“He wasn’t just your friend, was he?” she asked.
“We were lovers,” he said, and the plainspoken admission touched her deeply, had her hands tightening over his. This man – this broken boy – had never walked an easy path. He deserved all the love, and all the lovers who’d made him feel loved, that he could get. “I loved him.”
“You still do,” she guessed.
“In a way. But we’re no good together.” He finally lifted his head, and looked her square in the eyes. “I love you.”
Her heart grabbed, and her breath caught.
Not “in love,” but “love,” and that was a pretty precious thing. She’d take it.
~*~
He walked her to the door of her office and caught her with an arm around her waist, pulled her in close to his chest. Pressed his face down into her hair. He smelled like soap, and cold winter wind, and old leather. Through his clothes, she felt the lean shape of his body, its quiet, beautiful strength.
“I love you too,” she whispered into his collar.
He kissed the top of her head and let her go.
~*~
Tango rode aimlessly through town after he left Whitney, knowing he was playing with fire. Any of his brothers could hear his pipes, lift their heads and spot him on the road, when he was supposed to be out of town. Aidan and Mercy had been covering for him, fending off questions. And he had Ghost on his side – a staggering kind of knowledge he couldn’t wrap his twisted head around – but he didn’t know how Ghost could spin a lie to explain Tango riding down the streets of Knoxville and yet not returning to the clubhouse, and his brothers.
He pulled up to the balk line at the next red light and took a deep, shaky breath that had nothing to do with the vibrations of his bike. It was time to man up. He’d needed time alone, time indoors, time with Whitney all to himself. But he was a Lean Dog. He hadn’t joined this club lightly, and he owed it his allegiance. He owed it his presence, among so many other things.
When the light turned green, he hung a right and headed for Dartmoor, December air stinging his face.
The familiar sight of the long stretch of industrial property sent a swooping sensation through his stomach, like the plummet at the top of a roller coaster. When he was away from it for long stretches, he forgot, for a while, just how impressive this concrete and steel monument to outlaw life was, lying like a sleeping beast at the edge of the Tennessee River.
The first time he’d ever come here, in the passenger seat of Maggie’s car, nothing but elbows and long hair, he’d been gripped with cold terror. What was he doing, he’d wondered, just a nothing-special bisexual prostitute junkie, about to walk up to the rest of the Lean Dogs MC and introduce himself like he was worth an actual damn.
He felt the echoes of those old nerves now, as he turned in at the nursery and took the long route through the parking lot jungle to get to the bike shop.
He parked beside Aidan, Mercy, and Carter’s bikes, stalled a moment as he took off his helmet and hung it on the handlebars.
Aidan stepped out of the garage, looking so shocked Tango wanted to laugh. His voice was overly calm when he said, “Hey, man. You just get back?”
“Yeah.” Tango swung off his bike and walked toward the shop, itchy in his own skin, suddenly, shoulders heavy under the burden of lies his friends had been forced to tell on his behalf. He hated himself for that, making people tell falsities because he couldn’t get his shit together.
Aidan studied his face a moment, gaze contemplative, then he broke into a grin and pulled Tango into a fast, masculine hug. He slapped his back and said, “Missed you, man. Glad you’re back.”
Tango let out a deep breath and felt himself tremble inside his clothes. He didn’t know if he was back, only that he didn’t know what he’d do without his best friend’s love and acceptance.
Aidan pushed back and Tango saw Mercy coming toward them, doing a good job of hiding his surprise.
“Didn’t expect to see you yet,” he said, offering a crushing man-hug of his own.
“Yeah, well,” Tango said when he pulled back. “Aunt Anne’s not exactly well, so…”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mercy clapped him on the shoulder. “You can take short days if you need to.”
Tango nodded, the grateful lump in his throat making it too hard to voice his thanks.
Then there was Carter, young and blonde and sporting a hickey on the side of his neck that Jasmine had doubtless given him. Tango thought he might feel jealous, but couldn’t find that emotion in himself at the moment.
