Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (31 page)

              “Bite my ass,” Candy retorted. “Okay. Did you two come here to help? Or to shoot the shit?”

              “Both, of course,” Mercy said.

              Miles shrugged. “I got nothing to do while they make daisy chains.” He tilted his head toward Tommy and Michelle’s table. “Might as well help you out.”

              Candy nodded. “Church first thing in the morning, then.”

~*~

Colin

Things were better. Much better, even. Mercy didn’t feel like a brother to him, but he felt…well, like a friend. Like a friend who sometimes made him twitchy, and who he trusted with his life, but perhaps not with his deeper thoughts.

              Huh. Maybe that was how a brother felt. That strange blend of love, hate, shared memories, and nerves.

              When Mercy went to the bar for a refill, Colin decided he would do the honorable thing – despite his earliest thoughts on the subject, honor did exist within the club, and was taken seriously – and make the first approach.

              He drew up beside his half-brother and set his elbows on the bar. “Hey,” he said, and felt awkward as shit.

              Mercy plunked his glass down and leaned over the bar to get to the Johnnie Walker Red. They’d just been kids when they used to see each other almost daily, and they hadn’t developed drink preferences back then. He remembered, faintly, mostly in the feel of sun on his back and the hoppy taste of stolen warm Coors Light in his mouth, an afternoon when he’d snitched beer from his old man and egged Felix into drinking one. He’d suggested he would be a total pussy if he didn’t. Felix had hated the taste, and tried to gulp it, and ended up choking and puking warm beer all over his shoes. Colin had laughed until his stomach hurt and beer started to burn his sinuses.

              “Hey,” Mercy said, pouring a stiff Scotch, eyes flicking over to Colin with the sort of poise and spookiness he hadn’t possessed as a nerdy child. “How’s Jack?”

              “He’s good. Doesn’t sleep great, but growing like crazy.”

              “Hmm. They do that.” Mercy looked wistful as he put the bottle back.

              “Heard Ava’s got another one in the oven.”

              He nodded, a smile touching his mouth. “Yeah. All her idea.”

              Awkwardness lingering, Colin said, “That’s great.”

              “Yeah.” Mercy turned and put his back to the bar, glass in hand, finally giving Colin his full attention. “Jen?”

              “She won’t marry me,” Colin blurted before he could catch himself. Where the hell had that come from? Why in the world would he tell such a thing to Mercy of all people?

              Huh again. Must be more of that brother thing.

              Real interest touched Mercy’s face. “She won’t?” He sipped his drink and leaned back on his elbows, good and settled for a story.

              Shit.

              Colin took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “I bought her a ring a couple months back. Got down on one knee and everything.” He glanced at his boots and felt the intense urge to rub the back of his neck. The evening of the proposal rushed back to him, heating his face, shaming him. They’d been in their bedroom, cramped with their things and the baby crib. They hadn’t had a good and proper fuck since Jack’s birth, just quickies and stolen hand-jobs and kisses they’d wanted to go further. Colin had been sweating like he’d run miles, that awful fear sweat he could smell on himself.

              His knees had protested, popping, as he lowered down to the rug. His hands had shaken when he lifted the ring box, and the modest diamond offering within.

              Jenny had clapped a hand over her mouth, gone stock still, and stopped breathing for what felt like minutes. Then her eyes had filled with tears and she’d said, “No. I love you, but I won’t marry you.”

              His cheeks felt aflame now, as he recounted the tale. When he could say no more, he lifted his head, expecting a mocking grin.

              Instead, Mercy looked thoughtful. “It’s not about you,” he said, right away. “It’s in her head, whatever the sticking point is. Have you talked to her about it?”

              “She won’t talk. She always ducks out of the room and says she doesn’t want to ‘go there.’”

              Mercy sipped his Scotch. “Well, you can’t live in limbo. If she won’t go there, then take her there. It won’t be fun, but it needs to happen.”

              Colin snorted. “You a shrink now?”

              “No,” he mused, staring into the middle distance. “Just channeling one, I think.”

              Whatever the hell that meant.

