by Portia Gray
He gave an amused smile, crossing his arms again. "I can try."
"In your…gang—club, do you guys kill people?"
His smile dropped off his face quicker than gravity would have allowed. "Uh…"
"Jolene said you guys would likely kill anything that threatened who or what you care about, which I assume includes Portus Felix."
He finally blinked and ran his hands over his bald head covered in tattoos. "Doll, you really need to ask Quentin these things..."
Now Arielle was twisting her hands. "I know. I just…is that why Quentin has you guys watching out for me and Calvin?"
He sighed. "If anything comes along that's a threat to you two, I'll…do what's necessary to make sure you both go home tonight untouched."
Arielle nodded. "I see."
"Look, you need to ask Quentin this stuff. It's…it's kind of up to him to let you in on these things. I don't wanna step on his toes."
Arielle frowned. "Really? You can't answer questions about the club?"
"Ask Quentin, Arielle." He almost sounded like he was pleading.
"Okay," she assured him. "I will. I'm sorry."
He nodded, satisfied, then returned to his spot next to Calvin. She took up recreational pacing, biting her nail again and going back to worrying.
God, she nearly got Clark Davidson killed.
She had to calm down. In all this, the idea that Quentin might have killed people made her uneasy, yes. But she still didn't feel like she was in danger. Neither was Calvin. She knew she sounded like the victim in an after-school special, but Quentin would never hurt them. He might bring bad things to the door, but so had Jolene. The difference was she trusted Quentin to make things right. She could not say the same for her sister.
And yet there was also the nagging feeling that if she was smart, she'd pack up Calvin and run for the hills.
The hospital room door opened, and Thelma joined them while wiping tears from her eyes. She caught Arielle's eye and she couldn't help it; she hugged her aunt and whispered an apology at the same time. "It's okay," Thelma assured her, patting her back and stepping away. "Now let's go get groceries. We have a house full of people to feed."
Quentin stepped out onto the front stoop of Arielle's place for a smoke just in time to see Chip and his flame-painted trailer pull up to the curb in front of his house. He started down the driveway, taking a pull on the cigarette and raising his hand in greeting.
"Quentin," Chip rasped back at him, circling his truck and trailer to drop the back door. "Kid's bike is done. Wanna see?"
Quentin felt himself grin. "Fuck yeah. Show me." As Chip rolled the motorized bike down the ramp, Quentin had to shake his head. "Had to make it kickass, hey?" he mumbled, crouching down next to the bike and eyeing up the frame. It was only kind of pink, but it was better than what Quentin had in mind. Along with the candy-pink paint, Chip had added black metallic flecks. If Chiphad told him about it ahead of time Quentin would have said he was nuts. But seeing it…he liked it. Chip even pin-striped wicked-black detailing on the fenders.
"So sparkly," Quentin said absently, running his hand along the motor and battery compartment.
"Too funky?"
Quentin shook his head. "He's gonna lose his mind."
Chip chuckled. "Good. I'll send you the bill."
Quentin stood and offered his hand as Arielle's car pulled into her driveway. "Here he is now," he said, pointing with his cigarette as the door opened and Calvin came flying across the lawn towards them.
"Is that my bike?" Quentin laughed as Calvin came to a screeching stop next to it. "Wow. That is so cool!"
"Calvin, this is Chip. He painted the bike for you. Chip, this is Calvin."
"Nice to meet you," Calvin said pleasantly.
"The pleasure's all mine," Chip returned with his usual gruffness, but he was smiling.
"Calvin? Is that your bike?"
They all turned to Arielle, striding down the sidewalk, Thelma right behind her. Quentin felt his smile change, how his stomach went weird on him. Those damn shorts on Arielle again, an over-sized T-shirt, bright-blue scarf and he was hard from it.
"Hot damn," Chip whispered. "That's not yours, is it?"
Quentin smacked Chip’s stomach and approached her, tossing his butt onto his own lawn. "Hey, baby girl," he drawled, pulling her close by her hips and pressing his lips against hers before she could answer him. He kissed her neck next, making her giggle and push him away a bit, hand on his chest.
