Page 70 of Lone Star

Benny whimpered, but stilled, and finally looked at him – reluctant, head ducked down, a frightened animal. Candy was struck hard by the sense that Benny was a man caught between two fears: scared of the club like always, yes, but more scared of this new enemy.

Candy’s tone softened.

Soft, that mocking voice chimed in the back of his head again.

“Whoever this guy is, however spooky he is, he’s still just a guy. He can be stopped. Everyone can be stopped. But you’re not doing yourself any favors keeping us in the dark about it.”

Benny looked at him a long moment, unblinking, then turned away and shook his head; sniffling, mumbling to himself.

“What was that?”

“You saw what he does. The way he lays people out.” Another head shake.

“I have seen it,” Candy said, “I saw it out in the desert, where my friend’s people got murdered. And it saw it on my sister’s front lawn, where someone tried to scare her, and send a message to me.”

“It’ll be Jenny next,” he said, “with her throat cut, laid out like that. Your cute little wife.”

A flutter of barely-perceptible movement from Fox, and suddenly the knife was at Benny’s throat, hard enough to press his head back to the sofa and bring a drop of bright, dark blood welling up beneath the point. Benny gasped.

“You’re scared of having your throat cut?” Fox asked, tone silky soft. “Let’s have done, then, alright? I’ll cut it for you right here, right now. You can see what it’s like, holding all your blood in your hands while you choke to death in the back of a third-rate strip club. Or you can tell us what you know, and we’ll put you under witness protection.”

“Club wit pro,” Candy expanded, “or the real deal with the FBI. Your choice.”

Benny lay sprawled there a moment, the drop of blood slowly trickling down his throat, teeth bared in feral terror. Then, tightly, trying not to move too much against the blade, he made one last desperate attempt. “You can’t promise that.”

“Can and will.” Candy pulled out his phone. “I can have guys here with a van in thirty minutes, and we’ll pack you off to wherever you wanna go. I’ll even throw in whatever you want out of the medicine cabinet.”

Benny breathed a moment, shallow little rabbit breaths. Then he closed his eyes. “Shit.” When he opened them, he looked resigned. “Fine. Get me out, and I’ll tell you everything.”

~*~

“Stay out here, and watch the door,” Fox told them, before he went with Albie and Candy into the back.

So Reese found a nice vantage point against the corner of a wall, put his back to it, and set to surveying the room.

A few feet in front of him, Tenny dragged a chair back from one of the empty tables and executed his practiced sprawl in it.

Reese felt a quick, sharp burst of annoyance. He was still getting used to that emotion, struggling to rectify the way his hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched. “He’s annoying, huh?” Aidan had said weeks ago at the clubhouse, and something had clicked: annoying. Yes, that was the word for Ten. One of the words.

Technically, Tenny was doing what Reese was doing, head turning slowly as his gaze panned across the room, but he was doing it sitting down, and looking unbothered. Unprofessional, Reese thought.

But that was what Ten had been talking about before they left, wasn’t it? All the ways Reese couldn’t “play the game.” The ways he stuck out.

A girl started toward them, in high heels and a clinging red dress that glimmered all over, fringe dancing from the hem against her bare thighs. Her gaze touched Reese, briefly, but her smile, when it bloomed, was for Ten. She sidled up to him, leaning down to rest her palms on his knees, tipping forward at the waist so her breasts nearly came tumbling out of her dress.

The music was a low, steady thump, and Reese could hear her over it when she purred a hello and asked Ten if he’d like a dance.

“Sure, darlin’.” Ten pulled out a perfect Texas drawl like he’d been born to it, no trace of his proper accent detectable. One of those moments in which Reese was made aware that he had only the one voice, because that was all he’d ever needed – and that rarely, only to say “yes, sir,” and “no, sir.” He’d never felt the lack of that skill.

But…

The girl circled Ten’s chair, slow, stalking steps that worked her hips side-to-side more than necessary. Men liked that, the way it was exaggerated, the way it emphasized their anatomy. When he watched it, Reese felt a vague sort of warmth in his face, a flutter in his stomach. It wasn’t something he’d ever pursued. Girls like this were for his bosses; he was for holding up walls.

But here was Tenny, a girl swinging around into his lap, her hands going to play with the glossy hair at the back of his head. She moved her hips, lifting slowly up and back, rubbing against him, while Ten petted her sides and back with slow sweeps of his hands.

A burst of pain in his mouth told him he’d bitten his cheek; that he’d even drawn blood. His hands were balled up so tight his knuckles cracked. What was Ten doing? With his face buried in this woman’s cleavage. He wasn’t keeping watch; wasn’t following orders.

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him…

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