by Portia Gray
"Your kid needs to apologize to Calvin," Quentin suggested. "He just shoved him down."
"That kid punched my son," the father shot back.
"That's true. He knows that was wrong. He's been punished and he ain't doing it again unless he's defending himself. Which I'll make sure he knows how to do," Quentin added, voice low, grinning in a way he knew probably made him look nuts. Asshole swallowed, Asshole Junior backed up another step. "He also told me you both called him names. Now, it's been a long time since I've been around kids, so forgive me my ignorance, but," Quentin put his hand on Asshole's shoulder, ignoring how the guy flinched. "Isn't it kind of a pussy move to call a little kid names? I mean, adult to adult. I hear about that kind of thing and I start to wonder what kind of fucking issues a guy has to have to run down a kid like that. Jesus, talk about Small Dick Complex, am I right?"
Asshole swallowed again. "That won't happen again."
Quentin moved closer, hand still on Asshole's shoulder. "I know it won't. Because you're all but pissing yourself right now. If I hear that kid called him anything other than Calvin, or he comes home with a hair out of place, you and me got a date." Quentin slapped his flannel-covered chest. "A demonstration on how men settle their shit. Yeah?"
Asshole was nodding and dragging his shit-stain kid back with him to their vehicle. Once they were inside the cab Quentin checked that Calvin was okay to find him staring up at him in complete awe. He had to struggle not to laugh.
"Let's go get a root beer float," he suggested, hand on Calvin's shoulder as he led him to his bike. "Don't tell Aunt Arielle. About anything."
"I know it tastes disgusting, but it's really good for you and I think it'll help," T-bone said apologetically, handing her a glass of another concoction that looked exactly like baby vomit.
"Why is this one yellow?"
He grinned, excited to have someone to tell this to, apparently. "Just read an article on turmeric. India's cancer rates are incredibly low, despite the pollution people live in day to day. They're doing studies into diet and the turmeric used to make curry yellow is a cancer-fighting super spice. Not that it's a spice. It doesn't taste like anything, actually."
She sniffed the glass. It smelled just like the one she'd made for herself. That wasn't comforting. "No offense T-bone," she said. "But I'm downing this like Buckley's cough syrup."
That got her a laugh, but she was already chugging that evil brew with her thumb and finger pinching her nose tight. When it was gone, flooding down her throat like a downpour of mud, she handed the glass back and grabbed the glass of water on the counter. That made it better, and T-bone was still smiling at her once the water was gone and she could hold a straight face again.
"You know I'm already dying, right?" she croaked out, pouring herself another glass of water.
T-bone laughed. "It's good for you. Do you like pomegranate juice?" He held up a more appetizing-looking tumbler of purple liquid.
Arielle shrugged. "I have no idea. I live with a nine-year-old. I thought juice only came from oranges and apples."
"You better not be talking about T-bone's juice," Quentin made his presence known in the kitchen with a loud, caustic declaration before snagging her up in a tight hug, his face to her neck while inhaling deep.
She had to smile. He always smelled her when he hugged her, and that made her heart flutter every time. "Where's Calvin?" she asked his shoulder, since he apparently wasn't letting her go.
"Outside," he answered, bringing his head back to quickly touch lips to hers. "With Dillon."
"Why?"
He pushed her hair back over behind her ear, careful not to handle it too roughly since it wasn't really attached. "He's gonna teach him how to throw a punch. No big deal."
She felt like he'd just started speaking Latin; so incredibly confused. "What?"
"It's okay, Arielle. A kid should know how to throw a decent punch. There will always be bullies. He doesn't have to run around kicking the shit out of people. But I'd prefer it if he could defend himself if he had to."
"He's nine."
"Yeah, and he's already given a kid a black eye. A kid I saw today, along with his dad."
That gave her pause, torn between reading him the riot act and the soft gushiness she felt in her belly knowing that Quentin had dealt with something for her and Calvin. Again.
"What happened?" she asked, hating that she was this curious while Calvin was learning how to go all Tyson on someone.
