by Portia Gray
She was pinned between him, the vanity and the toilet. She stayed small, watching him inspect his eyebrow. "Shit," he was muttering, looking around and noticing this wasn't his washroom.
"Here," she said, opening the cabinet behind the mirror. She grabbed the cotton balls, rubbing alcohol and bandages. "You should wash your hands, too."
"No, Arielle. Go to bed. I'll fix this at my place."
"Wash your hands," she instructed. His eyes tracked the set of her jaw and the one eyebrow she had cocked, then he nodded. He soaped up his hands, hissing as the cuts from the bike chain were rinsed out, then took the hand towel from her and froze with it.
"I'll get blood on it."
"It's white. I can bleach the hell out of it."
He dutifully dried off, then moved to leave the bathroom. "Sit," she snapped, and something must have shown in her face because he did as asked, lowering the lid on the toilet and parking it. She wiped up the blood with the alcohol and cotton balls, then put a small adhesive bandage on the cut that split his eyebrow. "How's that?" she asked, realizing he had been absolutely silent the entire time.
Arielle cast her eyes down to his, and if the room had been big enough she would have taken a few steps back. She didn't know what his expression meant; it wasn't blank. It was the opposite. She couldn't tell if the set of his jaw meant he was angry or determined. The way his eyes lit off could either mean he wanted to hit her or…kiss her.
She did move away, suddenly. She was sick. She just threw up. She did not want to remember how incredibly wonderful he was at kissing. Or just plain touching her.
"Arielle," he said softly, catching her hand. "How are you? Really?"
"I'm fine," she replied, trying to pull her hand free. He gripped it tighter.
"Arielle," he baited her. "Mandy told me she came by. You're getting sick from this?"
"I'm being treated with radiation. It makes people sick."
He stood quickly, startling her, and she was almost out of room to back away. Just as quickly he picked her up in both arms, toed the bathroom door open and carried her back to her bedroom. He set her back on her bed, then threw the blanket over her again.
Arielle was stunned, unable to talk, almost unsure how she even ended up here again. He crouched on his heels next to the bed, reaching out and smoothing her hair back. It had the unsettling effect of being sweet, comforting, thrilling and a bit scary all at once.
"Get some rest. You need anything send Calvin over to see me, or have him call me."
"Okay," she agreed, already knowing she couldn't argue with him.
"I'll need him not at my place for a while," Quentin went on ambiguously. "We need to... take care of a few things. I'd feel better if he was inside the house."
Arielle closed her eyes, guessing what all that meant. She should probably be grateful she wasn't one of those three idiots that decided to pick a fight with her neighbor.
"Okay," she repeated, snuggling into her pillow. She watched his face as she did it, the lines between his eyebrows almost disappearing. He held her gaze, and she felt herself relax right then.
"You trust me to keep you safe?"
Her heart tripped over itself when he asked that. On a soft breath she answered without even thinking. "Yes, I do."
When he smiled it warmed his whole face, even those blue eyes.
"These are the guys that broke Calvin's glasses," he said softly. "I'll make them hurt, babe."
"Oi, Quentin. You all right?" Quentin was sitting on the edge of the open double-doors at the back of the van, hands throbbing. He looked up at Dillon, nodding.
"Yeah. I'm good."
"Give him a moment to enjoy taking out the trash," Flynn piped up.
"Thanks to the help of your absolutely lovely neighbor," Dillon added, lighting a cigarette while watching the prospect fill in the grave they'd just made in the California desert.
"Like the feisty ones," Flynn threw out there, faking a big full-body shiver. "Give her something a little more effective than name calling, next time."
"I’ll use something more effective on you in a minute,if you don’t shut the fuck up." Quentin looked at his hands, his knuckles shredded. They felt warm and swollen. But overall it felt fucking fantastic to get a few licks in on the guys that roughed up Calvin; he was remembering teeth breaking off at the root and the spray of warm blood hitting his face. And the whole time he'd just kept seeing Calvin's quivering lip and ripped shirt.
"Were they talking shit about her?" Dillon asked quietly, crouched next to him in the back of the van. "Haven't seen you that pissed off in a while."
