Page 189 of Lone Star

Sometimes, Albie wondered if scowling at this particular brother was just his default expression. It was certainly putting little lines in his forehead. “Who?”

Fox waved, dismissive, and pinned Albie with a look; enough moonlight to see the eerie blue of his eyes. “How’s your rage?”

“My what?”

“Don’t play daft. It’s only funny some of the time. Your rage. Where is that at as of now? Still liable to smash someone’s shoulder with a hammer?”

Thatrage. He’d known he hadn’t been subtle; hadn’t hidden his emotions away. But it was one thing being seen by the other Dogs, and entirely another to be seen by Fox. Fox studied him like he could see inside his skull; like he knew exactly how shaky and unmoored Albie had been on the inside.

He wanted to shrink back from those instincts, now; to fidget and redirect, so he held himself very still, and took a good inward look at himself, instead. “It’s under control,” he said.

Fox didn’t look convinced. “It’s different being that angry because you care so much.”

“What?” Albie asked, and, okay, he was playing daft, because his pulse thumped hard, a sudden lurch, and he knew exactly what Fox was getting at.

The twist of Fox’s lips said he wasn’t fooled at all. “You can be angry when you want to. I know you gave Paul a tour of your gun cabinet that time.” Because Fox knew everything. “But this was the first time you’ve had a real relationship with a woman. And she was in danger, and that’s a different kind of rage altogether.”

“It sounds like you’re suggesting I don’t love my niece.”

“It’s a different kind of love,” Fox insisted, almost gently. “It’s pure, but it’s not proprietary. Your rage about Axelle didn’t feel like anything you’ve ever felt before,” he insisted. “And you need to get hold of it or else you’ll scare her with it.”

“I won’t.” But hehadscared her, hadn’t he? Not with any one specific act, no, but she’d been so hesitant and cautious around him for so long, and she wasn’t a cautious girl, his driver, but she’d looked at him warily.

“She’s not like us,” Fox insisted. “Not like Michelle, or Jen, or even Eden. If you go back to her all in a rage still, it won’t matter that it’s not directed at her. She’s like a horse looking for something to shy from.” He glanced away, then, irritated. “Fucking King,” he muttered. “Fucking horse metaphors.”

Albie started to retort, and took a breath instead; attempted to tamp down the surge of aggression that had been steadily rising like a dark tide while they stood here. He was wrong, and Fox was right – infuriatingly so. His rage was still here, like the lingering pain from a pressed-on bruise, and if he showed it to Axelle, she might bolt. God knew she had every right to.

“By the way,” Fox said, “when I said she wasn’t like us, that was a compliment.”

Albie took a few more deep breaths, and found that he could smile, a little.

Until a black wraith popped into view right in front of them.

“Jesus!” he swore, seeing only the bright white and blue of eyes, and entertaining wild fears of childhood boogeymen before his brain caught up with his startle reflex, and he realized it was Reese standing there, still all in black and wearing his grease paint. “Jesus,” he said again, massaging at the pulse that hammered behind his breastbone.

Fox smirked as he turned to the boy. “All clear?”

“Clear,” Reese said with a little nod, and turned – all but disappearing without the shine of his eyes to betray him.

“Get some sleep,” Fox called after him, as he descended the slope. Then he turned to Albie. “And you, too. Go find your girl and both of you get some rest.”

A rare thing: Fox had an excellent idea.

Albie trooped back down the hill, half-expecting Reese to pop up again like the world’s scariest Jack-in-the-box. But he arrived, finally, unmolested, and was relieved to find that all the squad cars had gone for the moment, and shrouded bodies no longer littered the yard. Things had quieted down inside, too. The prospect was slinging drinks, and most of Albie’s club brothers – battered and exhausted – had settled into the bruised furniture to talk quietly and nurse beer and whiskey. He didn’t spot Candy, though he hadn’t expected to. Made his way quietly back to the sanctuary where the president lived with his family, and rapped gently on the door.

Jenny opened it a moment later, a glass of red wine in her other hand. “Oh. Hi.” She looked as exhausted as the boys out front, but lovelier with it, and she attempted a smile of genuine warmth; Southern hostesses were athing, he was learning. “Candy is, uh – indisposed, I think.” She offered a soft laugh, edged with tiredness – but real gladness.

“Oh. Um. I’m looking for Axelle, actually.”

“Oh.” Her brows went up. “She’s not here anymore. I think she went to her dorm.”

“Oh.” He wished Jenny a good night and headed that way with some trepidation.

But the dorm was empty; the en-suite, too.

He went back to the common room with his heart pounding, and scanned the room carefully, thoroughly. Fought to keep his voice even when he said, “Anybody seen Axe?”

Blue scratched at his beard and said, “Saw her go out the front door a few minutes ago.”

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