"The kid shoved him down on the school ground. I gave him shit, then gave the dad shit."
Arielle tilted her head and raised one eyebrow. "You gave them shit how?" she asked, suspicious.
Quentin grinned at her. "You're so close to being mad at me, aren't you?"
"Quentin, what did you do?"
"Go on, get mad. I deserve it."
"Quentin."
"I deserve it and I like it."
She puffed out a breath, looking over at T-bone who was pointedly ignoring them and washing the blender out. Head turned, she was open and defenseless and he tucked his face into her neck, kissing her and then nibbling her ear. Her hands tightened on his shoulders. To push him away. She'd swear she meant to push him away.
"Quentin, what did you say to them? I need to know."
When he raised his head again he sighed. "I told him if I hear that his kid called Calvin names or hurt him again the dad was gonna have to deal with me."
Arielle's stomach sank. "That's not okay, Quentin. That's you bullying him."
"Only if I actually go out, hunt him down and beat him up. It's all intimidation. It's the one thing I got down cold."
"Quentin—"
"Hey," he cut her off, but very gently. "Every kid should feel they've got an adult that would go to the wall for them. Even that little punk has that from his asshole of a father. I know you'd do it for Calvin, but sometimes…he needs the parent that isn't around, you know what I mean? I want him to know he's protected." He swallowed and something in his face switched from apologetic to pain. "A mother's love is forever. But sometimes that father-figure love feels like it has to be earned. And that isn't right. He should just have it."
And her stomach collapsed and ended up somewhere inside her knees. "Quentin," she whispered, hand on his cheek.
He coughed and backed up, letting go of her, eyes darting to T-bone who was avoiding looking at either of them and leaving the kitchen.
"Thank you for dealing with that. You're right, I likely would have been a big sissy in that situation," she said carefully. "But I don't want Calvin to think violence is a means to an end."
Quentin was nodding. "He's too smart for that. The problem is he's smarter than everyone else and that scares little pricks like this Grady kid. I know; I used to be that kid. The smart kids were the easiest targets. They always walked away and you never had to prove how tough you were."
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll leave all this man stuff to you for now. But if he gets hurt, no more."
Quentin grabbed her hand. "Come watch."
"What?"
"Come and see what Dillon is teaching him. He ain't looking to make him heavyweight champion of the world. I don't want that overactive brain of yours spinning crazy ideas."
Quentin took her hand and led to a room she hadn’t seen before. It had a boxing ring set up in the middle. Arielle spotted Calvin immediately, his right hand between both of Dillon's hands, absorbing some kind of instruction in the boxing ring.
They approached quietly, and eventually Dillon'svoice was discernible. "…thumb in front of your knuckles like this. On top of the knuckles or inside the fist just means you're going to break your thumb and that hurts like a motherfucker."
Arielle winced, but Calvin seemed nonplussed by the language.
Dillon's dark eyes came up to see her, and he gave a head nod but otherwise it was like she wasn't even there. "Get used to your hand going into that fist, all right? Down at your sides, hands open." Calvin slapped his palms to
the outside of his legs, eyes on Dillon. "Two fists, now."
Calvin brought them up, fingers curled in, thumbs across the fronts of his fingers as instructed.
"Good," Dillon assured him.
Quentin moved behind Arielle, hugging her to his front, arms joined over her stomach. "You okay so far?" he asked.
Arielle sighed, head resting back on his chest. "I hate this. I don't want him to grow up."
"You kidding? He can grow up to be just like us. We'll patch him in, take care of him…" She could hear the teasing tone, but it made her nervous and he sensed it. "Hey, he ain't going to be anything like any of us. That's a good kid, Arielle. I just think he should be as well-rounded as he is well-read."
"I know," she said.
"Now, take that fist and plow it in the bag, lad. Let's see what we're working with." Dillon held the bag like he expected the swing back to be massive from Calvin's first punch.
"It's good for him to be around other male influences," she admitted.
"Even criminals?"
She smiled. "You know I don't think of you all that way."