“Dude,” Carter said. “How’s your aunt?”
“Doing better,” Tango said. “She was real sick.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
Tango nodded again, and managed to swallow.
Aidan’s arm went around his shoulders. “Oh, so hey, you gotta check out this Indian some guy brought in. So pretty it’ll make you cry.”
And just like that, he was one of the guys again.
~*~
The thing Whitney hated about winter was the way the sun went down so quickly. When she clocked out at five, the sky was already darkening beyond the windows, and the wind was already laden with frost.
Whitney tightened her scarf around her throat, hefted her purse, and prepared to dart across the parking lot, not liking the way the shadows of the surrounding buildings lay opaque and sinister on the pavement.
She gripped her keys a little harder and arrowed across the lot. Not running, but hustling. She wasn’t afraid. She was…cautious.
She was ten feet from her car when she realized there was something low-slung and gleaming black parked on the far side of it. When she was five feet away, one of its doors opened and a man unfolded himself from the back seat, moving around the hood of her car with alarming speed.
She noticed the coat first, ankle-length black wool, expertly tailored to frame his lean build. Then his hair; she’d never seen such perfect, shiny long hair on a man. It hung in glimmering sheets behind his shoulders, and highlighted the dramatic bone structure and big, luminous eyes that made him, like Kev, more pretty than handsome.
Her panic eased – but only by a fraction. She ground to a halt, keys digging into her palm, breath pluming in the cold air.
He flicked a smile and walked toward her, leather soles of his expensive shoes grinding over the grit of the asphalt. “Hello, Whitney. Do you remember me from the hospital?”
“Y-yes.” She hated herself for that little stutter, and clamped her lips together, took a deep breath, tried not to think about the way Ian’s smile widened like the sudden slice from a knife. “Ian, right? Nice to see you again.”
He kept coming, slowly, deliberately, stalking toward her. “Yes. How lovely.”
Her stomach quivered, fear rippling down her nerves in sharp pulses. She told herself that this was someone Kev had loved – had been in love with – his lover. That there was some good in him if Kev could feel that way about him. But something about this man, with his cool British airs, frightened her.
He halted a foot from her, close enough that when the wind caught the end of his coat, it brushed forward across the toes of her boots. She shivered.
“I was just heading home,” she said with a lame smile, gesturing to her car.
He tilted his head down and locked eyes with her. “And where is home?”
Telling him, she thought, would be a bad idea.
“You’re living with Kevin, aren’t you?” His expression told her he already knew the answer.
“Just temporarily, while I find a place of my own.” She took a deep breath and willed her shaking not to become visual. Her teeth were on the verge of chattering, and it had nothing to do with the cold.
“Ah.” He reached inside his coat, and for a moment, her panic spiked, and she envisioned a gun or a knife emerging. But when he withdrew his hand, he held a checkbook in his long fingers. “Allow me to insert myself into the problem.” Small, self-deprecatin
g smile.
“I’m sorry…what?”
He opened the checkbook and balanced it in the palm of one hand, fishing a pen from his pocket with the other. “I’d imagine a deposit might be a bit of a stretch at the moment. Forgive me, dear” – he glanced at her car – “but you don’t look all that financially independent at the moment. I’d like to help you. I know of an apartment, perfectly nice, that’s just come available, and I’d like to put a–”
“Why would you do that?” she interrupted.
He gave her a patient look. “So you can get your own place. I like to donate to charitable causes.” This time, the smile was nasty and condescending. “Listen, darling, it’s never wise to question handouts. Just take them and be grateful.”
And then she understood. “You don’t want me to live with him,” she said, softly, more afraid than ever, but unable to hold her tongue. “You’re still in love with him.”
