Four
“Fisher’s coke,” Ghost said, setting the blue-spotted baggie on the clubhouse bar. His expression was grim. “This was all you found?”
“Yeah,” Tango said.
“I’m gonna try to track down that Jesse kid Erin mentioned, give him a little shake and see what falls out,” Aidan said with a smirk.
Ghost nodded. “Don’t put a mark on him. And don’t talk to him in front of a security camera anywhere.”
“Yeah.” Standard procedure; one of the few things he could manage not to fuckup.
“Talk to Ratchet, too. Get him to put his ear to the ground, see if he hears anything. If anybody knows we’re short a dealer, it’ll make sense they try to step in and take his place.”
“The guy selling his stuff,” Tango said, biting at his lip, “has gotta be the guy who killed him.”
“I’d put money on it,” Ghost said. He pushed away from the bar. “Keep me posted, boys. I’ve gotta go tell that jackoff who’s bugging Holly to rent a truck already and get the hell out, before Michael turns him into Ares’s dinner.”
Hearing his name, the German shepherd stood up from his bed and stretched.
“Come on, boy,” Ghost called to the dog, and the two of them left the clubhouse, Ares’s nails clicking over the floorboards.
“Sam’s really alright with you….” Tango made an elaborate hand gesture, which Aidan took to mean roughing her sister’s boyfriend up.
“Actually, yeah. I think she is. That’s what she said this morning, anyway.” He was having another mug of tea with honey and peppermint, because as always, Walsh was right about everything, and the stuff was helping disperse the last of his hangover. “Morning. Christ. Is it even noon yet?”
“Nope.”
“Awesome start to the day we’ve had.”
Except he’d gotten to see Sam, and that had been a small bright spot in an otherwise dark stretch of time.
“What are you gonna do now?” Tango asked, and Aidan knew he wasn’t talking about Jesse Whatshisface and Fisher’s coke.
He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Right now, I’m gonna go find Jazz and apologize. Then I’m gonna…who the hell knows.”
Tango nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
Jasmine’s Toyota piece of crap was in the parking lot, so she was around somewhere. But she wasn’t in the clubhouse, and Maggie said she hadn’t sent her off on any kind of errand. They were walking past the bike shop, and Aidan was thinking he needed to clock in, when he heard her voice floating out of the garage bays.
She laughed and said, “No way.”
The voice that answered her belonged to Carter.
Aidan halted and glanced over his shoulder at Tango. The guy had stilled, tension locking him in place, eyes swiveling toward the shadowed garage. Emotions warred across his face: regret, anger, jealously, sadness.
“Bro,” Aidan said softly. “If you don’t want him messing with her, then kick his ass. Mark your territory.”
Tango stared trance-like at the shop. “I just want her to be happy,” he murmured.
“For Christ’s sakes…”
Mercy stepped out into the sunlight, blue bandana securing his long hair. He tipped his head back, took a long pull off a water bottle, and walked toward them wiping his mouth with one massive forearm.
“Tiny Dancer,” he said to Tango, gaze serious. “The QB’s moving in on your girl in there.”
Tango shook his head. “Jasmine doesn’t belong to me. She can do what she wants.”
Mercy glanced over at Aidan. “Did he get left out in the sun too long?”
“Shit knows.” Aidan tugged his cut into place, took a deep breath. “Alright, going in,” he said under his breath.
“What?” Mercy asked.
“Nothing.”
The familiar smells of grease and oil welcomed him into the cool, shadowy interior of the shop. This was home for him, these benches and bike lifts and tool chests. This was where he excelled – the only place where his skill was never questioned. His own life was ripping loose at the seams, but he could put a bike together, damn it.
Jasmine sat on one of the ancient wooden benches, watching Carter work on a blocky cruiser, smiling widely. It was starting to be cool, even in the afternoon, and she wore a clingy long-sleeve top that flashed lots of her impressive cleavage, a denim skirt, knee-high boots. She was a sexy woman, and he’d always thought so. An obvious, unquestionable sexuality, one that contrasted with that subtle loveliness of Sam’s. Right now, looking at Jazz, she stirred nothing inside him. Absolutely nothing. Whereas he hadn’t wanted to step away from Sam back at Hamilton House.
Focus.
He cleared his throat, and both their heads snapped his direction.
Jasmine sucked in a breath, eyes widening in an automatic fearful reaction.
By contrast, Carter’s face locked down hard, jaw clenching.
“Hey,” Aidan said.
“Hey,” Jasmine echoed, hands knitting together in her lap. A show of nerves. He made her nervous.
Carter stood, curling his hand tight around the wrench he held. “What do you want?”
Aidan frowned, drew himself more upright. “I want you to quit giving me attitude, and go wait outside so I can have a word with Jazz.”
Carter didn’t move. “Like I’m gonna leave you alone with her?”
“Who was your sponsor, Carter?” Aidan asked. “Who brought you into this club? Who got you patched? Was it Jazz? Or was it me?”
A harsh moment, as reality crashed over the boy, and he recalled his debts, his brotherhood. Carter ducked his head and left the bay, swearing under his breath.
