Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) (22 page)

              He stared at her, face full of dread though his tone was joking. “Hey, I’m about to wear out. You bury me, you can get a newer model.”

              With expert aim, she reached through the dark and pinched his nipple.

              “Shit.” He laughed and grabbed her around the waist, pulled her down so she lay on top of him. He smoothed her hair back off her face, rubbed her back as the steady rise and fall of his chest lifted her. His laughter died.

              “I know you have to do what you have to do,” she said, “and I know you have to do right by the club. I’m just saying, baby.”

              “I know.” He squeezed the back of her neck gently. “I’m listening.”

~*~

“Halloween party?” Ian asked with delight. “Will there be costumes?” He lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, his smile broad.

              Tango groaned and ducked his head beneath the pillow, letting it muffle his words. “God no.”

              “Shame. I do love costumes.”

              With a sudden burst of panic, Tango lifted the pillow a fraction and peeked out from under it. “What?”

              “Costumes. I love them.” Ian feigned bored and examined his perfectly trimmed and buffed nails. “You know that.”

              “Yeah, but you wouldn’t be seeing it even if I had to wear one.”

              The slow grin that came his way was all kinds of bad news.

              Tango sat up, pillow clutched tight in his hands. “You know you can’t be there, right?” Things had settled into what one might call a routine lately, albeit one fraught with resentment and unanswerable questions. But it was still very much a dirty little secret, whatever it was they were doing.

              Ian shrugged, hair rippling in the lamplight. “We’ll see.”

              “Ian. I’m dead serious.”

              “Of course, darling. Aren’t you always?”

              Tango didn’t get to answer because his phone chimed with a text alert. Never a good sign this early in the morning.

              Texas was on the way.

~*~

The light was still gray and thin when Aidan’s phone chimed with a text alert. It was from Walsh, a group text.
Texas on the way
.

              “Your girlfriend?” Sam teased. She was sitting in the chair by the window, legs pulled up beneath her, writing by hand in a notebook she had angled toward the window to make use of the meager light.

              “My VP.” He rolled onto his side and bunched the pillow up under his head so he could stare at her. He was in love with her bed, he decided. Unlike his own, there were no stray springs. It was soft, it smelled nice, and the sheets were still tucked in tight around his feet. Lying in her bed was like being hugged. “What are you doing?”

              She lifted her pen, the pad, and then her eyebrows to say
duh
.

              “What are you writing about?” he amended.

              Her gaze flicked down to the paper and she bit down on her lower lip slowly. Hesitation. Self-consciousness. After what had passed between them physically, he found it fascinating that she would hesitate to share something as mundane as a few written words on a page.

              “It’s the rough draft of my thesis. In order to get your graduate degree, you have to write a final thesis paper,” she explained. “And since my master’s is in creative writing, with a focus on fiction, I have to write a novel.”

              “You’re writing a book.”

              She grinned and then thinned her lips to suppress it. “Yes.”

              “What’s it about?”

              She tapped the pen against the top of the pad, still debating, choosing her words. “It’s about a woman who never fit in as a child. She was just a little awkward, but she was treated more as a collection of skills than as a living, breathing girl. She grows up and realizes nothing changes with age, that she’s still just skills in a shell, and that no one will ever love her.”

              “That sounds kinda depressing.”

              “Life’s generally depressing,” she said thoughtfully. She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Anyway, it’s still in the early stages. I like to write in bits and pieces, and stitch them together afterward, when the narrative arc is more complete in my mind.”

              “Hmm.”

              She smiled. “You don’t care, do you?”

              “I don’t understand any of it, but it don’t mean I don’t care.”

              She settled back deeper into the chair. “We’re opposites, you and me. You live life, and I write about it.”

              He found that sad, for some reason.

              “We’re having a party,” he said, “a big Halloween party. Lots of guys coming in from out of town. We’re gonna ride through town ahead of time. You should come.”

              She studied him. “Does that mean you want me to come?” A nervous edge in her voice, doubt.

              “Yeah. I want you to come.”

              “Can I think about it?”

              His heart sank. “Yeah, baby, you can think about it.”

Seventeen

“Samantha.”

              Sam halted in her tracks, tried to keep her smile in check, and turned around.

              Ava came down the campus sidewalk toward her, leggings, boots, leather jacket, another of her usual dark ensembles, hair caught up in the wind. How different they looked, and both of them attached to bikers.

              The thought of
attached
sent heat zinging through her belly, widened her smile.

              Oh God, but she was totally in love with Aidan.

              Ava grinned, the expression full of her brother’s feral charm. There was no denying their relation. Half-blooded, but strong blood. “I need to talk to you,” she said, grin becoming wicked as she reached Sam and they fell into step together.

              “I figured.”

              “You and my brother.”

              “Yes.”

              “What’s going on there?”

              Sam smiled.

              “Aha.”

              “No, not
aha
. Things are…going.”