"Nah. They roughed up the kid a few days ago. Broke his glasses, scared him pretty good."
"Fucking assholes," Flynn declared, turning to watch the prospect toss the last shovelful.
"I'd take a few hits to the head too if she was playing nurse with me," Gage admitted, kicking at Quentin's boot to get his attention. "Shouldn't keep that kind of thing a secret. Hottest piece of ass I've ever fucking seen."
Quentin shook his head. "Fuck off," he muttered, heart not really in it.
"All right," Dillon broke in, tossing his cigarette butt. "Let's get out of here. It's getting cold and there's something a whole lot warmer I'd rather be digging into right now."
There was a grumble of agreement, but when the guys piled out of the van at the compound Quentin headed for his bike instead of the clubhouse. He wanted to be at home, just to make sure Arielle and Calvin were okay.
Chapter Fourteen
"Okay, buddy. You know where to pour the gasoline, right?"
"Yeah."
"Go for it, then," Quentin declared loudly.
Standing on a milk crate, Calvin poured gasoline from a plastic cup into the tank. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as he did it, and when it was empty he looked up expectantly, pushing his glasses up.
"Good job, buddy." It bothered Quentin still that the kid's glasses were held together with electrical tape, but Aunt Arielle wasn't letting him help get Calvin new ones. She was protecting that nest egg, and until the renovations were done on her bathroom she wasn't taking a breath. Still bugged him, though.
"What's next?" Calvin asked, stepping off the crate.
"We see if it runs," he said, handing Calvin a rag. "Remember, we gotta wash your hands good." He was pretty sure Arielle would kick his ass if Calvin came home smelling like flammable liquids.
"I know," Calvin said agreeably.
Quentin set the key in the ignition, then paused. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow."
"Q!"
He chuckled. "I'm just saying, we might be pushing our luck."
Calvin rolled his head back, swinging his arms dramatically. "Come on, Q! Let's just get to it already!"
"Impatient little bastard," Quentin mumbled, swung his leg over, primed the starter a couple times, flicked into neutral, then stopped and dismounted. "Climb on, Charlie."
Calvin's eyes widened comically. "Really?"
"Why the hell not?" No hesitation; he scrambled onto the ratty seat, settling upright and grinning up at Quentin. "Now get your foot up here, and put your other foot on the peg there… Good. Now you're gonna kick start this bad boy. You think you can do it?" Quentin grabbed the throttle.
"I'll try."
"That's all we can do, buddy. But we gotta be in sync. One mind. Know what I mean?" Calvin just frowned. "Now, on four. You ready?" Calvin nodded, eyes on his face. "One. Two. Three—"
Of course it didn't work on the first go. Calvin underestimated his weight and strength, couldn't drop the starter all the way, and he looked up to Quentin all panicked and worried.
"Don't worry, Charlie. Half the time I can't start a bike myself. Again. One, two, three—"
Throttle caught just as ignition fired, and the bike coughed, wheezed, then started rumbling. Calvin's eyes got bigger than Quentin had ever seen them, and he plopped his butt on the seat laughing hysterically.
Quentin found hi
mself laughing, too. "Wait—what’re we laughing at?" he shouted over the noise.
Calvin shook his head. "I didn't think it would start."
"Why? You put sugar in my tank or something?"
"N-no!" He could barely talk from giggling.
"Then spit it out, Chuckles." Calvin couldn't. Quentin shook his head. "That's your new name. You're no longer Charlie—you're Chuckles from here on out. Yeah?"
Calvin's giggles rang out over the rumble of the motor, and Quentin gestured for him to scoot out of the way while he fiddled with the choke.
"You guys thirsty?"
Quentin cast a look over his shoulder, grinning at the sight of Aunt Arielle in her short shorts and another well-worn T-shirt holding two bottles of root beer. "I am now," he drawled with a quick up and down he completely intended for her to see. It earned him a sharp look and a blush.
Calvin took one of the bottles, and she presented Quentin with the second one. "I heard the engine. Thought a celebratory beer was in order," she shouted, smiling and ruffling Calvin's hair. He stepped away from her hand.
"It works Aunt Arielle! It runs!"
"So I hear."
