Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (30 page)

              Niko made another regretful face, sighed, and stepped toward his opponent.

              It lasted literally less than a second. In the span of a blink, Gringo was dragging himself up off the floor, clutching at his jaw.

              “Oh shit. I’m sorry,” Niko said, red-faced not from exertion, but embarrassment. He reached to steady Gringo, one of his very deadly hands on his shoulder. “Are you alright, man? I didn’t try to…” He trailed off, distressed.

              Michelle bit her lip to keep from laughing.

              Fox did not, cackling like a witch.

              Jenny said, “Niko, I think it’s safe to say you’re on the short list.”

~*~

They interviewed eight different boxers, and by the time they were done, she had a sugar headache and her feet were asleep from sitting at the table so long. They’d missed lunch somehow, and her stomach rumbled its protest.

              Seeing Candy walk in was like a double shot of espresso and a chocolate chip muffin on the side. Or, more accurately, a big square blondie with caramel chips. Her golden man.

              He pulled her into a crushing hug and kissed her just a little too long, lingering in a way that telegraphed want, and happiness, and a dozen other things that kicked up a storm of butterflies in her stomach.

              “Hi, baby doll,” he whispered against the corner of her mouth, and chills rippled across her skin. “How’s my little baby thing?”

              “Much better,” she assured. “You’re better than coffee.”

              “Gonna take that as a compliment.”

              “You ought to.” She exhaled deeply as she finally stepped back. “Though, honestly, I don’t know why you didn’t want to be here for the trainer interviews. You would have been much more knowledgeable in this area than us.”

              He slipped an arm around her waist and steered her up the stairs, Jenny on his other side. “Nah. I trust my gals.”

              “Let’s hope so,” Jenny said, “because we talked to seven meathead idiots, and one kinda tragic Texas Russian boy with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

              Candy’s hand tightened on her hip and Michelle laughed. “Not bluer than yours, of course.”

              “Bluer,” Jenny insisted, chuckling.

              “Who did you hire?” Candy asked.

              “No one, yet, not until you give the final okay, but we’re both set on Niko.”

              “Niko, huh?”

              “Yes,” they said together, and he sighed.

              The sun was just starting to set, and the ride back home afforded them a gorgeous pink sunset through the windshield of Jenny’s Jeep.

              Michelle let herself slump down into the passenger seat, tired and content and hungry for whatever Darla had made for dinner. “I had fun today,” she said. “That was fun.”

              “Yeah, it was.” Jenny smiled out at the road. She looked tired and content and hungry too. “Things are better, I take it?”

              “Yeah.” Michelle didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t want to. She just wanted to soak in the delight of it for a little while without burdening it with words.

              When they got back to the clubhouse, Michelle noticed three strange bikes parked out front. “Visitors?” she asked Jenny.

              “I guess so.”

              Not an uncommon occurrence in this life.

              But she ground to a halt when she got inside. Blocking her path was a giant of a man with long black hair. “Mercy
Lécuyer?
” she asked, shocked.

              He sent her one of his frightening, sharp grins. “That’s me, babe. How you been?”

              “Uh…good…”

              Still grinning, he said, “I didn’t come by myself, either. Look who I brought.” And he stepped aside, revealing…

              “Tommy!”

Twenty-Eight

Candy

“Hey, man.” He slapped palms with Mercy and pulled the guy in for a quick bro-hug (bro-hugs were totally macho and acceptable, a long-standing belief in the MC world). When he pulled back, he said, “Uh, not that I’m not always glad to see you, brother…”

              Mercy grinned and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I get it.” He tilted his head toward the British reunion taking place across the room. “The kids showed up at Walsh’s place, and were dead set on riding out here. Things are quiet back home, and I offered to ride out with ‘em. Figured you could use an extra set of hands when the cartel shit goes down.”

              “I’ll never say no to extra hands.” His eyes went to Michelle, again. She’d already leapt onto Tommy and squeezed the life out of him, was finally hugging the other one now, Miles. Since they were her uncles, her blood relatives, her family, for Christ’s sakes, the sight did not stir any jealousy inside him. Nope. Not at all. Not even a tiny, tiny bit that left him frowning.

              He turned back to Mercy. “You coulda called ahead, though.”

              Mercy grinned. “But that defeats the purpose of a surprise.”

              Candy sighed. “They really came all the way here, huh?” And his traitorous eyes returned to the three reunited relatives again.

              All of Devin Green’s bastard brood had a certain similarity about their eyes, that direct way they could look right through a person. Michelle had inherited it, too. But they were their own men and women, as well, each with some of their mother’s facial quirks. Tommy, in tight jeans and battered leather jacket beneath his cut, looked like a modernized fifties greaser. Miles, thin and pretty, with his neck tattoo and flannel shirt, could have been a hipster in another life.

