The Sweet Under His Skin (27 page)

There was a beat, then Mandy answered. "Shit. I'm sending a couple guys over right now."

"Is…" she sighed, hating how this sounded. "Is Quentin there?"

"No, hun. He's not. Some of the guys are headed in today but they haven't got here yet. Don't worry, I'll send help. Just stay inside, okay?"

"Okay."

"Stay on the phone. Just a minute." Arielle heard the
thunk
of Mandy setting the receiver down, and she waited. After a long moment Mandy came back. "Arielle?"

"Yeah?"

"How many are there?"

"Four, I think, and the guy they're beating up."

"Shit. Okay. I'm sending my boys, and you don't have to be scared of them, okay?"

"Okay."

Mandy's voiced sounded far off so Arielle knew she was talking to someone else wherever she was. "…There's four of them... Take the prospect just in case. And be careful." Then she was back full volume. "You want to stay on the phone with me until they get there?"

Arielle chewed her lip. "No, it's okay. I know you're not that far away, it shouldn't take too long."

"Stay in inside, sweetheart, and wait for the boys."

"I will. And…Mandy?"

"Yeah?"

She shook her head, chickening out. "Never mind."

"When Quentin gets here I'll send him over."

Her hand tightened on the phone and she could have cried. "Thank you, Mandy."

"No problem. And Arielle?"

"Yeah?"

"You did the right thing, hun. Now sit tight. We won't let them hurt you."

Arielle disconnected the call, set the phone back on its cradle and curled up on the sofa to wait. She let her eyes close for a moment, only to be wrenched out of dozing by the loud approach of Harleys. She couldn't help it, she got to her feet and watched out the front window as four bikes roared up Quentin's driveway and parked. The dealers abandoned the poor wretch on the sidewalk to meet the bikers head on.

Arielle wrapped her arms around her middle as one of the skin-head looking twerps stepped nose-to-nose with a large man in that same vest Quentin always wore—that they were all wearing. He also donned a black knitted cap on his head with an impressive beard clinging to his chin. Arielle thought the dealer must be nuts—the biker was three times his size easily. And the two at his back were nothing to sneeze at. The fourth was considerably smaller but still looked wiry enough to hold his own.

A dark-haired man pushed the bearded one back, stepping in front of the dealer and words were exchanged. Even from where Arielle stood it looked tense. Without warning the biker cracked the dealer's nose with a quick punch, so quick Arielle barely saw him move. The dealer went down hard, and the dark-haired man wasted no time feeding toes into his mouth a couple times. Each man's friends grabbed a companion and there was an all-out brawl in her front yard.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered.

It didn't last long. The dealers seemed to lack the drive the bikers had, and before long they were running off down her block, all of them limping or holding some part of their bodies that had been injured. Among the bikers she saw one split lip and one bleeding nose, but none of them seemed very hurt.

One guy was getting on his bike to follow the dealers, two other bikers were checking on the poor guy lying on the sidewalk. To her surprise, the dark-haired biker made his way up her walkway. She froze, not sure what he could possibly want, and she certainly didn't want anyone to see her looking like she did. But they'd come because she called. He knocked on her door, and she pulled it open tentatively.

When she opened the door, and when he saw her he seemed…surprised. "Hey," he said amiably, covering it well with a friendly smile.

"Hi," she returned, unsure and not willing to open the door more than six inches.

"I wouldn't expect them back," he said after another short pause. Then he gave a short laugh and shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't know what to expect coming here. I mean…you're Quentin's girl?"

She frowned. "I'm his neighbor."

He nodded and his smile grew. "Right. Well, if those assholes do come back I want you to call my cell direct, okay? Can you program it in your phone?"

She grabbed the cordless off the entertainment center just inside the front door, and he made no move to enter her house. It made her slightly more comfortable. He gave her the numbers and she punched them in, asking, "And, I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"It's Colton," he replied, still smiling and looking her up and down. "Oh, and call an ambulance for the guy out front or he might really be in trouble."

That startled Arielle. "Oh, okay."

"All that guy did was stiff them twenty bucks," Colton told her, and it sounded like a warning. "So if you see them, you really need to call me."

