The Sweet Under His Skin (53 page)

"Morning, Peanut," she greeted him with a kiss on the head. "What should we have for breakfast?"

"Can we have pancakes?"

She smiled and ruffled up his hair. "You got it."

"Would you like me to help?

"No, sweetie, I got it. Thanks though."

She was storing the completed pancakes in the warm stove when her phone rang. She picked up the cordless, holding it between her cheek and shoulder as she pulled maple syrup out of the cupboard. "Hello?"

"Arielle? Have you heard from Jolene yet?"

Crap, Aunt Thelma. "Oh, Aunt Thelma," Arielle started, setting the syrup on the table and flopping into a chair. "I think Jolene did something stupid yesterday."

"What? What did she do?" There was an exhausted acceptance to this in Thelma's voice.

"Someone posted bail for her. She got out late last night and didn't call me, I'm guessing she's not with you either?"

"No, she's not. I called there today to ask how much her bail was and they said it had been posted by some young guy."

Arielle rubbed her forehead. "Quentin had to tell the club last night. He's been out all night trying to find her before Reuben does."

"That girl…what are we going to do with her?"

Arielle swallowed. "I think I messed up, Aunt Thelma. I told her some club stuff just yesterday, and last night Quentin said the bad guys know about it now and…shit, Thelma. That's all my fault. I told Jolene something and now the bad guys know about it."

Thelma sighed. "If Jolene told anyone anything, she's the one that messed up. Trust me."

Arielle raised her eyebrows at the language on a Sunday morning. "That's what Quentin said. But I think the club…well, I don't even know what I can tell you."

"Don't tell me anything unless you're asking me to take you and Calvin in. You're right, there's a lot going on I'd rather not know about, but if you two are in danger you need to come here. I mean it, honey. And if he cares about you, Quentin will understand that."

Arielle knew that, too. She didn't know where the certainty came from, but Thelma was right. As always.

"If they find her, I'll call you," Arielle promised, switching tracks slightly. "And if we need to leave town, I'm coming to you. Absolutely." Thelma sighed and Arielle winced. "I'm sorry you're getting pulled into this."

"None of this is your fault Arielle."

"If I didn't have that bizarre but charismatic neighbor—"

"Jolene would still find a way to self-destruct," Thelma finished for her, cutting her off. "As much as Quentin and his friends might make things trickier, this isn't their fault, either. I am, however, worried if Jolene's pissed them off on top of everything else."

Arielle bit her lip. "Quentin said they won't hurt her."

Thelma sighed. Again. "Is he the president?”

“He won’t let them hurt her…”

Another sigh. "Arielle—"

"He won't," she insisted, stronger. "Not because he cares about her, but because it would hurt me and Calvin. He won't let that happen."

"All I'm saying, honey," Thelma went on gently, "is that it won't be up to Quentin."

Arielle let the calm coldness seep in at that statement. "So they'll kill her?"

"I don't know, honey. Jolene's the one that said they kill to protect what's theirs."

Arielle fiddled with the hem of the Dead Men T-shirt she suddenly wanted to be out of. "Thelma, this is bad."

"Arielle, honey—"

"No, this is bad. I think…shit," she whispered, losing her nerve and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"What, honey? Is there something else?"

"I think I'm falling in love with him." Long pause on that one. "When I realized what Jolene might have done, I wasn't worried about her, or me. I was worried I got him in trouble."

Thelma took a moment, and her tone stayed soft. "I know this might seem…exciting or—"

"No," Arielle interrupted. "It's not that. It's not that at all. I'm talking about having him here sitting on my couch and watching TV with me and Calvin. The way he laughs and jokes with him like a buddy. I'm talking about waking up to him calling me babe and kissing my shoulder. Having him make me a stupid fruit smoothie without complaining." She stopped because her eyes were wet and she didn't want to alarm Calvin, who'd stayed in the other room this entire time. Thelma was silent again.

"I am, aren't I? I'm falling in love? That's why I'm so panicked that I might have got him in trouble? He's not mad at me about this but if this is bad, I mean really bad with Jolene, what if he hates me for it?"

"Honey, please calm down."

"That's what this is, right?" It was a hushed, horrified whisper. "This panic. This tightness around my heart?"

