“Not an invalid,” she called back, sing-song, “just pregnant.”
“You’re stubborn, is what you are.”
“Ha! Says you.”
His phone trilled in his pocket, and he groaned as he pulled it out and thumbed the screen. It had been one call after the next with Jaffrey, with the other chapters. This particular dust-up hadn’t been one to settle down quickly. Lots of loose ends, lots of questions. And now the girls were trying to talk him into being even more involved. It was a whole mess.
“Hello?” he asked, tone bored. He was getting real sick of Jaffrey at this point…
“Mr. Snow.”
That was not Jaffrey. But he did recognize the lightly-accented voice on the other end of the line.
Every hair on Candy’s body stood on end; rage flared to life, fire-hot in his gut. He turned away from Michelle and TJ and stalked across the yard, not wanting her to hear. “Luis. Nice to hear from you.” He managed to sound only mildly put-out.
“Hm. I think not. But I suspect you’ll change your mind by the end of this call.”
“Where’d you slink off to?” Candy asked. “You jumped out the window like a little bitch when I kicked in the front door.”
A hollow laugh. It sounded like, wherever he was, it was a close-walled room; no echo, no acoustics, no background noise. “Sometimes the most advantageous thing a man can do is beat a tactical retreat, and live to fight another day.”
“Tactical retreat. That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“How’s your wife?”
Candy swallowed a growl. “None of your fucking business.”
“Oh, on the contrary. She’s my business just as you all are my business. I learned some very valuable things about your club in my time spent studying you all. You’re a worthier opponent than I expected, I’ll grant you, but, still. All giants have weak spots. All giants can fall.”
Candy sighed.
“Have you figured them out yet? My tableaus?”
A cold chill washed through him. “Yeah, sure,” he bluffed; it felt like the truth, but like a bluff, too. As much as he hated to admit it, Luis wasn’t your garden variety criminal. Candy couldn’t wrap his head around him – not yet. “You’re a sick fuck, and you like making a big stink about.”
Luis chuckled, almost warmly. Unnervingly so. “My father is from Texas, I was born there – just as you were. I’ve always loved that story, even if my mother hated it: the story of the Lone Star state. The Independent Republic of Texas.”
“I’d imagine you’d have some conflicting emotions about that,” Candy said, tightly.
“Yes. It’s true, given my mother’s nationality. She can trace her family straight back to Spain, did you know?”
Candy didn’t answer.
“Texas,” he continued, “thought itself so brave. So independent. I thought it a fitting metaphor. Five points on a star. A lone star.” Another laugh. “Just as I’m alone. A rebel. Isn’t it thrilling?”
Candy felt a rush of wild panic; a sense of being out of his depth. The enemies he’d faced hadn’t cared about ideals. About tableaus, and metaphors, and the art of it.
An intolerable panic swelled, one he pushed down fiercely. “Listen here, you up-jumped stupid little shit. Your plan? It fell apart. It didn’t work. Your old man’s gonna swing for this, and your whole cartel is dead or in jail. And the ones in jail? Singing like goddamn canaries. Give it up, shithead. You lost. Get over it.”
It was quiet a moment. “Hm,” Luis hummed again, at last. “You know? I don’t think I will. And I think I should warn you: I do have friends. And most of them hate you even more than I do.”
The line went dead.
Candy pulled the phone away and scrolled through the call log. A blocked number.
He lifted his head and stared out across the empty stretch of field that bordered his property. The wind ruffled the winter grasses. Far in the distance, over the hills, vultures circled, crisp black fan shapes against the blue bowl of the sky.
I do have friends. And most of them hate you even more than I do.
That was nothing new. The club had always had enemies, and nasty ones at that. But if what Maddox and Cantrell had said was true…if other parties in the underworld were banding together.
Then a storm was coming.
Not today, not tomorrow. But soon. He swore he could feel the crackle of electricity in the air, smell the ozone. Gray clouds loomed behind him, out of sight, but ready to sweep in and cloak his bright world in darkness.
If that happened, they would be ready.
“I gotta call Ghost,” he murmured to himself. If someone wanted to take on the whole club, then let them come. Let them throw themselves against every chapter, against every mean son of a bitch just itching to get blood on his hands.
“Baby?” Michelle called behind him.
He took one last breath, found a smile – a real one, satisfaction burning through the rage, bringing with it thoughts of victory, of crushing out anyone who would challenge him. Him and his family – his brilliant, ferocious family. And turned back to her, to them. “Coming.”
Walked back toward all the things that mattered, already drawing up a mental list of the ways he’d never fail them again.
THE END
About the Author:
Lauren Gilley is the author of over twenty novels, including the Dartmoor Series, and her Sons of Rome paranormal fantasy saga. She writes contemporary and historical novels with a focus on found family and surviving tough odds. She blogs, sometimes, at hoofprintpress.blogspot.com, and accepts emails at [email protected]. When she’s not writing, she’s mucking horse stalls, or walking her giant dog.
You can also find her on:
Instagram: @hppress
Twitter: @lauren_gilley
Facebook: “Lauren Gilley – Author”
Other Titles by Lauren Gilley:
The Dartmoor/Lean Dogs Legacy Series (in reading order):
Fearless
Price of Angels
Half My Blood
The Skeleton King
Secondhand Smoke
Snow In Texas
Tastes Like Candy
Loverboy
American Hellhound
Shaman
Prodigal Son
Lone Star
The Sons of Rome Series
White Wolf
Red Rooster
Dragon Slayer
Golden Eagle
Lionheart (coming soon)
The Russell Series
Made for Breaking
God Love Her
Keeping Bad Company
The Walker Series
Keep You
Dream of You
Better Than You
Fix You
Rosewood
Standalones
Whatever Remains
Walking Wounded
Shelter
Lone Star (Dartmoor Book 7) Page 54
