Twenty
Bare-knuckle boxing, Sam decided, had to count as “kind of crazy.” Though maybe not in this crowd.
It had started out friendly enough, RJ and Dublin giving each other shit until they’d finally decided to duke it out and see if the “old man” was really too “decrepit” to hold his own against “the younger crowd.” They’d traded jabs that were more like jokes, laughing, a crowd slowly building up around them in the parking lot.
But the atmosphere was intoxicating out here. The heady scents of cooked meat and scorched pumpkin, the acrid tang of wood smoke. The beer flowed and the lights danced primitively, exhaled breath pluming, stars twirling overhead. A wild, feral sort of night, chased with cold, colored with whatever heathen victory they’d brought in off the road. Sam could taste the violence at the back of her throat, and she leaned sideways against Aidan as they sat on the picnic table, fingers lacing tight with his, his laughter vibrating through her palm.
Several matches had been fought already, and now, she knew, came the one they’d all been waiting for. The showstopper.
Mercy versus his brother, Colin.
Something shifted the moment the two of them stepped forward. A cheer went up; sharp whispers ran around their spectator circle. And there was something in the eyes of both men that sent a shiver up Sam’s back.
“This isn’t a friendly sparring match,” she said to Aidan.
“Nah,” was all he said.
Mercy shrugged out of his cut and hoodie and turned to hand them to Ava, leaning in to kiss her, fast, hard, bringing up color in her cheeks as she hugged his clothes to her chest. In the midst of cheers and catcalls from his brothers, he peeled off his wifebeater and entrusted that to Ava, too.
Sam had never seen him naked from the waist up, and it was a little bit of a shock. He was a beast. It was one thing to see his height and breadth of shoulder and assume what was under his clothes, quite another to see it in the firelight. He wasn’t chiseled from gym time like Aidan and Tango, but lean and sculpted with naturally cultivated muscle, broader and sturdier than she’d guessed.
He had tattoos: his black dog, something geometric and foreign to her, the portrait of Ava’s teenage face on his right bicep. And something irregular just over his heart.
Hair pulled back tight in a bun, he turned from his old lady with wicked intent in his dark eyes, drawing a bead on the brother he couldn’t bring himself to love.
“Impressed?” Aidan asked, voice wry.
“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. He doesn’t appeal to me that way.” It was more a fascination, like studying a predator up close in the field.
“Hmph,” Aidan said, and sounded satisfied.
Colin had stripped down too, also muscular, also impressive.
They approached one another, circled, massive hands curled into fists.
Sam knew who would win before the first punch was thrown.
Colin was big.
Mercy was bigger.
But it wasn’t just that. It was the unchecked emotion in Mercy, something animal that simmered beneath his skin. Intangible. Deadly.
“Whoop his ass, Swamp Thing!” Candyman shouted through cupped hands, laughing.
“Hey!” Colin shouted back, scowling. Candy was his VP; no doubt he expected some semblance of chapter loyalty.
Mercy let Colin make the first move. A quick lunge, a jab, a dodge.
Mercy waited, smile dark, patient in a creepy way.
And then he moved, and Sam wanted to close her eyes, the assault was so brutal and so absent of brotherly affection.
Finally, Walsh stepped in with one of his sharp whistles. “Alright, boys, alright. We don’t want anyone leaving this party in a box.”
Mercy went back to Ava, and she caught his sweaty face in her hands, pulled him down and kissed his forehead, face shining with a love that defied all logic. Colin collapsed onto a bench and Jinx attended to the big split in his eyebrow.
Mercy was the clear victor, and not just in a fight sense.
Maybe it’ll be over now, Sam thought.
But then someone said, “Boss let’s see you get in there.”
“Yeah,” someone else said, “I wanna see the legend at work.”
The legend being…?
Ghost. They were talking about Ghost.
Aidan tensed beside her.
The president shrugged off his cut and, in his t-shirt, stepped to the center of the makeshift circle. He aimed a finger at Aidan. “Come down here, son, and let’s see if you remember what you’ve been taught.”