~*~

Michelle

There was a new lightness in her chest as she combed out her hair in front of the mirror that night. It was late – wee hours late – and she was a little buzzed on Scotch, and she felt this great welling bubble of gladness press against her sternum from the inside. Tommy was here, and whole, and he was coming to Odell’s with her tomorrow, and they’d avoided any sort of fisticuffs in the common room. She smiled at herself in the dressing table mirror.

              “You’re happy,” Candy said from his place propped up in the doorway.

              She set the brush down and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “I am.” She considered his face, the lines pressed around his mouth. His posture, the way he had his arms folded so his hands were tucked up under his biceps, making them bulge. Did men do that on purpose? Some did. But did Candy? How could he possibly feel the need to make himself look larger?

              “What about you?” she asked. “You okay?”

              He twitched a smile. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

              She wasn’t sure she believed him, but wasn’t going to argue. She turned back to face the mirror, reaching for the colorless lip balm she wore at night. Dabbed some on her lower lip with a fingertip.

              Candy’s face appeared in the mirror above hers. She rarely saw their likenesses together like this. She always forgot what being twenty-six looked like; it was startling to see her own face, to see the years between them.

              “It’s a shock, huh?” His mouth twisted at a wry angle.

              “No,” she said, firmly. “What’s shocking is your cut full of patches. They just scream ‘criminal.’” She smiled at him, and watched his own reluctant grin spread. “Don’t let Tommy get to you. I’ve loved him my whole life, but he can’t tell me what I ought to do.”

              “No?” His brows lifted with true surprise.

              She leaned back until her head was resting against his stomach. “No.”

Twenty-Nine

Candy

He took a generous sip of coffee, and an even more generous drag off his first cig of the day, and felt ready to tackle things. “As far as we know,” he said, setting his mug down on the chapel table. “The feds and the cartel aren’t working together. But someone knew the cartel was taking the gun shipment, and intercepted. So that points to an intel leak on our side.”

              “Or theirs,” Jinx said with an unconvinced snort.

              Candy tipped his head in concession. “Yeah, that’s a good possibility. It only takes one person to tip off the cops, and Ruiz’s crew is deep. No way does he have a tight leash on all of them.”

              “But,” Jinx prompted.

              “But according to Riley, someone is talking about us.”

              “A bluff?” Blue asked. “That would be classic fed.”

              “Where would a leak have come from?” Cowboy asked. “We’re a tight ship, boss.”

              “Jaffrey said there’s an undercover agent involved,” Jinx said, exhaling a long, thin stream of smoke through his mouth in a restless way. He was as stoic and solid as ever, but that little jet of smoke betrayed the inner stress tremors.

              “Shit,” several of them said at once.

              “We don’t have any new members,” Fox said. “And if any of you start pointing fingers at my niece…”

              Miles laughed, a low dark chuckle, like he couldn’t imagine such a thing.

              Mercy spoke up from the end of the table. “What about someone you’ve hired on at the bar? A contractor? Inspector? New staff?”

              “That fighter,” Talis said, and so rare were his contributions that everyone looked at him.

              “Niko the Texas Russian,” Colin said, disgust clear in his voice. “Please let it be him so I don’t gotta hear about his blue eyes anymore.”

              There were a few laughs, but a few speculative eyebrow lifts too.

              “None of us have seen him before, though,” Candy said. “He’s waited awful late to make his move, if it’s him.”

              “Maybe he bugged one of us. Maybe he’s been taking pictures,” Talis said, shrugging. “You see anyone following you that night you met with Ruiz’s buyer?”

              “No,” Candy said, automatically, but the worry that he’d overlooked something niggled at the back of his mind.

              “So we need a fed trap,” Blue said.

              Candy nodded. “Yeah. I have some ideas, but the suggestion box is open, boys.”

              Fox and Miles shared a look across the table – oh, shit, now there were two of them – and Fox said, “I’ve got a few things in mind,” sliding into that perfect Texas accent he could mimic.

              “You terrify me,” Gringo told him.

              Miles grinned.

              Fox said, “Thanks, bro.”

~*~

Michelle

“You can say you’re impressed. I won’t hold it against you.”

