The Sweet Under His Skin (40 page)

Tarquin Hamilton was described as a huge Mexican fucker. In Shanksville they said he said he was a regular-looking white guy. And at land titles they said they talked to a midget. All answering to the name Tarquin Hamilton.

"This is such a pain in the ass," Quentin grumbled. “He’s hiding behind lots of faces. A fucking ghost.”

"It's brilliant though," Dillon admitted. "Different fucker to each department, different towns. No corroborating witnesses if one gets pinched."

"They all gotta be in on it, though. They're not just the face of Reuben. He's giving them all a cut because they're fronting the properties," Colton reminded them.

"So we gotta find those properties," Quentin concluded.

Gage was nodding, tossing down a pile of printed pages. "These are all the properties owned by Tarquin Hamilton. Some of them just have regular renters right now. But the five on top all are on an order to make improvements by local health boards. Three in Portus Felix, two in Shanksville."

"Disrupting their supply chain would make me happy," Bishop quipped with a grin. The guys chuckled their agreement. "Tonight we hit the Portus Felix properties," Bishop went on. "Tomorrow night, the two in Shanksville. All of us at once, I don't wanna be caught outnumbered."

Everyone was nodding, including Quentin. He felt a violent urge rising, and making a mess of a few meth cookers would likely feel pretty damn good.

"Not you, Quentin," Bishop said over the noise in the room. "You stay home with your girl. Take care of her. Mandy seems to think you're good for her." That brought out a lot of knowing laughs.

"Bishop, come on—" he began but the president silenced him.

"You can protect her better than the prospect. You'll just be worrying about her the whole time anyway." He didn't like it, but the prez had spoken.

"Never thought I'd see the day Quentin didn't want to spend the evening in bed with a broad," Flynn smirked.

"And tell her thanks for finally putting out. Made you a much more agreeable bastard," Dillon had to add his two cents.

"Fuck all of you," Quentin muttered, scratching his eyebrow. He didn't like being left out. He really hated it.

"It's okay," Dillon assured him with a shot on the arm, voice serious now. "We'll take these cooks out. Flush out Reuben, whoever the fuck he may be, get your girl free and clear. Yeah?"

"I know," he answered as everyone else was getting to their feet. "I just want to be the one doing it."

"She'd rather have you
doing
her," Dillon said, standing as well. "Look, she needs her rest, and she'll rest better with you around. As long as you leave her alone long enough to sleep. "Yeah, like he needed more to feel guilty about.

"Bishop," Quentin said quietly, snagging his president by the arm as they left the clubhouse. “I can come. This won't take long."

Bishop leveled his eyes on Quentin and spoke quietly. "I know, Quentin. But this is about someone watching out for your girl. And you're the best one for it. If we didn't get Reuben that means he's out there. And he might know where she lives if that sister of hers can be believed."

Quentin nodded. "Yeah. You're right. Okay."

Bishop winked. "Part of being a man; taking care of your woman."

"I know,
Dad
," Quentin drawled back, smiling. "Have fun with the meth labs. I'll be somewhere much sweeter."

Bishop cackled and gave him a shot in the arm. "Get to it then, asshole."

He ignored most of the inappropriate comments that followed him out of the clubhouse and across the lot. Climbing on his bike he was still somewhat chafed to be left out, but as he rode through the twilight on his way 'home' he had to admit it he could be headed for places much worse.

He pulled into Arielle's driveway, parked and let himself in the front door. He sent T-bone on his way back to the clubhouse and opened the front door with what he was beginning to think of as his key. When two dark heads turned his way he felt a curse on the tip of his tongue.

The sister was here. Fucking great.

"Hey," Arielle said warmly, getting up and heading to him. She wrapped him up in a hug and having her welcome him 'home' was the best way to forget his annoyance about the junkie sister.

"Hey, babe," he returned, breathing deep while giving her a tight squeeze. Yep, calmer just from her.

"They let Jolene out," she said. "She came here. Thelma's coming to get her tomorrow and she'll stay out there."

Quentin nodded, rubbing circles on her back. "That's a good idea. These guys don't know about Thelma?"

Jolene was shaking her head. "No, not at all."

