by Portia Gray
There was a long awkward pause, then this Mandy woman squatted next to her. "Honey, you got anything for nausea?"
She nodded. "Gravol. In the medicine cabinet."
They were chewable ginger tablets. Mandy held out the bubble packing, popping two into Arielle's waiting hand. She chewed it, the taste not mixing well with what was in her mouth, but she got it down and closed her eyes to wait for her stomach to stop rolling.
"What is this from?" Mandy asked, voice soft, concerned and downright motherly. "Is it just the flu or…something else? You knocked up, honey?"
That gave her a reason to laugh. "Radiation therapy," Arielle croaked. "I'm being treated for breast cancer."
Another pause. "Did they get it in time?"
Arielle shook her head. "I've had a lumpectomy on my right breast, mastectomy on the left."
Mandy inhaled with a "Jesus Christ" that wasn't for Arielle, she'd bet on it. "Are you the same neighbor that was cleaning houses?"
Arielle's brain wondered how she knew this, why Quentin would tell her that, yet the rest of her was too tired to care. "Yeah, I had to earn extra money to take time off work."
"Well shit," Mandy went on as though she was disappointed about something. "I’m gonna kill him. Come on, honey, let's get you somewhere more comfortable."
Arielle let herself be helped up, and she leaned on Mandy while the taller woman led her to her bed. As Arielle rolled onto her side she caught how Mandy was looking at all the pill bottles on her nightstand. The woman placed the package of Gravol closest to Arielle, smiling down on her.
"We got off on the wrong foot." Arielle suspected that was as close as Mandy came to an apology.
Arielle had to half-chuckle. "You think?"
"Quentin can be too trusting. People can take advantage of that."
Arielle couldn't imagine anyone daring to trick the man that lived next door; not because he was so clever, just because you'd be in for so much hurt once he figured out what you did. Just like her sister. But she kept that to herself.
"He's been keeping quiet about the two of you."
"Mandy," Arielle stopped her there, "there is no me and Quentin. He's my neighbor. Yes, he's been very kind to me. I have no idea why." Mandy scoffed but Arielle kept talking. "He's taken a shine to my nephew for some reason. And he'sdoing Calvin a world of good, for which I am indebted to him. So if you're worried I'm out to get him in some way…don't worry. I'd rather amputate my foot than take advantage of him."
Mandy brushed her hair off her forehead in a comforting gesture. "That's a real good answer, sweetheart. But as far as they're being no you and Quentin, you might want to re-examine that."
Then the woman turned and left, a cloud of confusion and exhaustion in her wake.
Chapter Thirteen
Two days of riding, still no idea who Reuben was, and Quentin just wanted his shower and his bed. Yep, he was definitely getting too old for this shit.
Leaving the clubhouse he was half asleep on his feet heading for his Dyna when Mandy's voice came to him. "Quentin!"
He half-turned, digging a cigarette out his pocket. She was standing outside the clubhouse, waving him over. He lit a smoke and then answered her call, same as anyone else would if they wanted to keep their knee caps in working order.
"Mandy," he greeted her cordially. "Looking good today, doll."
She gave him her no bullshit face and snapped, "Inside. Now."
Eyebrows high, he followed her into the office, shutting the door. He was turning around with a smart-ass comment on his lips but she hit him in the arm before he could get it out.
He side-stepped the second shot, overplaying the violence by a mile. "Ow! Mandy, what the fuck?"
"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped, clearly pissed off.
"Can you fill me in on what the fuck you're talking about?"
She took a deep breath, hands on hips. "Henderson's office called, saying your bathroom is on the list for next week. Asked me to give you the message, then they confirmed your address. But it wasn't your address, it was the address for your pop-tart neighbor." Then she wound up and pounded his bicep one more time.
Quentin rubbedhis upper arm, confused. "Why’re you hitting me, Mandy?"
"I went by her house." Quentin felt his stomach drop like he'd been caught in a lie. But he hadn't done anything wrong…that he could think of, anyway. "Quentin, she's sick," Mandy's voice got soft, and her eyes had a strange compassion in them. "You never said she had cancer, for fucks sakes."
