by Portia Gray
"You two heading home first thing tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Whenever I drag my ass out of bed."
"Are you okay? What's wrong?"
Arielle grinned up at the ceiling. "Nothing, honey. The air here makes me sleepy. Or maybe it's the altitude. I don't know. I…I do like it here, Quentin."
There was a pause, then he said softly. "I'm glad, babe."
She frowned at the tone, the seeming sadness of the statement. "Is everything okay there?"
"Got back late from that run, babe.Pretty tired…"
"Are you at the clubhouse?"
"Yeah. Just bullshitting with Dillon."
"No whores," she warned.
"Babe," was his was way of telling her he thought her worry was cute.
"I mean it. I'll make you sorry."
He laughed, then his voice dropped a bit lower. "Help me out then. What you got on right now?"
She shook her head. "Quentin—"
"What you got on, babe?"
She bit her lip, her heart doing a little somersault. "Jeans. A sweatshirt. Not exactly hot, honey."
"What's underneath?"
Now she was grinning. "The purple set. With the lace."
He growled, her body quivered. "Should have left that behind for me, babe."
"Why?"
"So I can touch it and think of it touching you."
Arielle's eyes slid closed all on their own. "You're so bad."
"And you wouldn't have it any other way, babe."
"I have a drawer full of underwear, honey. Do what you want."
"Do me a favor."
"What?"
"Reach inside those purple panties for me."
"Quentin—"
"Do it."
"Who's there with you?"
"No one. I came to my room when I saw it was you calling. Do it, babe, unzip those jeans and reach inside."
Arielle's eyes checked her door. It was locked.
She made sure he heard the zipper, which made him chuckle. "That's a girl." Feeling silly she slid her hand down her stomach. "You there yet, baby?"
"I feel stupid."
"Finger yourself, babe. I wanna listen."
"Quentin—"
"I gotta wait another day before I get to see you babe, c’mon." The elastic of her panties slid along the back of her hand as she followed instructions, her finger gliding over her clit lightly. She gasped it felt so good. "Arielle," he growled, hearing it.
Her eyes closed. "I miss you."
"I'm right here, baby. Make those circles I know you like." It helped, remembering him touching her like this. Her pulse sped up, breathing got harder. "You're wet by now, babe. Two fingers, inside."
She followed every instruction, his voice as well as the recollection of him doing all this made her climax gradually and sweetly, gasping and sighing instead of crying out, but it was just as good. As she listened to her own breath in the phone she realized he hadn't said anything for a while.
"Quentin?" she whispered.
"Fuck, babe. Get up early and get home."
She laughed at that, embarrassed even though she was alone. "Thank you, honey," she said softly.
"Don't thank me for that, Arielle. Christ. I'm rock hard now."
"No whores," she reminded him.
"Tell me then, what should I do?"
At that Arielle grinned and felt herself get just a bit braver. "Well, undo your jeans and put your hand in your shorts, honey."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Quentin paused on his way out of the clubhouse, letting the others file past. He shut the double doors behind them, turning back to Bishop who looked nervous. "Davidson still checking in?" Quentin asked.
Bishop nodded. "Yeah, our little rat is texting me like clockwork. He ain't got fuck-all to tell me but he's plenty scared…"
Quentin nodded, relieved. Clark Davidson had spent a few days at the clubhouse, and once he was good and terrified they let him go with an instruction to text Bishop every hour on the hour from 8am to 8pm with an update. It was always "Still no word," but the prick never deviated.
Bishop clapped a heavy hand on Quentin's shoulder. "So… you not going out with the boys tonight, then?" he asked.
Quentin found it hard to keep playing nice, but in the past few months Bishop had gone eerily quiet on the whole Arielle issue. And that made Quentin very suspicious. "Arielle's birthday…" he said, wondering why Bishop cared at all what he did off duty. "Taking her and the kid out for supper. She cooked for me, and I ain't about to try it for her."
"So, it’s serious then?" Bishop found that funny for whatever reason.