"Quentin," she scolded.
"Look Aunt Arielle! Aunt Thelma!" Calvin was almost squealing. "Look how cool the bike looks!"
Quentin let Arielle go but kept a finger hooked on a belt loop of her jeans shorts, following her with a nod to Thelma who was smiling at him, but there was something guarded when her eyes met his.
"Calvin, a pink bike? How come?" Quentin loved how it still sounded kind when Arielle asked.
"For you. For the breast cancer," Calvin said softly, peering up at her with the earnest honesty of a kid. Then he pushed his glasses up his nose.
Quentin heard Arielle sob once, then she grabbed Calvin and pulled him against her tummy and chest to hug him tight. Her arms were wrapped around his head and she kissed his hair.
Quentin noticed then that Chip had actually removed his ball cap when Arielle had approached. A gentleman after all.
"Ma'am?" The paint artiste said hesitantly. "I'm sorry for your troubles. My mother had the same condition. And I can tell you it made her stumble but it sure as shit did not take her down."
Quentin frowned at that, but Arielle laughed. "Thank you very much. And you are...?"
"His name is Chip and he painted the bike," Calvin piped up, all but buried by Arielle's affection.
"It's beautiful," Arielle said. "Thank you. Oh, and this is my aunt—Thelma."
Chip nodded cordially as Thelma added, "The bike is beautiful. Thank you."
"Don't thank me. It was the kid's idea and this worthless bastard paid for it." With that last charming statement Chip threw the ramp back up and locked his trailer before climbing into the truck cab.
"He's a…friend," Quentin explained to Arielle's confused expression. "Socially retarded. But harmless."
"And thank you," she said to him softly, her eyes hitting his in that warm and soft way that got rid of his hard-on and made his head swim instead. He shook his head. Really, it hadn't been a big deal. Quentin caught sight of Aunt Thelma eyeing him up again and he wondered what was changing her view of him just as Arielle rose up on her toes, bringing her lips close to his ear.
"You're a softie," she accused.
He kissed her temple while pulling her closer. "Shhh," he said close to her ear. "Don't let that shit get out."
"I'll put the burgers on the grill," Thelma offered and Arielle nodded.
"Okay. Salad's almost ready." She went back to cutting the carrots on the board in front of her.
Once they were alone he stepped into Arielle from behind, closing his hands around her hips and shoving his face close to her neck, breathing in deep. As always, she smelled fantastic.
Arielle stilled, and he felt her laugh silently. "Careful. I'm cutting something."
"I can see that," he told her. "I've been watching you handle those cucumbers and carrots for a while now." She just shook her head in response, cutting off the root tip of a carrot. Quentin made a grunt into the side of her neck. "Like that," he moaned. She made another cut and he groaned.
She pushed back at him with her ass. "Cut that out!" She was laughing as she said it. "God, I'll never see carrots the same way again."
He was grinning as he kissed her neck then headed for the fridge, grabbing a beer. "So, how's your sister?"
Arielle shrugged. "Maybe, for the first time in her life, scared enough to straighten up. But I'm not holding my breath." She gave him a look over her shoulder. "I…I have to ask you things. And I'm a bit scared to."
That set off all kinds of warning bells. "Never be afraid with m
e, babe."
Her blue-green eyes checked the back door, and her voice was low as she asked, "Do you guys…kill people?"
Quentin swallowed his mouthful of beer. "Why're you asking this?"
"Jolene said you'd kill to keep what you care about safe. T-bone wouldn't answer me, told me to ask you."
Quentin nodded. He should have said all this before sleeping with her. Dammit. But she'd been comfortable enough to ask him, so that was probably a good sign. And that explained Aunt Thelma's change in temperature, too.
He came closer and Arielle didn't shy away. She set the knife down and turned to him, leaning back to the counter and letting him take her hands, which he used to pull her close. He set her hands on his back, she left them there.
