Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (39 page)

              He choked down a bite with a long swallow of beer and said, “So what’s happening?”

              Phillip glanced up from his plate, licking pastry crumbs off his lip and managing to look dignified in the process, and sent him a flat, unreadable look.

              His brothers echoed the stare, and Candy’s cut felt too tight across his shoulders, suddenly. “Is this a tea party or something?” he asked. “No talking? What? I didn’t fly all this way to sit in the corner and be a good boy.”

              Albie took a slow sip from his glass, set it down with a quiet thump. “I think we’re surprised you brought Chelle with you.”

              Candy blinked. “She told you she was coming.” He’d heard her say so over the phone.

              “Yes,” Phillip said, “but we thought you’d insist she stay behind.”

              “And why would I do that?”

              “Because you’re not much good for her if you let her do anything she pleases,” Phillip said, and it sent an unnatural chill skittering beneath Candy’s clothes.

              “We’ve come to an understanding, her and me,” he said, hands curling into fists on the table. “And part of that means we don’t tell each other what to do when it comes to our families.” Anger unfurled in the pit of his stomach, turning the half-a-meat-pie there into a ball of lead. “She’s your daughter, man. You telling me you didn’t want to see her?”

              “That’s irrelevant. I don’t want the guys who blew up the street and sent Tommy to the hospital to see her.”

              Shit, Candy thought, staring down the man’s implacable gaze. Ghost Teague was all Southern boy rage and terror. But Phil? Ghost had nothing on Phil’s subdued malevolence.

              “Yeah, well, no offense to Tommy, but I’m here this time. No one’s gonna touch her.”

              Phillip flicked a small, amused smile. “You never did lack for confidence, did you?”

              Except that he did. When it came to Michelle, he was a confidence-free green boy again, clinging desperately to the warm things in his life.

              “These aren’t cartel thugs or mob bosses,” Albie said, almost gently, like maybe he thought Candy was being stupid. “These are university kids, and random junkies, and tourists. They blend into every crowd in the city. Michelle could be having tea at a coffee shop, and the next thing she knows the whole place is on fire.”

              Candy shrugged, but he felt a crawling sensation beneath his skin, like ants. “So she doesn’t go get tea.”

              Phillip grinned. “Ah. So you see the problem of my daughter. It’s a gallant attempt, Derek, but this is why I sent her away. Too much of her mother in her.”

              “Insulting your wife?” Candy bit out.

              “Never. Insulting the world that never let my women be as independent as they wanted to be.”

~*~

Michelle

“Nothing’s changed,” Michelle said as she slid into her favorite booth across from Raven.

              “You think it would have?” Raven’s brows lifted, a little amused, a little mocking. “This isn’t the sort of place that changes in a few months.”

              “I know, but…” She sipped her pint and let her gaze wander across the interior of the pub. Same neon, same hardwood, same scent of the hot deep fryer and cold hops.

              “You hoped I wouldn’t come,” she said, quietly, knowing it was true.

              “Of course I wanted you to come, darling. I was dying to see you.”

              Michelle drew aimless patterns in the condensation on her glass with a fingertip. “I’m tired of this,” she admitted.

              “Tired of what?” Said so gently it made her suddenly ache for the wisdom and comfort of her mother.

              “Everyone having an opinion about where I should be and what I should be doing, and me giving a damn about it.”

              A beat passed. Then Raven said, “That was always your problem, you know, giving a damn what we all thought.”

              “Didn’t stop any of you, though.”

              “Love, that’s our job. Trying to make you wiser than us. Raising you up right. We’re all the seed of Devin, you know,” she said, like an admission. “We all wanted better than that for you.”

              Michelle closed her eyes and felt the familiar, betraying burn of tears. “Why would anyone want me to do different than my family’s done?”

              “Because this club was the best Phil could do for himself. For his brothers and sisters. But he made sure to do better for you.”

              Michelle shook her head, glanced across the room, wresting control of her emotions.

              Raven laid a hand on the table, palm-up. “Come on, let’s see the war wound.”

              Michelle put her right hand in Raven’s grasp, watched her aunt delicately probe the healed bones with her fingertips.              

