewhere yet?”

  “He has someone on the inside,” Albie said. “And that keeps him off the radar. Which means, unless he gets caught actually red-handed–”

  “It’s up to vigilante justice,” Candy said.

  Phillip grinned. “And that’s where we come in.”

  ~*~

  Michelle

  Michelle was achingly aware that she opened and closed her mouth three times without saying anything. She’d caught her gobsmacked expression in a window once or twice, and she knew she looked terribly stupid at the moment. But she was just too…too…something. When she’d thought about coming home, she’d never dreamed that she would run into Paul again. And if she was honest with herself, she had no idea how she felt about it.

  Paul, though, seemed to have no problem finding his voice. “Little Chelley! Jesus, it’s really you, isn’t it? I saw you across the room, and holy shit – I thought I was imagining things. You’re supposed to be in America, aren’t you?”

  “Um…” Michelle wet her lips and finally got her tongue to work properly. “I was. I just got in. Just now.”

  Across the table, Raven stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head. What the fuck? she mouthed.

  “Christ,” Paul said, laughing. He pushed a hand through his still-black, still-thick, still-gorgeous hair and beamed down at her. She’d never been on the receiving end of a smile like this when they were in front of other people. His smiles had always been fast snatches of teeth in the dark, in their stolen time. Because whatever he’d felt for her, the guilt and regret had been stronger.

  “Look at you,” he said. “All grown up now, aren’t you?” His smile melted into something warm and fond.

  “Yes, all grown up,” Raven said. “And she’s got this amazingly sexy boyfriend. Have you met him yet? Candyman? From Texas?”

  Paul’s reaction was immediate. His smile dissolved and he looked like he’d been slapped. “What?” His gaze darted between Raven and Michelle, and Michelle finally named the emotion clogging her throat: sympathy.

  “I’ve been in Texas a while,” she said. “Tommy and Miles joined me out there. We’re all back because Dad needs our help.”

  Paul’s brows drew together. “Candyman?”

  “Yes. Candy.”

  “He…”

  “Clearly, I have a type.”

  “Shit,” Raven said. “You two, listen, you can’t have this conversation.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” Michelle said.

  And, of course, that’s when Candy decided to show up.

  ~*~

  Candy

  Candy knew what Loon looked like; he’d met him before, once in London and once in Knoxville, Tennessee on a run. Still, recognition wouldn’t have been instant – save for the sight of Paul standing beside Michelle’s table.

  He was moving toward them before he had time to react. He had no plan, no smart comments, just a driving need to put himself between his woman and a man who’d hurt her before.

  Michelle saw him first, and her eyes widened. Surprise? Embarrassment? Maybe shame?

  He clapped a hand to Paul’s shoulde
r when he reached the table, palm smacking against the leather of his cut.

  “There’s the Loony Bird. When did you get out, huh?” Candy boomed.

  Paul stiffened.

  Raven muttered, “Shit, shit, shit.”

  Paul recovered. He turned around and reached to shake Candy’s hand, his smile just shy of reaching his eyes. “Few weeks back,” he said. “’S good to be home, for sure.”

  “Yeah.” Candy smiled back, and it felt feral, sharp. “Bet it feels good seeing everyone again, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Raven said, “I’m sure Paul was just on his way up to see Phillip. Weren’t you, Paul?” She gave him the sort of smile that could turn better men to ice sculptures.

  “Yeah, right, I was.” Paul withdrew his hand. “Good seeing you again, Candy.” And took his leave.

  “Candy,” Michelle started.

  He slid into the booth beside her, and if he crowded her a little, it wasn’t an accident. He folded his arms on the table, taking up too much room on purpose. “What was he doing over here?”

  Michelle sent him a flat look, but he caught the way her nostrils flared, that quick apprehensive breath. “Saying hello. He wasn’t doing anything you ought to be upset about.”

  “Upset? Do I look upset to you?”

  “You look like you’d like to throttle someone.”

  “Maybe I do. That’s pretty standard. Doesn’t mean I’m upset.”

  Raven said, “Don’t worry about it. Paul isn’t going to challenge you.”

  “Challenge me?” Candy snorted, even as a hot flush of anger moved beneath his skin. “You think I’m even worried about that?”

  Michelle’s hand landed on his forearm, her small fingers warm, damp with nervous perspiration. She whispered, “Paul and I are old news. No one knows we were ever…No one but you and Raven. Paul won’t step out of line, I promise you.”

  And it should have been reassuring, but it somehow wasn’t. Because the thing was – the stupid, selfish, macho thing was – he didn’t want her to have any history. A stupid desire, but an insistent one all the same.