              Tommy sent her what she thought of as his So Done face. “It’s nice. Okay?”

              “Glad I could finally drag that out of you.”

              They stood side-by-side on the upper gallery, hands on the now-glossy black rail, looking out over her new domain. And oddly enough, though it had started as a club project, maybe even a Candy project, it now felt like hers. This was her design, her layout, her ideas put into play.

              Pride touched the center of her chest and spread outward, warming her.

              Tommy made a soft, amused sound beside her. “I feel like I’m inside one of those American movies from when we were kids.”

              “Hmm,” she agreed.

              The floors were finished in a rich dark brown, a little rough and waxy to prevent slipping. Up on the gallery, a wainscoting of corrugated steel gave that industrial, western feel. The color scheme was chrome, black, and natural pine. An otherworldly number of white and colored Christmas lights were strung overhead, a canopy of magic. Leather-shaded lamps threw soft puddles of illumination on the pine tables. The bar was black, dripping crystal, the mirror backlit and decorated with dozens upon dozens of bottles. Tan felt on the pool tables. Cowhide booths in the conversation areas. The outdated English stuffiness was gone, and in its place, something sleek, relaxed, and very Texan.

              “Bottle service?” Tommy asked.

              “Of course.”

              “Dancing girls?” he asked, hopefully.

              “Ha. No. If Candy wants that kind of place, he’ll have to find someone else to run it.”

              When her uncle didn’t respond, she glanced over at him, found that he was watching her with great attention.

              “He doesn’t want that kind of place,” she said, quietly, firmly.

              “If you say so.”

              “Remember, back home, before everything happened? You asked why I couldn’t find a ‘nice young man’?”

              “I knew you wouldn’t let me forget that.”

              “Why would I want a young man,” she said, “who’s still trying to figure out what he wants, when I could have a man who already knows, and who wants me?”

              He grimaced and glanced away, but she saw the smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. “You make a compelling argument, Calloway.”

              She leaned sideways against him. “Comes with the territory.”

~*~

Candy

“There’s a very big part of me,” Candy said, “that wants to know how you always know this kind of shit.”

              Beside him, Fox quirked his brows above the lenses of his sunglasses. He was such a benign-looking guy. Or at least, he had been. Watching him in action over the last few years had altered Candy’s perception of physicality.

              “But then,” he continued, “I think ‘nah,’ and I’m happy to just let you do your thing.”

              “What a beautiful relationship we have,” Fox deadpanned.

              “I think so.”

              After an alarmingly short amount of recon time, Fox claimed to have found a Mexican grocery store owned by Jorge Ruiz and operated by cartel friendlies. It was a tiny place, wedged between a dry cleaner and a Chinese buffet in a brick-faced strip mall in the heart of downtown.

              They approached the door wearing their cuts, running black dog across their backs on full display. It was part of the plan, sure, but Candy took a certain amount of satisfaction in advertising their affiliation this way. He was a Lean Dog, born and raised, and he was tired of slinking around and hiding the fact.

              The shop looked even tinier inside, full of racks and shelves loaded with product. Candy couldn’t read any of the labels, all of it in Spanish, and turned to the counter.

              The man behind it was thin, his black hair parted to the side and neatly combed, suggestive of throwback elegance and attention to detail. He wore a plain green t-shirt and jeans, his eyes dark and too-wide, verging toward panic when he spotted Candy and Fox.

              “
Hola
,” he said, uncertainly.

              Fox responded in Spanish, a fluid string of several sentences Candy had no hope of following. The man’s expression darkened as Fox spoke, brows knitting together with worry.

              “You speak English?” Candy asked, stepping toward him.

              The man’s gaze dropped to Candy’s VP patch, darted toward the door, toward the back of the store, and finally to Candy’s face. He nodded, throat hitching as he swallowed. “Yes.”

              “Good. My interpreter can take five.” He motioned to Fox, who obliged him by setting off deeper into the store, fox-like nose lifted as if he were testing the air for interesting scent trails.

              The man’s gaze followed Fox, startled, frightened. “What do you want?” he asked, dampening his lips with a nervous flick of his tongue.