              Ava laughed. “So you two are…”

              “Uh-huh.”

              “Did he tell you about the party?”

              “He invited me, actually.”

              Ava whistled, and Sam’s heart skipped.

              “I take it that’s a big deal.”

              Ava tucked her hair back and stared ahead as they walked, eyes on the foot traffic before them, but seeing something in her mind. “Let me say it this way.”

              “Oh no.”

              “No, it’s alright. Mercy told me about the party when he got home from work yesterday. Most of the time, he’ll just ask if I want to come hang out at the clubhouse and have a drink, very casual. He doesn’t mind if I’d rather stay home with the babies. But last night, he said, ‘Bonita’s agreed to watch the boys. There’s a party, and we’re riding through town beforehand, and you’re gonna be on the back of my bike,
fillette
.’ He was smiling, but he was completely serious.

              “Every once in a while,” she continued, “my dad likes to make a statement to the city. Yes, the club is the subject of gossip, and there’s plenty of people who are afraid of it, but we’re a family too. On Halloween, he’s going to make a family statement. It’s also a show of strength. And a warning to those who are against us. It’s a complicated, subtle move…even though physically it isn’t subtle at all.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Anyway, on that ride, it’s going to be the members and their old ladies.” Her eyes came over. “This is a big party, an intimate, Lean Dogs sort of party, and it’s not open to the public. If Aidan invited you, I think that’s significant.”

              Sam took a deep breath. “No pressure then.”

              Ava’s expression became thoughtful. “Actually no. No pressure. All the pressure’s on my brother, and he knows it.” Her eyes grew dark and hard to read. “He really cares about you, Sam. I’ve told him he’d better not screw things up.”

              A nice gesture, but not exactly a comforting one. “Ava.”

              “Hmm?”

              She almost chickened out and didn’t ask, but she wanted to know. The Lean Dogs as a club were so interconnected and self-protective, she couldn’t help but be curious. “If I come – if I’m with Aidan – is that going to go over okay with everyone?”

              Ava turned her head and gave her a warm smile. “Better than okay. I promise.”

~*~

The impending arrival of out of town brothers always turned Dartmoor into a kicked anthill of activity. By noon, the buzz of preparations at the clubhouse had radiated outward, inflicting the legit business side of things.

              Aidan took a smoke break propped against the outer wall of the bike shop, watching hangarounds wheel kegs and cases of beer into the clubhouse. Jasmine and her girls unloaded groceries from one of the club trucks.

              Tango appeared beside him, silent, but emitting his own quiet energy. “Sam’s coming?”

              “She might.” That still itched just beneath his skin, the way she’d pulled back inside herself and asked if she could think about it. What could there be left to think about?

              “It’s got to be scary for a girl like her, coming to a party here,” Tango said. “Anybody with any sense ought to have said ‘maybe.’”

              “Yeah.” But he wasn’t reassured. “What about you? You bringing anybody?”

              No answer. At first. Then: “Does Sam know about Tonya yet? The baby?”

              Aidan bit back a response. The weight of their respective secrets fell heavy across their shoulders.

~*~

In the pocket of his cut, Ghost felt the sharp corners of the folded-up map Tango had given him. He imagined he could see Shaman’s fingerprints on it, glowing like phosphorous, tainting it. The man hadn’t contacted him again about “the favor,” but he knew any lapse in time was about calculation and had nothing to do with forgetfulness. The idea soured his stomach, made him feel less on top of his game as he walked into the police precinct.

              The desk secretary showed him to Fielding’s office without fuss. The man himself glanced up once, saw who it was, and returned to his paperwork with a defeated sigh.

              “What?” he asked when the door was shut and they were sealed in together.

              Ghost dropped into a chair. “I wanted to see your smiling face,” he said, but heard the hard bite to his voice. He wasn’t truly in the mood to mess with the guy. “I wanted to put you on notice,” he amended.

              Fielding’s head lifted, gaze wary. “Notice of what?”

              “Some things are in the works for us. And we’re gonna need some leeway. Legal-wise.”

              The sergeant braced his forearms on the desk and sighed deeply. He’d lost his do-gooder shine after the accident with Amy Richards. He could be indignant and self-righteous no longer, and it was killing him, slowly. Bloodshot eyes, gray skin, wrinkled uniform shirt. He didn’t smell like liquor, but he bore all the marks of a drinking man.

              “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, tiredly.

              “I never kid, Vince.” Ghost allowed his voice to soften, not really liking the idea of grinding the poor guy into the dirt when he was already down. “I don’t need you to do anything. Just look the other way, if you start feeling vibrations underfoot.”

              The responding silence was as good as acquiescence.

~*~

The bikes were heard out on Industrial just before nightfall. It was dark enough for the headlamps to flare like glowing eyes, light enough for the riders in their black cuts, helmets and shades to be visible and distinct as they swooped in at the gates and cruised up to the clubhouse.

              Aidan sat on a picnic table with Tango and Mercy, smoking, waiting.

