Page 18 of Lone Star

“Go,” she said, softly. “I’m fine, love.”

He offered a brief, tight smile.

She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was: thinking that it was one thing for someone to bother Pacer; for some heathen to challenge and spook a simple riding club. Bullies would be bullies, after all – even deranged, murderous bullies.

But it was quite another thing to throw a gauntlet down in front of the Lean Dogs MC. And that was what had happened tonight.

~*~

Candy and Blue passed the van that Jinx was driving on their way to the O’Donnell house. He caught the quick, two-fingered wave Jinx lifted off the wheel in the van’s dash lights, and returned it from behind the wheel of the club truck they’d taken to keep from waking the neighborhood with the ring of Harley tailpipes.

Knowing Jenny was on her way to safety eased his immediate panic – which left plenty of room for good old-fashioned anger.

Blue hitched himself into a more comfortable position in the passenger seat. “How are we gonna play this with the five-oh? Did Colin already call them?”

“No. He said he threw a tarp over the bodies.”

Blue made a choking sound. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. Same old dumbass. Didn’t want the neighbors to see. He said he’d wait for us, but, if this looks like the other bodies out in the desert, I say we call Agent Cantrell.”

“The fed?” Blue sounded like someone trying very hard not to sound incredulous – and failing.

“It shows innocence on our part,” Candy said, feeling a little defensive. “We wouldn’t call him if we’d done it – not to mention, I wouldn’t dump a fucking body in my own sister’s yard.”

“Unless you were really trying to throw off the trail.”

“Not helpful, bro.”

He felt Blue’s gaze on the side of his head, and gritted his teeth against whatever his old friend was about to say, already anticipating a lecture. “Used to,” Blue said, and here it came, “you’d sooner cat burglars make off with everything you own than file a police report.”

“Blue.”

“You’d pay to replace a whole entire truck with cash outta your pocket before you called the cops so insurance could handle it.” It wasn’t said unkindly, or with any urgency; was spoken as a matter of mild observation.

Candy massaged the steering wheel a few silent minutes, putting a tight rein on his initial, kneejerk flare of anger. He felt defensive, and that wasn’t a normal feeling for him. He wasn’t used to explaining himself to the boys, and he hated doing so now.

But Blue had a point, damn it. He’d once accidently scratched a Mercedes with his wallet chain, trying to squeeze between it and an old truck in the grocery store parking lot. He’d left a fat wad of cash tucked beneath the windshield wiper to avoid having to give his name to whatever nice lady owned it, who would probably, once she got a look at his cut, want to dial 9-1-1.

“The fed already knows I’m involved because he saw me there with Pacer,” he reasoned, squirming inwardly because he was dodging some of the truth, and knew it. “If we go dump these bodies, and do a shit job of it – if someone found them – if one of Jen’s neighbors peeked out the window and saw it lying there already – then we look guilty as shit. Right now, we’ve got no idea who’s doing this, and no idea where to even start looking. Maybe we ought to let the long arm of the law get off its ass and do its job for once.”

“Solid point,” Blue said after a moment.

“Yeah, well. Getting smarter as I get older.”

“And more cautious.”

Candy darted a glance toward him, registered his thoughtful expression in the dash lights, the knowing way Blue glanced back before the road took his attention again. “You saying I’m getting soft?” he bristled.

“If I was, it’s because I know that it’s got nothing to do with age, and everything to do with a little blonde sweet thing and a baby boy.”

Candy lifted a hand off the wheel and made a staying gesture in the air between them. The anger spiked, thrumming through him now, wanting an outlet. Misplaced nerves over Jenny, and the situation, and frustration at his own helplessness – throw Michelle into the mix and he was ready to throw hands. “Blue,” he said, warningly. “I know you’re not gonna say some shit about my old lady.”

“No. Jesus, will you cool it? I’d never insult Michelle, I love that kid. You know that.” He made a disgusted sound. “Do you honestly think…? No. What I meant was, you’ve got a family now. That softens everybody up, and there’s no shame in it. Nobody wants to get locked up or shot dead when he’s got kids and an old lady. I get why you’re doing things the legal way this time.”

Candy frowned at the road. What Blue had said made sense. But Candy wasn’t just some guy in some club. The MC wasn’t just a stop-gap between disastrous life decisions like it was for some; not one in a long string of nefarious, law-breaking mistakes. Michelle and TJ – and the little nugget to come – were his everything, but calling Cantrell wouldn’t be about running gun shy. About worrying about getting locked up and leaving them behind.

It was the most practical, least risky decision for his club. His club, that he’d been born into, that ran thicker than blood through his veins.

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