Tastes Like Candy

Thirteen

Thirteen

Michelle

Odell's looked different from down on the billiards floor. She felt ant-sized, almost dizzy.

Though maybe that had more to do with Candy's kiss than her vantage point.

Head-spinning notwithstanding, she felt somewhat peaceful. In the moment: not frantic, homesick, or worried. This place – this hokey, dilapidated place – would be the club's soon, and so far, Candy was showing every sign of letting her have input. A great big project to sink her teeth into. A lovely idea.

The boys were still kicking the tires, so to speak.

Duke, the builder of the bunch, was peeling up carpet and searching for hardwood beneath. Colin had climbed up onto a billiards table and was examining the light fixture above it. The twins were behind the bar, rattling glasses and bottles and whatnot. Cowboy and Gringo were talking chairs.

Michelle walked back into the midst of them at Candy's side, and she felt the gazes snap their way, the way they lingered, the way they asked what was going on.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Let them talk if they wanted. She couldn't stop them and she didn't much care anymore.

"Where's the bull going, boss?" Gringo called.

Michelle caught the fast flicker of a frown cross Candy's face. Oh, yes. He hadn't liked her talking to Gringo before. Hmm. She hoped that wasn't going to develop into any sort of problem.

"Back in the back," he answered. "By the ring."

"We gonna get a new fighter?" one of the twins asked.

"I always loved the fighting," Blue said, voice reminiscent. "Nothing like the sound of fists hitting faces on a Saturday afternoon."

"We'll get you some fists," Candy assured. "But first we gotta–"

The door opened, and in beamed bright afternoon sunlight, a fat bar of it stabbing through the gloom of the restaurant. She squinted against it. Candy raised a hand to shade his eyes.

Then came the silhouettes. Male. Shoulders squared off in a way that suggested suit jackets. Then the door shut again, and she saw them. Yes, suit jackets. Air of officiousness, threat. Four of them. Law enforcement.

Her stomach clenched.

Beside her, Candy drew himself upright; she swore she felt the energy move through him, the adrenaline surge bold as lightning in a man that size.

The intruders moved forward to the top of the stairs. One stood ahead of the others, his gaze unmistakable as it arrowed down to Candy: They knew one another, and there was no love between them.

Curses rippled through the Dogs.

"Good afternoon," Candy said, voice booming through the building. "I'm glad to see word travels fast, but I have to tell you boys that the club's not re-opened yet. It's gonna be a while."

"Cute," the man in front said. He flashed a tight smile. "But I'm afraid your boys are gonna have to play house without you for a little bit."

Who is he? she wanted to ask. Why is he here? But she kept quiet, biting at her lip.

Then the man's eyes slid over and landed on her. A fast touch, and then back. "Bit young for you, huh?"

Candy charged forward, shoulders jacked up, jaw set. "Look, don't talk about the lady."

"Fine." The man put on a bored expression. "I don't care about her anyway. Derek Snow." His tone became professional. "You're wanted for questioning. You can come along quietly, or you can come in cuffs. Your choice."