Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (3 page)

              Yes, usual.

              Nothing out of place.

              A flower show out on the pavements of McAndrew’s busy neighborhood. Pedestrians everywhere, laughing, calling, singing. They went in the back way. Nicked the drive, clean getaway. Then stuffed their hats, bandanas, and black gloves in the backpack Tommy wore. Just regular ordinary young people, maybe friends, maybe a couple. Nothing out of the ordinary.

              Until…

              She didn’t understand it, at first, when she saw the black-clad figures at the end of the street. Three of them, in masks, black jackets, combat boots. Long barrels of rifles sprouting over their shoulders.

              Tommy pulled in a deep breath beside her. She felt his hand grappling for hers, his skin warm and smooth, before the street exploded.

~*~

“
Tommy
!”

              He gasped and went down hard on his knees, dragging her with him.

              The man who’d stabbed him closed in on them, crimson knife brandished, ready to finish the job.

              “Tommy, Tommy.” He was too heavy, his arm gone limp around her waist.

              The man with the knife, he –

              She saw the flash of metal, heard the faint whistle as the blade parted air, just before a machete caught their attacker in the back of the neck, and sent him crumpling, boneless, to the pavement.

              Albie.

              Nothing had ever been as beautiful as her uncle standing above them, sliding a bloodied machete into the sheath at his belt.

              “Chelle.” He knelt and gathered Tommy to him, both arms around his waist. “Help me with him.”

              She did.

              When the smoke began to dissipate, blue lights and sirens cutting pathways through it, they were gone.

Two

Michelle

A nurse took pity on her, finally, and brought her a chair to sit in. She hadn’t realized how badly she was shaking until she slumped down into it. Albie draped his jacket across her shoulders and she clutched it around her throat, breathing the familiar, comforting smell of his shaving cream off the collar, the scent dislodging the stink of smoke in her nose.

              Bless Albie. He’d been the one with the presence of mind to stop the bleeding. He’d thought to wipe the soot from their hands and faces. Thought to tell the emergency department staff that they’d been mugged, leaving out all details of the attack in the street.

              Tommy had been rushed to surgery. Then it was a blur of lukewarm coffee cups and hard chairs, fighting to keep her eyes open, wanting to vomit every time she relived that moment on the street.

              And now Tommy’s room, the harsh tube lights, the beep of the machines. Tommy pale beneath the sheets, his breathing shallow as they waited for him to wake up.

              Michelle dug her fingers into the suede of the jacket. This was their first chance to really talk, and she forced herself to look from her wounded uncle to her savior uncle.

              Albie had his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulder braced against the door, face deeply troubled.             

              “How did you know we’d need rescuing?” Michelle asked, voice a croak.

              “I didn’t. I just had a bad feeling.”

              She looked back at Tommy, and her throat tightened. Her heart compressed. Oh, God. She wanted to touch him, slide her hand into his, squeeze and let him know she was here. But maybe she shouldn’t; maybe the doctor wouldn’t think she ought to.

              Tears filled her eyes.

              “Do you have the drive?” Albie asked.

              “What?”

              “The drive you took today. Do you still have it?”

              “Yeah, but…” She couldn’t even think about work right now. Not when her uncle/surrogate-brother/best friend in the world lay possibly dying before her.

              Albie touched her shoulder and she craned her head back to look at him.

              “They were after it,” he said, spooky in his composure. “Nobody wanted to blow up a flower show. They were after that drive.”

              A hard shudder moved through her. What if those men had shown up while they were still in the flat?

              Worse…those men had known they’d be stealing the drive today.

              “What the hell’s on it?” she wondered aloud.

              “Something important.”

              Tommy groaned, and the sound was a jolt of electricity through her system. She lurched forward, grabbed for his hand, then thought better of it.

              “Tommy?”

              Albie crowded in behind her, hand hovering in the air; he’d had the same impulse, to touch him somehow. “Thomas,” he said, like a command.

