Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (34 page)

              He shrugged. “Recon shit.”

              “Uh…” Michelle breathed a humorless laugh as Miles came jogging in, brows lifted in inquiry. “After you gave us all that shit about getting out if we needed to?”

              He gave her a patronizing look. “You weren’t actually worried about me, were you, pet?”

              She threw up her hands. “I give up.”

              “Seriously,” Tommy said. “Wallets?”

              “You have your orders and I have mine,” he said, mysteriously.

              “Fuck you,” Michelle said, but she realized she was grinning, suddenly, chest light, blood full of adrenaline.

              Fox sent her a wicked grin. “Forgot about the rush, didn’t you?”

              She looked at her uncles, two of them rolling their eyes at the other, but all of them calm, self-possessed, so very British and capable.

              “I did, yeah,” she said. “God, it feels good.”

~*~

She wasn’t a bit surprised to run straight into a wall of Candyman when they entered the clubhouse. His massive arm draped across her shoulders and he squeezed her into his side, asking, “You okay?” and sounding like he was trying to keep the worry from his voice.

              “I’m great,” she said, and smiled up into his worried face.

              His golden brows jumped. “Yeah?”

              “Absolutely.”

              “Your girl’s got it in her blood,” Fox said as he passed them. “A natural-born mistress of the night.”

              “Don’t make my old lady sound like a hooker,” Candy said, a grin tugging at his mouth, a worried frown notching his brows together.

             
Oh, darling,
she thought with an inward sigh. He just couldn’t handle it, her out in the field, doing dangerous things.

              Though, if she admitted it, as her adrenaline drained away, it felt awfully nice to be snugged up against his solid warmth. Back home, after a mission, she’d had a tumbler of whiskey and a frozen dinner to warm her. A strong man sheltering her under his arm, asking if she was alright, loving and worrying about her? Much better.
Worlds
better.

              “Charlie wanted to get fancy, though,” Tommy said.

              “And that means…?”

              Fox walked to the nearest bar table and started emptying his pockets of the wallets he’d taken off Ruiz’s men. “I needed the exercise,” he defended. “And I thought we could use some leverage.” He began opening the wallets, pulling out driver’s licenses.

              Michelle thought she understood, but held her tongue.

              Candy gave her a last squeeze and went to join Fox.

              Tommy looked at her and grinned the old familiar grin. “Shots?”

              “You read my mind.”

~*~

Candy

The illuminated screen of the laptop seemed to make the chapel even darker, the shadows piled up in the corners, the brightness of the computer burning his eyes.

              On the other end of the Skype connection, Ghost was obviously sitting at his kitchen table; Candy recognized the cabinets and counter behind him. “Is it working?” he asked, and Candy stifled a laugh as he saw Ava Lécuyer lean in around her father, smile at the webcam, and then withdraw. “Yeah, Dad, go ahead.”

              “You old bastard,” Candy said. “Making your kid set up your computer.”

              “Who set up yours?” Ghost fired back, smirking.

              “My baby thing old lady.”

              Ghost smirked. “Fair enough, kettle.”

              Candy laughed. “Alright. So. My MI-5 unit went to the warehouse.”

              “Right.”

              “I want them off our backs, Ghost. Believe me, I respect your decision, and I know you had no choice, but they hurt my girl, and they hurt me, and–”

              “Hey, we’ve talked about this.” And they had, hours ago, before the op went down. “What did they find?”

              “Six goons. Lots of coke. And a whole mess of emails and spreadsheets. Long story short? Little Ruiz had a real bright idea after their buyer got picked up. He decided he would sell us out to the feds in exchange for a little immunity, dig deep roots into Texas, and try to find some way to terminate the deal his old man made with you.”

              Ghost snorted, but there was fury glittering in his dark eyes. “Punk ass. Alright. Hold on.” He pulled his phone off the table and dialed, eyes fixed on the corner of the screen as he waited for the line to pick up.

              “Guillermo,” he said when it did. “Yeah, look, we need to talk. Your boy? He’s been real busy lately…”

~*~

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Candy asked a half-hour later. Ghost shrugged on the other end of the Skype connection.               “Soon, I’m thinking–”

              Candy’s phone rang. “Georgie, is that you?” he asked when he answered, just to be an asshole.