              Candy stepped closer. “You know who I am?”

              “Y-yes.”

              “Do you know what your boss does?” He flashed a grin he knew was terrible. “Aside from sell tortillas and cervezas, I mean.”

              The man’s hands weren’t visible, but one of his arms tensed. He was doing something behind the counter. He was…of course. Rather than a call button that alerted the cops, he had one that no doubt sent a message to Ruiz. Fox had suspected as much, and, as always, he hadn’t been wrong.

              “What do you want?” he asked, shaking a little now.

              “Nothing.” Candy shrugged and pretended to inspect the array of brightly colored sodas in the cooler beside the register. “Can’t a guy shop?”

              He heard the sawed-off double barrel leave whatever makeshift sling held it beneath the register before it made an appearance, aimed at his head, the clerk quivering head to toe, the gun somehow steady.

              “Ruiz is coming,” he said on a gasp, like he might be more frightened of his own bravery than of the two Lean Dogs prowling through his shop.

              Slowly, mild expression affixed to his face, Candy raised his hands, palms-forward, and said, “Hey, man, let’s be cool. You don’t gotta point that at anyone. We’re not going anywhere.”

              Obvious surprise. “Ruiz is coming,” the clerk repeated.

              “I know, I heard you the first time. How long do you think it’ll take him? I’m hungry as shit, and I was hoping to catch lunch with my girl.”

~*~

Jinx

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this shit,” Jaffrey muttered in the passenger seat of the club flatbed.

              “I still can’t believe it wasn’t that difficult,” Jinx returned, and the cop frowned sourly. “I like to think of it as mutually beneficial.”

              “I like to think of it as I’m about to lose my badge.”

              “We didn’t have to twist your arm.”

              “Fuck you.”

              They were parked beneath the shade of a decorative maple tree in one of the parking lot’s medians with a clear view through the windshield of the store Candy and Fox had entered a few minutes ago. Not for the first time, Jinx’s gut clenched with worry. Fox had been certain none of Ruiz’s boys would be in-house, and Fox’s info was never wrong. But it was never wrong in a way that Jinx didn’t quite trust. He always wondered if the Englishman was correct, or just cocky.

              The glare of sunlight on shiny black steel drew his gaze and he watched a low-slung Mercedes glide down the aisle and pull up to the curb.

              “There he is.”

~*~

Michelle

“Thank you, we’ll be in touch,” Michelle said and offered a quick smile to the potential waitress in front of her.

              The girl nodded, regathered her resume, and stood with brisk efficiency. Michelle made a note beside her name in the list:
efficient
. Then she glanced over at Jenny and grimaced. “I’m not sure I was ever meant for a career in hiring.”

              “It’s kinda overwhelming,” Jenny agreed, working a kink from her neck.

              So far, they’d talked to twelve potential servers, some suitable, some so unprofessional and thickheaded Michelle had wanted to bury her face in her hands. So far, one of their standout prospects was only sixteen, which meant she couldn’t handle the alcohol, and what a damn shame that was. She and Jenny had talked about hiring her as a hostess, but weren’t sure if even that was appropriate, given her age, and the nature of the bar.

              “Alright, who’s next?”

              Jenny looked at her copy of the list. “Katrina.” She lifted her head and raised her voice to reach the women lined up along the gallery. “Katrina Stiles?”

              “That’s me!” A hand waved and the next waitress in line hurried down the stairs, high heels clacking, fake breasts bouncing. By the time she was settled in the interview chair, Michelle had a knot in her stomach.

              She’d only seen her the one time – she couldn’t say “met,” because that wasn’t true at all – but she remembered the face, the tan, the cleavage, the mile-long legs. Katrina Stiles was Trina the waitress, all ready to go home with Candy that first time Michelle had gone to the Armadillo.

              She closed her eyes a moment, and willed some self-control. She had no reason at all to feel jealous, so it was ridiculous to feel a sharp surge of that shameful emotion. Whatever Candy had done with this woman, it had been before her – before he’d even known she existed, much less turned the full effect of his considerable charm on her.