"Okay," he relented. Then his attention was all on his girl again. "How you feeling?"

Arielle smiled. "Sleepy. I was waiting for you to get here."

He grinned back, all warm and gushy in the span of thirty seconds. "Babe," was all he said and she gave him a soft peck on the lips.

"Calvin went to bed an hour ago. Jolene's got the couch."

"Where am I sleeping then?" he whispered into her ear directly, giving it a nip.

She laughed—a throaty, husky sound—took his hand and pulled him behind her. "Good night, Jolene," Arielle sang out softly.

Jolene turned up the volume on the TV one notch. "’Night, and try and not be too loud, please."

Quentin shut the bedroom door, eyes on Arielle as she turned on the lamp next to the bed and pulled the blinds shut over the window. He shrugged his kutte off, unbuttoned his shirt and set them both on her dresser. She sat on the edge of her bed watching him, face unreadable.

"What're you thinking?" he asked, sitting next to her and leaning over to pull off his boots.

"I don't know," she said, reaching up and sliding off the wig.

He liked the wig. He really did. That rock-girl cut was hot and suited her perfectly. She set it on the foam head, biting her lip and rubbing her scalp. Boots now off, he stared at the foam head for a split second before picking it up and carrying it to the bathroom, setting it on the counter and then shutting the bathroom door on it.

Arielle looked perplexed. He shrugged it off. "It was looking at me." He sat next to her, reached out and ran his arm around her shoulders.

"When's the last time you killed someone?" she asked out of nowhere.

That made him sit up straight and swallow. "What?"

"The last time you killed someone. I want to know."

He linked his hands in his lap. "Uh…the dealer that had Jolene. That's the last guy I killed. No, wait. The guys that were coming here together. We killed a few guys then."

Her head swivelled to him rapidly. "What?"

"Yeah. The guy that bought your sister. Me and Flynn made sure he was…done. And then the guys that were coming to town to get her we shot down all at once." She was battling something, he could see it in her face and her eyes. "What're you thinking, babe?" he asked softly, holding his breath along with her. Shit, he was way out in unchartered waters here.

"I'm surprised that it was so recent. But I'm glad that it was someone…so horrible."

"I'm not sorry. Especially for the guy that bought your sister. I hate that kind of shit. I mean, that's human trafficking in my book. I really hate that shit." Before he was done talking she was pulling him towards her by the arm, bring his face to hers and pressing her lips tight to his. He kept his hands to himself for all of ten seconds before cupping her face with both hands and teasing her tongue. Usually he was happy to plunder her mouth. This time he wanted to entice her to do it to him.

She did. Shy Arielle was gone, hot and sexy Arielle was on shift and climbing onto him, straddling his lap and holding him by the shoulders. He let his hands run up her back under her T-shirt, soft skin even more lovely than the last time he'd touched it.

"You killed the guy that did that to my sister," she whispered, hands running over his chest and upper back, lips hot as she kissed his neck and collarbone. "Why does that turn me on?"

He responded by kissing her hard when her mouth came close again, hands tightening on her hips. She ground down hard on the fly of his jeans and he had to chuckle. "Jesus, babe," he muttered. "I'm happy to kill whoever you want if this is the result."

She kissed him back, and when he pulled her T-shirt off over her head he was aware of her pressing tight to him, not letting him see all of her. He pulled back from her kiss, making eye contact and holding it with meaning.

"Arielle, please let me look at you. I'm gonna see you eventually, baby girl."

She trembled a bit, biting her lip. "It's so ugly."

He shook his head. "Impossible, Arielle. Nothing about you can be anything but perfect."

She shook her head now. "It's ugly."

"Let me see," he repeated softly, kissing her gently. He could ease back and just look down, but it had to be on her terms.

She took a deep breath, then leaned away from him, her weight shifting back to rest on his knees. He let his eyes run down her slender neck, down to her chest. He inhaled, he couldn't help it, eyes going up to her face. "Babe," he said, raising his hand to run over the scar tissue. He kept his touch light, and she gasped. His attention flew up to her face, and her eyes were closed. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"When you touch it, it feels good," she whispered.