              Ruiz’s voice was unexpectedly subdued. “You took their licenses.”

              “Oh, we took more than that, buddy. A lot more. But I’m guessing your dad got you up to speed on that. The IDs were fakes, by the way, which is something I’m sure ICE will be delighted to know about.”

              Ruiz exhaled, a ragged sound. “What are you going to do?”

              “With the traitorous rat bastard leverage I’ve got on you?”

              Ghost smirked.

              “I’m going to use it to hold you to our original deal.”

              “What?”

              “You heard me. Your little takeover plans? Done. Though I’m guessing Daddy explained that to you, too. We have a good arrangement going, and you’re not gonna screw it up, and I’m not gonna screw it up, and everyone’s happy.”

              “What about the ATF?”

              “I’m dealing with them.”

              It felt like a rough approximation of a truce, rather than a real one, but it was the best they could do for now. Candy sighed when he hung up, flicked a glance to Ghost on the screen. “So.”

              “So.”

              “Fair warning, though. The second I figure out how to make it look like a total coincidence, I’m telling Fox to put a bullet in that guy’s head.”

              “I can live with that.”

              Like Michelle had showed him, he shut down Skype, and then the laptop itself, and let himself out of the chapel.

              In the common room, there was still a lot of celebratory drinking going on. Michelle sat at a table with her uncles, a bottle in the middle, glasses in hands. She laughed at something Tommy said and aimed a finger at Fox. “You’re mad.” She laughed again, face flushed prettily, hair coming loose from her braid and rippling  around her face.

              He’d never seen her like this: in her element. Working on Odell’s came close, but there was something wild and electric in her smile now, something she kept carefully taped down around him; now slinging sparks and crackling, a live wire.

              Eyes open, Jinx had told him. He needed to have his eyes open.

Thirty-Two

Michelle

“What is it?”

              She smiled and gripped one corner of the oil cloth. “I never mentioned my Uncle Miles is quite handy with a welding torch, did I?”

              She had the distinct pleasure of seeing Candy’s brows go up with surprise. It hadn’t happened often, so she was going to enjoy it now.

              Miles, standing off to the side with his hands folded together before him, rocked back and forth on his feet, small smile warm from the praise.

              “Well, he is,” Michelle said. “So I had him make something to mount up above the bar.”

              “Something?” Candy sounded like he was enjoying this game, just for the sake of flirting, but she saw sparks of true curiosity and excitement in his eyes. “What sort of something?”

              Michelle glanced across the table where the massive slab of wall art had been laid and draped, catching Jenny’s gaze. They hadn’t run this idea by Candy at all, and there was a good chance he’d hate it. “His ego’s too huge to hate it,” Jenny had assured, but now the woman chewed her lip with nerves.

              There was nothing to do now but show him.

              “Well…” Michelle drew the cloth back, and it slipped away from the polished steel with a low hiss.

              Out back in the salvage yard, there were cars full of useful parts waiting to be stripped, and there were the useless, already-gutted heaps bound for the landfill. It was from those cars that she and Miles and Jenny had carefully selected flattish segments of hoods, and trunks, and fenders (and in her mind, she hadn’t called them bonnets, or boots, and she’d realized how Americanized she’d become in such a short time, the horror). On a large rectangle of black steel, Miles had used the carefully-cut letters carved from car parts to spell out the new name of the bar: Tastes Like Candy. And down in the corner, pieced together from bits of a red Ford and a white Chevy, a stylized peppermint. The piece was both industrial and rustic, strong, but weathered. Beautiful, but sharp-edged enough to cut you. It reminded her, so very much, of the man standing beside her, and she realized Miles knew, better than Tommy, too close to be objective, how much she loved him, and had rendered her perception into art.

              She looked over at Candy, stomach heaving with butterflies. Would he like it? Hate it? Tolerate it?

              “We, um…” She cleared her throat. “We thought the name ‘Odell’s’ was a little meaningless and out of date. So we thought…”

              She stopped when she saw his smile. A slow shark smile that brought out the wrinkles around his eyes.

              Something inside her eased. “You like it?”

              “I
love
it.”

~*~

Agent Riley

“What’ve we got?”