"Whaddya say, babe. Wanna take a spin?" Quentin raised his eyebrows and revved the motor in time.
She laughed and looked at her feet, those cheeks tinged pinker. Fuck, he loved it when that happened. "No, thanks. I'm eluding death quite nicely from where I am."
He remembered how Arielle had nearly been severely hurt or even killed by that bastard skinhead all because she wanted to make sure Quentin was safe. And it was frustrating since the club still had no information other than the name Reuben and the location of a cook site that had been packed up rapidly before he and his brothers got there. The smell of meth in progress was still lingering. It seemed as though Dead Men were always one step behind and Reuben had a third-eye that couldsee everything they were doing… It was like chasing the fucking wind.
"Can I go for a ride then?" Calvin squeaked, high as a kite on the fact the bike worked.
"No—"
Arielle answered just as Quentin was saying, "Sure, Chuckles, climb on."
Arielle tilted her head and crossed her arms. "—No, he's not riding."
"Down the street and back?" Quentin was pleading like a nine-year-old himself.
Her head tilted further and her eyes got wider. "No."
Maybe he shouldn't be so agreeable with her. She was more fucking adorable the madder she got. "Please, Aunt Arielle?"
"Yeah, please, Aunt Arielle?" Calvin was squirming like he had to piss.
"You jerks," Arielle muttered as capitulation.
"Yes!" Calvin hissed.
"Okay Chuckles, climb on. It won't be as fun as Aunt Arielle, though," Quentin winked as he said it. Arielle shook her head and ran her hand over her forehead. She was so easy to fluster. Calvin tried to climb on behind him, making Quentin shake his head and laugh. "Chuckles, up front dude. I need to make sure you won't fly off."
Quentin slid back from the handlebars, letting Calvin swing a leg over the seat. Quentin got close enough to the handlebars, feeling the excitement radiating out of the kid in front of him. It cracked him up.
"Down the street and back. And go slow," Arielle put in her orders.
"Yes, Aunt Arielle," Quentin promised, using his best Calvin voice. "Ready Chuckles?"
"Ready, Q!"
The grin stayed put as he rolled down the driveway, hitting the pavement and really opening her up. Calvin was quivering like a puppy dog he was so excited, his hands clutching the outside seams of Quentin's jeans. He took the Super Glide for a ride around the block, waiting until the house was out of sight before hitting forty miles per hour.
By the time he pulled back into the garage Calvin's grin had gone from happy to all-out psyched, and Quentin was just for a second jealous of everything that Calvin was going to be doing for the first time, and this was one of the starting points. Quentin had been the one to give him his first ride on a motorcycle. That was cool as shit.
Arielle had waited for them, getting up from the rolling garage stool and giving Quentin a not-so-impressed look. "That sounded pretty fast."
"Nah," Quentin dismissed her suspicion. "It's just a loud bike."
"Aunt Arielle, you should go too!" Calvin was chattering. "It was so much fun! The bike is loud and it rumbles and the world is flying by but you're still outside in it and it was soooo cool!"
Arielle grinned down on the nine-year-old enthusiasm. "I bet it was, Peanut."
"Don't worry, Chuckles, Aunt Arielle will get her ride eventually." His innuendo talents were not really subtle, but as long as it made Aunt Arielle’s face look like a peach left out in the sun, which it did, it was a successful jibe. Quentin was grinning again. He lived to made her twitchy.
He watched both Arielle and Calvin turn to the street and he did the same, just in time to see a large, pink Cadillac pull up to the curb between their driveways, effectively blocking both of them. Quentin knew that ride. He dropped the kickstand, frowning.
Mandy Lane appeared at the rear, smoothing her shirt out over her hips. Quentin shot a look to Arielle, saw her swallow and pull Calvin close. Shit, Mandy had scared her.
Quentin swung off the bike, approaching his president's old lady. "Mandy," he said, trying to be friendly and cautionary all at the same time. "Whatcha doing here?"
"Relax Quentin, I'm here to make nice."
That brought his eyebrows up. "You?"
She threw her bitch-face back at him. "Trust me, Quent. I have it in me."
"What are you doing here?" he repeated.