“No,” Sam whispered. But it was too late.
~*~
Aidan ground his teeth together as he came to stand in front of his dad. Ghost grinned at him, a fast, dark smile without a trace of humor.
“You rusty?”
“You old?” Aidan shot back.
Ghost’s smile deepened.
This had nothing to do with practice or friendly competition. This was the father still pissed at the son’s lack of responsibility and wanting to disgrace him, publicly, as a lesson in dominance. It was something Aidan didn’t want to fall for. But he’d had two shots of Jack and his blood was roaring. He’d helped to raid a house tonight, and he knew a captive was strapped to a chair in the bike shop, awaiting Mercy’s interrogation.
He knew his life was shit, and he was sick of it.
He ripped off cut and shirt, and turned, tossed them to Sam. Her beautiful face was tense with worry, but she caught his clothes and balled them up against her stomach. Be careful, she mouthed.
Right.
He turned back to Ghost. That’s who he was now – Ghost, and not Dad. Aidan brought his arms up, fists loosely curled, ready as he’d ever be. Ghost had taught him to box, but Ghost was –
The president lunged, faster and tighter than expected, getting right in Aidan’s space with total control.
–an army boxing champ.
Aidan deflected a jab, danced, evaded. Ghost kept coming, never letting him collect himself, pressing him relentlessly back until he was spinning to keep inside the manmade ring.
Ghost dropped his shoulder, an opening. Aidan snapped out a hard right. No, not an opening. A trap.
Ghost grabbed his arm and wrapped his own around it, pulled him in close, his whiskey breath hot across Aidan’s face.
“Does your girlfriend know you have a kid on the way?”
It was a vicious whisper, designed to incite him.
It did the trick.
Gritting his teeth against the pain in his bad shoulder, Aidan wrenched free and caught one lucky blow to his old man’s jaw.
A collective “oooh” went through the crowd.
Ghost’s head snapped back, expression comic with shock for one perfect moment, the firelight flashing in his eyes. In that moment, he looked old, lined, and exhausted.
Aidan charged…and the punch caught him full in the face.
He went down like an empty sack, not even able to brace his fall before he hit the concrete. He saw stars, little birds, all those old cartoon clichés. And then his eyes cleared and Ghost stood above him, framed in Christmas lights, face unreadable. He offered a hand down, to help him up.
Aidan rolled onto his stomach and forced himself up on his hands and knees, reeling.
“I ought to slap the shit out of you,” he heard Maggie say, and heard her boot heels clip toward him. She was talking to Ghost, he knew. Then, to him: “Baby, are you okay?”
He couldn’t talk just yet, still wrestling with the sense that his face had caved in.
“He’s alright,” Ghost said, voice gruff with irritation.
And then Sam was there, her hands against his shoulders. “Aidan.”
He managed to get to his feet, and he went with her, not a backward glance for his father and president.
~*~
Sam found a clean washcloth in the en suite bathroom of Aidan’s favorite dorm and wet it with cold water under the tap. “I take it your dad has boxing experience,” she said dryly, walking back into the room.
Aidan sat on the end of the bed, forearms braced on his thighs, staring at the orange carpet. He lifted his head as she settled on her knees in front of him. “He boxed in the army,” he explained. “He never got to see active battle – a shame, he would have liked shooting people – so he got stir crazy on base. Took up boxing.”
“He’s got the personality for it.” With great care, she reached up to press the cool cloth to his face. His eye was swollen and probably going to black; bruises were coming up faintly along his cheekbone. “It’s a miracle he didn’t break your orbital,” she said, and felt her lips press together in anger.
Aidan flinched beneath her touch, but didn’t pull back.
“Hold that there,” she said gently. “I’ll go wet another one.”
As she stood, he said, “You don’t like my dad.” Not a question.
“No, I can’t say I do.” It felt good to say it aloud. “He’s more of a warden than a father.”
He grinned, but it was faint. “That’s dear old Dad for ya.”
“Why is he like that?”