              The team in the conference-room-turned-war-room at the Amarillo PD precinct avoided eye contact. Sanderson feigned interest in an invisible stain on his tie. Lewis hunted for something that didn’t exist in his notes. And Agent Fleming, makeup free, appropriately dressed in a white shirt and black pants, studied her stripped-down fingernails and didn’t look much like the sexpot bait they’d sent in after Derek Snow as a waitress.

              “Anyone?” he prompted. “Any one of you idiots have anything to say?”

              Fleming’s gaze lifted on “idiots,” her eyes dark and quietly furious.

              “Don’t gimme that look,” Riley said. “It’s not my fault you’re a dumbass and tipped your hand too early.”

              “I–” she started.

              “You went in with the
women
. And not just any women, you went in with the guy’s sister and old lady.” He was furious all over again just thinking about it. “And you two let her,” he snapped, stabbing a finger through the air at Sanderson and Lewis. “Explain to me, please, how in the hell you hoped to get those girls to slip up and give you anything.
Please
.”

              She swallowed, and some of the defiance bled out of her face, leaving it pale and uncertain. Yeah, she’d fucked up, and she knew it.

              But she said, “The grand opening’s tonight.”

              Riley snorted, unimpressed. “Their bar?”

              “Yeah,” Sanderson said. “Tastes Like Candy.”

~*~

Colin

It was four in the afternoon, and the parking lot of the clubhouse boiled with dust, vehicles coming and going, foot traffic constant as decorations and last-minute supplies were lugged out to the club trucks that would take everyone and everything over to TLC for the grand opening. That’s what they were calling it shorthand: TLC. Colin like it a hell of a lot better than Odell’s, and he’d told Jenny so a half hour ago, before she’d left in her Jeep with Michelle.

              “Yeah?” she’d asked. “Great. I’m glad.” She’d pressed a fast, distracted kiss to his lips and put the Jeep in reverse.

              Colin secured the last Rubbermaid tub in the bed of the Dodge and stepped back, smearing sweat and the clinging parking lot dirt on his forehead with his sleeve. He needed a shower, he decided. Being an outlaw didn’t necessitate dirtiness and smelliness, did it? He didn’t think so. And if he was honest, he wanted Jenny to look at him later and not be distracted by anything, not so much as one hair out of place.

              He hated to think it, but Mercy had been right before, when he’d said Colin needed to hash it out with Jen. Doubt and worry were not easily-contented emotions; they grew exponentially with the waiting, and he was starting to think he might have a stomach ulcer. He’d wait until after tonight, after the opening had gone off without a hitch, and then he’d sit her down, and they’d come to some final agreement, no matter the outcome.

              Speak of the devil, he spotted Mercy on his way back into the clubhouse. The guy was leaning back against the front wall of the building, taking his cellphone away from his ear, pocketing it. He looked like he wanted a smoke, unseeing gaze traveling across the parking lot.

              Colin pulled out his pack of Marlboros and approached him, cigs held out in offering.

              Mercy jerked a little, pulled from his thoughts, but said, “thanks,” and took one. Found a lighter in his own pocket.

              “You ready for tonight?” Colin asked, and was shooting for a conversational tone. It came out more serious though. Try as he might, he couldn’t be casual and easy around his half-brother.

              Mercy shrugged. “Yeah. It is what it is, you know?”

              No, actually, he didn’t. He didn’t, couldn’t, and wouldn’t look at the world the way Mercy did. Something had broken inside Felix Lécuyer years ago, something his life since had only served to compound, and he was capable of things that gave even hardened men nightmares.

              But Colin said, “Yeah.”

              Mercy’s dark eyes flicked over, questioning. Like he could read thoughts. Probably could; who knew what sort of Native American mysticism his grandmother – shit,
their
grandmother – had been wrapped up in.

              “You’re different, aren’t you?” he asked, thoughtfully. “You’re not like me.”

              Colin shrugged.

              “I thought, at first,” Mercy continued, “maybe it was just a lack of exposure or something. But it’s just you. You’re different.”

              If he wasn’t careful, his hackles would get up, and then they’d be at each other’s throats once again. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

              “No, trust me, I don’t.” Mercy grinned. “It’s a good thing. I don’t mind being me, but I know the world doesn’t need too many people like me. It’d be a scary place.”