"We're not the good guys," he confirmed, watching her face closely. She swallowed at that. "I've beaten people up. Hidden bodies. Made a few dead bodies myself. But none of them are good, regular people like you and Aunt Thelma. This all takes place under the level you live in, Arielle. This is gutter shit. And we keep the gutters clean in Portus Felix so people like you don't so much as get your shoes dirty. That's the hope, anyway. Because the people we have to deal with don't give a shit if people like you get any of their shit on you."
She bit her lip, and it was cute. He wanted to kiss her, but this likely wasn't a good time. "Why do you do that? There's a police department here."
He nodded. "Yeah, there is. Unfortunately, bad guys don't tend to give a shit about the law, and bad guys don't have to follow the same rules of engagement as the police. The law is nothing but a poster for how civilized we're supposed to be, babe. The reality is we're still living in a jungle, and the real strength is in numbers and keeping an even score."
She frowned. "So…you guys can do what you do?"
"We do what we do to make a living. Other people want to take away our means of income. We defend it. And we also need a place to call home."
"So…Portus Felix knows you're all criminals. They turn a blind eye if you keep the bad-guy drug dealers out."
"And we don't let the shit splash on the good people," he finished. "When it does, we go into major damage control and make sure the skulls responsible are cracked enough to think twice before doing it again. That includes bullshit like what happened to my girl… in the past… and buying a broad and keeping her like a strung out blow-up doll while dealing meth that's not only meth, but lethally fucked up in its mix."
That frown came back, and he had to fight away the thought that the creases between her eyebrows were adorable. They were having an Important Conversation, after all.
"If you guys don't like drugs, how do you make your money?" she asked.
"You want to know?" he cut in. "You gotta decide that you want in on that side of the gate. You can't change it once I open it."
She nodded. "I want to know."
"Guns," he said, softly, frustrated that her face stayed blank. He didn't know what that meant. "We receive guns and sell them to enterprises that require untraceable, unregistered weapons."
Arielle bit her lip. "I was scared you were going to say prostitution."
He let a smile slip. "Are guns worse?"
She shrugged. "I can't decide."
"The main thing I want you to understand is this; you are the most important thing I've got right now." He didn't know where this was coming from, but he needed to get it out after dumping all this on her. "Even if you decide that you can't deal with this and don't want to have anything to do with me anymore, I'll lay down my life to keep any of this from touching you or Calvin or your Aunt Thelma. And I have never said this to a woman before."
She inhaled, eyes running over his face, still looking plenty concerned. "Okay," she said on the exhale. "This is a lot to process."
"I don't want lies," he went on, catching her eye with his. "You hearing about this from other places would bother me, and I don't want you thinking I'm hiding anything. If I think you can handle it, if I think it's something you need to know, I will always let you in on it. But if something comes up that doesn't affect you and I think it's gonna cause you worry, I'll take that on so you don't have to." She swallowed again. He kissed her softly. "What I just told you means I trust you, babe. And if I do, so will the club. I just handed over a lot of damning information. Because I trust you with it. And like I said, I don't want lies."
She nodded at that. "Okay. I'm feeling kind of... blind-sided."
"I know. But anything you want to ask, just ask. Okay? I'm glad you did." She nodded again. "And there's always Mandy," he added. "In this world, she's everyone's queen. And she's decided she really likes you, which is not something that's handed out lightly, I gotta tell you. She knows more about the women's side of this than I do. If you really want the honest, brutal truth, she'll give it to you."
"So this is you sugar-coating?" she asked wryly, and he tucked her head under his chin, kissing the scarf she had wrapped around her head.
"This is me talking carefully so I don't spook you away. Because I want you with me for my own selfish reasons."
Her hands tightened on his back. "I need you to protect me and Calvin."
"And I will. Swear it, Arielle."
"You're so kind to me. You're caring. I can't make that all fit."
"I love this town. I love my club. And I'm crazy about you and Calvin. I'm just not bothered with the concept of bloody retribution. That's the difference, babe."
"That doesn't seem like you," she repeated.
He just rubbed her back, knowing he didn't deserve her trust. All he wanted was a fair shot at earning it.