“He’s just a hardass.” Aidan shrugged. “He’s old school. He thinks he’s perfect. I dunno.” Another shrug, and a deep sadness, pressing little lines around his mouth. His fingers tightened where they clamped the cloth to his face. “He’s good at a lot of things, but being a dad isn’t one of them.”
“That’s his mistake, then. And a big one at that.”
Aidan didn’t respond, so she fetched another cold cloth and came back, kneeling down in front of him once more.
“Is he trying to groom you for president?” she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.
“No idea.”
“Is that what you want? To lead?”
“Honestly…” His eyes tracked over her face. “Not anymore, no. I used to. I thought for a long time that I needed to be president. Follow in his footsteps, you know?” he said, wistfully.
She nodded.
“But I’m not like him, I don’t guess. And he’s a good president, which would make me a bad one, if I ever tried.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t care about it like I used to. Who the hell wants to be in charge of things? I’ve got a job, I’ve got a place to crash, I’ve got the club…” His eyes bored into hers.
She gave him a soft smile. “You have me.”
“And that’s the best thing of all.”
Her chest squeezed. “Aidan, why didn’t you ever let anybody see how sweet you are when we were kids?”
“You don’t know? Sweet’s the kiss of death in high school. Sweet’ll get you killed, baby.”
She laughed. “I survived somehow.”
“Yeah, but you’re a girl. Girl’s are supposed to be sweet.”
“Okay, clearly, you don’t know anything about girls.”
He gave her one of his cocky, ladykiller grins, and she was glad to see it after his bout of sad introspection. “I know some things. The things that count.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Sam set the damp cloth up on the bed with deliberate slowness, settling on both knees between his open legs. “You know what?” She reached for his belt buckle. “I know a few things too.”
His laugh was low and expectant as he leaned back on both hands to give her better access, injured face forgotten. “Teacher gonna give me a lesson?”
Her fingers shook a little with anticipation and uncertainty as she worked open his fly, but one glance at his hungry face soothed all her nerves. No, she wasn’t a pro at this, but she didn’t think that was going to make a bit of difference. All that counted in the moment was how much they both wanted it.
“Yeah,” she said, not recognizing her own voice. “Sit up and take notes like a good boy.”
~*~
He needed to fuck, and there was no delicate way to phrase it. Fighting like that worked in his veins like a drug, and tweaked his nerves until he was no longer his own master, but just a monster running on impulse. He needed his old lady on her stomach, hands twisted up in the sheets, and he needed her now.
But now wasn’t an option, so he was going to have to settle for a cig and a little torture instead.
Mercy finished tying off his black butcher apron and lit the fresh Marlboro dangling off his lip. The first drag helped. A little.
He stood in the bike shop office, the garage bay beyond already prepped with plastic by Harry and Littlejohn, his toolkit set out and waiting for him. Their captive was duct taped securely to a chair, also covered in plastic.
Beside him, Fox stood with Walsh’s usual clipboard, having offered to cover for his brother. “Spend time with your old lady, mate,” he’d said, clapping Walsh on the back. “I haven’t gotten to watch the beast work in a long time.”
Then there was Colin, looking beat-up and sullen.
“Cheer up, bro,” Mercy told him, grinning, “you’re about to have an induction.”
“The club for people who kiss your ass?”
“Hey, Fox kisses no one’s ass.”
“True,” the Englishman said.
“Your induction into man-work, junior. Why the hell do you think Candy wanted you in Amarillo? To get stuff off the tall shelves?”
Colin’s frown deepened, and something flickered in his eyes, a fast snatch of something Mercy might have missed had he not been paying attention.
“What?” he asked.
Fox said, “Our Col here has designs on Jenny.”
Mercy didn’t know whether he ought to laugh or punch the guy again. “Jenny Snow?” he asked with a disbelieving fake smile. “Really?”
“I think she might have designs on him, too,” Fox continued.
“Well damn. I’ll be.”
Colin shifted uncomfortably.
“Grab your apron,” Mercy said, pointing toward the clear plastic number he’d laid out. “And step into my laboratory.”
