Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (26 page)

Twenty-Four

Michelle

She knew two things. One: Odell’s would serve as a good distraction from her personal worries. And two: Her personal worries weren’t going to magically fade over time.

              She had to get back to London. The sooner the better.

              But she wasn’t of much use with this goddamn brace on her hand, so she needed to let that heal, first. And in the meantime, she’d busy herself with Odell’s. Because it was a) Something to do, and b) Important to Candy. She could do that for him, she thought. Whatever else happened between them, she could help his bar dreams come true.

              He felt guilty and inadequate about what happened on the side of the road, and she wasn’t sure how to go about reassuring him. Mainly because she was still rattled herself.

             
Task at hand
, she thought, with a little mental shake.

              “The floors look lovely,” she told Duke, tip-toeing carefully across them. The boards had been sanded down and refinished in a dark stain, a color that made her think of the inside of bourbon casks.

              He lifted up the front of his ball cap and scratched at his pale hair. “Thank you.” He sent her a rare, crinkle-eyed smile. “They turned out alright, didn’t they?”

              “Absolutely.”

              Everything was going so much faster without contractors at the helm. The boys could work as long and as hard as they wanted, the hours that worked best for them, with little in the way of interruption save the odd salvage job. So the improvements rolled along at a steady clip.

              Blue’s arrival was announced by his slightly-wheezy breathing; she heard it just before he drew up beside her. “Looks good, don’t it?”

              London, she’d decided some weeks before, really needed a Blue in the roster. He was everyone’s uncle, and she’d never seen him wearing anything less than an enthusiastic smile.

              “That’s what I was just telling Duke,” she agreed. “It’s wonderful.”

              “I was gonna show you what we did with the ring,” Blue said.

              “Ooh, let’s have a look, then.”

              Though far from ready to throw open its doors to the public, Odell’s was leagues beyond the hellhole Candy had first shown her that afternoon at lunch. It smelled of paint, varnish, and the sharp tang of fresh-sawed wood. The hushed, moldy quiet of failure had been replaced with the jovial shit-talking and hammer-striking of a construction zone.

              The concrete-floored space in back looked much the same as it had – there was only so much you could do with that much concrete, after all – but warm splashes of color drew the eye now. New ropes strung up around the ring, bright red. Red Everlast bags hanging from the steel overhead beams. Bright blue mats. A water cooler. New benches. New concession counter, in red and white stripes. The locker room was in the process of being renovated as well.

              “We didn’t do much,” Blue said, modest now. “Most of the real work’s going into the locker room, but it’s clean. Attractive, I think, for a gym,” he said with a rusty chuckle.

              “I love it,” she assured. “Now all we have to do is hire a trainer.”

              They’d decided to take a slightly different approach this time around with the boxing side of business. The club was going to run the back end of the house as a separate business, a boxing gym where paying members could work out, take a lesson, participate in practice matches – there was a new ring scheduled for delivery the next day. On weekends, the house trainer would serve as the house fighter, and bar patrons would come back here to watch matches, hopefully drop another hundred bucks on food, drink, and cigars. And if some gambling happened? Well, the club wouldn’t be the club if it wasn’t good at hiding illegal activity.

              “You doing okay?” Blue asked, and it startled her.

              She jerked. “I’m sorry?” Her heart thumped, and she realized she’d been staring stupidly at the center of the room, focused on nothing. “What?”

              Beside her, Blue was giving her a warm, fatherly smile, touched with suspicion. A knowing look. “You,” he said again. “You’re doing alright? With everything?” He touched the back of his right hand, and she felt her own throb in response. The pain wasn’t so bad now, but reminders always stoked the twinges. His eyes told her he wasn’t simply worried about her physical state, though.

              She offered him a bare smile in return – the best she could do at the moment. “No one ever said life was simple or painless, did they?”

              He lifted a single brow.

              She sighed. “I’m fine.”

              “You know, I almost believe you.”

              “Only almost?”

              “I know you’re trying to be tough for him, and I think it’s a good thing, you helping him stay focused like that. But if you ever need to talk…” he offered.

              “I appreciate it, Blue. But I really am fine.” And she wasn’t “being tough” for Candy. It was just how she’d been raised.

~*~

Candy

His bedroom at home smelled like clean linen and Michelle’s shampoo. By contrast, the cab of the flatbed smelled like day-old Burger King and cigarettes. But right now, he didn’t want to smell anything besides the inside of this truck, because it meant that he was out in the world, working, doing relevant shit.

              “Where to next?” Jinx asked from behind the wheel.

              They’d just left Crockett’s under the pretense of groceries, but really to see if his mushy memory recalled any unusual visitors in the last few weeks. A quick call to his cleaning lady ensured that, unless someone had been sneaky, there’d been no rat bastards stopping by for tea and implicating chats.

              “Hmm?” Candy dug a smoke out of the cup holder and lit it. “If you needed an afternoon caffeine fix, because let’s say you were a sleep-deprived cop in a city half-run by Lean Dogs, where would you head about now?”

~*~

“I still can’t believe you come to fucking Starbucks,” Candy griped, leaning back against the hood of the truck.

              “Just drink it and thank me later,” Jinx said, scanning the side of the building from behind his sunglasses.

              It was a caramel Frappuccino, and it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He wasn’t going to admit that, of course.