              “You know,” Raven said, “when you were ten, I asked Phillip to let you come live with me.”

              “You
what
? I’ve never heard that.”

              “No, I’d imagine not. Phillip wouldn’t have wanted you to have the choice. All your life,” she sighed, “he’s needed you for himself. And finally, when he sees the error of his ways and tries to let you go, you’re deeply entrenched. And he has to pack you off to America.

              “I yelled at him. After you left,” she continued. “I called him names and let him know exactly what kind of asshole he was for lying about the reason he sent you off.”

              “It wasn’t a total lie.”

              “No.”

              “But I’m not sure I care at this point.”

              Raven squeezed her fingers.

              “He’s my father, but that doesn’t mean he’s always right, or kind, or looking out for my best interests. He’s just a dad, not a god.”

              Raven smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say so. He’s smarter than he looks, isn’t he? Your Candyman.”

              “And a better man than most give him credit for. Unlike Dad, he doesn’t care who I am.”

              Raven nodded. “Then I wholeheartedly approve.”

              The front door opened with a squeal, and Michelle stiffened out of old habit. A chorus of voices stumbled over one another, and a knot of London Dogs entered the pub, jostling one another and laughing about it.

              She saw the hair first, the deep, deep black of it, almost blue under the lights. Then she heard his laugh; traced the familiar set of his shoulders with imaginary hands before she knew she was doing it.

              And then he turned and she saw the washed-out blue of his eyes.

              Even worse than that,
he
saw
her
.

              “Paul,” she said in a choked whisper, before his grin crinkled his eyes up at the corners and he headed her way.

              “What?” Raven asked, twisting to look. “Oh, Paul. Yes, he was released a few weeks ago. I’m sure it was the usual trollop-filled affair, his homecoming party.”

              “No.” Michelle tried to swallow. “Paul. He and I…before he went away–”

              Raven lurched forward again, goggle-eyed. “You shagged?”

              “For a while, yeah.”

              And then he was standing beside their table.

Thirty-Seven

Candy

Albie arranged a sequence of surveillance photos across Phillip’s desk, and they all leaned in to examine them. Messy-looking college age kids with backpacks, expensive phones, and straggly beards meeting in coffee shops, walking down the street, greeting one another at the mouths of alleys. Even though some of them were smiling, talking with one another, there was an air of stiffness in each photo. Anxiety caught in the creases of elbows, nerves lingering in the corners of smiles.

              “This is where they meet,” Albie said, tapping a photo of three young men going through a peeling yellow door set in a brick wall. “It’s an old textile factory, one that never got converted into flats. Currently being leased by Bryan Cartwright.” He moved to another photo, this one of a man who looked homeless – the wild hair, patchy beard, old surplus coat bundled in around his throat. “Founder of Bryan’s Path to Higher Understanding. His followers just call it Bryan.”

              “Creative,” someone said.

              “Yeah, it gets better,” Albie continued. “That drive Tommy and Chelle stole? This was on it.” A printed list of names. “Cartwright has at least twelve aliases, that we know of, anyway. He’s got ties to a half dozen terrorist organizations and is wanted in five countries.” More photos, Cartwright with varying hairstyles, sometimes clean-shaven, sometimes with glasses.

              “What does he want?” Candy asked.

              “His business is chaos,” Phillip said. “He comes into a city and warps the impressionable young people. Fills their heads with evil shit and sics them on the citizenry.”

              “A human bomb,” Fox said. “Hates capitalism, hates the world, hates himself.” He shrugged. “There will never be a shortage of these kinds of idiots.”

              “So he’s a delusional terrorist asshole,” Candy said with a sigh. “Why hasn’t he been arrested somewhere yet?”

              “He has someone on the inside,” Albie said. “And that  keeps him off the radar. Which means, unless he gets caught actually red-handed–”

              “It’s up to vigilante justice,” Candy said.

              Phillip grinned. “And that’s where we come in.”

~*~

Michelle

Michelle was achingly aware that she opened and closed her mouth three times without saying anything. She’d caught her gobsmacked expression in a window once or twice, and she knew she looked terribly stupid at the moment. But she was just too…too…something. When she’d thought about coming home, she’d never dreamed that she would run into Paul again. And if she was honest with herself, she had no idea how she felt about it.