~*~
“Howdy, Miss Jasmine.”
Jazz knew that voice, with its heavy Texas accent. She knew it, and had found such pleasure in it – in the man that came with it, big and blonde and insatiable. But now, it crawled up the back of her neck like a chill, and left her shivering inside.
She never would have expected this of herself, but it was happening, ever since that night that Aidan had tried to strangle her. He’d apologized, sure, and she’d moved on…but she could find no appeal in her normal sexual exploits. She went cold and frightened just at the thought.
She pinned a frozen smile to her face and turned to face the Texas VP. “Mr. Candyman,” she returned. “How’ve you been?” Ordinarily, she would have passed her hands up his rock hard chest as she delivered her line. But now she kept her arms stiff at her sides.
His grin was truly dazzling, as was the way he braced a tan forearm on the doorframe above her head and leaned in, pinning her against the kitchen jamb. “A whole lot better now that I’ve laid eyes on you, darlin’. What’re you supposed to be anyway?” His eyes traveled down her body, and his finger touched the little hollow in her throat, trailed downward.
“A nurse,” she said, and couldn’t believe the way her heart was hammering. What big hands he had. Hands bigger than Aidan’s; hands that could choke –
“A naughty nurse,” he said with a deep chuckle, fingertip flirting with the plunging white neckline of her costume. Before she could say anything, he slipped his whole big hand into her uniform and palmed her naked breast.
She gasped, and he misread it.
“Did you miss me?” he whispered, breath stirring her hair as he got even closer. His fingers tightened, digging into her flesh. “I’ve been dreaming about these, sweetheart. You gonna let me see in a minute?”
She dampened her lips. “I…”
“Hey,” a voice said just behind Candy.
She knew that voice too: Carter.
Candyman pulled back a fraction, but his hand stayed in her top as he turned his head slowly, with put-on boredom, toward the younger member.
Jazz bit her lip in surprise when she caught sight of Carter’s face. He looked absolutely murderous. While that wasn’t much of a threat to someone as big as Candy, it was still impressive in its own right, his level of aggression.
“Can I help you with something?” Candy asked.
Carter kicked his chin up, bold and stupid and wonderfully brave, Jazz thought. “Don’t mess with Jasmine tonight.”
Candy laughed. “Did nobody ever teach you how to wait your turn? News flash, kid, you’re on the bottom of the totem pole when it comes to pussy privilege.”
“This isn’t about your goddamn totem pole,” Carter said. “Jazz isn’t interested in being pawed at, and you’re gonna respect her and back the fuck off.”
Candy stared in open disbelief, then glanced over at Jazz…then he noticed her expression, and the way she couldn’t stop trembling.
She felt tears sting her eyes. “Please…” she whispered, and wasn’t sure what she meant. She was a jumble of nerves and anxieties, and she hated it.
“Get your hand off her,” Carter hissed.
Candy withdrew his hand, but didn’t move. The look he sent to Carter was a clear warning, one anyone else would have backed down from.
Be careful, baby, Jasmine wanted to tell him. He’ll hurt you bad. But she couldn’t speak, could only watch.
“Are you trying to make her your woman?” Candy asked, an edge creeping into his voice.
“No. I’m looking out for her, and all you have to do is look at her and know she’s upset.”
Candy looked back at her, indecision edging in on his anger. “I’ll back off,” he said, “only if she wants me to. I ain’t ever gonna force anyone. Is that what you want, babe? Do you want me to back off?”
Did she want it? Even when she was tired, or a little bit sick, or just not in the mood, she never refused a brother. She knew her place; she understood that the use of this clubhouse and the safety it provided was dependent upon her cooperation.
But she nodded. Yes, she wanted him to back off. She couldn’t stand the idea.
Candy looked as shocked as she felt. But, true to his word, be withdrew from her with one last searching look. You sure? it said. And she knew that if she let him go now, he’d never show favor toward her again.
But again, she nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but Candy was already moving away.
Tears filled her eyes, blurred her vision.