“Don’t be mad at him,” Jasmine said softly, when he was gone. “He’s a sweet boy.”
He snorted. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but nobody willing to double team you is a sweet boy.”
“They are,” she insisted. She lifted her chin, and her eyes were full of an unusual fear. “I used to think you were too.”
He sighed and propped a hip against the bike lift. “You hate me now?”
She shook her head, glanced away. “No. But I…” Another headshake. “That hasn’t…not since…” Her voice got even softer, just a whisper. “Mercy once, a long time ago, put his hands…” She reached for her throat. “It was my fault. I brought – I brought your sister up, and I didn’t think…she was in high school…but he…” She offered a wobbly smile. “That’s the only time I’ve ever been afraid when I was with a man. Until last night.”
“Jazz.” He scrubbed at his bristly jaw. “I’m sorry, doll. Honest to God. I never meant to get rough like that. I was drunk, and I’d just gotten some bad news. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
She stood and closed the distance between them. Her hands shook a little, but settled on his chest. Her eyes were sad, thoughtful, as she leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. “No more than what I deserve,” she whispered as she pulled back, and walked out of the garage.
Unhappy and numb, Aidan followed a moment later. Jazz was gone, but his three brothers remained.
“So what is this?” Mercy asked. “A meeting of the I-fucked-Jasmine club?”
“Proud of your membership?” Aidan asked with a snort.
“Nah.” Mercy shuddered dramatically. “I’m a one-woman kinda man. For whom there ain’t ever gonna be a club,” he said, giving them a mock-stern glare.
Aidan smirked, but the other two remained stone-faced – Carter out of anger, Tango out of some morose inner turmoil.
“Jesus, y’all. What’s with the depression?”
“No idea,” Aidan said. “Hey” – he smacked his brother-in-law on the arm lightly – “you wanna come help me scare some dippy kids?”
Mercy grinned. “When do I ever not wanna do that?”
~*~
Tango stared up at the black lettering on the front of the shop for a long time, as if the fresh paint would give him answers. It might – the Dartmoor property was the most organized, well-kept part of his life. Ghost didn’t tolerate shabbiness: When a sign faded, it was painted; if something broke, someone fixed it. If they wanted to be taken seriously, they had to take themselves seriously, he always said. The only paternal voice in Tango’s entire history.
The others dispersed, their farewells faint to his ears. Normally at this time of day, he’d head to the clubhouse and see if Jazz would make him a sandwich. Or they’d send a hangaround for takeout, and they’d all eat at a picnic table in front of the shop.
Today he felt hollow, and it was an emptiness that didn’t crave food.
What would he do, he wondered, if he learned he’d gotten someone pregnant? Weep? Celebrate to know he wouldn’t be alone any longer?
Something restless shifted inside him. He needed a day off, he decided. He was too tired, stretched too thin, and it had been a year or more since he’d taken any time off.
His feet carried him halfway toward the central office before he registered moving, but it was a good thing, he decided. He’d earned a little breather.
What for? Betraying his brothers and sleeping with the enemy? a small voice in the back of his head asked.
So lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear anyone come up behind him, and jumped when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“Easy,” Ghost said, taking shape beside him, his hand dropping away. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”
“Oh.” Tango took a deep breath, shook his head to clear it. “Sorry, just…” He gestured vaguely. “Thinking.”
“Hmm. Always dangerous.”
“Yeah. Everything alright with Holly?”
Ghost shrugged. “Michael smashed the guy’s face in, but he’ll live. I think I convinced him not to press charges unless he wants some of his own, with a restraining order to keep away from Holly.”
Tango wanted to offer some meaningful comment, but all he said was, “Oh. Okay.”
They settled into step beside one another, and it was silent a beat. Two. Three…
Ghost said, “I had breakfast with your boyfriend this morning.”
It was like he ran into wall. Tango slammed to a halt, shock forcing the air out of his lungs. The shakes hit him hard, jerking through his limbs, clamping his veins tight. “Wh...wha…you…” Alarms blared in his mind, lights flashed.
Ghost pulled up in front of him, hands on his hips, the picture of calmness, one brow lifting in question.
“I don’t…he’s not…”
“It’s okay,” Ghost said, tone low and soothing. “Kev, take a breath. I’m not upset.”
Tango dropped his face in his palms, tried and failed to take the suggested breath, lungs seizing.
“But I am worried,” Ghost continued. “Whoever he is now, he’s not the guy you used to know. He’s dangerous in a whole different way than anyone else we’ve ever dealt with. Be careful.” He squeezed Tango’s shoulder and stepped back, walked away.
When Tango finally got his breathing handled, and lifted his head, his president was halfway back to the clubhouse. He had no idea what had just happened…but he didn’t trust it. Nothing was ever that simple.
~*~
As it turned out, none of the club’s resources were needed to find Jesse the drug buyer, and abandoner of teenage girls. A quick text to Sam yielded his name and address.
“She must be spending too much time at my house,” Mercy said of her, grinning. “She’s turning vigilante.”
“If you’d seen her sister looking all skanky this morning, you’d understand,” Aidan said, checking his phone one last time to verify this was the address.