              Paul, though, seemed to have no problem finding his voice. “Little Chelley! Jesus, it’s really you, isn’t it? I saw you across the room, and holy shit – I thought I was imagining things. You’re supposed to be in America, aren’t you?”

              “Um…” Michelle wet her lips and finally got her tongue to work properly. “I was. I just got in. Just now.”

              Across the table, Raven stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head.
What the fuck?
she mouthed.

              “Christ,” Paul said, laughing. He pushed a hand through his still-black, still-thick, still-gorgeous hair and beamed down at her. She’d never been on the receiving end of a smile like this when they were in front of other people. His smiles had always been fast snatches of teeth in the dark, in their stolen time. Because whatever he’d felt for her, the guilt and regret had been stronger.

              “Look at you,” he said. “All grown up now, aren’t you?” His smile melted into something warm and fond.

              “Yes, all grown up,” Raven said. “And she’s got this amazingly sexy boyfriend. Have you met him yet? Candyman? From Texas?”

              Paul’s reaction was immediate. His smile dissolved and he looked like he’d been slapped. “What?” His gaze darted between Raven and Michelle, and Michelle finally named the emotion clogging her throat: sympathy.             

              “I’ve been in Texas a while,” she said. “Tommy and Miles joined me out there. We’re all back because Dad needs our help.”

              Paul’s brows drew together. “Candyman?”

              “Yes. Candy.”

              “He…”

              “Clearly, I have a type.”             

              “Shit,” Raven said. “You two, listen, you can’t have this conversation.”

              “Nothing’s going to happen,” Michelle said.

              And, of course, that’s when Candy decided to show up.

~*~

Candy

Candy knew what Loon looked like; he’d met him before, once in London and once in Knoxville, Tennessee on a run. Still, recognition wouldn’t have been instant – save for the sight of Paul standing beside Michelle’s table.

              He was moving toward them before he had time to react. He had no plan, no smart comments, just a driving need to put himself between his woman and a man who’d hurt her before.

              Michelle saw him first, and her eyes widened. Surprise? Embarrassment? Maybe shame?

              He clapped a hand to Paul’s shoulder when he reached the table, palm smacking against the leather of his cut.

              “There’s the Loony Bird. When did you get out, huh?” Candy boomed.

              Paul stiffened.

              Raven muttered, “Shit, shit, shit.”

              Paul recovered. He turned around and reached to shake Candy’s hand, his smile just shy of reaching his eyes. “Few weeks back,” he said. “’S good to be home, for sure.”

              “Yeah.” Candy smiled back, and it felt feral, sharp. “Bet it feels good seeing everyone again, doesn’t it?”

              “Yeah.”

              Raven said, “I’m sure Paul was just on his way up to see Phillip. Weren’t you, Paul?” She gave him the sort of smile that could turn better men to ice sculptures.

              “Yeah, right, I was.” Paul withdrew his hand. “Good seeing you again, Candy.” And took his leave.

              “Candy,” Michelle started.

              He slid into the booth beside her, and if he crowded her a little, it wasn’t an accident. He folded his arms on the table, taking up too much room on purpose. “What was he doing over here?”

              Michelle sent him a flat look, but he caught the way her nostrils flared, that quick apprehensive breath. “Saying hello. He wasn’t doing anything you ought to be upset about.”

              “Upset? Do I look upset to you?”

              “You look like you’d like to throttle someone.”

              “Maybe I do. That’s pretty standard. Doesn’t mean I’m
upset
.”

              Raven said, “Don’t worry about it. Paul isn’t going to challenge you.”

              “Challenge me?” Candy snorted, even as a hot flush of anger moved beneath his skin. “You think I’m even worried about that?”

              Michelle’s hand landed on his forearm, her small fingers warm, damp with nervous perspiration. She whispered, “Paul and I are old news. No one knows we were ever…No one but you and Raven. Paul won’t step out of line, I promise you.”

              And it should have been reassuring, but it somehow wasn’t. Because the thing was – the stupid, selfish, macho thing was – he didn’t want her to have any history. A stupid desire, but an insistent one all the same.