              Officer Mark Jaffrey emerged about five minutes later, as Candy was trying to suck all the caramel-drizzled whipped cream through his straw, white paper cup in one hand, paperback book in the other.

              “Reading on the job?” Candy called, and the man paused, sighing with a visible slump of his shoulders. He changed course and headed toward them, where the truck was parked in the lee of a decorative spruce.

              “I can’t be seen talking to you, you know,” he said.

              “Whatcha reading?” Jinx asked.

              Jaffrey made an exasperated face and turned the cover of the book toward them.
The Art of War
.

              “Who you going to war with, Marty?” Candy asked.

              “Not your dumb ass,” Jaffrey shot back. “I’d have an unfair advantage.”

              Candy grinned. “You sweet-talker.”

              Jaffrey didn’t return the smile. “What happened to you, man? I heard you and some girl–”

              “
My
girl.”

              “–you and your girl,” he amended. “Got roughed up on the side of the road.”

              “Yeah. Something like that. I was hoping you’d be the responding officer at the hospital.”

              Jaffrey snorted. “My CO don’t want me anywhere near your crew right now.”

              “Afraid you’re biased?”

              “Afraid the local kid might be looking out for local interests while the feds are trying to build a RICO case.”

              “Yeah,” Jinx drawled, “about that.”

              “What about it?” Jaffrey shrugged again, uncomfortable now.

              “Riley says he has inside information on us, and if he really does, he’s getting it from someone who isn’t patched into the club, but who’s had access to us,” Candy said, meeting the man’s gaze head-on, searching for tells: flinches, nervous glances, beads of sweat.

              There were none. “Nobody in my crew would say jack shit to the feds,” he said, evenly. “So if someone’s got your dirty laundry, it’s because you guys were airing it.”

              “That’s helpful.”

              “The feds have an undercover,” Jaffrey said, lowering his voice, taking a step closer. “I’ve never met him, have no idea what he looks like, or where they have him embedded. But Riley let that little bit slip: there’s an agent out there in the wind. You find your information link, and my guess is you’ll find your hidden fed.” He made a disapproving face and stepped back. “I dunno why I told you that. I’m a stupid shit, I guess.”

              “No, Marty.” Candy grinned at him. “You’re just a good Amarillo citizen.”

~*~

When he walked into the familiar chaos of Odell’s, his blood pressure lowered on impact. Ahhh. His boys, his bar, the smell of varnish and clean things. His girl, moving around from project to project with her dorky little clipboard of checklists.

              She had to have seen the flare of sunlight from the open door, heard its now-oiled hinges ghost open. But she didn’t look up right away, instead finished her conversation with Duke, and then moved toward him, smiling, the brace on her arm hideous and huge.

              A lot of people were going to die because of that brace.

              “Hello, darling,” she greeted, standing up on her toes to meet the fall of his kiss, leaning into the hand he put at her waist. She was still smiling when she pulled back. “Nice to be back in the saddle?”

              “Extremely,” he assured, turning her so she fit in the shelter of his arm. “Walk me through what’s going on today.”

              “Gladly.”

              They checked in on bathroom tiling and toilet-installation, on the floors she said were “lovely,” on the new gym setup and locker room redos. On the bar which actually looked like a bar now, minus liquor, of course. The glasses sparkled in the sunlight coming through the unadorned windows.

              Candy knew that their trade would happen at night, that the windows would be covered and dim lighting and throbbing music would be the cornerstones of the atmosphere. But in this moment, in the warm fall of sun, watching his girl look at it all with supreme satisfaction, he was satisfied. He was better than that.

              When she was done, Michelle finally looked at him – a real, assessing look – and said, “How goes tracking down our rat?”

             
Oh, sweetheart
, he thought. It was a
him
thing, a
club
thing, and not a
we
thing. But he loved her a little for being so invested.

              “Working on it,” he assured. “I think our cartel friends are looking real guilty right about now.”

              “Yes. I thought so.”

              “I don’t want you anywhere alone. I’ve got protection parameters set up for you, Jen, and Darla. No one’s getting a hand on our women.”             

              She reached to touch his cheek. “You’re sweet.”

              “No I’m not.”

              “On, but you are.” She smiled…but it didn’t quite touch her eyes.

~*~

Michelle

“Raven, I’m dead serious.”

              “Dead serious?” her aunt mocked on the other side of the Skype connection, beautiful with her hair down, in a casual red sweater and jeans. “Is this the new-American in you talking now? Don’t take this the wrong way, niece, bur your Texas beau is rubbing off on you.”

              “Whatever,” Michelle said. “I need you to do this for me. I’ll owe you one.”

              “And what will you do for me?” Raven countered, brows raised.

              “Come on, Raven, don’t be like this.”

              Her aunt sighed, rolled her eyes, and finally slumped with defeat. “Fine. You’re just lucky you’re my favorite niece.”

              “I’m your only niece.”

              “Ha. Wait until King’s girl is born. Then we’ll see.” But she said a hurried, “I love you, troublemaker,” before the connection was terminated.

              Michelle took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at the blank screen of her laptop. Her aunt wasn’t her preferred spec ops agent, but she was her only hope at the moment. And as she’d proved herself…men never suspected the threat of the fairer sex.