Carter took Candy’s place, leaning over her, face harsh with concern.
“I don’t understand why this is happening,” she said, brokenly. Was this it? Had her lifestyle finally caught up to her and she was cracking? “I never….”
“Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her along after him. Through the shifting crowd of bodies in the common room, the pulsing music, the smell of sweaty bodies and spilled liquor. Out the front door, where wood smoke filled her lungs and the night wrapped around her with cold relief. Carter skirted the outdoor crowd and led her around the side of the building, to the shadowy side of the clubhouse, where the club trucks, vans, and ratty old cars were parked. The security lights were cut off by the roofline, and only a dim glow enabled them to see, everything soft-edged and gentle. The party noise was a dim murmur.
Jasmine took her first deep breath of the night, a ragged sound catching in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, pressing her cold hands to her face. “I don’t know why I’m being like this.”
“Jazz.” Carter touched her carefully on the shoulder. “Hey, take a deep breath, it’s alright.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t, it really wasn’t.
“You were traumatized, and that takes time to get over.”
She didn’t want to cry, and squeezed her eyes shut tight. “You’re sweet, bless your heart, but you don’t get it.” How could a pretty blonde baby boy have any idea what would happen to her if she was no longer welcome within the club?
She heard him exhale, a tired sound. “Yeah, actually, I think I do.”
Her eyes sprang open in surprise when she felt his arms go around her. She stiffened…and then relaxed against his solid chest as he stroked her back. His heartbeat thudded beneath her ear. He was hugging her. Actually hugging her. No man in her entire life had ever hugged her. And here was this sweet thing, young enough to be her son, and he was holding her in his arms and telling her it would be alright.
It was the sweetest thing she’d ever experienced.
Slowly, the shivering eased. Then her breathing evened out. The cold numbness was replaced with a spreading warmth, one that began to take shape in her mind, coalescing physically in secret places.
It was easy to forget, in the aftermath of her trauma, that before Aidan entered the scene, things had been going very right that evening in the dorm. She hadn’t put much thought toward Carter Michaels before that, but she should have, because he had been magnificent. He had–
Time to stop thinking so much.
Jazz braced her hands on his chest and pulled back, tilted her head back so she could see his face. It was a beautiful face, a little sharper and more masculine than Tango’s; it belonged on a fancy cologne add, the scented kind that slid out of glossy magazine pages.
His clear blue eyes searched her face, still concerned, but a little curious too.
Because she wanted to, and she’d always been bad at resisting impulses, Jazz reached up to trace one fingertip down the ridge of his nose. His mouth twitched like it tickled. She moved down, edged his lips with her red fingernail, teased at the pale stubble on his chin.
He grinned and he had dimples. “I’m not like Candyman, but I’m not made out of stone either, baby.”
He liked it, then, her touch. It was stirring things in him.
Good. Things were stirring in her too.
She let her hand fall, played with the zippered edge of his cut. “When we…” she started, and watched his eyes flare. She smiled. “You liked it?”
“I loved it.” His hand tightened at the small of her back, pulled her hips in close so she could feel that he was loving the idea of it happening again.
“I’m old enough to be your mother,” she said quietly.
“Does it look like I care? You’re gorgeous.”
Jazz stretched up and kissed him.
It went wild fast, and suddenly it wasn’t a kiss, but a tussle, their hands grasping desperately at one another. Carter picked her up and set her on the hood of the old Cadillac behind them, bundled up her short white skirt and found her bare, hot and wet beneath. She loved the little growl in his throat when he touched her, the hard grasp of his hands on her thighs as he spread them. She worked his jeans open in a few deft moves and then he was inside her, filling her up and making her neck weak. They both made sounds, gasping breaths against one another’s lips as he slid home.
Jazz wrapped her legs around his waist and lay back, opening herself up to his deep thrusts. God, she couldn’t remember sex ever feeling so necessary. She thought she’d die if he stopped.
She tore at the buttons of her uniform and spread the halves, bared her breasts to him. “Touch me,” she pleaded, and he did. And she watched the stars as he fucked her.