              Tommy’s eyes flipped open, suddenly, pale blue under the lights and frightened as a horse’s. His chest heaved. His mouth opened, a soundless question.

              “Hey.” Michelle laid her hand on his bare arm, careful of the IV and the wires. “We’re right here.”

              His head rolled toward her on the pillow; his gaze moved across her face. And then he exhaled. “Jesus,” he whispered. “What happened?”

              Tears clouded her vision and she ducked her head, hand tightening on his arm.

              “You got stabbed, kid,” Albie said. “But you’re my brother, so you’re okay.”

~*~

“They’re going to want to see him,” Albie said out in the hall. “I got the texts. They’re on the way up.”

              Michelle nodded. “Yeah.”

              Of course Tommy’s brothers would want to lay eyes on him and ensure themselves that he was going to pull through. And what Albie wouldn’t say was that she might want to go for a coffee or something until they were done visiting.

              “Michelle,” he said, consolingly. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the canteen.”

              The sharp rap of high-heeled footfalls on the terrazzo preceded a crisp, familiar female voice. “And why would she want you to do that, Albert?”

              Raven Blake’s mother, Sienna, had been a true conquest for her father: a runway model of cold, statuesque proportions. Raven had inherited her mother’s striking good looks, her slender physique and bold dark hair, but she had Devin Green’s blue eyes, bright with mischief and humor. She was smiling as she closed the distance and joined them, taller than them both in skinny slacks and stilettos.

              “No offense, brother, but two miserable people shouldn’t keep company with each other in these kinds of situations,” she said, kissing Albie on the cheek.

              “Hi, Raven.”

              Michelle felt another stupid wave of emotion take hold of her and stepped into her aunt’s offered hug.

              “Hello, darling,” Rave said softly into her hair.

              Michelle could only nod.

              Raven stepped back and said, “I came as soon as I heard. How’s our boy?”

              “Awake,” Albie said. “And the blokes are coming up now, so…”

              There they were. Michelle heard the muffled stampede of their footfalls and saw a whole lot of black leather and denim headed their way.

              “Ah,” Raven said with complete understanding. “Alright, then, Chelle, let’s go. We’ll be downstairs,” she told Albie. “Let us know when she can come back up.”

              Michelle didn’t get to argue, but was caught up in Raven’s surprisingly strong arm and steered to the opposite end of the hall, toward the elevators.

              “Where’s your father?”

              “Baskerville Hall. He’s trying to figure who that was in the street with us.”

              Raven made an unhappy sound as they stepped onto the elevator. They were alone in the car, so she said, “I don’t like it. Did they see your faces?”

              “Unfortunately.”

              “Hmm.”

              “If they know who we are, they’ll know we aren’t to be taken likely.”

              Raven turned a serious look on her. “Hate to contradict you, but
they
aren’t to be taken lightly.”

              The story was playing on every television in the canteen. How different the scene looked from the outside, through the lenses of news cameras, while smartly dressed reporters explained the gruesome details.

              When Michelle ground to a halt, staring at the screen, Raven tugged on her hand. “Don’t look at that. Go find us a table.”

              She did, noting that her hair stank of smoke and that there was dark grit beneath her fingernails. Would anyone notice? Would the old woman at the next table lift her head from her tea and toast and just
know
that Michelle had been there?

              She pulled up the hood of her jacket and tried her best to disappear. She didn’t want to be here in this crowded place. She ought to be upstairs with Tommy. Did he feel abandoned? Or was he glad to get her sad, tearful presence out of the way so he could see his friends…

              A tray landed in front of her. Two steaming cups of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake with two forks.

              Michelle straightened as her aunt slid in across from her. “I thought you didn’t eat sugar.”

              “I don’t, which is why we’re splitting it.” A fork was extended toward her. “Eat some of it. Chocolate fixes everything.”

              Since that was mostly true, Michelle forked up a bite of cake and forced herself to chew and swallow it. It was canteen cake, but not terrible. There were even sprinkles in the icing.

              “They’re giving you grief, aren’t they?” Raven asked.