The change in Ian was immediate and visceral. His mild expression turned into a snarl, lips skinning back off his teeth. He leaned low into her face, and he latched onto her arm lightning-fast before she could twist away. “You don’t know shit about Kev, little girl. You are a child. You can’t even hope to understand what he needs,” he hissed, flecks of spit hitting her face. “Do us both a favor and stay the hell away from him.”
He released her, a rough shove that sent her staggering. Then turned and strode back to his car, ducked into the backseat and slammed the door. It started with a low roar and the lights came on. As it accelerated forward, Whitney saw that it was a Jag, new and shiny and expensive.
She stood gasping, massaging her arm through her sleeve where he’d grabbed her, stunned. She didn’t know how long she stood there, hair whipping across her face, before she unlocked her car, climbed inside it, locked herself in, and dug out her cellphone.
~*~
He needed to go see Ghost before he left, Tango decided. He owed his president more than a few favors after all this time he’d taken, and hiding from the man would be cowardly and rude…even if he was too self-conscious at the moment for words.
He found him in the main office. Maggie was just clocking out, jacket on and purse over her shoulder, straightening from the kiss she’d given her husband, thumb lingering to flick across Ghost’s lower lip in a quiet gesture that felt too intimate for outside viewers. Her face lit up when she turned to the door and saw Tango.
“Hey, baby.” She hurried to him and gave him a hug, one he was glad to return, her warmth seeping through their clothes to get to him. “You’re back!” She was beaming when she withdrew. “How you feeling, huh? You sure you’re ready to work again?” She reached to tidy a stray lock of hair that had slipped past his ear, face etched with motherly concern.
Behind her, seated at the desk, Ghost watched, frown critical and assessing. Tango was convinced he had X-ray vision, and was using it now, looking for gaps and flaws in the coils of Tango’s brain.
“I’m okay,” he told her, and managed a smile.
She didn’t believe him, mouth twitching to the side. But she patted his cheek and said, “It’s good to see you up and around.”
Damn. Like he’d been ill or injured. Oh, he really hated himself a lot of the time.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, as she let herself out.
Then he was alone with his president.
Ghost lifted his brows which somehow managed to clearly convey you wanna sit?
So Tango sat in the chair across from him, and didn’t squirm under the scrutiny…though a large part of him wanted to.
“Are you back for real?” Ghost asked. “Or is this just a visit.”
“I’m not sure, actually,” Tango said with a wince.
Ghost lifted his hands a little off the desk, an open-palmed gesture. “Hey, I’m not pushing. If you need to take breaks, you can keep using your aunt as an excuse.”
“Using.” Tango snorted. “I’m real good at using things, aren’t I?”
Ghost sighed and looked like he wanted to chastise him, but said, “How’s therapy going? If you can call it that.”
“It’s going okay.”
“Okay in general? Or okay considering who your therapist is?”
“Mercy’s a good listener,” Tango said in a small voice.
“Yeah, he is.” Ghost became gentle, seeming to choose his words. “And he’s, well, he loves hard. So his heart is in the right place. But there’s snakes in his head. Big ones. Man-eating ones.” His eyes widened for emphasis. “It kinda spooks me, thinking about the sort of advice he might give.”
Tango sighed and slumped down in his chair. “I’m not sure I’m in a position to question anyone else’s mental health.”
Ghost looked at him for a moment, face thoughtful, then pulled out one of the desk drawers and rummaged around in it for a while. He came back out with a business card and handed it across to Tango. “Here.”
Tango took it, and read aloud: “Dr. Tabitha Jones.” There was a phone number, but nothing else. “What is this?”
“A few years ago, when Ava was in high school, after…” He gestured and Tango knew what he was talking about: after her assault and miscarriage, after Mercy broke her heart and left. “She wasn’t doing so well. So we, um…Dr. Jones is nice. Just…I wanted you to have her number. If things with Merc get too weird or whatever.” It was the most awkward Ghost had ever looked.
Tango stared at the card, passing his thumb across the embossed letters. “Thank you.”