              “Tommy said he was on the phone with her a few nights ago,” Mercy said, “and it sounded like she got scared.” He sent Candy a look that was questioning, but not accusatory. Just curious. “Said he was tired of secondhand information and wanted to check on her for himself.”

              “Hmm.”

              Michelle had her demanding face on. Tommy hiked up his shirt to show her a healing white scar along his ribs, and she ghosted her fingers across it, brows knitting together. He swatted her away and lowered his shirt, said something that made her laugh.

              “I’ve never seen her smile like that,” Candy said, mostly to himself.

              “She hasn’t had a chance to miss you yet,” Mercy said, and it sounded like a consolation.

              “Yeah.”

              It was time to introduce himself. He put a little extra swagger into his stride for effect, and joined his girl.

              Tommy and Miles lifted their heads to look up at him.
Up
– that was nice. And the smiles slipped. A glance proved that Miles was just the tagalong here, without personal opinions cluttering his mind. Tommy was the real sticking point.

              The guy’s face – Candy saw Albie in him, in that moment – went carefully blank. But his eyes sparked, that eerie blue they all shared, boiling with challenge. He was caught between a superior – a patch-holding VP and an acting-president – and his emotional reaction. Candy was curious to see which would win out: respect, or anger.

              “You boys came a long way,” Candy said, shaking their hands.

              Tommy squeezed a little harder than was polite, and Candy wanted to grin, for some reason.

              “Yeah,” he said. “We did.”

              “Does Phil know you’re here?”

              Tommy’s eyes widened, his nostrils flared.
Oh, you’re going there?
he seemed to ask.

             
Yeah, you bet your ass, kiddo.

              Tommy said, “I was tired of taking Chelle’s word for it that she was okay. Nobody relocates like she did and is just fine with it.”

              Michelle slid neatly between them, facing Tommy. “Except, I am okay.”

              Tommy glanced down at her, mouth set at a grim angle. “But you want to come home.”

              “I miss home,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

              Which…huh. Yeah. There was. One Candy hadn’t thought much about before.

              Tommy’s gaze flicked back up to Candy, dark now with hostility. “Yeah, especially when someone’s trying to keep you here.”

              Candy opened his mouth, but Michelle beat him to it. “Nobody’s keeping me anywhere,” she said, tone careful, soothing.

              A muscle ticked in Tommy’s jaw as he ground his teeth. “Yeah,” he breathed on a fake laugh. “Sure.” Another bristling glare at Candy.

              “If you’ve got something to say, maybe you oughtta just say it,” Candy suggested.             

              “No!” Michelle said. She put her hands on Tommy’s chest. “No. Look, everything is fine here, and–”

              “You’re old enough to be her father,” Tommy said, cheeks flushing red. “Are you fucking serious? Putting your hands on her? What the fucking hell’s wrong with you? Bloody pervert.”

              “Hey!” Michelle shoved him. Tried to. “That’s enough.”

              But Tommy wasn’t deterred. “If your dad isn’t here to say anything, and Fox won’t say anything–”

              “Don’t drag me into this,” Fox said from across the room.

              “-I’m damn well going to say something.”

              “Tom,” Michelle hissed. “
Stop it
.”

              Candy said, “I already talked to her old man. And funny enough, he didn’t want to rip my throat out.”

              “You…” Tommy exhaled and his shoulder sagged, the fight arresting in his eyes, clouding over with doubt. “You talked to Phil?”

              “Scout’s honor.”

              Someone behind him snickered.

              “You…” Tommy took a deep breath, and glared at him. “You want to talk about honor?”

              “No. I want to talk about how long you plan to stay, so I know if you’re just here to check on Chelle, or if you’re gonna help with our cartel shit.”

              Silence. Candy could feel everyone in the room watching them. Could also feel the little stress vibrations coming off Michelle.

              “I’d tell you to take a swing at me if it’ll make you feel better,” Candy said, “but you know I’d swing back. And I’ve heard you’ve seen me fight.”

              “Yeah.” Tommy let out a harsh breath through his nostrils. “A long time ago. When we were, like,
eight
.”

              “I get it. I’m old. I’m too old for her.” He put a hand on Michelle’s shoulder and she jumped a little. “But I ain’t a creep, and it ain’t like you’re thinking. So. You can trust her judgement, and come have a drink with me. Or you can sulk. Your choice.”

              “Don’t sulk,” Fox suggested.

              Finally, Tommy glanced down at his shoes, and nodded.