"Yeah…"
Bishop just shook his head and headed for the bar. Quentin nodded a farewell and headed out to his bike, allowing a bit of excitement to creep in at the thought of it being Arielle's birthday. Things may have gotten tense, and he may have been strung out with Bishop's threat to Arielle, but his girl had a way of calming him down he relied on every day. But today he wasn't tense at all. Today he got to spoil Arielle just a little, and he was looking forward to it.
Calvin had made her waffles this morning. That was his thing now. Quentin's gift was another cop-out, more jewelry, but he knew she was going to love it. He'd also picked her up some little filmy, light blue number for later. Technically that was his gift but she seemed to like any indications of how she turned him on.
He was climbing on his bike when he heard his name. He twisted to look over his shoulder, nodding to Bishop who was jogging his way, cell at his ear. "What is it?"Quentin asked, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.
Bishop grabbed his own helmet, pausing while listening to the phone. "Speak of the fucking devil. Davidson called. Reuben's in Portus Felix." Bishop snapped his phone shut. "T-bone’s not answering his phone."
Quentin felt like he was instantly doused in ice water. T-bone was watching out for Arielle while Quentin was at a meeting Bishop had called last minute, and Calvin was in school.
"Right behind you, man," Bishop said.
The ride to his house was too long and too slow, even though he knew he was speeding. Quentin nearly forgot to drop his kickstand, his bike almost toppling him sideways after he killed the motor in his driveway.
The inside door was open. Why the fuck was it open?
Quentin yanked the storm door completely out of the way, almost tearing it off the hinges. A large skinhead appeared in the house, Quentin shot him without hesitation. Quentin moved closer to the body which was on his back with a bloody wound in the centre of a crisp white dress shirt. The smell of blood and used gunpowder only made his fear grow even more.
"Holy shit," Bishop mumbled behind him, the first time Quentin realized his president had been keeping pace with him. Quentin was stepping over the corpse. His vision didn't narrow, his heartbeat didn't drown out all sound. Instead, everything was sharper, crisper, almost happening faster than normal.
"Please, please," he kept repeating, panting it like it was how he had to breathe.
Calvin's room was empty. The main bathroom, ditto. The bedroom door was open, a huge blood smear on the wall next to the jamb. The sight of that made his heart stop, but his hearing and sight remained needle-fine when he saw the midget hitting Arielle on the head with the handle of a gun. She slumped on the floor in her robe, scarf askew on her head. She seemed out, and there was blood around her head, too, pooling around her temple.
“Reuben.” Quentin raced in, seeing red, and didn’t notice that there was another man in the room who kicked the gun out of Quentin’s hand. But Bishop was right behind him and shot the assailant, giving Quentin the lead to grapple Reuben from behind.
The small man was mumbling andQuentin swore he heard him say“Not Reuben” but Quentin was consumed with a raging anger and before he knew what was happening he snapped the little guy’s neck.
He rushed to Arielle’s side, dropping to his knees. He put a hand to her neck, wrapping his hand around her throat. She had a split l
ip and a swelling eye.
Oh God, please don’t be dead, please…
He lowered his head to her mouth.
She was breathing; she was fine, just knocked out.
Quentin sighed in relief, leaning close to her face, not wanting to jostle her. "Baby, can you hear me? Arielle? Babe?" He noticed then she was holding the gun Mandy gave her. She must have tried to shoot Reuben when he broke into her bedroom. Quentin had obviously just come in time to save her.
"She all right?"
Quentin didn't look at Bishop. "There’s a pulse, she’s breathing, just unconscious."
“Too bad.”
What the fuck? Now Bishop had Quentin’s attention. He turned his head to see his president pointing a gun in his direction.
“Kick that little shit’s gun over to me and keep your hands upwhere I can see them.” Quentin did as asked.
“You—you arranged for Rueben to come here, didn’t you?”
“It was easy. I got Clark to send a message to Rueben.Told them where T-bone would be watching your woman.”
“That’s why you called the meeting tonight. To get me out of the house.”