"How is that anyone's business?" he replied, and she had the grace to look a bit embarrassed.
"What’re you doing with her, Quentin?"
He straightened his back. "Nothing, Mandy. She made it clear she's not interested like that."
"Then why are contractors calling you about her bathroom?"
He took a deep breath. "She needs help. She's sick. No one's helping her and I can."
Mandy gave him a soft look, shaking her head. "Oh, Quentin."
He had to shake his head, close his eyes. He was busted. "Yeah, I like her. You saw her, she's so fucking beautiful, Mandy. And she…I dunno. I like how it feels to be around her. I can help her."
"You like that she needs you," Mandy filled in. Quentin lowered his head. "She's too tough to need you, honey." Now he frowned. Mandy smiled in reply. "A woman should want you, Quentin. The needy ones are trouble."
"You gonna bust my balls about this?"
"Not at all, honey. I went over there to see if the bitch had alternate motives to getting her claws in you. I was pretty sure something untoward was going on. Then I met her. And got pissed on behalf of the sisterhood because I thought you were taking advantage of her."
Quentin snorted. "How? You think I got a kink for surgery scars?"
Mandy put her hands to each side of his face. "This is one you've gotta handle with care, babe."
"I know that. But I can't…I can't ignore her. I try. I can't."
"She's going through a lot."
"I can't even imagine it."
"Just…make her feel pretty, Quentin. Make her laugh. I know you can do that.It’s obvious why she’s taken to you."
"She's got a lot of walls up."
"Be sweet and watch those walls come down."
Quentin had to smile, remembering her reaction to him making her breakfast. "Did you see the kid while you were there?"
"No, he wasn't there. Good thing, too."
"Why? What'd you do Mandy?"
She was smiling indulgently. "Nothing, Quentin. But she's had radiation treatments, and she got pretty sick. I left her in bed with Gravol."
"She was sick? From that?"
Mandy shrugged. "I guess. Don't know anyone who's had radiation."
"Shit." Full-on panic hit, and he didn't even take a moment to keep it in check. In front of Mandy yet. Yeah, he must be pretty fucking tired.
"Okay, settle down. She's fine. She needs rest. And she doesn't want you to see her like this, babe."
"Then I gotta be there when Calvin gets home."
Mandy was still smiling, furrowing her brow. "Shit. You're so far gone for the both of them, aren't you?"
He shrugged and backed away, forcing a laugh he didn't feel. "Come on, Mandy. The fuck I have."
"Quentin, honey, take this seriously and don't shrug it off, not with me. That little chippie lets you in, that's a big deal. And you can't just hit and run her, you know that."
"Yeah... I know."
"You haven't even slept with her, have you?" He just clenched his jaw. "Oh fuck, Quentin. I didn't know this was serious. Bishop said he caught you hugging her and—"
"And that's it. It was hug. The best I got so far is a kiss, all right."
Mandy pressed her lips together, still looking worried about him. Quentin was starting to feel like a caged animal. He liked Mandy, but the chick-chat was starting to make him itchy.
"I know you're worried. But I don't want this to be a big deal. I don't
want any of these assholes knowing because they might scare her off. She's not…she's not in the life, Mandy."
"But you want her in yours, Quent."
"That's why I'm going gentle."
Mandy went up on her toes to kiss his forehead. "Don't want you to get hurt, darlin'."
"Thanks, doll," he said instead of arguing. "I gotta get home and shower. I've got the engine put together and the kid's pretty excited to get it running."
"Okay. Go get some rest, too."
"I will." Quentin kissed her cheek and left her, jogging across the compound to his bike. He made his own personal best time getting back to his driveway, yanking the garage open before heading for his front door. As he did he heard squealing tires across the street again, and he stopped to watch the same three fucking punks make another fucking deal on his street.
Phone out again, he sent a text to Bishop.
Dealers are back and they're here right now.
Then Quentin waited. It was a hell of an accomplishment, especially as he was reminding himself that these were the pricks that likely roughed up a nine-year-old. His phone chirped and he checked the screen.