              “Who?”

              Dramatic eye roll. “Those idiot new recruits of Phillip’s. They’re being
men
, as I would expect no less, and it’s got you all turned around. I’ve never seen you like this,” she added, growing serious. “It’s eating at you, being treated like you’re worthless.”

              “Not just worthless. But like a liability.” It felt good to say it to someone like this, woman-to-woman, who would understand in a way none of her uncles could. “Like I’m somehow damaging to the club,” she said bitterly.

              Raven regarded her a long moment, sipping her coffee. “It’s time, then.”

              “For…”

              “To take your talents somewhere they’ll be appreciated.” When Michelle started to argue, she pressed on: “Not only are they stupid for not valuing your contribution, but it’s bloody dangerous. Look what happened today. Chelle, I say this to you as a fellow woman: leave the club behind. You deserve so much more than this, love. It’s time to take your life back.”

~*~

After two shared slices of cake, Raven walked her back up to the room, kissed her on the cheek, and left before any “biker grunge” could rub off on her nice suit.

              “You’re a princess, Raven,” Albie called after her, and she lifted a hand over her head in farewell.

              Tommy’s door opened to emit Rudy, Finn, and Bryce. The Dumbass Squad, in the flesh. They were laughing about something and stopped when they saw her, chuckles dying away.

              “Michelle,” Rudy greeted, and though his tone was respectful, she saw the dark glint in his eyes.

              She gave them a stiff nod, slipped past them, and shut the door.

              Tommy was still awake, his bed elevated, even, but he was as white as the pillowcase beneath his head. As she approached the bed, the smile he’d pasted on for his friends began to fade, face falling slack and exhausted.

              “You need to sleep some more,” she said, taking the seat she’d had before.

              “And miss that riveting story about Delilah the stripper’s special talent?” He nodded toward the door and she suppressed a chuckle.

              “More sleep and smarter friends.”

              “I won’t argue with you there.” He reached to adjust his blanket and winced.

              Michelle surged to her feet. “Here, let me. Don’t hurt yourself.”

              He settled back with a deep, pained sigh as she straightened his sheets and tucked them in around his chest. He had goosebumps on his arms; he was cold. If he would have allowed it, she would have taken the covers up to his chin. As it was, she made a mental note to ask the nurse to turn the heat up.

              “Chelle.”

              When she looked at his face, it was blurry, and she realized she was about to cry yet again.

              “I’m okay,” he said, voice unsteady.

              “I know.” She pressed her lips to his forehead. “I know you are.”

~*~

She woke with a start to find the room dark and her neck bent at a terrible angle. She grimaced and sat up, eyes struggling to adjust.

              “It’s okay. Stay there,” her father said, and she relaxed again.

              Phillip had dragged a chair up alongside hers and sat pitched forward, elbows braced on its plastic arms.

              “How long have you been here?”

              “About an hour.”

              She darted a glance to the bed and saw that Tommy was still asleep, breathing shallowly, but regularly.

              “He’s out of the woods, you know,” Phillip said. “The doctor said surgery went well, and barring infection, he’ll be good as new.”

              “But he almost…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

              “He could have,” Phillip agreed. “Had the knife gone in differently. Yeah. It’s a miracle, really.” His head turned toward her, the nightlight on the wall gleaming in his pale eyes. “The news is calling them homegrown terrorists. Everyone thinks it was some kind of religious shit.”

              A sensation like insects crawled across her skin. “Albie thinks they were after the thumb drive.”

              “I think he’s right.”

              She swallowed. “The man who saw our faces…”

              “Dead. Nearly decapitated.” He made a chopping motion against the back of his neck with a faint smile. “They’re speculating one of his own people did it. Disagreement or some such.”

              “But?”

              “But I don’t know if the others saw.” He gave her a regretful half-smile. “Do you have it still?”

              She fished it from her jacket pocket. It felt warm and heavier than it should have. Important. It was a relief to pass it into her father’s capable hand.