“I didn’t want you here for this, man. You shoulda gone out with the boys tonight. Like you always do after a meet. I didn’t know it was her fucking birthday.”
“Put down the gun, Bishop. You’re not gonna kill her. You don’t have to do this.Reuben’s dead now. It’s over, okay.”
“She’s an outsider. She knows I killed Jolene—”
“No she doesn’t. I never told her.”
“But you will.” Bishop was right. The guilt was eating at him every day, and eventually Quentin was going to confess the truth to Arielle. She deserved nothing less from him.“And I can’t risk that coming out to the cops. You can’t be serious about this bitch, Quentin.You’ll get over this one—that’s what crawlers are for. Pussy is pussy. But sometimes, pussy can get poisonous, and she’s poisonous to the club. I won’t ask you again.Move.”
The club was Quentin’s family—and he had laid his life for it so many times. But Arielle and Calvin were the reason he wanted to keep on breathing. They were his family now. They were the ones to remember his birthday. They were the ones—the only ones—he could rest his weary head on when things got dark. They were the ones who allowed him to be him and never judged him for it. They really did give meaning to his pathetic life.
He knew this day would come soon. The day he had to ask himself: Duty over love?
His hand curled into a fist, and the urge to do violence was a living part of him. He had told Arielle once that he would die before he let anyone harm her or Calvin. He had meant every word. “You’re gonna have to get through me first.”
Bishop’s laughter cut the thick air.“You are pussy-whipped.”
“Quentin?” Arielle. She was waking up.“Quentin…”
“It’s okay, baby girl,” Quentin said, his eyes still locked onto Bishop.“I’m here. No one’s gonna harm you.”
And they wouldn’t.
“Looks like I’m gonna need a new SAA,” Bishop said.
Quentin didn’t close his eyes. He wanted to look Bishop in the eyes as he pulled the trigger.
And he did.
Bishop didn’t know Arielle had been given a gun, or someone like her would know how to use one. And neither did he know that Quentin had picked it up and concealed it behind him when he had turned around.
Watching Bishop bleed out on the floor probably should have been a relief. It was the stress of many years of dutifully playing his partas the president’s SAA, vanishing like a magic trick. Should have felt fucking fantastic.
Quentin could only stare without much feeling. Here it was; his end game.
But Bishop being dead was final enough to convince Quentin it was time to ghost.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Arielle was probably still in shock.
Bishop had killed Jolene.
If she thought on it too long she had a suffocating need to breathe harder. But she didn't hate Quentin.It wasn’t his fault what happened. She loved her sister, and she’d never forget her, but Jolene had put herself in harm’s way and Calvin. She’d forgiven her sister for everything. Her battle with cancer had showed her that life was too short to be bitter for long. And she needed to be strong for Calvin’s sake.
She just snugged further in to Quentin, and his arm around her tightened as though he knew she needed reassurance that she wasn't alone now; he was here and he'd look after her.
Calvin kissed Arielle good night at his bedtime and gave Quentin a hug, which was a first. Quentin had protected her, saved her.
The adults stayed right where they were on the couch, but Quentin turned the volume on the TV down low. Then he turned more towards her so she could rest right on his chest, wrapping her arms around his sides. She closed her eyes, breathing deep and letting the feeling of being safe run through her.
"I haven't given you your present yet."
She planted her elbows beside him on the cushions and rose up to look down on him. "Well, what is it?"
His smile was slow, sexy, as he slid a hand to each side of her neck. "You sure you want it now?"
She tilted her head. "Of course I do. Give me my present." She even climbed off of him to let him up, so he did just that, stooping to kiss her quickly before heading down the hallway. Arielle couldn't stop smiling while he was gone, and it got wider as he returned with a tissue-sprouting gift bag.
Arielle raised an eyebrow. "You're getting fancy with the gift wrapping."
Quentin shook his head and set the bag right in her lap then sunk into the sofa next to her, fitting his arm around her lower back and snuggling her close to him. "Well open it," he instructed, chin on her shoulder.
