Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) (32 page)

              “How many little crying virgin girls have you terrorized?” he taunted them. “Doesn’t that get boring? More of the same, and same, and same. How’s that a challenge? How’s that sport?”

              Whitney made a small distressed sound.

              Tango delivered his challenge: “You wanna torture somebody? You wanna see who can take it? You start with me.”

Twenty-Nine

It wouldn’t be fair to Erin to deny her riding lessons because of Tonya. So Sam put on her bravest face and drove her sister out to Briar Hall one afternoon after school.

              “I swear,” Emmie said, afterward, as Erin was walking Sherman around the arena to cool him down and Em stood beside Sam at the rail. “I had no earthly idea Tonya was pregnant. I would never have put you in that position.”

              Sam shrugged, feeling hollow; it was becoming her constant companion, this empty spot in her stomach. “I know you didn’t. It’s nobody’s fault. Except for mine…and Aidan’s.”

              “Men are idiots,” Emmie said, tugging at the brim of her baseball cap. She was dressed for her work day, in buff riding breeches, boots, and a sweatshirt beneath a down vest. “Even Walsh, who’s the most intelligent guy I’ve ever met – idiots, all of them.”

              “No arguments here.”

              Out in the arena, the sun glinted off Erin’s bright ponytail and the horse’s fluffy winter coat. It was a timeless, beautiful picture, girl and horse, loose sand of the arena kicking up beneath their feet. Erin was talking to Sherman, glancing over at him and smiling as she spoke. The big gelding rubbed his ear against her shoulder in answer.

              “Sam,” Emmie said, and her voice was different, no longer her officious, no-nonsense instructor tone, but something more personal and feminine.

              Sam glanced over at her.

              Emmie’s expression was one of deep sympathy. “You might not want to hear this, and that’s your prerogative. I get it. But not very long ago I was the outsider, coming into this crazy biker world, and all the other women had been attached to the club for so long they didn’t remember what it was like to be exposed to the Dogs for the first time.” Her smile was wry. “Walsh and I got off to a rough start, you could say. When I married him, I did it because…well, let’s just say it wasn’t true love propelling us to the altar.”

              Sam frowned, curiosity good and piqued. “But you guys are–”

              “A perfectly matched set of little blonde salt-and-pepper shakers? Yeah.” She snorted. “But it doesn’t mean it wasn’t rough, and I wasn’t scared, and there weren’t a boatload of miscommunications.” She smiled, and it was eloquent of so many things. “I had a heart-to-heart with myself. And I realized that no matter our issues, I was completely in love with him, and in my life, love was hard to come by.”

              Sam fidgeted with the flaking black paint on the fence rail beneath her hands. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me,” she said, mostly to herself.

              “Like I said. Idiots. Unfortunately, they can’t stop being idiots just because they love you. It’s part of the whole package, I’m afraid.”

~*~

Walsh got home while she was finishing up with her lesson notes. Emmie heard the bike go past the barn and move up toward the house and frowned to herself, as she jotted in her student journal. Up ‘til now, she hadn’t unloaded on him about the whole Aidan/Sam situation. But after seeing Sam’s devastated face today, she was tired of biting her tongue.

              She finished up, closed the office door, shut out the lights – paused a moment to reflect that not so long ago she would have then headed up to the loft apartment to spend the night alone – and started toward the house.

              Walsh was in the foyer when she walked in, sorting through the day’s mail at the side table. Her greeting was: “I still can’t believe you didn’t warn me about Tonya and Aidan.”

              He glanced up slowly, gave her that mild eyebrow lift she sometimes found sexy…or infuriating. “Wasn’t my business.”

              “Oh, bullshit.” He started toward the kitchen, and she followed. “Tonya’s moving her horse to another barn because of it. That’s
my
business, which makes you obliged to share. And we won’t even mention how humiliated I was when I single-handedly broke the news to Samantha.”

              “Think you just mentioned it, love,” he said over his shoulder as they kept walking.

              “I told you she was bringing her sister out,” she continued, growing angrier. “You didn’t think a baby was worth mentioning?”

              “A baby!” Bea exclaimed as they entered the kitchen.

              Oh damn.

              Bea pressed her hands to her face, eyes wide with shock and delight. “You’re having a baby?”