"Really?" She nodded. Quentin looked down at the torn skin and stretched tissue, wincing inwardly. He'd never seen so much scarring in such a fragile place. It made him tighten his jaw, wishing this was something he could beat someone up for. But he couldn't agree that it was ugly.

It was part of her, and nothing about her was ugly to him.

He looked back up and she was watching him closely, worried. Her lips were between her teeth, her brows pinched together. Watching her face he traced his fingertips over the scars lightly, and gradually her expression eased and her breath hitched. It made him smile. As he kept at it, she kissed him again, lips sweet on his. Slowly her arms slid around his shoulders, pressing her close to him. He wrapped his arms around her just as deliberately.

Quite suddenly she was gone, the heat of her away from his chest and lap, and she was kneeling on the floor in front of him. She reached for his belt buckle and he caught her hands. "Arielle," he said, thumbs running over the backs of her hands.

"Let me," she whispered back.

"You don't have to do this."

She rose up over his knees and kissed him again. "I haven't done this yet. And she has. I don't want my sister to have anything over me."

Quentin frowned. "Arielle, your sister's got nothing on you. I swear."

"Then let me because I want to."

As he tried to find reasons to stop her she unbuckled his belt, got his fly open and was freeing him of all clothing. His only thought then was why the hell he'd been trying to talk her out of it.

Let it feel good
, he told himself as she lowered her head. Don't hold out like she's some crawler, making her work for it.

Stupid pep talk. The second her lips slid around his head and her tongue slid over him he gripped the blankets on either side of him, eyes nearly rolling back. It wasn't technique, it was Arielle and he wouldn't have been able to hold back for anything.

"Fuck, babe," was the only thing he could say, closing his eyes as she licked and sucked, hand helping the sensations along until he was biting his lip to remind himself to be quiet. When he came it was painfully perfect, fast, intense enough that his neck cracked. Once his eyes could focus again he caught her head in his heads, her smile up at him too much to take. "Get on your back, babe," he grumbled. "I'm going down on you until you pass out."

And he tried his best to do just that.

Chapter Twenty-Four

There was no warning.

No creaking floorboards, no turn of a door knob, no sense that something was maybe amiss. Arielle was dead asleep, and the next thing she knew she was wide awake, heart pounding, blood-curdling screams coming from the living room that made it all happen as fast as a wink.

Quentin was already up and moving, pulling on jeans and whispering "Stay here."

"What's happening?" she whispered stupidly, rubbing her eyes and trying to stand up.

"Arielle? Sweetheart?" Quentin pushed her back to the side of the bed. Jolene was still screaming and it was making the hairs on the back of her neck stand.

"Take this. Use it on anyone coming through that door that isn't me, okay?" Something cold and hard was pressed into her hand. When he turned the bedside lamp on she was staring at the strange artifact, and as it came into view she nearly dropped it.Oh God… A gun?

"Arielle? Anyone who isn't me, yeah?"

"Jolene," she mumbled, eyes still on the instrument in her palm. "Calvin."

"I'm on it. Stay here." He had a knife in his hand. She caught the glint of it as he headed to the door and opened it, closing it most of the way behind him. Things were crashing and breaking in the living room. Jolene was still screaming, which was a good sign she supposed. When her door flew open she jumped, realizing the gun was nowhere near‘in position’, which was lucky since it was Calvin. He flew to her, throwing himself on the bed and huddling under her arm.

"What's happening?" he asked, eyes pleading.

"I don't know, Peanut," she was answering, just as there was a loud explosion in the front room. Jolene shrieked louder, Arielle's blood went cold. She heard shouting and cursing.

It was Quentin, he sounded hurt.

"Stay here," she whispered to Calvin. He grabbed her arm when she stood. "Calvin, stay here."

"Arielle!" Jolene was screaming. "Arielle! Help!"

Down the hallway she could hear males grunting. She knew there was a fight going on. She had never used a gun before and she wasn’t sure if she knew how but still, she had the gun pointed upward, hands trembling, and she eased into the hall, keeping the wall to her back. When the living room came into view she couldn't quite make out what was happening; it was too dark. The front door was suddenly yanked open, and that's when she saw Jolene's outline, standing on the stoop screaming for someone to help them.