              “Let me tell you something,” he said, quietly, leaning over the table. “He didn’t forget about you. If he had, he wouldn’t have been over here ‘saying hello.’ When you forget someone, you don’t even make eye contact. You make sure they know it’s finished. That just now? That wasn’t anywhere close to finished. He isn’t finished with you.”

              Michelle stared at him with open shock. “No.”

              “Believe it, sweetheart. He wants back in. Shit knows I would, if I’d been away.” He did
now
, suddenly feeling like they’d ended up on opposite sides of a fight that had never happened.

              She glanced away from him, mulling over her thoughts, gaze pensive.

              Raven shrugged and said, “I tried to help you out, man.”

~*~

Michelle

Albie appeared at the bottom of the stairs and announced church, and all the club boys marched up to the second floor, staircase trembling beneath their boots. If she was honest, it was a bit of a relief for Candy to slide out of the booth before she could make this strange misunderstanding any worse.

              A prospect took over for Callie at the bar and the regular evening pub patrons began to filter through the door in twos and threes.

              Raven checked her watch – silver, Gucci – and made a face. “I’m sorry, love, but I can’t stay. I have a shoot in the morning–”

              “It’s fine.”

              “It doesn’t look fine, though.” Raven gave her a smile. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

              “Aren’t I always?”

              “Hmm. Don’t do anything stupid.” Raven slid out of the booth, and straightened her coat.

              “You’re talking to the wrong relative about that.”

              “Don’t do anything rash, either.” She leaned in and kissed Michelle’s forehead. “Ring me if you need to.”

              “I’ll be fine.”

              “Of course you will.”

              And the first step toward being fine was to abandon the booth and claim an end stool at the bar.

              She was no longer the only woman in the place – customers were bringing in girlfriends, some of the groupies had taken a table in the middle of the floor – but she was the only woman sitting at the bar, and the prospect barman came to her right away. He was a new one; she’d never seen him before. Younger than he looked, an obnoxious amount of ink, nose ring.

              “You family?” he asked, tone friendly, but alert.

              “You could say so.” When he smiled, she said, “But I’m guessing you’ve seen my picture on Dad’s desk.”

              “Wanted to see what you’d say. Welcome home, darling.”

              She approved – in a superficial, immediate way. Which was more than she could say for most of the guys around here.

              “Drink?”

              “Whiskey rocks.”

              He nodded and moved away.

              Michelle did a slow half-turn on her stool as the prospect pulled drinks. The déjà vu that closed over her had physical dimensions; it tightened around her throat like a fist, sat heavy on her shoulders. Wasn’t this just like every night of her life? Drinking in her father’s pub, physically exhausted, nothing to look forward to save a cold flat and lukewarm Thai noodles.

              And she’d wanted to come home, hadn’t she?

              The soft thump of her glass hitting the bar startled her. She swiveled back around and managed to shoot the prospect a bare smile. “Ta.”

~*~

Candy

The London crew was big, twenty guys deep, and that didn’t include prospects or hangarounds. Candy had no hope of keeping all their names straight. He kept his focus on Phillip and Albie, the unquestioned brains of the operation, as they conducted church down both sides of the long table in what had once been an old dining room. The dusty brass chandeliers swayed slightly in the invisible draft coming in up high along the failures in the window glazing.

              The plan was complex, lots of moving parts in play, and required an extensive rundown. By the time Phillip dismissed them with, “Okay, I’m hungry,” Candy’s brain felt like mashed potatoes.

              Mashed…Bangers and mash. That was a thing, wasn’t it? He wasn’t making that up?

              “You’re knackered,” a voice said in front of him, and he realized his eyes had closed. He opened them to find Albie studying him, trademark Green see-right-through-you stare tempered with warmth and amusement.

              “Long flight,” Candy said, and his voice was rough with fatigue.

              “Come on. Let’s get a proper supper.”

              “Somehow, Candy thought there’d be more than food involved.

~*~

Michelle

The hand that landed between her shoulder blades was large, warm, and familiar, but she knew without looking it didn’t belong to Candy.