              “No, Mum,” Walsh said. “We’re not.”

              “I’m sorry,” Emmie added when she saw her mother-in-law’s crestfallen expression. “We’re talking about friends.”

              “Oh,” Bea said, a wealth of heartbreak in that one word. “I was hoping…” She heaved a deep breath and almost sounded tearful. “I want you two to have a baby…”

              Walsh put an arm around her trembling shoulders. “I know, Mum, but you want it to be because we want it, yeah? Not just have a baby to have it.”

              Across the island from them, Emmie felt like she’d been shoved. She hadn’t been coy about having children. She’d just turned thirty, and she knew all the medical statistics, knew that if you’d never had a child before, it was imperative that you not wait too long.

              She blinked. “Yes,” she said, voice dull, “we wouldn’t want to screw around and accidently get pregnant.”

              Walsh glanced toward her…

              But she was already leaving the room.

~*~

“What do you want for dinner?” Sam asked as she put the Caprice in park at the curb in front of Leroy’s. “The equestrian gets to pick.”

              Erin had helmet hair, and for once in her life didn’t seem to care that she didn’t look her best. She fiddled with her seatbelt. “I want…bacon pasta,” she decreed, chin held at a lofty angle. “With extra parm.”

              “But of course, your highness.”

              They climbed out of the car rolling their eyes at one another, but feeling sisterly. Sam was still a little shocked by Erin’s visit the other night, the way her little sister, Queen of Bad Decisions, had been so clear-headed about Aidan and the situation with Tonya.

              Seeing Emmie today had been good, too. Sam didn’t want to hide and hope it all went away. She had to live her life; she had to push Aidan aside and carry on.

              “Go find some crescent rolls,” Sam told Erin when they got inside the store. “I’ll find the pasta and cheese.”
And wine
, she added silently.

              She ought to call Aidan, she decided. They ought to sit down, eat, drink, lay everything out. Because even if she hated what had happened…she could never hate him. She wouldn’t allow herself to fall back into bed with him. No. That would only feed his irresponsibility. But they could be friends. They could…

              “Hi, Sam.”

              She started, turning around with a jolt as she heard her name. This time she didn’t have to grope for the name of the man standing beside her in the alcohol aisle – she’d seen him recently, after all.

              “Greg. Hi.”

              He was dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt, and held a bottle of whiskey in one hand. His smile was wide, but didn’t touch his eyes. “How are you?” he asked.

              A crawling sense of unease tickled up the back of her neck. “Fine. We’re only stopping in for a minute,” she said, hoping to get rid of him. “Just picking up a few things for dinner.”

              “Oh, right.” He nodded. “Hey, have you seen Aidan lately?”

              That question again. She didn’t like it. A spasm of fear shot through her, and she couldn’t say why, only that it seemed strange.

              “No,” she said, “I haven’t. Look, Greg, it’s great to see you, but–”

              “Oh, you’re busy. I get it. That’s fine.” Fast, tight grin. “Good to see you again.” And he was gone, walking to the register.

~*~

One phone call and a bacon pasta dinner later, Sam was waiting on the back patio with a glass of white wine, sweater folded tight across her front against the November cold when she heard the bike pull up in her drive. She tensed, braced herself, and Aidan appeared seconds later, chilled and windblown.

              He hesitated a moment, like he wanted to kiss her, but sat down hard in a patio chair instead. He pulled out a smoke and lit up, eyes dark and heavy in the light of the overhead security bulb. “Greg?” he asked.

              “Twice now,” she said, nodding. “A few weeks ago, and then this afternoon. I didn’t think much of it the first time, but twice now he’s asked me if I’ve been in touch with you. You said to call you if anything seemed strange. So yeah. This strikes me as very strange.”

              He took a hard drag, smoke mingling with his words. “You don’t even know, sweetheart,” he said, mostly to himself, shaking his head. He seemed deeply troubled. “He say anything else?”

              “Not this time, no. The time before it was just pleasantries.”

              “Hmm.”

              “Aidan.” Her voice was firm, a surprise to herself and a magnet for his attention; his eyes snapped to her face. “I’m not one of those women who’s going to demand to know what’s going on behind the doors of your meeting room–”

              “Chapel.”