"I will," she answered with a nod. "And…thank you for coming."

He nodded, replied with a charming "Dead Men at your service, babe," then bounded down the front steps.

Arielle shut the door, punched 911 in the cordless and watched out the front window as the four bikers roared off as loudly as they'd arrived. The poor man on the sidewalk lay bleeding and unmoving.

"911, what's your emergency?"

That jarred her. "Uh, a man is laying on the sidewalk in front of my house. He's unconscious. I think he needs an ambulance."

"Come on, Quentin. Coupla shots then a dance in the ring." Quentin grinned across his handlebars at Flynn.

"You really can't wait for me to knock the living shit out of you?"

"It'll never happen," Flynn promised.

"Don't get me wrong. I feel bad, knowing how small that dick is. I'd likely run my mouth to compensate, too." Flynn flipped him off, making Quentin cackle as he lit a cigarette. "Tell you what. You want a fight? Ask a crawler. At least that's a fair fight."

"Don't be a pussy. What, the girlie next-door want to have portraits taken together? Can't get a black eye or swollen lip?"

Quentin swung a leg off his bike. "That actually is something I'd like to hit you for."

"What?"

"Running your mouth like a little bitch. When do you find the time? Between knitting and fucking Downtown Abbey?"

"The fuck's Downtown Abbey?"

Quentin shook his head, dead serious. "You're an embarrassment to all little old ladies."

"Shut it and get in the ring."

Holding his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Quentin shrugged out of his kutte and Flynn climbed off his bike, too. Now that Quentin was thinking about it, he did owe Flynn for this. And it didn't matter if Arielle hated him now, it still pissed him off that the guy brought the club's attention down on her in the first place.

"That's what it takes?" Flynn quipped, his kutte draping the handlebars of his Harley. "I gotta bring that sweet little snatch into it?"

Quentin bit down his reply, ducking under the ropes of the ring and bouncing on the boards under the canvas in his riding boots. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to reply with, "Not a lot I wouldn't do for snatch, Flynn."

"Yeah, we know." Flynn rolled his shoulders, fists in front of him as he approached Quentin. "Question is, if she's so fucking important, why the hell are you two-fisting the roadside whores?"

Quentin's jaw cranked down hard and he tossed the cigarette free of the boxing ring, tapping his knuckles to Flynn's. Something must have changed in his face because Flynn grinned back. "Something got through that thick skull, huh?"

Quentin hit him once. It brought blood to Flynn's lip and the fucker grinned. "I think I hit a nerve." Quentin hit him again and that's when Flynn let him have it back.

A few blows were exchanged, then he was aware of Mandy shouting “Arielle!” from the side of the ring. Quentin stopped, shoving Flynn off of him, turning to her as the bastard caught him with a surprise hook to the jaw when he wasn't paying attention. It brought him down to one knee, just as Mandy went full gale-force on them. "For fuck's sake you two! Am I talking?"

Quentin shook his head before standing up and heading for Flynn but Mandy stopped him mid-stride. "Arielle called here today. There were dealers in front of her house beating someone up."

Quentin turned on his heel, hands dropping to the top rope. "I’m gonna fucking kill them. Is she okay?"

"Colton and a few other boys dealt with it. They just got back. The guy that got beat up is going to the hospital. She's fine," Mandy assured him gently. "But she asked for you."

Fuck him, he had to fight to keep from grinning. "She did?"

"She sounded tired."

Quentin nodded. "She's a few rounds into chemo. Calvin said she's been getting weak."

"Go check on her," Mandy advised pointedly. "It'll be better for you than pounding the shit out of the out of town guests."

Quentin checked to see what smart ass comment Flynn had to add, but he was nodding. "Go on, man. But wipe the blood off your face. It's an embarrassment," Quentin said.

Quentin left the ring, not convinced Flynn wouldn't rush him and knock him on his ass. But Flynn stayed where he was, arms slung over the top rope. "And check my kutte. I got a coupla joints in there."

"Nah, I'm good," Quentin returned, heading for the clubhouse.

"Not for you, dipshit. The neighbor."

Quentin stopped. "What?"

