The Sweet Under His Skin (35 page)

"What the hell was that dealer saying to them?" Colton whispered as they all, without argument, brought their weapons up shoulder-height.

"Do we take Reuben?" Gage asked.

Bishop make a grunt of indecision. "'I'm kinda in favor of just wiping the shit off my boot heel, you know? What's the point asking why it stinks and why it picked me?"

"He could be important to talk to, find out who he works for, make sure we're not stepping on any big bad steel-toes," Colton pointed out, none of them looking at each other, all focused on the posse headed their way.

"No dealers in Portus Felix," Bishop muttered back. He really wanted this Reuben guy to be food for the worms.

"Anyone see any blow-back?" Colton asked.

"No," Quentin answered immediately. He wanted him dead so bad he could taste it.

"This is the guy everyone's scared of," Bishop reminded them. "Which points to him being the top. Without him…" he left it at that.

Quentin found himself nodding. Better to ice the fucker now. Get it done in a rain of bullets, then he can go back to Arielle's, look her in the eye and tell her Reuben was no longer a threat. That thought alone made him grin.

"I don't think they know we're here," Gage said. "I got no idea what that asshole said."

"Shit," Colton muttered, and everyone shifted like the nerves had set in.

Suddenly Quentin had a moment of clarity, knowing what was bugging Gage and Colton. How could this be the guy running this all-but-clandestine operation, approachinga closed building that he had—allegedly—been warned about. A big-time dealer wouldn't make this mistake.

This guy was... too stupid, frankly.

Quentin was about to answer, but Bishop beat him to it. "Who the fuck cares?" the prez snapped quietly. "On three. One. Two."

The stable erupted in gunfire, the smell of used gunpowder a familiar sting in Quentin's nose. The seven men out in the sunshine literally had no idea what hit them. They were completely shocked as their chests exploded, getting at least seven rounds per stooge before their bodies hit the dirt. When all were down the shooting stopped, leaving behind ringing ears. Quentin winced, rubbing his temple.

"Everyone grab an end," Bishop snapped, pushing the stable doors open. The fresh air felt good, even if it was hotter than hell outside. "Leave these pricks in the stable."

Reuben took five guys to move. The rest were two-person operations with Bishop watching, sucking on the strong end of a cigar.

"You don't want 'em buried?" Quentin asked for clarification while he and Gage hauled a member of Reuben's entourage past their president.

"Doesn't really send a message if they're not found," Bishop pointed out.

When all the bodies were piled up like firewood Bishop declared business "taken care of." Gage climbed up into the van after retrieving the chair the dealer had been tied to—it was Dead Men property after all—and they headed back to Portus Felix town limits. Quentin gave a wave to indicate he was peeling off the formation and headed for his own hood, parking his bike in his driveway. Two more Harleys were on the street outside of Arielle's place, blocking in Thelma's truck.

A prospect was sitting on her front stoop, smoking. He got to his feet as Quentin approached, tossing the butt to the side. "They went to the hospital," the prospect informed him, hiking up his jeans.

"Who else is here with you?"

"Flynn's out back, eye on the yard."

"Good," he declared, then pointed. "And pick up that fucking cigarette butt. Where’d you think you are right now?" The prospect scrambled to retrieve it from under some kind of shrub and Quentin circled the house to the back. Flynn was on the deck, seated in a chair, watching the clouds go by. Looking bored out of his mind. He nodded to Quentin as he climbed the climbed stairs.

"How'd it go?"

Quentin shook his head. "Dunno. Too easy."

"You get him?"

"Yeah. He showed up with a few guys, we thought the dealer was telling him about the set-up, but they started walking up to us like they didn't know we were there. Or who we were." Flynn frowned. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," Quentin continued. "That's this badass dealer everyone's so scared of? He's an idiot." Flynn shrugged. "Or maybe the dealer was begging for mercy. But that makes no sense. He was tied to a chair and bleeding. They had to know it was a set-up." Quentin's head hurt from it, but something didn't feel quite right with all of that.

"Maybe the guy was an idiot."

Quentin shook his head. "Nah. No one would tell us shit about Reuben, man. He wasn't an idiot. People aren't scared of idiots."

"What did Bishop say?"

"Bishop considers it done."

