The Sweet Under His Skin (41 page)

"Jolene!" Arielle suddenly snapped. "Shut up!" While all this was happening a dark shape came towards her and she shrieked, jumping back and lowering the gun. It was knocked out of her hand, she had no idea where it went, and the body that landed on her took her to the ground. A light came on in the living room, but she still couldn't see who was on her.

She knew it was a man, but he had her face shoved to the side, holding her head down, arm going across her throat. She scratched and pushed at that arm but it wouldn't move, and breathing was becoming increasingly more difficult. She was scratching, kneeing, landing a few painful hits she was sure but he was stronger.

Just when the world was encased in golden halos and her eyes were having trouble staying open the body was suddenly lifted off her and she heard a pained grunt. She crab-walked back to give herself room and scrambled to her feet, using the wall and gasping for breath.

It was quiet. Jolene was no longer screaming. And the man that had tackled her was now leaning backwards awkwardly, his neck in Quentin's grip, trying to pry himself free much like she had. She watched in shock while the man was choked out, almost to the point of being unconscious. Then, without so much as a change in expression, Quentin simply snapped the man's neck around. He dropped like a pile of laundry.

Arielle covered her mouth. She heard her bedroom door squeak, and Calvin's soft whisper. "What's going on?" She turned quickly, ushering him back into the room.

"Stay here," she whispered. "Everybody's okay. Just stay in my room, okay?" Then she closed the door without a pause and headed back to the living room just in time to see Quentin collapse back on the sofa, wincing in pain.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, settling next to him on one bended leg.

"Fucker shot me," he muttered, hand on his arm. "Just grazed." His smile was slow and pained. "Not bad. I'm fine, Arielle." Then his expression grew worried. "You okay?" She put a hand to her throat.

"I think so." Quentin's bloody hand came to her neck, then he seemed to think better of touching her with it and pressed it back over his wound. Oh God, the blood—Jolene shut the front door and locked it.

"Holy shit," Jolene was whispering, pacing back and forth. "Holy shit holy shit holy shit—"

"Who do we call?" Arielle asked. Quentindug in his jean’s pocket with the hand belonging to the injured arm, then pulled out a flip phone. With a wince he pressed a number, held it to his ear and waited. Arielle was watching the blood slide between the fingers of his other hand, not staunching the flow at all. She got up, went to the kitchen on a brain-numbing tea towel hunt. Back in the living room she was half aware of Quentin's voice while she wrapped the towel, decorated in chickens and egg baskets, around his arm.

"Someone broke into Arielle's place. He must not've expected anyone else to be here 'cause he came alone. But he had a gun, man." There was a long pause while she tightened her grip over his wound. His eyes came to hers. "Nah, I took care of him. But now we got clean up." She had no problem keeping her eyes off of what was undoubtedly a dead body on the floor. She bit her lip and looked back to her makeshift bandage, the overwhelming need to cry suddenly coming over her. The chickens were drowning in blood.

"Holy shit holy shit holy shit—"

"Jolene!" Arielle snapped. "Sit down and shut the hell up. Please." Jolene did exactly as told, sitting on a chair in the kitchen to be as far away from the body as possible. Quentin flipped the phone shut.

"Arielle? Babe? You okay?" She brought her eyes back to his.

"I don't know."

"The guys are coming to deal with this."

"What about your arm?"

"It's fine. Dillon has fixed worse than this." Her lip trembled. She felt like she needed to be doing something. Anything. Just to get rid of this edge…

"You're cranked up on adrenalin," Quentin told her. "Let it work its way out."

"My hands are shaking." He reached out and covered her hands with his free one.

"Take your sister to your room, keep her there with Calvin, okay? Try and keep everyone calm." She was nodding, agreeing with everything he was saying, but she wasn't moving. "Arielle, go to your room. Take Jolene."

Then she caught on. "Okay."

"But first give me a kiss." She leaned over and kissed him quickly, then got to her feet and collected Jolene from the kitchen. Her sister was now quiet, almost catatonic which was even better, and led her around the body then down the hallway. Arielle stopped in the main washroom to rinse the blood off her hands, and as she did so Jolene just watched, face slack. Calvin was cross-legged on her bed, hands clenched tight to his knees. His eyes were huge.