              “Welcome home, boys,” Ghost said, stepping forward as engines died and helmets were taken off.

              “Home?” Candy said with a laugh, swinging off his bike and rising up to his full, formidable height. “You still trying to get me to transfer, old man?”

              “Always worth a shot.”

              The Knoxville president and Texas VP shared a back-slapping man-hug, and then they were all on their feet, greeting their brethren. Aidan embraced Candy, Jinx, and Walsh’s brother Fox. Then he realized who the fourth Texan was, and stepped back to watch the show, eyes going to Mercy.

              There was nothing “half” about the resemblance between the two brothers. Colin was a big man, but he lacked the finely-honed edge of complete and total insanity that lurked beneath Mercy’s affable surface. Still, he was impressive and intimidating in his own right, black hair cropped short, ropy arms bare despite the cold. His prospect cut did little to diminish his aura.

              The two sized one another up a long, tense second, and no one else spoke, waiting.

              Finally, Mercy was the one to initiate contact. He extended one huge hand for a shake, and Colin accepted it a second later.

              “How’s the family?” Colin asked stiffly.

              “Good. Ava says to come by the house sometime.”

              They let go of one another at the same time, as though it was scripted.

              “I need a drink,” Candy announced, and it broke up the last of the awkwardness, and sent them all inside.

~*~

“I expected to ride in and find the city on fire, the way you talked over the phone,” Candy said as he commandeered the bottle of Scotch from the groupie who’d offered it and poured his own drink. He sat at the bar, holding court as was his way, brows lifted as he glanced over at Ghost.

              “Not yet,” Ghost said, and gestured to Ratchet.

              The secretary was sitting at one of the round bar tables with Rottie, Hound, and RJ, and pushed up like he’d been waiting for this summons on the edge of his chair. It was the first time that evening Aidan noticed the file folder tucked under his arm. He walked to the bar, handed Ghost the file, and then waited, hands linked behind his back.

              “Chapel,” Ghost said, and they all headed that way.

              It was a tighter fit than normal, with four extra guys, and Ghost waited until they were all settled before he laid the folder out on the massive dining table and spread out its contents, angling them so Candy had a good view.

              The Texas VP studied the paperwork a moment, then sat back and said, “Shit.”

              Aidan felt a prickling like fingernails at the back of his neck. “What?” he asked.

              Ghost looked toward him, and it might have been their first moment of eye contact since that morning in the Teague kitchen a few weeks ago. “Names.”

              “Yeah?”

              “Our names. Our old ladies’ names. I’m pretty sure it’s some kinda hit list.”

              “
What
?” Several voices asked the question along with him.

              “Our little Ratchet’s been busy,” Ghost explained, “hacking into accounts and intercepting emails. This was sent to Ellison himself from one of his top underthugs.” From the printout, he read, “Kenneth and Margaret Teague. Kenneth a.k.a. Ghost. President. 2254 Chastain Street. Kingston and Emmaline Walsh…” And on it went. Michael and Holly. Mercy and Ava…all of them. Names, addresses, club names, and club ranks.

              “How long have you been sitting on this?” Mercy asked, voice scary-quiet.

              “Two days.” Ghost’s tone said he didn’t expect a bunch of arguing. “I wanted to wait until we were all together.”

              “So we’re together,” Michael said tightly. “Now what? Do I gotta go home and build a fallout shelter for my woman to live in?”

              It was literally the most he’d ever said at church, and it grabbed everyone’s attention.

              “I’ll bring a shovel,” Mercy said, “and after, we’ll do my place.” They shared a look of true camaraderie. Two psychos appreciating one another’s violence and seriousness.

              Aidan had a brief moment of thanksgiving: Sam’s name hadn’t been on the list.

              But his beloved stepmother, little sister, his best friend, his brothers – they were in the enemy’s crosshairs. His stomach lurched.

              “Ellison’s backing one company that’s got only one project in the city,” Aidan said. “Why would killing all of us be the next step?”

              Ghost actually gave him a considering face, like he appreciated the question. “I don’t think it is,” he said. “This is just him getting organized. He hasn’t made a move against us yet, but he’s planning to, and if we resist too heavily, he’ll start dropping bodies.”

              “Jesus
Christ
,” Rottie said, raking his hands through his hair in agitation.

              “We need to make the first move,” Walsh said, words laced with smoke. He was working on the last nub of a cig with one hand and toying with the pack with the other, ready to light the next one up.

              “Obviously,” Fox said. He had taken on his brother’s usual mantel of calm, nursing a Scotch and watching them all with cool blue eyes.

              Candy grinned. “That’s why we brought the Fox.”

              “And I’ve got a real good lead on where to start,” Ghost said, withdrawing something from inside his cut. He unfolded it to reveal a map, locations picked out in red. “Ellison’s properties,” he explained. “In and around Knoxville.”

              “Where’d that come from?” Briscoe asked.