              “–chapel,” she amended. “But the last time I saw Greg, someone was shaking him down for his lunch money at Knoxville High. But you’re sitting here now worried that he talked to me. So I’m going to need to know what’s going on.”

              He stared at her, a long, level look, obviously weighing things in his mind. Without blinking, he said, “The club’s made an enemy of someone more powerful than we thought. Greg’s working for them. And they took Tango.”

              She felt the blood drain out of her face. “They
took
him?”

              “They’re holding him hostage until we get the money put together.” He glanced away, swallowing hard. “God knows what they’ll do to him.”

              “God,” she breathed. “Kev.” Kevin Estes had always been a sweetheart, even in high school, when Aidan had been the biggest douche alive and hadn’t known she’d existed. Kev had always been polite, kind, almost apologetic on behalf of his best friend.

              “Yeah.” He finished his smoke, ground it out on the concrete, and got to his feet.

              Sam stood too. “Aidan.”

              This time when his eyes came to her, she saw the repressed emotion in them, the brimming regret and longing. “Don’t say my name like that if you don’t mean anything by it,” he said quietly. “Shit is spinning out of control and I need–” He bit down hard on the rest of his sentence.

              “I’m sorry,” she said, and felt emotion rising in her throat, dampening her eyes. “I hate this. I…”

              He stepped in close to her, took her by the arms and pulled her up flush against his tall, hard body. “It’s a girl,” he said, almost whispering. “The baby.” The smile that streaked across his face was more pain than joy. “I’m gonna have a girl, Sam.”

              She put both hands on his chest, felt the thunder of his pulse. Felt something unfurling inside her, something she couldn’t describe, even with her writer’s vocabulary.

              “Wait for me,” he urged fervently. “I’m gonna get Kev back, and I’m gonna make things right for us. Just please, baby, wait. Because I love you and I can’t do it without you.”

              He kissed her, fast, hard, his mouth damp against hers, and then pulled back, released her. “Stay safe,” he said, and then was gone.

              Sam groped behind her, found a chair, and sank into it.

Thirty

“Where are we with the money?”

              Four sets of bloodshot eyes lifted toward him, one of which was full of fatherly disapproval.

              It was six-twenty-six in the morning and Aidan was running off coffee and the Waffle House hash browns and sausage he’d choked down on the way over. Waffle House made him think of Sam – changing her tire in the parking lot – and thoughts of Sam made him feel tall, capable, and in need of a major life readjustment. Whatever was coming at him, bring it. Including his dad. Including this stupid fucking problem with the money.

              Ghost, Ratchet, Jinx, and Candy were at a table in the clubhouse common room, reams of paper spread out before them, ash trays full of butts.

              Candy took a long swallow out of a glass of Scotch and said, “We’re up to a hundred kay.”

              “What?” Aidan demanded.

              Ghost made a face he wouldn’t normally. The exhaustion was getting to him. “Nobody’s liquid. After buying the horse farm, all the chapters are strapped.” He picked his cig off the edge of the ashtray, took a drag fraught with unhappiness.

              Fortified by coffee, and the sonogram picture in his wallet, Aidan huffed an annoyed breath and said, “So we don’t have the money. Okay. We find another way.”

              Candy rolled his eyes and downed more Scotch.

              Ratchet and Jinx studied their hands.

              “Another way?” Ghost asked, sneering. “And what would that be, Einstein? We take one step toward Ellison or any of his properties, and they’ll put the screws to Tango.”

              “Haven’t they already?” Aidan shot back. “If they know his history, they’ll know how to use it against him.”

              Ghost’s eyes flared, like he was afraid Aidan would say too much.

              How fucking insulting. “We need to get him out now,” Aidan said. He thought he might be snarling, and didn’t care. “And if you won’t think about other options, then I will.”

              “Yeah?” Ghost said. “You gonna take some initiative for once in your damn life?”

              “I–”

              Aidan didn’t get to finish. The front door banged open and a lean shadow preceded the lean shape of Ian Byron as he marched into the common room, backlit by the dawn, tailed by his usual bodyguard, Bruce.

              Aidan took one look at the Englishman’s harsh face and stepped back. Let Ghost face
this
a moment.

              “Guys,” Ghost said. “Give us a minute.”