Arielle was sound asleep on her side, facing the bedroom wall, only stirring when the bed moved behind her and someone slid into the sheets. It was surprising she'd fallen asleep; after her talk with Quentin her head had been spinning with the implications of all he'd told her.
Arielle grasped that his club didn't exist just to kill people. But they were a criminal enterprise, existing on the profits of a world that scared her. Even if they only hurt other bad guys, there was always a chance that Quentin's world's blowback could end up hitting her. And Calvin. Although, Jolene intentionally did just that. And Jolene would not go to the wall to fix it or protect her sister, or even Calvin.
Would Quentin? Her brain swirled over that, her worry ending as it brought up the fact that he'd lost his mind over Clark Davidson and the assholes that roughed up Calvin. On both counts and many others she appreciated his efforts, no matter how rough and questionable they were. Maybe Arielle wasn't as straight-laced as she told herself in her more righteous moments.
Thelma had gone home after spending a friendly dinner with Quentin, Flynn and the prospect in attendance. Thelma left when the dishes were cleaned and put away. Clearly, the new information on Quentin gave her a reason to pause.
Flynn and his mate left around the same time, and Arielle had joined Quentin and Calvin for some prime time TV. Calvin went to bed on a high from his new bike makeover, giving Quentin a big hug as more thanks which Arielle felt right in her gut. Then Arielle had been disappointed shortly after that when she announced she was tired and Quentin told her to go to sleep, explaining he wasn't ready for bed yet. That had been just over an hour ago.
Now all her worries about the gruff, scary neighbor were gone. Maybe because he caught her sleeping. Quentin eased right into her back, and she realized he was naked. "Calvin's fast asleep," he whispered, kissing her neck and bringing up goose bumps immediately.
She had to smile. He was still worried about Calvin's reaction to all this.
"I was sleeping too," she reminded him, and he just grunted while rolling her to her back. "Quentin—"
He found her mouth in the dark without any trouble, his lips caressing hers before his tongue ran along her bottom lip and into her mouth. Her entire body responded, arms wrapping around his shoulders, one knee riding up to hook around his hip as he was on his side, half covering her. His hand caught her knee, holding it in place,
sliding up under the hem of her nightgown.
Yeah, she'd put an actual nightgown on. She had nothing sexy in her wardrobe, but it was a white cotton peasant-style nightie. And she'd decided against underwear.
He found that out when his hand slid all the way up the back of her thigh, reaching her butt and finding it bare. He groaned,“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” his fingers digging into that part of her body, lifting her hips up with it. She liked that. Again, all raw reaction he didn't try to hide. He rolled his entire weight onto her, sliding between her legs while his upper body pressed into her more. "I missed doing this again this morning," he lifted his mouth long enough to say. "Been thinking about it all day."
Warmth pooled between her legs. "You have?"
"I need to do it right this time," he continued, hand leaving her behind to slide around and between her legs. "Need to take my time with you."
"Quentin—" she gasped, breath hitching as his hand began to move, teasing across that incredibly sensitive spot.
"Such a live wire," he taunted, she could hear the smile in his voice. "I knew you would be, the first time you told me off in that store."
His hand kept moving so she had nothing to say, but something trembled in her chest at that. Something not quite as sexy and urgent as what he was doing to her, but it felt nice all the same.
His lips and mouth moved across her neck and throat, hand taking her higher and higher at such a gentle pace the peak of it all nearly surprised her and she gasped, biting her lip, back arching. She'd wanted to make noise but she held it in, whimpering when the most intense tremors had passed.
Nope, no change in her response knowing he was dangerous. If anything, she found herself even more easily aroused. God, she was actually a bit of a freak.
Quentin's fingertips teased at her opening, proving to both of them she was ready. He groaned at that softly, kissing her mouth again. She felt her cheeks warm, but it was pitch black in the room so he couldn't see it.
"I want to taste you but I want inside more," he murmured, pushing the nightgown up to her waist. Her face got warmer. She wasn't used to anyone talking to her like that.