Flynn nodded. "Well, there's your answer man. Hey—this broad got any beer?"

"I do at my place," Quentin answered, still thinking. Then he grinned. "You know how to fix a door lock?"

Chapter Twenty-Two

"He, uh…put the needle in my arm. That's the last thing I really remember. He had two men hold me in place while he shot me up. I didn't even know for sure what it was. I remember flashes of what happened in between but…" Jolene shuddered. "I don't wanna remember any better than that. I know why that guy wanted me. I know what he fucking did."

Arielle was staring at the ground, chewing her thumb nail. Thelma was perched on the edge of the hospital bed, outright sobbing. Calvin was outside on the bench. Thelma wanted to hear this, Arielle did not want Calvin to. Arielle didn't want to hear it herself. When Quentin explained it he may as well have switched over to a foreign language. This wasn't her world, at all. This didn't happen outside of movies; at least, that's how her life used to seem. Even knowing that Jolene was a user didn't make this any more believable.

"I remember him forcing himself on me the first time. I couldn't fight, I was too out of it. The next clear thing I remember is waking up here."

Thelma was shaking her head. "Oh honey," she whimpered. "You need to get out of all this."

Jolene nodded, then set her big blue eyes on Arielle. "Maybe Arielle's new friends will help me."

Arielle could have laughed if she wasn't so disturbed by Jolene's story. "They try to keep drug dealers out of town, so they were already after these guys. I'm not sure how much you will factor in what happens next. They only called an ambulance for you because they recognized you."

Thelma's head swiveled around. "Arielle, watch your tone."

Arielle shook her head. "This big bad dealer she's talking about selling her is going to come here. He knows where Calvin and I live. I just want to know if he'd come looking for me for a reason. Jolene?"

Jolene blinked a couple times. Arielle knew she was in danger of making Thelma angry again, but she kept her eyes on Jolene.

"I…I told him you had money, thinking he'd let me go so I could come and get it. Then I was going to disappear."

"How much money could this be?" Thelma asked to break the tension. "Maybe I could—"

"Forty grand," Jolene said sullenly, looking away from Arielle.

The pause was long. "Forty? Forty-thousand dollars?" Thelma confirmed. Jolene nodded.

"And he thinks I have that sitting around?" Arielle urged her on. Again, Jolene nodded. Arielle wanted to cry. She took a deep breath. "If I gave you ten grand, how much time would that get you?"

Thelma looked at her in surprise, but Jolene was shaking her head. "All or nothing. I tried to steal from him, too. He's pissed off."

Thelma was even further back in the whole Street Education factor of Jolene's life. She was just staring at Jolene like her entire world order had toppled over. Arielle could so relate.

"We can't buy her any forgiveness," Arielle assured Thelma. "Like always, she has to depend on others to clean up her messes."

"Arielle." Thelma's tone was warning and low, and that's when she knew she'd gone too far. "This is your sister. And after what she just told us?"

"I hate that it happened," Arielle threw back, "I'd never wish that for her. But now these people know where I live, Aunt Thelma. And Calvin, too. So my concern is kind of on our side right now."

"Once Jolene's out of the hospital you, Jolene and Calvin are coming to the farm," Thelma decided.

Arielle was already shaking her head. "I'm staying with Quentin. So's Calvin."

"Arielle, honey—"

"No," Arielle cut in, "trust me Thelma, this is the safest place for him."

"She's right," Jolene cut in. "Dead Men will kill to keep what they care about safe."

Now Thelma was startled all over again. "Kill?"

Arielle was a bit surprised by that, too. But…thinking back, she should have suspected as much. Quentin had never told her about killing anyone; beating people up, yes. She filed it away under the Discuss Later tab. For the moment she had to get out of the room. So she did.

In the hall she took a deep breath, smiling at Calvin to show him everything was fine. One of the Dead Men called T-bone had been sitting next to him, arms crossed on his chest, listening to Calvin read from that library book out loud. He was grinning, too.

T-bonenodded to Arielle as she parked her ass on the other side of Calvin, putting her arm around him. "
’If your mind is truly, profoundly stuck, then it might be much better off than when it was loaded with ideas’
," Calvin was saying and Arielle had to smile.

"I must be really well off then," Arielle muttered, kissing the top of his head.