"Nausea. Sonny's mom was going through chemo few years back. The only way she could eat anything and keep it down."

Mandy nodded. "It's true. Also makes people hungry, gives them an appetite. I doubt she's asked the doctor for it."

Quentin nodded absently. "Gotta clean up first."

In his dorm he ran water in the sink, splashing the blood, sweat and road dust off his face then scrubbing his hands. That's when he noticed they were shaking.
Shit, not this again.

Every night since seeing Calvin and Arielle's reaction to Jolene being in the hospital he'd been ripped from sleep with horrible, panic-riddled nightmares, all of them about Arielle dying. Not from cancer but other horrible, bloody ways that were his fault. A different scenario every time. And for hours after he'd shake like he had palsy.

Since their one and only intimate moment he'd been successful in avoiding spending time alone with Arielle. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, and he was still convincing himself it was for the best. But he missed her. Christ, he missed her so much.

Calvin was clinging to him at an almost unhealthy level but Quentin didn't care. It felt… right. He could sense that the kid just needed a place that felt stable, and if being Quentin's friend made him feel safe well, that was fine. He hoped it gave Arielle less worry, too.

God, she was so kind and innocent and pure. He’d never had anything like that in his life. He didn’t even know it existed until he met her. He may be gone but he wasn't over her. Not by a long shot.

Her vehicle was the only one in her driveway when he got to his place, so Aunt Thelma was with Calvin to give her time to sleep. He parked his bike in his drive, wincing at how much quieter the street was once he killed the motor.

Next door a car was being towed from the front sidewalk. A few locals were hanging around, gawking and chatting at whatever drama had gone down. He headed inside to at least change his shirt. He likely stunk like rotting carcass and was pretty sure that wouldn't help with nausea.

Leaving the kutte in his room, he paused in the kitchen to half-finish a bottle of beer before buttoning a clean black shirt all the way up and heading back to the driveway. He knocked on her screen door with one knuckle, hoping she wasn't asleep. After a pause the inside door was pulled open, and she blinked up at him, looking a little glassy-eyed. "Quentin?"

He swallowed his initial reaction, which was to throw the screen open and ask her how the hell she'd lost so much weight in such a short span of time, toss her back in bed and force-feed her until she looked fucking healthy again.

"Arielle, you okay?"

She nodded, rubbing one eye with a fist. "I just got up."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. No, sorry, come in."

She moved away from the entrance so he pushed the screen door open and stepped inside. It was stuffy in here, but that just came with a closed house on a warm day. "You want me to open some windows?" he offered.

"Does it stink in here?" she asked, half-turning on her way to the kitchen. She was in flannel shorts and her legs seemed so scrawny they instantly reminded him of her sister's.

"No, it smells fine. Just stuffy. You want some fresh air?"

She blinked, covered a yawn then nodded. This was exactly what he didn't want to see. Her being so sick she wouldn't say a single word to him or challenge him in any way. This was what had him freaking out and sending her away even though he'd wanted her so badly.

He moved to the smaller window over the sofa, sliding the pane open. Then he passed her on his way to the kitchen and opened both windows in there. When he turned from the second one she was opening the fridge and pulling out a jug of juice.

"You feeling all right?" he asked after a pause. Fuck, this was so awkward. She shrugged one shoulder while filling a glass.

"Chemo this morning. Then a fight broke out in my front yard. Then I called a bunch of bikers to break it up. Then one of them told me I was your girl. Then I was sick for two hours straight and slept for one hour. I feel exactly how you'd expect."

"Who said you were my girl?" he asked, like that was the most important fact she'd just shared.

She shrugged. "I can't remember. The pretty dark-haired one."

Quentin frowned. "Who?"

She screwed up her face while returning the juice to the fridge. "Oh, Colton. Does that sound right?"

His hackles rose a bit. "You think my vice president is pretty, huh?"

That indifferent shrug again, and it was starting to piss him off. "Why not? I apparently have a thing for blue eyes."

Her behaviour was all kinds of fucked-up to him. "Arielle, what's going on?"

She set the glass down after one gulp. "Why didn't I call the police, Quentin? Why did I call your club's bar?"

"I told you, we take care of this kind of shit."