Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) (15 page)

              “Love you,” Mercy told her, and disconnected.

              “You guys are a little bit sickening, you know that?” Aidan said, without malice.

              “You’re just jealous,” Mercy said, piloting the truck into the next turn.

              He was, goddamn it. Because before, love had been this nebulous myth he couldn’t define. But now love sat just outside his door, and it had a face, and a name, and tangled ribbons of dark blonde hair that liked to knot together in the breeze.

              “Okay,” Mercy said, cheerful at the prospect of a good ass-kicking. “Let’s come up with a game plan so we’re not staggering around in the dark.”

              “Right.” Aidan took another big breath, finding it was hard to get enough air into his lungs. Ever since making the decision to take this night into his own two inexpert hands. Ever since touching his mouth to Sam’s. “We’ll ditch the truck on the next street over…”

              During the fifteen minute drive, they mapped a course of action. By the time they locked up the truck and cut through the abandoned lot one street over, Aidan was convinced it would be successful.

              Night enfolded them like a shroud, the dead leaves rustled overhead, and the wet grass clung to their boots like clammy hands. It was eerie, and he couldn’t deny the chill that rippled across his skin. This street had been full of small mansions like Hamilton House, once upon a time. The same fire that had singed Hamilton House had devoured the rest, and as they walked, here and there a blackened timber thrust up from the ground, a picked-clean rib, the fossil of some long-extinct animal.

              Slowly, the pinpricks of light through the trees became rectangles, and they emerged from the woods at the edge of the infamous house's driveway.

              Aidan felt like he stepped through a portal into the past. He was seventeen again, pockets full of smokes, ready to walk up that sagging porch and hit the keg straight away. Had anything changed in the years since? A few weeks ago he would have said no. But tonight he was here on a very different mission, and life as he’d always understood it could never be the same.

              “Reminiscing?” Mercy asked softly.

              “Thinking,” Aidan corrected. “Let’s go.”

              The drive was choked with rundown Hondas and the music was a dull bass thump traveling through the walls and thudding across the ground. Silhouettes shifted past the naked windows. It was a big crowd, probably a hundred kids, and the stink of barf, pot and cigarette smoke was enough to singe a person’s nose hairs – and that was
outside
.

              The dealer would have situated himself near an exit, they’d decided, for ease of escape when the cops inevitably showed up.

              Tonight, thanks to Vince Fielding’s current status as the Lean Dogs’ personal PD bitch, Aidan could have the five-oh in place the second he needed them.

              Perks of witnessing murder, and all that.

              Bandana loose around his neck, he signaled for Mercy and Tango to meet him around back, and Aidan walked up the porch steps and into the open door as they’d planned. He wanted to get his hands on Greg, but the first order of business was getting Erin Walton out safely. The damn brat.

              No one noticed him as he headed down the central hall, peeking into the rooms he passed, greeted by the sight of desperate, clumsy teen couples in various states of undress, pawing at one another. The decaying, moldy stink of the house was magnified by the closeness of sweating bodies. His stomach lurched and he fought the urge to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve.

              The ballroom was set up the way it had always been: keg in one corner, iced-down tubs of wine coolers and vodka, soda for mixing, stacks of red Solo cups. The stereo system had been set up along the upper gallery, and gangster rap poured down over the railing, punching off the walls and vibrating in the pit of his stomach in an unpleasant way.

              He scanned the huge room four times before he finally spotted Erin. She was wearing a skirt about as wide as his belt, and thigh high boots her sister probably didn’t know she owned. Her makeup, as she turned in his direction, was Halloween-worthy in its thickness and sheer glittery tackiness. She looked garish and thirty, and nothing like her clean-lined, rosy-cheeked sister. The comparison was shocking, and a little repulsive, if he was honest.

              Her gaze passed over him, uncomprehending at first, as she stood glued to some scrawny, douchey guy in skinny jeans – Jesse – both her arms around his waist. But then her eyes snapped back, pinning on him, and her painted mouth opened in obvious shock.

              So she remembered him. Good, that would make this a little less awkward.

              A knot of boys laughing into their beer cups wandered into his path, and Aidan shoved them aside, earning “hey”s, and “watch out”s and “fuck you”s. It gave Erin a chance to get away from him. Try to, anyway.

              He caught her by the back of her jacket as she whirled away from her boyfriend.

              “Nuh-uh, little girl,” he said, dragging her back to face him, having to shout to be heard above the music. “You can’t run away from me in those hooker boots.”

              She glared at him, but it was pitiful, her eyes already glazing over with tears. It was one thing to spew defiance and venom at a female relative, another to stare up at him.

              “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Are you stalking me or something? Just leave me alone!” There wasn’t much rebellion in her voice, though. She knew it was a lame attempt at turning this back around on him.

              “I’m here for your sister, and I’m taking you back to her. We can do it the easy way, and you walk outta here on your own, or I can put you over my shoulder. Take your pick.”

              A hand landed on his forearm before she could respond, Jesse, face screwed up with teenage anger.

              “Dude, don’t touch my girlfriend!”

              “Dude, don’t make your girlfriend walk into town.” Aidan shook him off. “Leave off, asshole, I don’t have time for this shit.”

              Clearly, Jesse didn’t remember him, most likely thanks to whatever had dilated his eyes. “I said don’t touch her!” the kid roared, and his arm cocked back as if in slow-mo as he prepared for what was sure to be a sloppy punch.