"What going on?" he whispered. "Was that a gunshot? Is Quentin okay?" Arielle closed the bedroom door behind her, hearing distant motorcycles and for once feeling relieved at the sound. She scooted around Calvin, stretching out with her back to the wall and herding him into her arms. He cuddled her without question, and she closed her eyes, forcing her respiration to even out. Jolene sat on the edge of the bed, Arielle felt the mattress move. Arielle opened one eye, saw her sister staring down at them biting her thumb nail just like Arielle did. Arielle held her hand out, and Jolene took it then scooted down into bed with them. Voices could be heard out in the living room, but Arielle just held eye contact with Jolene.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. Jolene nodded.

"Yeah. He grabbed me, I was asleep. He tried to pull me out of the house." Arielle nodded. "Did Quentin get shot?" Jolene whispered, and Calvin stiffened in Arielle's arms.

"Scratched," Arielle answered, playing it down.

"Is he okay?" Calvin sounded so worried.

"Quentin's fine, Peanut. He's tough, you know that." Calvin relaxed, and Arielle watched him close his eyes. Like only a kid can do, he passed out into sleep as though excitement was a sleeping potion.

"How does he do that?" Jolene whispered with a small smile.

"I have no idea. But I'm jealous," Arielle replied, smoothing his hair back and slipping his glasses off. Jolene took them from her and set them on the nightstand. They settled into sleeping positions, leaving the light on.

"Arielle?" Jolene whispered. She opened her eyes.

"Yeah?" Jolene looked conflicted, but eventually she just said what was on her mind.

"This guy, Arielle. I was worried but…he really cares about you." Arielle felt herself smile.

"Yeah, he does." Jolene smiled too.

"Shit, Arielle. You light up just thinking about him."

She looked away, to the ceiling, knowing she was blushing. "I can't help it."

"That's awesome, Arielle." Arielle nodded, sighing.

"It kind of is."

"I wish I hadn't…well…that makes it awkward."

"Don't talk about that, please," Arielle pleaded. "He told me about it, and…" she ran out of steam.

"I'm sorry, Arielle." Arielle turned her head on the pillow to face Jolene.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. I think…I think I'm important to him. No matter what came before."

Jolenenodded. "You are. When you were upset at the hospital and he hugged you…I don't know. I was really glad you had that, Arielle. Not because you need someone taking care of you, but because you deserve it." Arielle smiled, and Jolene smiled back.

"Thanks Jolene."

"Wasn't me, Arielle." She giggled and so did Jolene.

"I want you around," Arielle said out of nowhere. "I miss you, Jolene." Jolene bit her lip and immediately blinked tears away.

"I miss you, too. I'm going to do better."

"Good," Arielle whispered, and she grabbed her sister's hand before settling on her side to sleep.

"We'll make him disappear," T-bone declared quietly from Arielle's front door. Then he shut it behind him, leaving Quentin in the living room with Bishop, Coltonand Dillon—who was stitching Quentin's arm, Bishop was leaning against the kitchen archway, and Colton was sitting across from Quentin in the armchair.

"Looks like no one called the cops," Bishop observed.

Quentin nodded. "Not that kind of neighborhood."

"Gunshot's a gunshot," Colton joked, leaning back.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Bishop asked.

Quentin evaluated Bishop’s question and looked for anything other than concerned interest. "She'll be all right."

"You need to make sure those sisters keep their mouths shut," Bishopreminded him. "We don't know who that guy was. If he was someone important—"

"I know, Bishop."

"Do you?"

Quentin clenched his jaw. "He broke in. He jumped Arielle. What was I supposed to do?"

"Use your head. He ain't just a dealer, you can tell by what he was wearing—He could be someone important."

"It was dark. He was choking her, man."

"Enough," Colton cut in calmly. "We likely would have done the same thing." Bishop’s eyes shot to Colton and Quentin had a moment of disorientation. Something was going on between his vice and his prez. "We plead ignorance if someone comes looking. In the meantime, we're still trying to figure out who the fuck Reuben is. Right?" Colton said. Quentin nodded. "Talk to the girls and explain that if anyone comes around asking, no one was here. This never happened. And then they call one of us as soon as it's safe to. There's no need to be threatening anyone."