~*~
Tango watched Carter lead Jazz from inside the clubhouse, and he didn’t mean to follow, but somehow he set his beer down and did just that. He found a dark spot behind one of the trucks and watched, unseen, as Jazz shook with fright and Carter comforted her, hugged her. Had he ever done that himself? Touched her in that innocent way? He didn’t remember. There were so many ways in which he’d failed her.
He watched the hug go on and on. Watched Jazz finally pull back, watched the smiles; private smiles, traded between two people who didn’t know they had an audience. Watched them kiss. Watched them move to the hood of the car.
He braced a hand against the tailgate in front of him, suddenly lightheaded. And he watched, raw and confused, as Carter took Jazz right there under the black, star-studded sky.
He’d lost her, he knew, and his heart ached to see the evidence before him.
But his cock knew nothing of emotion, and it wanted only to be stroked, as Jazz opened her buttons and the moonlight silvered her breasts. He wanted sex. Damn it, he always wanted sex.
He felt the fast rush of breath against his ear a fraction of a second before a crisp English voice said, “How wanton you people are.”
Panic flared and died in an instant, as Tango registered the lean body pressed up behind him, recognized the presence, the faint scent of cologne, the voice, above all. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of Ian dressed all in black, hair tucked beneath a black beanie, his long pale hand resting on the tailgate alongside his own.
“What are you doing here?” He didn’t have the energy to be angry.
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t want to come to a Halloween party, did you?” Ian asked with a whispered, breathy laugh. “My feelings are still quite hurt, you know, because you refused to invite me.”
“How did you get on the property?”
“Do you think a fence is going to stop me?”
Tango sighed. “You have to leave.”
“And miss the show?”
Tango’s eyes went back to the action. Jazz was murmuring, moaning, hips straining against Carter’s.
“As I was saying,” Ian said, “you bikers aren’t at all particular about where, when, how, or with whom you get it. Interesting choice for you, I’d say.” He feigned pensive. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d prefer exhibitionism after–”
“Shut up.”
“That’s the girl you favor, isn’t it?” Ian asked. “Lovely breasts, though obviously not real.”
“Ian, I swear to God–”
“Have you given her up?” A note of seriousness this time, all joking aside. A quiet, graceful desperation. “Are you ready to leave here and come away with me?”
Ian, so arrogant and brilliant…and so utterly stupid. Tango didn’t stay because of Jazz. This was his brotherhood, his home – this was the thing that had not only made him a man, but enabled him to be one, when the rest of his life would have turned him to a sexless object.
He wanted to say all of this aloud, but the words echoed only in his head, as Ian’s hand landed on his stomach. A familiar, deft hand, ducking beneath his shirt, slipping into the gapped waistband of his jeans, traveling down and finding the true heart of him.
“You don’t eat enough, darling,” Ian whispered, which was stupid given his own thinness. “I’m worried about you.”
Tango wanted to protest, but the hand on his cock prevented any rational thought.
“Watch them,” Ian urged. “Watch them, if that’s what you need.”
So he did, and he thought he and Jasmine came at the same time, at the hands of lovers more skilled than either of them.
~*~
Candy was leaning against one of the support pillars beneath the pavilion when Mercy returned to the clubhouse. Mercy joined him, bracing the other side of the steel column and digging out a fresh cigarette.
“Get anything useful?” Candy asked.
“Yeah, plenty.” He frowned. “Didn’t get to even touch him, though. Apparently, I’ve got a reputation. And he was a total pussy stoolpigeon.”
Candy chuckled. “I think just about anybody would turn into a pussy stoolpigeon if he knew your reputation.”
“Maybe. I guess it’s a good thing,” Mercy said, then grinned. “Man, I’m a legend.”
They both laughed over that.
Then Candy sobered. “How’d Colin do?”
“Nervous a little, I think. But he was all ready to hold the guy’s hand down if I’d needed to take a finger.”
A quick grimace. “If anybody’d be able to stand what you do, it’d have to be your brother.”