"Arielle, listen." Thelma almost sounded like she was smiling, but that was impossible. "On any given day I would be so happy for you over this. But you're smart to be worried, honey. If you decide to take it all the way with Quentin, be his one-and-only-forever, you have to be all-in. Accepting of everything he is and not want him to change. He won't leave the club, Arielle. That will always be part of his life and yours if you share it with him. Not just until all this drug dealer nonsense is sorted. That club is forever, and I hate to be a pessimist but once this drama is over another one will be right behind it because that's his life, Arielle."

"I know," she whispered. "But I want him, Thelma. I want him so much."

Thelma sighed softly. "I will always worry about you and Calvin, but I can't stop you from doing anything, Arielle. You're an adult, and Calvin's your legal ward. I trust you to take good care of the both of you. And as much as I trust Quentin to take care of you—and I really do,honey, I mean that—it won't always be his call. You have to keep that in mind, too. You have to be true to him and that club."

Arielle frowned. "How do you know so much about this?"

Thelma allowed a slight laugh. "They call themselves a club, but they all follow the same gang mentality, honey. They replace the family that people never had."

Arielle remembered her conversation with Mandy. "Holy shit," she whispered.

"Like I said; you're an adult, you take care of yourself and there's nothing I can say or do about it. But I'd be lying if I said the thought of this life touching Calvin doesn't terrify me."

"Are you okay, Aunt Arielle?" The voice was soft, coming from the archway. Arielle looked up, almost feeling guilty.

"Hey, Peanut," she said brightly, wiping her eyes and holding a hand out. He came forward, took her hand and let her hug him. "I'm talking to Aunt Thelma. You want to say hi?"

"Okay," he replied agreeably.

A chicken-shit move—pawning her aunt off to the adorable nephew to avoid more tough talk—but that's all Arielle was capable of. She got up to finish setting the table for pancakes, mind churning and gut rolling the whole time.

"Have you slept yet?" Colton asked, and Quentin was a half-second slow turning to face his vice president.

"Nah," he mumbled roughly, rubbing his forehead.

"Go get some sleep," Colton advised. "If we find her I'll call you."

Quentin shook his head, downing the last dregs of a greasy-spoon diner cup of coffee. "Nah, Bishop said this is on me."

Colton sighed, studying his mug. "If it's anyone's fault it's the junkie's."

"I know. But I told Arielle."

Colton shrugged. "She didn't go to the bad guys, either."

Quentin shifted on the bench. "Doesn't matter, man. It's on me to contain this."

Colton was quiet again, thinking. The fucker was always thinking. "I don't know what Bishop's going to do when we find her," Colton said. “He’s been gunning for her right from the start.”

Quentin shrugged. "Me either."

"What if she's done for?"

Quentin set his jaw and looked out the window at the Sunday-morning traffic. "Then she's done for," he answered, hoping it sounded indifferent.

Because he wasn't indifferent to that idea. He was scared shitless that Bishop was going to kill Jolene on sight. He personally couldn’t give a shit, but he had no idea how he'd look Arielle in the eye again.

"You'll live with that?" Colton asked, looking like he didn't believe it.

"Bishop's the president."

Colton checked for far-reaching ears, then leaned closer. "I'm having a problem with it Quentin, and I know you do too. You're not okay with Bishop killing her."

"So what then?" he said back, low and caustic. "We let her go on her happy, trip-the-light-fantastic way? Fucking up all over the place? She'll get herself done in anyway. We're saving someone else the headache."

Colton pursed his lips together and looked away, shaking his head. Quentin hoped that convo was done.

Dillon rejoined them from his bathroom break. Quentin had been riding all over Portus Felix all night, then in the next morning Colton sent a text that he and Dillon would come help hunt down the junkie. They'd found nothing, and none of the motel desk clerks or nightlife bartenders had seen her.

"You look like shit," Dillon remarked, digging a pack of smokes from a pocket in his kutte. "You should sleep. Let me and Colton take over. I'm sure Gage will help, too." Colton nodded with a pointed look in Quentin's direction.

"Bishop said this was my job," Quentin replied without emotion.

"And if you crash your bike because you fell asleep the rest of us get shit for letting you ride," Dillon replied smoothly, always with a smartass answer for everything.