"Is everything okay?" T-bone asked politely, eyes darting to the door.

Arielle had to get used to people knowing what was up with her troubles, but it was proving difficult. "Yeah. She was just explaining to Aunt Thelma how bad everything had been."

The large hairy biker nodded. "T-bone," she said, trying to sound light and cheerfully curious.

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you?" she stood and jerked her head down the hallway. "Over here?" He cast his brown eyes to Calvin, nodded, stood and followed her down the hallway a few yards. She turned, biting her thumb nail again. "If I ask a question, will you promise to answer?"

He gave an amused smile, crossing his arms again. "I can try."

"In your…gang—club, do you guys kill people?"

His smile dropped off his face quicker than gravity would have allowed. "Uh…"

"Jolene said you guys would likely kill anything that threatened who or what you care about, which I assume includes Portus Felix."

He finally blinked and ran his hands over his bald head covered in tattoos. "Doll, you really need to ask Quentin these things..."

Now Arielle was twisting her hands. "I know. I just…is that why Quentin has you guys watching out for me and Calvin?"

He sighed. "If anything comes along that's a threat to you two, I'll…do what's necessary to make sure you both go home tonight untouched."

Arielle nodded. "I see."

"Look, you need to ask Quentin this stuff. It's…it's kind of up to him to let you in on these things. I don't wanna step on his toes."

Arielle frowned. "Really? You can't answer questions about the club?"

"Ask Quentin, Arielle." He almost sounded like he was pleading.

"Okay," she assured him. "I will. I'm sorry."

He nodded, satisfied, then returned to his spot next to Calvin. She took up recreational pacing, biting her nail again and going back to worrying.

God, she nearly got Clark Davidson killed.

She had to calm down. In all this, the idea that Quentin might have killed people made her uneasy, yes. But she still didn't feel like she was in danger. Neither was Calvin. She knew she sounded like the victim in an after-school special, but Quentin would never hurt them. He might bring bad things to the door, but so had Jolene. The difference was she trusted Quentin to make things right. She could not say the same for her sister.

And yet there was also the nagging feeling that if she was smart, she'd pack up Calvin and run for the hills.

The hospital room door opened, and Thelma joined them while wiping tears from her eyes. She caught Arielle's eye and she couldn't help it; she hugged her aunt and whispered an apology at the same time. "It's okay," Thelma assured her, patting her back and stepping away. "Now let's go get groceries. We have a house full of people to feed."

Quentin stepped out onto the front stoop of Arielle's place for a smoke just in time to see Chip and his flame-painted trailer pull up to the curb in front of his house. He started down the driveway, taking a pull on the cigarette and raising his hand in greeting.

"Quentin," Chip rasped back at him, circling his truck and trailer to drop the back door. "Kid's bike is done. Wanna see?"

Quentin felt himself grin. "Fuck yeah. Show me." As Chip rolled the motorized bike down the ramp, Quentin had to shake his head. "Had to make it kickass, hey?" he mumbled, crouching down next to the bike and eyeing up the frame. It was only kind of pink, but it was better than what Quentin had in mind. Along with the candy-pink paint, Chip had added black metallic flecks. If Chiphad told him about it ahead of time Quentin would have said he was nuts. But seeing it…he liked it. Chip even pin-striped wicked-black detailing on the fenders.

"So sparkly," Quentin said absently, running his hand along the motor and battery compartment.

"Too funky?"

Quentin shook his head. "He's gonna lose his mind."

Chip chuckled. "Good. I'll send you the bill."

Quentin stood and offered his hand as Arielle's car pulled into her driveway. "Here he is now," he said, pointing with his cigarette as the door opened and Calvin came flying across the lawn towards them.

"Is that my bike?" Quentin laughed as Calvin came to a screeching stop next to it. "Wow. That is so cool!"

"Calvin, this is Chip. He painted the bike for you. Chip, this is Calvin."

"Nice to meet you," Calvin said pleasantly.

"The pleasure's all mine," Chip returned with his usual gruffness, but he was smiling.

"Calvin? Is that your bike?"

They all turned to Arielle, striding down the sidewalk, Thelma right behind her. Quentin felt his smile change, how his stomach went weird on him. Those damn shorts on Arielle again, an over-sized T-shirt, bright-blue scarf and he was hard from it.