Tastes Like Candy

Seven

Seven

Candy

The sun rode high overhead, ruthless beyond the tinted windows of the truck. Candy parked with the tailgate against the perimeter fence and then sat once the engine was quiet, staring through the windshield at the clubhouse he'd renovated from the ground up.

He'd awakened contemplative and tired that morning, after a restless night plagued by dreams. The kind of formless nightmares punctuated by strange flashes of unfamiliar places, emotions surging and dying before they could be identified. Like fever dreams. He'd gone to bed agitated and horny, and so he'd expected visions of little baby British girls to chase him into unconsciousness. Instead, he'd been plagued by worries innumerable, without any of the fun of dream-sex.

"I dunno about you," Jinx spoke up from the passenger seat. "But that guy gave me the creeps."

They'd just come from the drop with Armando, guns delivered, cash in hand.

"How is it possible for someone to give you the creeps?"

Jinx shook his head. "We're not gonna make it a habit, are we? Unloading stock on the cartel?"

The thought soured Candy's stomach. "I hope not."

Unflappable though he was, Jinx had nervous tics, and one of them was tugging at the end of his beard – which he did now. It transformed the unapproachable, tattoo-covered biker into a little boy again, one born a follower, reluctant to question his leader.

"What?" Candy asked.

"Is it worse than you're letting on? The money, I mean. I know it's bad. But it's worse than that, isn't it?"

Candy heaved a deep sigh, hoping it would ease the tightness across his shoulders. It didn't. "Talis is late on his child support. Catcher's running out of his anxiety meds, and can't afford any more. Colin should have used his money to put a down payment on a house, and he bought a damn ring instead." Panic whispered down the back of his neck, the kind that could linger for days, weeks, years. It was a wonder he didn't have an ulcer, he decided, as helplessness washed over him yet again. "Nobody can even pay their dues, and I can't give anybody a raise, because I can't even give anyone a better job than part-time salvage. Jesus."

Jinx studied him, normally sharp eyes sympathetic. "You should have said something before now."

"Nah. This isn't on you guys. What am I supposed to do – get y'all stressed like I am?"

"Yeah. That's exactly what you're supposed to do."

Candy snorted.

"This is a brotherhood. No offense, man, but you ain't my mama. You don't have to hide the bad shit just so nobody has to worry about it."

Candy nodded, but silently disagreed. Every one of his brothers was here on his account; he'd gathered them from other chapters, men he knew he could either trust, or mold; men untainted by Jud Riley. He couldn't call them to him, and then dump his troubles on their heads. He would be a better leader than Crockett; a more savvy man than his father, killed by one of his own friends.

When he didn't respond, Jinx said, "So what are you gonna do now?"

"Go see if our new accountant has any ideas for me."

"Hmm. Her."

Candy slanted a glance toward him. "You don't like her being here?"

Amusement touched the man's expression. "I'm wondering how much you like her being here."