Page 119 of Lone Star

“Assets,” Reese corrected.

“Friends of the club,” Mercy insisted. “You’re part of the family now, in more ways than one. That makes Ten your brother. You were in a situation that went south, and you chose to save your brother. Whatever anyone else would have done – whatever anyonesaysyou should have done – that was the right choice.”

The skin at the back of Reese’s neck prickled. Fresh anger washed through him, remembering his conversation with Fox, but relief, too. Mercy was the Dog he respected above all the others. If Mercy said he’d done well, then maybe he had.

“What did Fox say?” Mercy asked, voice hardening.

“He said he would have gone after the shooter.”

“Hm.”

“Tenny’s his brother.”

“Yeah, which is why I don’t believe what Fox told you for a second.”

Reese lifted his head and was met with his own reflection in the dressing table mirror. The grease paint had smudged in places, revealing streaks of pale skin beneath. He was all eyes and wild hair like this, gaunt as a skull. “You don’t?”

“He’s testing you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Fox is fucked up. But there’s some things even a total shithead like him hold precious, and his siblings are one of them. He might hate Tenny, too, but he would have saved him. You did the right thing,” Mercy said again. “He’s pushing you. Don’t be afraid to push back.”

Mercy yawned audibly, then, and Reese apologized for waking him.

“Don’t be. Call anytime, okay? I mean that.” He was told to be careful, to stay safe, and sent Ava’s love – whatever that meant – and then he hung up and set the phone aside on the bed.

He stared at his reflection another moment, this time noting the flecks of blood on the collar of his t-shirt: Tenny’s blood.

He needed sleep. His body was a vehicle that needed fuel and rest, and if he didn’t catch a few hours now, he would be less alert when dawn finally broke. There was much to do, still; it wasn’t a matter ofifhe’d be sent back out, butwhen.

He didn’t want to lie down, though. Couldn’t imagine finding his way to sleep, adrenaline still chasing through his veins. Adrenaline, and something else, something steely and stomach-tightening that left him wanting to kick his chin back and tell someone to…well, whatever it was you told people when you were angry with them. When you werepissed off.

He went to the bathroom to wash off his paint, and to think about what it would mean to push back.

Thirty-Six

Fox gave Candy a full report and then headed to the hospital. Candy, still rubbing sleep from his eyes – and with a very distinctive necklace of red marks around the base of his throat – made noises about sending someone with him, but Fox waved him off. “Tell Albie what’s happened when he crawls out of his love nest.”

Candy snorted.

“I’ll be in touch.”

A patrol car was parked in the hospital lot, when he arrived, and he spotted the two uniforms who’d climbed out of it straight off – standing behind a brown unmarked cruiser, talking to a young guy with a cheap suit and expensive sunglasses – the latter pushed up on his head, more for effect than anything, because the sun was still just a line of blush along the horizon. The police had come to interrogate a shooting victim, by rote – and been waylaid by the FBI. Perhaps there was hope for Cantrell yet.

Tenny was in the ICU. Fox had to be buzzed in, and found his brother in a glass-walled room, hooked to all sorts of monitors, neck wrapped up like a Christmas present.

Eden sat in a chair beside the bed, slouched down deep in its seat, temple propped on a fist. She shifted upright when the door shushed open, gaze instantly alert, though the shadows beneath her eyes gave proof to her exhaustion.

“Has he been awake?” Fox asked, moving to stand beside the chair, dropping a hand to the back of her neck and massaging lightly with his fingertips in the way he knew she liked.

She tipped her head back, so her cheek rested on his forearm, and let out a deep breath. “When they first wheeled him in. He was pretty out of it, though. Mumbling to himself.”

He caught her gaze and lifted his brows in question.

“Something about ‘target escaped.’ We’re lucky it was only that.”

“Lucky the little idiot’s not dead.”

“That, too.” She sighed and pushed to her feet. Fox put out a hand to steady her, but she didn’t wobble. Not his girl, never. She put her hands on the small of her back and stretched with a grimace. “Christ. Coffee?”

“In a minute. I’ll sit with him a bit.”

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