On our way. Stand down.
He snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket, opening his front door and heading for the kitchen to grab a beer. He barely had the cap off when there was a banging on the screen door. Smiling, he knew it had to be Calvin. He tipped the bottle back and made for the door, grin broadening as the kid saw him and smiled back.
"How was your trip?" The kid's manners were absolutely impeccable.
"It was a productive and uneventful outing, thanks, kid," he found himself replying, pushing the door open. "But the best part is, that engine's ready to hum, buddy."
"Is it?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely. You ready?"
"Yes!" Calvin tore down the steps and careened into the garage, stopping short at the doorway.
Quentin was right behind him, but seeing the scrawny prick standing in his garage wiped the smile right off his face. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Quentin snapped, not missing how Calvin edged into his side when he spoke.
"Is this a '56?"
"'54," Quentin corrected. "We caught up now? Good. Get the fuck off my property."
The kid had the gall to laugh. "Dude, I'm just appreciating the bike."
"Get out," Quentin repeated, still not sounding all too terribly angry. Inside he was a rolling rage but for now he'd let the pipsqueak wonder what exactly he was capable of.
"You might have noticed us across from your house," the kid said, leaning on the standing tool chest Quentin had as the only real flat surface in the entire garage.
"I noticed that. Good of your to bring it up. I think that should probably stop before you get hurt."
The kid laughed, eyes going down to Calvin. "You're bodyguard's a pussy, dude. Cried like a girl."
Quentin stalked forward, tossing the beer bottle to the corner of the garage. It smashed. The fucker jumped. Quentin smiled. "I can see you're a bit slow, so I'll use an educational aide this one time," Quentin muttered, picking up his crescent wrench from the tool box next to the boy's elbow. "This town does not belong to ass-wipe shitheads that get off on beating up little kids." Quentin said amiably. "Calvin," he added calmly, "go next door, okay?"
The kid took off running down the driveway around the fence, then back up his own without another glance. Not that Quentin let his gaze leave the shithead in front of him; they were in a lock-down glare.
"I'll give you one warning," Quentin offered, then swung the wrench and caught the guy's temple with it. He fell to the side, and Quentin circled around, shrugging off his kutte and setting it on the tool chest.
"Here's a chance to get up and walk away, take those pricks out there with you," Quentin offered. The boy tried to get up and charge him, which got him another crack to the cheekbone. Fuck, if the kid didn't smarten up this could very well get him killed.
Too late. Footsteps were rushing up his driveway, and Quentin brought his head up just in time to face the guy's two friends, one holding a tire iron and the other clutching a bike chain.
"We don't let dealers in Portus Felix," Quentin informed the late guests to the party. "Be smart. Keep breathing. And get the fuck out of town."
Before he could reach into his waistband for his piece, the other two rushed him. Little fuckers were fast, and he went down to one knee with a couple punches.
On a swing he saw coming just in time, Quentin caught the bike chain with his hand, pulling it away from the kid's grip, knowing it probably tore his hand up even more the initial flash of pain he felt, but it was a fight and it wouldn't really hurt until later. As the kid stumbled Quentin connected with a right hook, the bike chain now basically an accidental brass knuckle. That prick went down.
Quentin got to his feet, the third guy still standing in attach posture with the crowbar in hand. He looked a bit tougher, granted. But Quentin could hear approaching Harley pipes, so he knew he was minutes away from having back up. The prick swung, and Quentin raised his arm, the crowbar glancing off his forearm. It hurt like a bitch but better that than his head.
The guy looked at the crowbar, then back to the man in black who was now advancing with a smile lighting up his face. Quentin knew he looked nuts, it was enough to make the guy second-guess his next move. Long enough for Quentin to notice Arielle standing in the driveway shouting, “Get away from him, you bastards!” just before the third skinhead came at her with a wooden bat.
The bastard behind Quentin started getting up, and with one shot from the chain-wrapped hand Quentin dropped him back to the concrete and headed straight to Arielle.
The sound of an ash wood bat hitting a human skull was…sickening, to say the least.