Arielle pulled out the tissue stuffing, finding a wrapped box inside and something light blue and gauzy underneath. Her cheeks got warm, of course, and she pulled the fabric out first. It was blue gauze alright, completely sheer from strap to hem, and even that would only reach to her upper thigh. It was white lace along the top and bottom, matching panties attached to the tag.
"Quentin, I can't wear my prosthetic with this," she whispered, dropping it into her lap and trying to look into his eyes.
"You don't need to. You put that on, show it to me and in exactly three seconds you're naked anyway," he promised, kissing the side of her neck in a pleasant way that made her shiver.
"Quentin," she breathed, hand on his cheek.
"Open the box," he urged.
Arielle pulled out the box wrapped in beautiful white and silver paper, already knowing it had to be jewelry. She was beaming by the time the paper was off. It was a smaller, almost cube-like box, and when she opened it her heart stopped.
"Quentin," she gasped at the sight of it, and he chuckled again.
"You like it, babe?"
She just nodded, unable to look away. In the white velvet lining sat a ring that matched her pendant. Not just a ring, though. It would stretch almost from knuckle to knuckle in a web of white gold curlicues, the end of each sporting a glinting aquamarine gemstone. At the designs centre was a bigger oval-shaped aquamarine, cut to catch as much light as it could.
"Quentin, honey." She had nothing better to say than that. He took the box, pulled the ring free and then slid it onto her first finger of her right hand. It fit perfect, and she finally looked up at him. "It's so pretty."
He shrugged. "It's not bad," he admitted. "Prettier on you, though."
She shook her head. "Oh, Quentin."
He kissed her then, soft and sweetly, the best kind of kiss he had. When they parted mouths he rested his forehead on hers. "I was hoping to see you in both parts of my present," he told her with that wicked grin he had. "But you had to go and scramble your brains."
She laughed, realizing she was close to crying. "Do you mean to tell me I'm not going to get lucky on my birthday?"
"You should take it easy."
She bit her lip and
ran her hand around the back of his neck. "It's my birthday Quentin. I don't intend on doing all the work."
Quentin was staring at the door that belonged to Arielle's oncologist. She was inside, getting results from the latest series of tests to see how her body was coping. His knee was bouncing, and when he managed to get it stopped the other one would start up within seconds. A damn nervous wreck, worse than Arielle had been. She kept squeezing his knee and telling him it was going to be okay.
He couldn't relax until she came out, looked him in the eye and told him she was okay. It may as well have been his own results he was waiting on. He felt that tied to her now.
This was true helplessness. Arielle had been quiet all morning, but insisted they should take his bike to the hospital. He liked that she enjoyed riding but now he was cautious with her behind him, even more than he normally would have been.
This shit just reminded him how fragile she was, no matter how tough his little sweetheart appeared to be.
The knob turned and Arielle stepped into the hospital corridor, head down. He shot to his feet immediately, taking her by both shoulders. "Babe?" he mumbled.
She looked up at him and her eyes were rimmed in red, wet, and her face crumpled as she started crying. His heart was dashed to about a thousand pieces, the ache between his lungs immediate.
"Arielle, it's okay. I'm here for you," he rambled, pulling her into a hug.
After a moment he realized she was laughing. He pulled back to look into her face, now directed up at him. "Quentin," she said on a sniffle. "I'm okay. The doctor said everything's perfect. My blood work looks good and healthy. It'll still be a while before they declare me cancer-free but—"
He cut her off with a kiss, the relief almost as satisfying as sex. She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him back, returning the kiss with a flick of that tongue.
"Babe," he growled. "Don't fucking scare me like that."
She smiled. "I'm sorry, I was just so relieved. I broke down in there and then I thought I was okay, saw you and I just lost it again." He closed his eyes and hugged her tighter. “I also wanted to let you know I’ve decided to use that money you got from Clark Davidson to get my implant fitted… I can’t thank you enough, Quentin.”