              Ratchet, Candy and Jinx seemed glad of the chance to get up and stretch their legs. They left down the back hall, heading no doubt toward dorms and bathrooms, and maybe even pillows if they weren’t called to return.

              A door closed with a soft thump, and then they were alone.              Bruce dragged out a chair and sat.

              Ian hauled in a deep breath and said, “Where is he?” His crisp English voice was venomous, furious, impressive in its darkness. This was the reason, Aidan reflected dimly, as the man’s eyes flashed, they always cast Brits as villains in movies.

              Ghost folded his hands together on the table. “I don’t discuss the whereabouts of my members with outsiders.”

              “You
fucking
asshole! This is on your head,” Ian roared. “I told you to turn him loose.
I told you!
You owed me that, after what I did for your
fucking
club, and all I wanted in return was Kevin’s freedom. None of this would be happening if you’d given him to me!” He breathed through his mouth, teeth bared. “I will burn your club to the ground for this.”

              With a dramatic spin, long black coat flaring around him like a cape, he stormed for the door, Bruce struggling to keep up with his long legs.

              In his wake, Ghost dropped his face in his hands.

              Aidan stared at his father, the man angry and helpless as he sat hunched over all that useless paperwork. His president, his leader…and right now, part of the problem. He made a lightning-fast decision; he chased after Ian.

              Out in the parking lot, Bruce was holding open the rear door of the black Jag and Ian was folding his considerable lean height down onto the red leather seat.

              “Ian. Hold up.”

              Bruce glanced at his master, curious.

              Ian gave Aidan a cold stare, eyes flicking down and then back up the length of him, then nodded stiffly. Bruce stepped back, giving them at least a sense of privacy.

              Aidan braced a hand on top of the car. “How’d you know Kev was MIA?”

              His expression was insulted. But he obliged. “One of my informants turned up dead. Ellison thought to kill him, but not to swipe the memory stick from his pocket. He photographed Kev’s capture.” His lashes flickered at the end, a tremor of fear registering in the sharp angles of his jaw. This was not merely a case of a kingpin throwing his weight around. He was distraught.

              Aidan leaned closer. “Listen, Ellison wants more than just his coke back; he wants to humiliate us. He’s asking for five-hundred-grand and we don’t have it.”

              Ian nodded, stared at the seat back in front of him, still breathing hard. “Done. I can go straight to the bank.” His gaze slid to Aidan, tightening. “Though I can think of much better things to buy with my money than a motorcycle club.”

              A chill rippled across his skin. “You wanna leave Kev with Ellison?”

              “Do you?” Ian challenged. “Because if I do this, you understand that I will own you, yes? No more owing, no more favors. The Tennessee chapter of the Lean Dogs will belong to me.”

              “You’re really gonna use this to your own goddamn advantage?”

              Ian made an impatient sound. “The thing you need to understand about the truly successful, Aidan – they never miss an opportunity. Never,” he said, vehemently. “Do you want the money or not?”

              There was no choice to be made here. The club wasn’t a club without a brotherhood, and he was going to take care of his brother, by God.

              “Yeah. Go get it.”

~*~

The sunrise filled the condensation on the window with round pearls of light, like the glass was on fire. Aidan stared mindlessly at it and lit a fresh cigarette, let it smolder between his fingers as he took another swallow of coffee. The others had never returned to the common room; asleep, he guessed.

              “Yeah. I understand,” Ghost said quietly into his cellphone, and then hung up with a beep.

              Through the bright glaze of moisture on the window, Aidan saw the black Jag return. “Dad,” he said, turning on his bar stool so he faced his father.

              Ghost’s face was weary and lined. “What?”

              “Something you tell me over and over again. That I need to get my priorities straight.”             

              “Yeah? You do.”

              “So do you. A half a mil’s about to walk through the door, and I think you ought to take it.”

              Ghost frowned. “What?”

              This time when Ian entered, it was with his usual poise and grace. He had a bit of a Dracula thing going on with his black coat and harsh-featured white face.

              “I’m not in the mood for more of your shit, princess,” Ghost said. “Get out of my clubhouse.”

              Silent, Ian accepted a slim black briefcase from Bruce and set it on the desk. “Call Ellison.” He had control of his emotions this time. “Tell him you have the money.”