It was. And the house was…well, it looked a lot like the sort of frat house nightmare where he belonged. Unmown grass, overflowing trash cans at the curb, rotted and warped woodwork along the windows, all of which had the blinds drawn tight. He could already envision the way it would look and smell inside: the darkness, stink of mildew, of stale takeout food in the fridge.
Beside him, Mercy cracked his knuckles.
“I was just gonna knock,” Aidan said.
Mercy sighed. “Spoilsport. Alright. Knock.”
Aidan grinned. “I’m having a shit day already. Having Ava chew my ass out for letting you get arrested isn’t gonna make it any better.”
Mercy grinned back. “It’d be fun to watch, though.”
Aidan made a disagreeing sound. They reached the front stoop, littered with scrappy year-old leaves and dead grass, and pushed the bell, listened to it echo through the house. He rang it a second time before the lock finally clicked and the door opened.
The guy who appeared in the threshold was older than Erin Walton, but not by much. Messy reddish blonde hair, a scruffy pretend beard, bloodshot eyes. He had a puka shell choker around his throat, and a silver cross on a leather string.
Douche. Aidan hated him immediately.
“You Jesse?” he asked.
“Who wants to know?” the guy asked, dashing at his nose with the back of his hand.
“Take that as a yes,” Mercy said, and charged into the house, his size, and the element of surprise pushing Jesse back at a stumbling run, until the kid tripped and landed hard on his ass on the mashed carpet.
Aidan shut the door behind them, approached more slowly, confirmed his theory about the stench of the place.
Mercy stood over their intended prey, one giant booted foot landing on the floor between Jesse’s thighs, one good stomp away from rendering him sterile.
“Hey!” Jesse shouted, “you can’t–” His exclamation turned into a squeal when Mercy started to lift his foot.
“Careful, garçon.” Mercy gave him his most frightening grin. “I don’t think you want to find out what I do for a living.”
Aidan crouched down next to Jesse, feigning casual. This was good for him, he realized. This was his element, and it was a nice reminder of his vitality. When he questioned someone with Tango, it was cool cop/sweet cop. Here, with Mercy – that was Rottweiler and handler.
“Okay, Jesse,” he said. “Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna ask you some questions, and every time you try to jerk me around, this guy here is gonna jerk you around. Clear?”
Jesse looked between them, eyes huge.
“Pay attention,” Aidan told him.
“Who are you guys?”
“Erin Walton’s friends. So maybe next time you think about making her walk back into town, you’ll remember this here.” He gestured between the two of them.
“Whoa.” Jesse lifted a hand. “I didn’t make her do anything. I swear–”
“Nice try, but no.”
“But–”
“I know all about what was going on this morning,” Aidan continued, “up at Hamilton House. What I need from you is the name of the guy you bought the stuff from.”
Jesse looked at Merc, looked back at Aidan.
“We aren’t going to tell him you ratted,” Aidan said, growing impatient. “We don’t give a shit about you. We just want his name.”
“He…he didn’t tell me.”
“What did he look like?”
“Shorter than you. Kinda dark hair. Maybe.” He made a face. “It was quick. I wasn’t checking him out or some shit.”
What a waste of oxygen, this generation.
“How’d you get in contact with him?”
“Text.”
Aidan rolled his eyes. “I meant, what’s his number?”
“Oh…” Jesse hesitated…
And Mercy reached for the knife at his hip.
“Alright, alright!” Hands were thrown up for effect. A phone was withdrawn, a number sought on the screen. “He didn’t ever tell me what to call him,” Jesse said, and recited off a number that Aidan punched into his own phone.
“Sure you don’t remember anything else?” Mercy asked, edging his toes closer to the kid’s crotch.
“I don’t!” Jesse said in a hoarse shout. “I swear.”
Aidan stood. “If you’re lying, we’re gonna come back here and–”
“I’m not!”
“And keep away from Erin.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
After they’d seen themselves out, and were headed down the front sidewalk, Aidan was struck across the shoulders by the considerable weight of Mercy’s arm. A come ‘here, pal was always a bit like a headlock and a tackle, coming from Merc.
“That was real good in there,” the Cajun said, giving him a fraternal squeeze. “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
Aidan rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Dad. You know, you’re only like four years older than me.”
“Four-and-a-half, but who’s counting? But I’m serious. You’re getting better at that sort of thing. Used to, it woulda had to be your old man or Walsh doing the talking. Or me, ‘cause I talk so well.” He puffed his chest out proudly.
“Wow,” Aidan said glumly. “High praise.”
“Brother.” Mercy’s arm dropped away. “It’s a compliment. Don’t take it any other way.”
Whatever else he was, Mercy wasn’t duplicitous. Yes, it was a compliment, and he meant it heartily. Aidan just wished he hadn’t been thirty-two before he realized he wanted to do something worthy of praise.
He ground to an awkward halt when they reached the street. “Hey…can I come by for dinner tonight? Can I talk to you guys about something?”
Mercy twitched a concerned frown. “Everything alright?’
“Not really, no.”
“Yeah.” Merc patted his shoulder. “We usually eat around six-thirty. We’re having pasta tonight.”
Pasta…and baby confessions. How appetizing.