"We have to plan our day better tomorrow," Quentin mumbled close to her ear after they'd watched Calvin deliver a few jabs to the bag, with Dillon interrupting to show him how to hold his arm and how to square his shoulders.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you and Calvin are taking the bed tonight. I plan on being in it with you tomorrow as soon as I've dropped him off at school."
That brought along another flutter, but not in her heart.
"I might have plans tomorrow," she said, non-committed one way or the other. She felt him chuckle silently.
"Yeah, you do. You're gonna be calling out my name and working up a sweat."
She inhaled, face flaming, eyes darting around because it seemed like everyone had likely heard that. But no one was paying them any mind. "Quentin," she admonished, to no effect.
"No, not hearing it. That's the plan for tomorrow. Got interrupted too many times today already."
She allowed a smile. "All right."
"Don't act like you're doing me a favor, babe." His hands tightened up, roughly, and her heart sped up along with it. "Pretty hard to fake those biological reactions. I know very well how much you like it, too."
She did. She really did.
"Goodnight," Arielle whispered, kissing Quentin softly outside the door of his dorm room.
"Sleep tight," he replied, hitching her to him by the hips and giving her a real kiss; tongue in her mouth, teasing at hers, forcing as much of her sweet little body against his as he could get. She sighed, melting into his hold, head falling to the perfect angle for him, her hands warm around the back of his neck. The smell of her brought to mind the sight of her sitting in his bathtub, and his dick was hurting like a bitch. "Maybe we could just have a quickie in the bathroom down the hall?" he rasped, voice thin with desperation. And pain.
She pulled away, licking her lips and turning pink while she wrinkled her nose. "I saw the inside of that bathroom. No thanks."
"Shit," he muttered, giving her a quick peck. "Then you better get inside. I'm in pain here, babe."
Now her brow furrowed. "What? Why? What's wrong? Is it your arm?"
If she wasn't so wide-eyed and sweet he'd swear she was teasing him. "Not hurt that way, babe. Like a backed-up, frustrated pain."
She blinked twice, then she blushed more. "Oh no, I'm sorry."
He had to laugh. "Why? Why be sorry?"
"Well, this afternoon…you…" she was getting pinker. "You were…very good to me. I didn't return the favor."
"This cute isn't helping matters. Makes me want inside you more." She took a deep breath, looking away, and he knew then he was approaching the top of her dirty-talk tolerance. "Go get some sleep, babe." She nodded and he kissed her again, loving how she always forgot her discomfort and pressed closer. "I'll be outside, okay? If you need anything come get me. I'll sleep out in the clubhouse on the sofa."
"Are you sure? That's a big bed."
He shook his head. "Nah. Even I know it's weird to sleep in a bed with a kid that ain't mine."
She smiled. "Good point."
He opened the door for her and she disappeared inside quietly, not wanting to wake Calvin who'd gone to bed two hours before. When she had the door secured he wandered down the hall, through the clubhouse past the few bikers and crawlers that were tying one on for the night. It wasn't too rowdy at least. They all seemed to appreciate a kid was in the building.
Quentin headed right out into the yard, claiming the table and sitting on the table part, feet on the bench. He dug in his vest for his cigarettes and lighter, watching the gates. Quentin was waiting for the crew that had ridden to Shanksville that night, itching to know if Henderson's tip had actually resulted in anything.
When the clubhouse door opened and shut he didn't think anything of it; considering how many of his brothers were on the road the place was relatively hopping. The slender form that stepped in front of him, hip out to the side, arms crossed under her ample-although-fake bosom, was more of an annoyance than a treat.
He knew this one. Blonde, wavy hair that looked too good to be true. And it wasn't true; half of it felt like doll hair. He could remember grabbing it a few times around his hand, having it spill across his thighs when she was going down on him. Nothing particularly remarkable about her.
"How come you're all by yourself, handsome?"
Annoyance crept up the back of his neck. "Choose to be alone at the moment."
"That's a shame. You sure you don't need company tonight?" she stepped closer, then knelt on the table seat between his knees, pushing his legs apart. "Might take your mind off things."