Her hand went to her waist and she tossed her hair over her shoulder with the other one. "Believe it or not, this has very little to do with you, Quentin. That girl is sick, and I want to help her."
"Help her?"
Mandy widened her eyes and crossed her arms. "That's right. Now you gonna let me talk to her or not?"
Quentin tilted his head in a warning angle. "Mandy—"
"I want to help, baby. It's a sisterhood thing."
"Why does this sisterhood thing make me nervous?" Mandy just smiled. "Go easy on her. She's shy, keeps to herself."
"Opposites attract, Quentin," Mandy reminded him, circling around him and trotting up his driveway on heels towards his neighbor.
When Arielle saw the woman with the amazing jeans and heeled boots, bright blonde hair, looking like a million bucks she swallowed, instantly feeling dowdy. For some reason this woman made her want to dress up.
"Arielle," Mandy greeted her nice enough, eyes shooting down to Calvin with a warm grin. "This the prospect I keep hearing about?"
Calvin tilted his head. "What's a prospect?"
The woman laughed easily, obviously charmed. "Someone that wants a spot in the club, honey. They have to kind of…apprentice before they can be in the Dead Men Riders."
That was it. Arielle was locking Calvin in his room until it was time to go to college.
"Who said I was a prospect?"
Mandy's eyebrows went up. "Quentin mentioned how good you were with motorcycles, little man."
Calvin was grinning. "He said that?"
Arielle felt the whoosh again because Quentin was telling his friends what a cool kid Calvin was.
"He sure did." Mandy held out a manicured hand. "I'm Mandy Lane. You can call me Mandy."
"I'm Calvin Taylor," Calvin said cordially, shaking her hand with a grin.
"Remember when I said girls can be scary?" Quentin asked, standing behind Mandy. "This is the one that invented it."
Mandy shot an unimpressed look over her shoulder. "I'll let that go only because you called me a girl."
Arielle felt herself smile at that, but it faded as she watched Quentin and Mandy exchange grins as well. It reminded her that Mandy was the type of woman for Quentin, and her wonderings and ponderings were ridiculously futile. Sad. Pathetic.
Mandy turned a smile to Arielle, breaking her out of her self-deprecation.
"Okay, honey, get your purse. I got somewhere I wanna take you."
Arielle felt irrational fear. "What?"
"Mandy—" Quentin was saying cautiously.
"It's just shopping," Mandy snapped at him over his shoulder. Her face and tone were friendlier as she said to Arielle, "It'll be fun. No obligation, no pressure."
Arielle gave a Quentin that she knew looked like she wanted guidance. Reassurance it would be okay. He saw the look, interpreted it, and gave her that crooked half-smile that could mean anything. No help there. Mandy's hip was out, hand sitting on it like she couldn't be swayed. A force of female nature, and…Arielle felt like she might need a bit of that.
"Okay. Let me go get changed."
"Only if you're tucking those legs in jeans and wearing something that makes your chest look less impressive than mine. That kind of outfit change I'd appreciate, actually." Quentin cracked up. Calvin frowned. And Arielle was utterly confused. "Oh please, honey. You can play sweet all you want but you've got plenty of attributes I'm too old to pretend I'm not jealous of. Unless you're covering all that up, I'd say you're ready to go."
"Um…maybe jeans," Arielle muttered, starting down the driveway to go around the fence and head back to her place. To her surprise, Mandy followed.
"I'll hang with Calvin," Quentin was shouting as the screen door shut and Arielle was alone in her house again with Mandy Lane.
"Um, so you want a drink or anything?" Arielle asked, feeling awkward to leave her standing in the entry while she changed.
Mandy gave a patient smile. "No, I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me, just go get ready."
Arielle quickly darted to her room, pulled on a pair of jeans and pulled her hair into an over-the-shoulder ponytail. She exited the room just as quickly, finding Mandy still at her door, arms crossed, clearly respecting Arielle's space. It made Arielle like her just that little bit more.
Mandy gave her an up and down. "I don't need to see the ass, I know you likely still look fantastic. Let's go, you hot little bitch."
Arielle was taken aback, but as Mandy slid on her sunglasses and pushed through the screen door she felt herself smile anyway, probably blushing, too. She snagged her purse and followed as ordered.