              Colin shook his head, some of the tension leaving him. “You’re fucked up.”

              “Don’t I know it. That was Ava, on the phone.” His face always lit up when he said her name. Not in an overt way, just this subtle easing of tense lines, like he felt a slow flush of warmth beneath his skin when he thought of her. “She always says she loves me, and that I’m a good man. And she always calls me ‘monster.’”

              Colin remembered, suddenly, a crumpled napkin from a brown bag lunch, hastily crushed in Mercy’s hand in an attempt to hide the handwritten note.
I love you bunches, Monster!

              “Some kind of joke with you guys?” he guessed.

              Mercy smirked and said, “No. She knows exactly how much of a monster I am. And for some reason, she thinks that makes me a good man.” His grin became soft, wistful. “Sometimes I wonder if she sees something I don’t. Or maybe she’s just crazier than I am.”

              Colin waited for the “but.” He knew one was coming.

              And it did.

              “But the point is, she knows me. However she chooses to spin it, that’s up to her. But she knows everything, and she knows exactly how fucked up every second of our history is. We don’t pretend things are prettier than they are. And that.” He turned and looked at Colin directly. “That’s the best part.”

~*~

Candy

It was only now, as TLC teemed with humanity, rang with laughter, shouting, and Hank filtered through the new sound system, that he could admit just how worried he’d been about this launch. There were a thousand ways this could have gone wrong, from the bank to the banquette seating, but somehow, it had all worked out like a dream.

              No, not
somehow
.

              Michelle had made this happen.

              He loved Jen, and she was incredibly capable, cunning, and dedicated. He didn’t want to diminish her in any of this. But TLC was Michelle’s baby, and he’d watched her use Walsh’s brains, Fox’s attention to detail, and Albie’s unwavering dedication to quality to piece together a business venture the likes of which he’d never dreamed possible. God help the humanity if all those nine half-siblings had been women instead of men; they’d be running the world.

              And God help him, because he had no idea how he’d manage to get out of bed in the morning without her.

              He caught her as she sped past on the upper gallery, snagging her around the waist and pulling her in close.

              She tried to pull back. “I have to get to–”

              “To where? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure when the owner wants a second, you’re supposed to take it.”

              She rolled her eyes…but then rested her weight against him. “Okay. Fair enough.”

              “Listen to you. Sounding all American.”

              “I
do not
sound American.”

              “Would that be such a bad thing?”

              She glanced away from him rather than answering, blue gaze sweeping down across the main floor, the happy customers drinking, shooting pool, talking, dancing.

              Candy slid his hand into the sharp indentation of her waist. “You ought to be real proud.”

              He watched her smile in profile, the quick, thoughtless tug at the corner of her mouth. “It’s just a bar.”

              “Chelle.”

              She turned to him slowly, almost like she didn’t want to, expression guarded. Shit, maybe it was the proximity, but there was too much Fox in her. Day by day, despite the L-word, the wonderful sex, and their closeness, she withdrew inside herself more and more.

              “Do you know how many twenty-six-year-olds can design, hire, and manage a place like this?” he asked, giving her a hopeful smile. “You’re amazing, baby doll. Be proud for a sec, okay?”

              “Okay,” she said, and turned away so she could rest her head against his chest.

~*~

Michelle

No one knew it, but she’d snitched an earpiece earlier, when the boys were passing them out back at the clubhouse. Like they thought she wasn’t going to want to be in on it? Please.

              As she went down the main stairs now, she heard Jinx say, “They’re here,” and turned to see four people coming through the front doors who screamed
federal agent
even from a distance. One of them, she noticed, was Trina, or whatever her name was, now without makeup and push-up bra, dressed like her male companions, sour-faced and shrewd.

              Michelle whipped back around and hit the foot of the stairs at a jog, ducking around the corner, into a small alcove created by the side of a booth and a potted cactus.

              For a moment, just the moment that she waited, she wondered what it would have been like to be nothing but the manager of this place. To be worried about the beer kegs and the cocktail napkins, and the state of the women’s washroom, and not someone who was pulling double duty as an agent of the Lean Dogs MC.