He laughed, looking away and pushing her hands off his knees. "I don't got much on my mind, doll. Go back inside," he suggested with a head jerk.
"Come on, Quent. The girls miss you. You gotta know that."
"What'd I say?" he snapped, patience gone. "Get back inside. There's dick that wants to be sucked inside. It's your job to know which is which."
She stuck her bottom lip out, but he moved like he was going to stand and she scrambled to climb off the bench, teetering on heels as she hustled to the clubhouse door.
He shook his head, taking a draw on the cigarette as another set of heels were making their way towards him. This walk he recognized. He didn't even look, just greeted her with, "Hey Mandy."
She joined him on picnic table. "Did you know I was watching that?" she asked, reaching for his cigarette.
He shook his head while saying, "Nah."
"That makes me happy," she shared, taking a drag and sounding quite pleased.
"Yeah yeah." He took his smoke back. "I know, Arielle's your new best friend."
Mandy leaned her shoulder into him to jolt him. "That blonde bitch was talking about Arielle in the kitchen today, she accidentally overheard them."
His guard dog immediately went on duty. "What was she saying? Who was she talking to?"
Mandy shook her head like it didn't matter. "Just crawlers squawking, honey. It's not like they knew she was there. But she was pretty upset about it."
Quentin frowned. "Shit. She never said anything."
"She was upset but she didn't rat anyone out."
"She didn't go Mandy on them and break a few noses?" he joked with a cackle.
Mandy wasn't smiling, just gave him her unamused face. "She did let them see it, Quentin. They knew they got under her skin. That blonde bitch just now was trying to undermine the little status Arielle has."
Quentin was shaking his head. "Jesus, why do women make this so unnecessarily difficult?"
"Honey, she ain't an old lady. Not yet anyway. Did you tell her about the corpse crawlers?"
"Yeah, I did. She saw them."
"Well her self-esteem isn't quite up to this place yet. I wish she could have seen you turn that bitch down, though."
Quentin sighed, rubbing his brow. "I'll do it again to
morrow. What'll it take?"
Mandy sighed, crossing her arms and looking confused. "I'm not sure, actually. Just keep your eyes on her. Don't give these bitches the time of day. And I'm making sure they know what their place is."
"Thanks Mandy," he said softly, holding his hand out. She took it and gave it a tight squeeze then headed back to the clubhouse.
The roar of bikes brought him to his feet, and he counted off the Harleys rolling into the lot, a prospect shutting the gate behind the black van bringing up the rear. They were a bike short.
"Shit," he mumbled, grinding his cigarette out on the table and tossing the butt in the coffee can on top. He headed to Colton’s bike, nodding a greeting as he pulled his helmet off. "Who got hurt?"
Colton looked pissed. "Found a cook. Like Henderson said. Construction signs up, caution tape all over. Cooking that shit in the basement of the fucking place, running off generators. Cooks weren't there, but they were letting something set in that lab. We burned it down but Flynn got hit."
"Shit," Quentin mumbled, watching the doors of the van swing open, Flynn bounded out the back under his own steam. Well that was a relief, he was walking. "You all right, man?" Quentin asked as he stalked past.
"Scratch on the ribs, plugged in the arm," Flynn spat back, more annoyed that hurt apparently.
Colton and Quentin shared a look and Quentin let himself laugh. "Shit man, I thought someone died."
"You know him. He gets cranky when he bleeds." Colton shook his head. "I'll send a crew out to get his bike right away. That's likely what has him pissed. It took a few rounds too."
"That field trip should get Reuben's attention," Quentin noted, and Colton nodded.
"How's your girl?" Colton asked, starting for the clubhouse.
Quentin shrugged. "She's fine. Talk about tossing her in the deep end and telling her to swim, though. There's a lot for her to absorb here. I forgot how normal she is."
Colton chuckled. "She's with you, Quentin. She ain't all that normal."
Quentin held the clubhouse door open for the VP, and as they entered Dillon was shoving Flynn into a chair and pouring bottom-shelf vodka over his arm.