              “Good man,” Candy said. “Whiskey or beer?”

~*~

Michelle

The brain had safety measures in place when it came to missing someone. She’d missed Tommy the whole flight to Tennessee. Had missed him while she slept in Walsh and Emmie’s guest room, and on the drive to Texas. She’s missed him every day that they were apart, in a dull, aching, distanced way.

              But sitting across from him, an arm’s length separating them, the sting of missing him became sharp, needling at her. Her brain and her body had tamped down the worst of it, for her own self-preservation. But now it was back, bitter as lemon juice in the back of her throat, counterbalanced by the joy of reunion.

              “I just…” He shook his head and rumpled his hair with his hand, staring down into his third drink of the evening. His eyes lifted, meeting hers through the half-screen of his lashes. “
Him
? Really, Chelle? How did that even…”

              She gave him a dry look and sipped her own Scotch. “I’m assuming you don’t want all the dirty details.”

              “No.”

              “So what are you asking, uncle?”

              He sneered; he hated when she called him “uncle.” “I’m
saying
I never took you for the type to fall for all that.” He gestured, his expression turning into more of a scowl.

              “All that?”

              “That whole muscles and machismo thing. He looks like a fucking cologne add come to life.”

              “Tom.” She bit back a smile. “Do you think my boyfriend is handsome?”

              He gave her a serious look. “I think he looks like someone who burns through pussy like cigarettes. Like he’ll cheat on you, and hurt you, and leave you worse off than when he found you.”

              “Give me a little more credit than that.”

              “You’ve never even looked at a man before.”

              Anger balled up tight in her gut, but the good kind, that sibling kind of anger that fueled heated, loving arguments. They’d never had a fight they couldn’t move past; it was a comforting sort of violence, knowing you could say anything, everything, wound one another, and still be best friends at the end of the day.

              “I’ve looked at men,” she said. “You just never noticed.”

              “Well that’s disturbing.”

              “I’m not twelve, you know,” she said with a little laugh. “Stop acting like this is so alarming.”

              “It is alarming.”

              She sighed. There would be no convincing him. He’d either have to see for himself, or learn to shoulder his discomfort with things. “Why don’t you come to work with me tomorrow?”

              “Work?”

              “We’re getting ready to open a pub. A bar,” she amended. “A bar, night club sort of place.”

              “We?”

              “Will you stop repeating me?” She reached to flick him in the arm. “Yes, we. Jenny and I are co-managers.”

              He stared at her.

              “You can’t be that drunk yet.”

              He frowned, yet again.

              “You’ve become a scowling old man since I saw you last. It’s unbecoming, Thomas,” she said, primly.

              He snorted. “I’m not the old man in your life, trust me.”

              She loved him, and she loved seeing him again, and had missed him terribly, but he was testing her patience. “He’s a
good
man,” she corrected. “And you don’t have to like that I’m with him, but I expect you to respect that I am.”

              He downed the rest of his drink and twitched his brows. “Well. Alright then.”

~*~

Candy

“His faith in me is real uplifting,” Candy said with a smirk. He poured himself another two fingers of Macallan and waved the bottle in offering to the rest of the table.

              Mercy shook his head – he had his Johnnie Walker swill.

              Miles tilted his glass over and Candy filled it. “He’s not the trusting sort, my brother,” he explained, rolling his eyes. So far, Miles was the most open in the face; he exuded a certain patience, sweetness, even. It was so unexpected it had caught Candy off guard. “Might be the orphan thing. Might be a Tommy thing. Might be those lovely Devin Green genetics.” He grinned and pressed the rim of his glass to his lips. “Might be a combination.”

              He took a sip and set the tumbler down, growing serious. “It’s not so much that he’s angry. Or that he doesn’t trust you. He just worries is all. Wants to make sure she’s alright with his own eyes.”

              “I knew they were close,” Candy said, needlessly. “But…I dunno.” He shrugged.

              “Thought she was being too dramatic because of homesickness?” Miles suggested.

              “Something like that.”

              Mercy studied him across the table, clearly amused, dark eyes bright with laughter. “I never thought I’d see you like this, man.”

              “Like what? Bad as you?” Candy shot back.

              Mercy laughed. “Maybe worse?”

              “No one is worse than you.”

              “I don’t even know you,” Miles added, “and that shit came across the pond. It’s like a Lean Dogs fairytale: Beauty and the Cajun Beast.”

              “Careful, Junior,” Mercy said, but kept smiling. He turned back to Candy. “But seriously. I’m happy for you.”

              “Stop being a chick,” Candy shot back, but grinned.

              Mercy’s grin turned evil. “Ava wants to know where you’re going to register.”