              Aidan dodged – laughable, really – and pulled Erin toward him. “Listen,” he said against her ear, “something bad’s going down here tonight, and I promised Sam I’d get you home safe. We need to go. Tell your stupidass boyfriend to lay off, or he’s gonna get hurt.”

              She turned wide eyes to him, struggling for a response.

              “Erin, come on.”

              Jesse had his balance back and was going to make another pass. “You fucking dick,” he said through his teeth as he advanced, skinny arms held away from his body.

              Aidan sighed. “Jesus, I
don’t have time
for this shi–”

              He let go of Erin and sidestepped Jesse, catching him with a sharp elbow to the ribs as he hurtled past. The kid exhaled in a surprised grunt, and tripped. Went staggering a few steps, knocking into people, and finally landed in a face-down sprawl.

              “Jesse!” Erin said.

              Aidan grabbed her arm. “He treated you like shit anyway. Come on, get moving.” He knew they had only a few seconds before Jesse was on his feet again and wasting yet more of his time.

              He elbowed through the gawkers, grateful Erin actually followed and didn’t have to be dragged. She had at least some sense, then.

              Students pressed close around them, crowding, the gossip rippling through their ranks as more kids spilled out of the hall and side rooms to see what the disturbance was about.

              They needed to get out of here. Now.

              Aidan made for the back hall, and Erin stepped on the heels of his boots in her haste to keep up.

              “Jesse’s getting up,” she said in his ear. “He’s gonna try to fight you again.”

              “Yeah, ‘try.’”

              He thought he heard scuffling, under the driving beat of the music, but couldn’t be sure.

              The hallway yawned ahead of them, dark and welcoming. Almost there. If he could just get Erin to the truck –

              A shadow detached itself from the gloom and slid across their path.

              “Shit.”

              “Help you with something?” a deep voice asked, and the man stepped into the light, revealing the unspecified fleshy features of every TV henchman ever.

              “Nah,” Aidan said, pulling Erin up tight behind him. “Just strolling through is all.”

              The thug stared at him stupidly, plainly trying to figure out what to do with him.

              Back in the ballroom, the din of voices was swelling, increasing in agitation.

              “So yeah,” Aidan said. “Be seein’ ya.”

              He attempted to go around the big hunk of meat, and caught sight of a figure standing partway down the hall. A small figure, though clearly masculine.

              Greg.

              He glanced quickly back at Erin. “Stay with me, and keep up.” He didn’t wait for a response, but plunged forward, pulling her along.

              They didn’t get far. Mister Help-you-with-something slammed him with a shoulder, sending him into the far wall with a hard thump, and an explosion of dust and flaking wallpaper bits. The air rushed out of his lungs and his bad shoulder, the one he’d dislocated over a year ago, flushed hot with pain. He brought his good arm up and turned to face the man, shoving Erin deeper into the hall with the other.

              “Go,” he told her. “Out the back.”

              The thug reached to grab hold of him.

              Aidan dodged, but there wasn’t room.

              “Erin, go!”

              She shrieked.

              And then another presence was beside them, bigger than the thug, overwhelming the man as a swift shadow that latched around his throat and flattened him back against the wall.

              Mercy.                            

              The goon’s eyes bugged and he spluttered, hands reaching fruitlessly to scrabble against the hold at his windpipe. That was the beautiful thing about his brother-in-law, Aidan reflected – no matter how big and mean an adversary they faced out in the field, no one was bigger or meaner than Mercy.

              “You were taking too long,” Merc said, and he wasn’t even straining to hold the man pinned like an insect specimen. “You’ve got the girl?”

              “Here. Where’s–”

              “I’m here,” Tango said, materializing beside them. “Aidan, out the back…” He hesitated, not wanting to say, but Aidan knew what he meant. Greg.

              “Get her out of here,” he said of Erin, “I’m going after him.”

              Leaving his brothers to deal with the meathead and the mess of students – a man couldn’t ask for two better diplomats than those two – he took off at a sprint toward the flapping back door. His bad shoulder was screaming, but he shoved the pain down. He had to get hold of Greg this time; in his mind there was no alternative.

              Prior to burning and abandonment, Hamilton House must have had a lush backyard. Mansions had pretty gardens, right? Whatever it had once been, it was now a tangle of brambles, withered vines, and dilapidated fence pickets, all of it weaving into the surrounding forest at its rough edges. And because of its thickness, it made it damn hard to flee on foot with any speed.

              Greg was just ahead of him, crashing through the underbrush, hampered by those short legs of his, obvious as all hell, even in the dark.

              Aidan leapt over a knot of bushes, vaulted across half of a ruined fence, and caught his prey in a matter of strides. Greg was dressed all in black, same as him, but he was breathing like a winded horse, and Aidan could have grabbed him with his eyes closed. As it was, he executed an NFL-worthy tackle that jarred the ever loving shit out of his shoulder, and rolled with Greg caught tight in his arms, ending up on top of the guy, a knee pressed into the small of his back, pinning him fast to the ground.

              Greg let out a squall like a cat that’s been grabbed by the tail, and Aidan bore down on him hard, feeling the slight give of the guy’s ribs spreading beneath his kneecap.

              His prey secure, Aidan took a moment to draw in a deep breath, reflect on his winded state, and curse himself for not working enough cardio into his exercise routine. He’d never really recovered after his accident, had he? And all those little twinges and hurts were only going to worsen with time.

              He gulped more air and said, “You know what makes me real mad, Greg? The fact that you had the balls to come back up here tonight. You finally chose to grow a pair, huh?”