"Go home, grab a few hours' shut eye, then call me to see where we're at," Colton recommended, moving his empty mug out of the way. "I'll make sure no one hurts her."

Quentin didn't miss the way Dillon's eyes flicked to Colton in confusion. Still, it did sound like a good idea to go see Arielle. That always made him feel better.

He nodded. "Okay. But call me in three hours, okay? I'll meet up with you guys wherever you are."

"Just make sure you sleep," Colton advised with his smart-ass grin.

"Oh, Quentin!" Dillon said in a falsetto, eyes up towards Quentin as he stood, stupid grin on his face.

"Oh, Quentin, baby!" Colton gasped out in similar fashion, the both of them outright laughing now.

It was a good thing Arielle didn't know how much these assholes gossip. She'd be mortified to come back to the clubhouse. Only a few had heard her loud enjoyment that one afternoon, but they all knew about it by now. Quentin didn't know who spread that out, but the smart money was on Dillon.

He put his shades on, shaking his head and heading for the diner doors and his bike with their girly "Quentin!" chorus following him all the way.

It was also a good thing he was heading to bed. His eyelids were heavy and wanted to stick together every time he blinked. Literally a road hazard; he pulled into the drive and wasn't sure how he even made it there. Half the route was a blur.

Quentin let himself in the front door, the house quiet. He headed to the hallway, pausing in Calvin's doorway. The kid was on his bed reading, and he grinned at Quentin as he paused in the doorway.

"Hey, Charlie. What you got for me?" he croaked quietly.

"Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive," Calvin recited back, mindful of his volume so Quentin knew Arielle was taking a nap.

He thought on that quote for a second. "I guess it depends on the destination, hey, Charlie?"

"Yeah," Calvin agreed, flopping to his back and holding the book over his face to continue reading.

"I'm going to take a nap, that cool with you?"

"Sure. Have a good sleep, Q."

Quentin had to grin heading to Arielle's room. That kid was so mellow.

He pushed her door open and latched it behind him silently, the blinds drawn against the sun making the room dim as he pulled off the kutte and his shirt, dropping his jeans and kicking off the boots and socks. When he slid in next to her Arielle sighed, rolling to face him. She didn't even wake up, she just settled in close. He rested on his side, facing her in return, that smell that was uniquely Arielle making his eyes slide shut and his body fall into sleep within minutes.

"Quentin? Aunt Arielle?" the voice was soft, whispered close to his face. Quentin pulled away instinctively, frowning and opening one eye. Calvin was crouched close to the bed, biting his lip and looking concerned.

According to the alarm clock facing him he'd been asleep for about an hour and a half. He scrubbed his face with both hands and yawned. "What's up, Charlie?" he asked quietly, feeling Arielle shift around behind him.

"Mom's here. She's at the back door. I didn't let her in. I didn't know what to do."

Quentin frowned, arms falling to his chest. "What?"

"Mom's here. She wants to come in. She doesn't look good."

Quentin blinked exactly four times then sat up. "Okay. Let me get my clothes on, Charlie, I'll be right out."

Calvin darted into the hallway and Quentin grabbed his jeans and pulled them on as Arielle sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Jolene's here," he told her as his shirt went on. "Stay here. She's at the back door, I think she scared Calvin."

"Shit," Arielle muttered, reaching for her pajama pants.

"I'll decide if we let her in, okay, Arielle?"

Her head came up. "Why wouldn't we let her in?"

Quentin held her face between his hands. "She's wanted by bad people and she owes them big, babe. It could be a trap. Okay?"

Arielle nodded reluctantly. "Okay."

Her trust made his chest bigger. He kissed her forehead and grabbed his boots then made his way out the bedroom and to the hallway. He stopped to pull his boots on in the living room, making eye contact with Calvin where he sat on the couch.

"I got this buddy, yeah?"

Calvin nodded, eyes wide. Clearly his mother had freaked him right out.

Quentin passed through the kitchen and yanked the interior door open, leaving the screen door between him and the woman he was really starting to dislike. Shit, she was a wreck. Her clothes were torn and filthy, her lip and eyebrow were both split, her hair was a rat’s nest and she was crying. She was so upset she forgot to be scared of him.