Page 116 of Lone Star

“You prioritized,” Fox corrected. “Everyone has to in those sorts of situations. You decided to help Tenny, and I’m glad. Had I been in your position, I’m not sure I would have.”

Reese’s eyes widened the tiniest bit in shock.

“Don’t look surprised. I’m terribly mercenary when I need to be.”

“You–” Reese clamped his lips shut and glanced away; his throat jumped as he swallowed, the pale column of it limned in betraying moonlight. He was still every inch the automatic, perfectly trained weapon he’d been, but Fox could see the way emotions were beginning to edge his responses; long-buried humanity lifting to the surface like grease bubbles through formerly impenetrable dark water.

“Go on. Say it.”

A beat passed before Reese said, “He’s your brother,” in a very flat voice.

“Biologically, sure, but I’ve only just met him, and he’s a wanker. So. I’d have hurdled over him and gone for the gunman.”

Reese stared straight ahead as they walked, swallowing again.

“That troubles you, doesn’t it?”

No answer, butyeswas writ in the flexing of his fingers, the tight fists that he opened with obvious effort.

“I’d ask you to explain, but you’re not very good at that, no offense, and I’ve already guessed it. You have a sister – she’s all you’ve had, for most of your life. There’s plenty you don’t understand – hell, there’s plenty I don’t understand: why do people get so worked up over china patterns and seat-warmers in cars? But you understand siblings. That’s sacred to you, isn’t it? Whatever the job, whatever was at stake, you’d drop everything and save your sister.”

Reese halted – it looked involuntary, the way his steps jerked and he pulled up short. He looked at Fox with narrowed, glittering, inscrutable eyes.

“You expected me to be the same. And you’re disappointed that I’m not.”

No answer.

Fox grinned at him, and it felt like a baring of teeth, like a snarl, but he relished it. “That’s my role in the club. Do you know why they call me when stuff like this needs doing? Why someone like Candy, or Mercy, or Michael McCall doesn’t handle it instead? Because I enjoy it. And because my emotions never get the best of me.

“That’ll be your role in this club, too. It’s good that you saved Tenny, it is. Good for your soul, and good for him, and good that I don’t have to explain how I got someone killed tonight.

“But it’s not good for the club. That’s not what we’re for.”

He turned and headed for the van. A moment later, he heard Reese’s footfalls following.

~*~

A bleary-eyed Candyman greeted them in the common room when they got back to the clubhouse. He and Fox settled down at a table, heads bent together in earnest discussion, Candy’s blond brows knitted over a gaze that Reese labeledworrymixed withdesperation.

Reese thought he ought to stand behind Fox’s chair, ready for orders…but he didn’t want to do that. That was a strange feeling: wanting to go off, to get away, to not be with someone. On the ride back, he’d realized he kept opening and closing his hands, tightening them into fists until his knuckles cracked. He’d forced them open and it had taken an effort to keep them pressed flat to his thighs, especially when he found the damp patch on the denim there, the place where Tenny’s blood had soaked through.

Now, without asking permission, he passed through the common room and headed down the hall, slipped into his dorm room.

He’d forgotten it was a shared dorm, now, until he leaned back against the closed door and his gaze landed on the air mattress on the floor beside the bed. He let out a deep breath and stood there a moment, replaying what Fox had told him.

Ithadtroubled him, and Fox had been right about why. He remembered a night in Colorado, music gratingly loud through the speakers, the clack of billiard sticks off balls at the pool table behind him, the stink of smoke, and spilled beer, and sweaty male bodies. Remembered Badger standing in front of him, Kris held before him, one hand curled around the chain hooked to her collar, the other tilting the knife at her throat, so the edge of the blade winked at him.Do what I tell you, or I’ll carve her up. She doesn’t have to be pretty to suck dick.

Before he realized the impulse, he’d pulled out his phone and turned to sit on the foot of the bed. He dialed, and it was only when he had the phone pressed to his ear, and the other end was ringing, that he wondered what he would say. How could he put the thorny tangle sitting in his chest into words? He’d never had cause to express himself before – had never really had anything to express in the first place.

After four rings, Mercy picked up. “’Lo?” He sounded rough, and slurred, and – oh. It was just after five in the morning in Tennessee.

A bolt of coldness shot through Reese’s insides. He shouldn’t have called. Shouldn’t have bothered. “I woke you up.” His voice sounded like it always did, though he imagined it wavered; that Mercy would be able to hear his doubt.

“Well, yeah, but.” Mercy cleared his throat, and his voice sounded smoother. “I was gonna get up in like a half-hour anyway. What’s up?” He sounded friendly, even freshly-awakened. He had this way of talking, this way of acting like hewantedto know someone’s answer.

“I,” Reese said, and stalled out. He didn’t do this. He didn’t make personal phone calls. Kris called him, sometimes, but she did all the talking, and he saidyesandnowhen asked a direct question.

From the other end of the line, he heard rustling, a murmured voice in the background – feminine, sleepy, Mercy’s wife, Ava. Mercy murmured something back, mouth too far from the phone for Reese to make it out, then there was more rustling, and the sound of a door shutting. “Hey, you okay?” Mercy asked, voice echoing. In the bathroom, Reese deduced; all the porcelain made for strange acoustics.

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