Half-brother, Mercy thought, but didn’t voice it. He was getting tired of making the distinction. “Fox says he’s got an eye for your sis.”
Candy snorted. “Oh yeah. Big time.”
“And we’re happy about this?”
“We are. If a Lécuyer attaches himself to a woman you care about, you don’t fight it,” he said with feeling, glancing over. “He’s been a help to her. I’m tempted to patch him in just for that.”
“He’s a dog, you know.”
“Maybe he was. He’s not now. If we start holding grudges for past behavior, we’ll have an in-house shootout.” Candy softened the words with a quick grin, but the meaning was clear: Men could gain focus, and clearly, Colin had done just that.
“I just don’t trust him,” Mercy admitted.
“That’s because you’re related to him.”
Ghost arrived, cutting off further brother contemplation. “How’d it go?”
Mercy gave him the quick rundown.
“Good. We’ll cut him loose in the morning and send him back to his boss with a message.” He clapped Mercy on the shoulder affectionately. “Good job.”
“Does that mean I can clock out for the night?” Mercy asked.
Ghost rolled his eyes, making a face that indicated he knew exactly what he had on his mind. “Yeah. You’re done.”
“Sweet.” Mercy shoved away from the post with a quick palm-to-palm bro handshake for Candy.
“Don’t break my daughter,” Ghost warned.
“Never do.”
Inside, the party was beginning to wind down a little, brothers ensconced in corners with girls and drinks, the raucous early energy dimming. He spotted Emmie perched sideways on Walsh’s lap, both of them talking to Shane. Maggie was keeping Nell company at the bar. But a quick scan proved Ava wasn’t around.
She knew, his sharp fillette.
He went to the bar, snagged a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red, and headed down the hall to his favorite dorm.
The lights were on low, and he took a moment, after the door was shut, to lean back against it and drink the scene in with his eyes.
Ava was wearing lingerie he’d never seen before, black and lacey. She sat leaned back against the headboard, one knee pulled up, the other long leg extended at an alluring angle. She was reading a book, a tattered paperback, chewing unconsciously at her lower lip. She was two dueling portraits, one of sex, the other of total innocence. She’d waited up for him…and she’d gotten bored waiting and decided to read.
He chuckled and that caught her attention. Her eyes widened and she snapped the book shut, tossed it onto the nightstand. “Hi.” Her smile fell short of suggestive…was brilliant and sweet instead.
He wanted to tackle her. Instead, he said, “Where are the boys?”
“Sleeping next door, I just checked on them. Out like little lights.” Her eyes tracked up and down his body, glittering with want.
He loved the burn of waiting, the way holding back turned his blood to molten metal. He unscrewed the cap on the Johnnie Walker, took a generous sip and prowled slowly toward the bed. “Is that a new getup?”
She nodded and moved up onto her knees. “Do you like it?”
“Uh-huh.”
She came closer, until she was at the end of the bed, right in front of him. Close enough for him to see the hard points of her nipples through the lace.
Mercy offered her the bottle and she took a small swallow before bending down to set it on the floor. When she straightened, she said, “You know it’s killing you to just stand there.”
“I like a little delayed gratification now and then.”
“Hmm. Okay.” She reached behind her for the clasp of her bra…
And laughed when he pounced on her.
~*~
Even if he hated her mother, and hadn’t put much effort into supporting the life she’d led before him, Ghost always held a secret kind of pride that he’d married a classy girl. Even at sixteen, Maggie had been laced with manners and Southern grace. He’d known right away that his mother would have loved her.
That classy girl had grown into a classy woman, and she liked wine; champagne with raspberries. But when she was pissed off, or feeling like a biker’s wife, she hit the Jack.
Ghost approached his old lady’s stool at the bar, watched the pretty line of her throat ripple as she swallowed down the last amber drops in her tumbler. He braced a hand on the bar top and leaned in close to her. “Can I buy you another, beautiful?” he asked, a little surprised by the playful note in his voice. He hadn’t been much of a romantic in…ever.