              Ghost looked at the case but didn’t move to touch it. He shot a betrayed glance toward Aidan before fixing his gaze on the Englishman. “Yeah? And then what? Tell him you’re my puppet master?”

              “If I’m not mistaken,” Ian said, “you need five-hundred-thousand dollars. There it is. We can work out the particulars of my ownership later.”

              Ghost smiled, the expression almost deranged. “Take your goddamn money and get out of my sight.”

              “Dad,” Aidan said, “this is our only option, and you know it. Take the money.”

              “Yeah? Take the money?” He rounded on Aidan with a snarl. “And hand over this club to
him
? You’re so fucking stupid sometimes I can’t even believe you’re mine.”

              “How can you keep us a
club
if you let us all get tortured to death one by one?” Aidan shot back.

              Ian cleared his throat. “Will you be accepting the money?”

              “No,” Ghost said.

              “Very well then.” The case was collected. “I’ll see you in hell, gentlemen,” Ian said, and left.

              “That’s it then?” Aidan asked when they were alone again. “You’re just going to let them keep Kev. You really are.” The disbelief grew and grew as the words left his mouth. “You’re going to let him get cut apart, piece by piece. When you know it will break him. Even if they don’t kill him, he’ll never recover from this.
Never
.”

              A moment hung heavy between them, bursting with dark memories of the night they’d stormed The Cuckoo’s Nest, Mercy sending bouncers flying as they fought their way to the stage. Tango had just been a heap of bones at that point, eyes glassy from the heroin, and Ghost had pulled him gently down off the dais and carried him out.

              “Hate me all you want,” Aidan urged. “Kick me out, take my patches, shoot me in the head if that’s what’ll make you feel better. But don’t do this to Kev.” His tone became pleading. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

              A beat. Two. Three…

              “A president,” Ghost said heavily, “must always consider the greater good of his men. And he must accept that there will be casualties–”

              Aidan didn’t wait to hear the rest. He left the clubhouse at a fast walk, and was jogging by the time he reached the parking lot, sprinting before he reached his bike. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to be gone.

~*~

The silence was a mockery of the chaos inside his head. His pulse throbbed in his temples, an accusation on every beat. He kept seeing Kev’s face, when he was sixteen and strung out, a skinny little abused thing, crying in his arms as he carried him out of that godforsaken club. Ghost had made a promise to him then, that he would never let anything of the sort happen to him again.
“You’re safe now,”
he’d told him.
“You’re with your brothers.”

              And now he was at the mercy of a man who would think nothing of exploiting his weaknesses.

              Ghost pushed up from the table and stalked out of the clubhouse, across the parking lot, through the cold bright dawn to the central office where Maggie’s parked CTS signaled her presence. The door was shut, because of the change of season, and when he entered, he was hit with the dry warmth of her space heater’s output.

              His wife sat behind the desk in a thick cream sweater, her hair the color of the sunrise outside. “Hi, baby,” she greeted.

              “Hand me the wastebasket.”

              Frowning with curiosity, she did so.

              And he threw up in it. It was nothing but coffee and bile, but his stomach wouldn’t stop grabbing. Finally it died to dry heaves, and then stopped. Exhausted from the effort, Ghost set the can aside and sank down against the door, until his ass hit the floor. He stretched his legs out and…sat. Just sat, and let it all course over him.

              His throat was raw from retching, and it hurt to speak. “I promised that boy. I promised him, Mags, that I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to him again…”

              She got to her feet and came to him, sank down beside him and put her arms around his shoulders. Her cheek was warm and smooth where she pressed her face to his. She smelled clean and feminine, her hair silky down the back of his neck.

              “What can we do to get the money?” Her voice was firm and clear. His strong gorgeous girl, ready to do battle.

              “I dunno, baby.” All he wanted to do was shut his eyes and fall asleep with his head on her shoulder. “I really don’t.”

~*~

Carter was sorting through the laundry baskets in the living room when Aidan arrived back at the apartment. It felt like noon, but was only nine, and Carter was just getting up, hair damp from the shower, shirtless and sporting nail-shaped crescents all down his back. Jazz had spent the night last night, and Aidan was glad he hadn’t been around to listen to them going at it through the paper-thin walls.

              “What’s the status?” Carter asked as soon as Aidan walked through the door. His face was tight with worry. “Any news?”