~*~
“He did what?” Aidan’s hand spasmed with anger and the wrench slid out of his grip, clattering noisily on the concrete of the garage floor. “He threatened you?”
“Not exactly,” Whitney said on the other end of the cellphone connection, voice shaking. “I mean, not at all, really. He just…” She let out a deep breath. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m freaking out, and I shouldn’t have called you. Everything is probably fine–”
“Yeah, okay. First off, you should have called. And second off, things are not fine. That guy is a grade A whackjob. And now he’s apparently pulling crazy ex-girlfriend stunts. Jesus.”
He’d been surprised to see Whitney’s name on his ID display when his phone rang, even more surprised when she’d started telling him about Ian. Well, not that surprised, if he was honest.
“Where are you?” he asked her.
“Headed home.” She sounded like she was trying not to dissolve into tears.
“Okay, don’t go there by yourself. Sam’s working…shit. Okay. Come to Dartmoor. Kev’s still here, we’re all here. Drive up to the bike shop, alright?”
She sniffed. “Are you sure? I don’t want to blow his cover or anything.”
“You won’t. Just come, okay? I don’t want you alone.” Not while Ian was playing the title role in whatever Lifetime movie he was acting out at the moment.
“Okay, okay.”
Aidan hung up and turned to find Mercy and Carter staring at him. Carter looked confused. Mercy looked worried.
“Ian tried to spook Whitney.”
“Seriously? Shit,” Mercy said, muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Who did what to who?” Carter asked.
Aidan waved for him to shut up, but turned out Pretty Boy Jockstrap had had enough of being in the dark.
“No,” he said, drawing himself up, brows tucking low over his eyes. “Something’s going on – something’s been going on – and I’m not some goddamn prospect anymore, so tell me what it is. Damn it,” he tacked on, chest heaving.
Mercy sent him a mild look. “How long you been waiting to let that loose?”
“A while,” Carter bit out.
Aidan gave him a look, his best impersonation of Maggie’s look.
Which of course didn’t work.
“This is Tango’s business,” Aidan said. “It isn’t club business, it’s his personal business. And if you want to know what’s going on, then you need to ask him about it. I won’t go spreading his shit all over
the clubhouse like some kinda teenage girl. If you wanna know, then ask him. But rest your pretty little head that it has nothing to do with you or the club.”
Carter wanted to hold onto his anger, but nodded.
“Don’t overthink it,” Mercy told him, clapping him on the shoulder.
~*~
She’d never been to Dartmoor, only driven past it a time or two. She’d forgotten just how massive it was, all those buildings spread across all that asphalt. It was daunting, seeing it laid out before her, and knowing all of it was Lean Dogs property, an empire fit for a family of outlaws.
Not outlaws, she reminded herself. But friends.
She flicked on her blinker and turned in at the gate, the one with the running black dog sign for the bike shop, and immediately her heartrate slowed.
The last bit of light was just winking across the river, the sky plum-colored and velvety overhead as she pulled to a stop in front of the shop. Hers was the only car; the boys’ bikes were lined up off to the side, black and sinister.
Aidan, Mercy, and Kev stood in front of the open roll top doors, and Kev walked to meet her, face a study in concern, a hand already on the top of her door when she opened it.
“Aidan told you?” she asked, feeling guilty. The last thing she wanted was to stir ill will between him and Ian, no matter what they meant to each other these days.
His answer was to pull her out of the car and into his arms, crushing her in a tight hug.
“I’m sorry,” she said against his shoulder, the worn leather of his jacket cold against her lips.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. Ian–” He bit off whatever else he wanted to say with an audible click of his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Don’t be.”
“It’s my fault–”
“Or it’s nobody’s fault ‘cept Ian’s, ‘cause he’s a giant creep-ass who needs to be punched in the mouth,” Mercy suggested, suddenly standing right beside them.
Kev pulled back from her, but didn’t let go, shooting a frown at Mercy.
Loverboy (Dartmoor Book 5) Page 17