Bishop's eyes leveled back to Quentin. "It's not your girl I'm worried about," Bishop clarified. "It's the sister. Can't trust a junkie further than you can throw her."

"She's going to the aunt's place tomorrow," Quentin said. "Should keep her on the straight and narrow for a while. It's in the middle of fucking nowhere and the aunt is tough as nails herself."

"Good," Bishop said, standing up. "It's a lot easier to keep an eye on your girl. Housebound like she is."

Quentin got to his feet, jerking away from Dillon who was uncharacteristically silent this whole time. "The fuck's the matter with you?" Quentin asked softly, but it was a calm soft that meant he wasn't fucking around.

There wasn't a specific thing chafing him. But something about how Bishop was talking about Arielle was really getting under his collar. Bishop had said it; the words were well-intentioned but somehow it seemed like a threat on the woman he was starting to care about a whole hell of a lot.

Bishop's eyes widened, mock innocence. "What’d you mean?"

Quentin held the president’s steely gaze for a long while before replying. "She's sick, Bishop. Not housebound."

Bishop settled into a posture of deceptive ease, both feet firmly planted. "Quentin, you're getting a little sensitive."

"She matters, okay?"

Another long stare down that Colton broke up. "All right, we get it. Quentin, watch over your girl. That's your assignment until we learn more. The sister's leaving town, that's good. I'm assuming she didn't tell these pricks about the aunt. And we know no one will get close enough to Arielle to talk her into giving up any Intel. Quentin trusts her, I trust her."

"We should take them all to the clubhouse, lock them down," Bishop said. "Safer for all of them."

Quentin shook his head. "Kid's got school in the morning. Let him sleep."

"Tomorrow then. This place is hot now, you know that. There's a fucking bullet hole in the wall in case you forget," Bishop snapped, pushing his was past Quentin, knocking his shoulder and heading right for the door then outside without another word.

Colton was sighing and following. He turned back at the doorway. "He might be right. We came the other day when those dealers were beating up that customer. Now a guy comes here and disappears. These guys won't think she's just a sweetheart cancer patient now. It's obvious she's connected, Quentin."

"What about those houses? Meth cooks?"

Colton shook his head. "Nothing doing at any of them. We'll look into the Shanksville properties tomorrow. While you keep your girl and her kid safe at the clubhouse," Colton reminded him.

Quentin sighed. "Clubhouse ain't a great place for a kid."

Coltongrinned. "What’d you mean? I grew up there."

Quentin cracked a smile. "Good point. Lemme talk it over with her."

Colton nodded. "I'd still suggest that the sister go to the aunt's, though."

"Definitely. That's attention we don't want."

Colton left, Dillon followed and shut the door behind him with a salute. Quentin made sure it was well locked, all the windows, too.

The asshole had picked the knob and the deadbolt. There was no security chain, which was the first thing Quentin was fixing before the next night Arielle had to spend here. Whether it was tomorrow or the first night after all this shit was sorted out.

He crept down the hall quietly, opening Arielle's bedroom door. The light was on, and three bodies were huddled close in the bed. Jolene's back was to him, one leg over the covers. Calvin was sandwiched in the middle, Arielle facing the door. All three were dead asleep, looking quite happy. Like a pile of puppies or something.

He crossed to turn off the lamp on the night stand, but Calvin caught him next to the bed.

"Q!" Calvin whispered, rising up on his elbow.

"Shhh," he hissed back with a chuckle, "keep it down."

"Are you okay?"

"You kidding? I'm great."

"Did you get shot?"

Quentin lifted the arm of the T-shirt to show his fresh stitches. "Check it out, Chuckles."

"Wow!" Calvin was squinting, but it didn't matter how well he could see it. "Did it hurt?"

"Yeah, it hurt a little bit. But I'm okay, buddy."

"Are you leaving?"

"Nah, I'm staying out in the living room. Make sure no one else comes in."

Calvin nodded and Quentin switched off the lamp then headed for the door.

"Q?"

"Yeah, Chuckles?"

"Thanks for keeping us safe."

Warmth and air expanded his chest, and his damn eyes started stinging again. For so many years his life in a MC club had dissolved into something without purpose with all the violence, guns and mindless fucking. But two reasons had shot meaning into his life without warning. Two reasons that gave meaning to his existence.