She set her glass down slowly, and turned to him, hazel eyes bright with repressed anger. “I don’t know. My husband might not like that. He’s kind of an asshole.”
Oh hell. He sighed. “Baby, that was just goofing off.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice stayed level and calm, but her eyes flashed. “No. You instigated and then won a fistfight with your son with an intent to humiliate him. You don’t know how to goof off, Kenny. And this feud you’re maintaining with Aidan is selfish and stupid.”
“Selfish? I’m being selfish?”
“Completely.” She pushed her glass away, slid off her stool, and marched down the back hallway, boot heels clicking.
Ghost followed.
An impulse flashed through his mind and was rejected at once: catch up to her, grab her by the arm, swing her around. He’d never treated her that way, and wasn’t going to start. Even if he was an asshole, some things were just sacred, and his wife’s aura of respect was one of them.
She went into the dorm reserved for them and he half expected her to slam the door in his face. Instead, she walked to the middle of the room and came to a halt with her hands on her hips, back to him as he shut and locked the door behind them.
Then she turned. “I don’t understand, Ken. Help me to understand. Because right now, all I want to do is throw a pillow at you and tell you to sleep in the parking lot.”
He folded his arms. “There’s nothing to explain. It’s like I’ve said a hundred times. He needs to grow up, and I’m running out of ideas on how to make that happen.”
Maggie dropped her head into her hands and sighed. “Kenneth.”
“What?” he snapped.
Her head lifted. “Were you grown up? When I met you,” she pressed, “were you perfectly mature and grown up?”
“It’s not the–”
“It’s exactly the same thing!” she said. “You were lost. Aidan is lost. But Sam is good for him. Sam is smart, and thoughtful, and classy, and–”
“But he’s–”
“No different from you,” Maggie said, tears shining in her eyes. “He’s going to have a hell of a time convincing her that he’s serious, but he needs to convince her.” Her face softened. “He needs a mother for his child, and a keeper of his heart.”
“Well I don’t know anything about this chick–”
“Well I do,” Maggie said.
“Are you going to keep interrupting me?”
“Yeah, I am. Sam,” she pressed on, “is a nice girl. She’s not some groupie, or a harpy, or a spoiled brat. She’s in grad school with Ava; she’s a writer too, and she loves books, and wears glasses most of the time. She’s good for Aidan,” she repeated.
Good for Aidan. How many times had he hoped someone like that would come along? Someone who could tame that restless, useless energy in him, keep him happy at home so he could finally get his head out of his ass.
“I never lied to you, though,” he reminded. “I told you straight away that I had a kid.”
“It would’ve been a little hard to hide an eight-year-old.”
“Mags,” he snapped.
“Kenny,” she returned, voice gentling. She stepped up to him, hands landing on his chest. Damn it, he couldn’t deny her a thing when she did that, and she had to know it. “Don’t take this as an insult, baby, but you were real screwed up when we met.”
He felt a grin threaten. “Not an insult, huh?”
Her smile was sweet. “Nope.”
“I wasn’t the jailbait trolling for bikers outside the liquor store.”
“You really wanna compare sins side-by-side?” Her brows lifted.
“Nah.”
She smoothed her hands across his pecs, little mindless circles. “My point is,” she said, “that sometimes a man grows up all on his own. Like Mercy. But sometimes, he needs a reason to grow up. Aidan’s got a couple of reasons now, he’s just having a little trouble with the transition.”
She slapped her palms lightly on his shoulders. “And you shouldn’t set out to beat up your little boy. I don’t like it.”
“He’s not a little boy.”
“He will always be your little boy.” She kissed him, her lips as soft and coaxing as ever, but Ghost knew she hadn’t forgiven him yet. Maggie didn’t hold grudges, but she didn’t pretend things were fine, either.
~*~
Just before dawn, the hostage in the bike shop was cut loose and a cab was called for him. He left Dartmoor completely intact, carrying a message for his boss:
Last night had been a lesson for Don Ellison. Next time, bodies would hit the ground.