Quentin dropped the bathe’d taken off the skinhead. Her whole body was suddenly shaking. She looked up at Quentin. He was bleeding from his lip and a cut eyebrow. The eyebrow was really bleeding, actually.
"You're…bleeding," she blurted stupidly, heart starting to calm down, adrenalin beginning to ebb away. She was tired again, realizing she'd been asleep when Calvin jumped on her bed, freaking out about Quentin getting beat up by three guys in his garage. She didn't call the police. She told Calvin to hide and went outside. Was she absolutely fucking insane?
Quentin held his hands out to the side. "Arielle? What the hell were you thinking?"
She shook her head. "I wasn't. Calvin said you needed help, you said to never call the police. I just came out to make sure...I don’t know… God… I…"
He sighed, and she noticed his hand was also bleeding. The sound of bikes grew deafening behind her. Turning, she saw five Harleys pull into the driveway.
She turned back to Quentin, panicking now. "Shit, what have I done?" she whispered.
Quentin approached her, hands up, palms facing her. "Don't worry, Arielle." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Go back to your place, babe. Rest up, okay?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry," she muttered.
"Don't be sorry. Nothing to be sorry for. Go home and get some rest, okay? I'll check on you in a bit."
She nodded, finding it odd that he escorted her down the drive to the point where that ineffectual fence ended, passed his…friends? Colleagues? Like he was protecting her from them.
Every one of these five men were wearing vests like Quentin's, but their expressions were all varied. Arielle recognized the man who'd caught her in Quentin's arms in his living room. He was still sitting on his bike, grinning at her unnervingly. The one with the dark eyes and unreadable smile she'd first seen the day she discovered Quentin was her neighbor was also staring at her, sliding his sunglasses off and not making any effort to hide his surveillance. One older fellow with a grizzled beard was just stroking his facial hair, studying her like a science experiment. A very young guy looked minutes away from laughing, eyebrows high from surprise, but it seemed he was more amused by Quentin than her. The fifth kept his sunglasses on, chewing the i
nside of his lips.
Behind her, she vaguely caught Quentin instructing his friends to "Get those assholes out of sight in the garage."
Arielle cast her eyes away as the scary biker bad-asses all seemed to dismount their bikes at once. She allowed Quentin to lead her up the stoop to her own house, hand warm on the centre of her back. She wasn't an invalid for God's sakes, but that touch was incredibly reassuring anyway.
Wait, she was an invalid. Her body reminded her of that, and why she had been napping in the first place. Her stomach rolled, and as soon as she kicked her shoes off at the door she had to run for the washroom, getting to the toilet just in time to let the remaining bile from her stomach evacuate. It hurt. She had nothing to throw up.
"Aunt Arielle?"
She closed her eyes, resting her head on her arm. "I'm okay, Peanut. Please don't worry. The radiation made me sick, honey."
"Are you sure?" his tiny, concerned tone cut her.
She was opening her mouth to reply when another voice cut in, her humiliation reaching new levels of awareness.
"She's gonna be fine, Charlie. Do me a favor and give me a minute with Aunt Arielle?"
"Okay, Q," Calvin agreed as though that made him feel better. Then he vanished from the doorway of the en-suite washroom. Arielle flushed the toilet immediately, getting to her feet and heading for the sink to rinse her mouth and splash water on her face. God, he'd been right outside the room while she was puking? Wow, she was such a fucking catch.
He partially closed the door so the enclosed space was that much smaller. Hands on his hips, head hanging lower than usual he asked casually, "How you doing?"
She laughed at that. He was bleeding down the side of his face, dripping off his jaw, and he was asking how she was. "I'm fine," she said softly. "Are…are you okay?"
He frowned. "Me?"
She pointed to his head. "You're bleeding," she informed him for the second time. He moved closer to her, checking out his reflection, crowding her without even touching her. That's when he noticed how chewed up his hand was, for the first time apparently. He seemed surprised by it. She could smell him again, leather and dust and heat from sunshine. Sweat. And the metallic tang of blood.
