“He’s just a hardass.” Aidan shrugged. “He’s old school. He thinks he’s perfect. I dunno.” Another shrug, and a deep sadness, pressing little lines around his mouth. His fingers tightened where they clamped the cloth to his face. “He’s good at a lot of things, but being a dad isn’t one of them.”
“That’s his mistake, then. And a big one at that.”
Aidan didn’t respond, so she fetched another cold cloth and came back, kneeling down in front of him once more.
“Is he trying to groom you for president?” she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.
“No idea.”
“Is that what you want? To lead?”
“Honestly…” His eyes tracked over her face. “Not anymore, no. I used to. I thought for a long time that I needed to be president. Follow in his footsteps, you know?” he said, wistfully.
She nodded.
“But I’m not like him, I don’t guess. And he’s a good president, which would make me a bad one, if I ever tried.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t care about it like I used to. Who the hell wants to be in charge of things? I’ve got a job, I’ve got a place to crash, I’ve got the club…” His eyes bored into hers.
She gave him a soft smile. “You have me.”
“And that’s the best thing of all.”
Her chest squeezed. “Aidan, why didn’t you ever let anybody see how sweet you are when we were kids?”
“You don’t know? Sweet’s the kiss of death in high school. Sweet’ll get you killed, baby.”
She laughed. “I survived somehow.”
“Yeah, but you’re a girl. Girl’s are supposed to be sweet.”
“Okay, clearly, you don’t knowanythingaboutgirls.”
He gave her one of his cocky, ladykiller grins, and she was glad to see it after his bout of sad introspection. “I knowsomethings. The things that count.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Sam set the damp cloth up on the bed with deliberate slowness, settling on both knees between his open legs. “You know what?” She reached for his belt buckle. “I know a few things too.”
His laugh was low and expectant as he leaned back on both hands to give her better access, injured face forgotten. “Teacher gonna give me a lesson?”
Her fingers shook a little with anticipation and uncertainty as she worked open his fly, but one glance at his hungry face soothed all her nerves. No, she wasn’t a pro at this, but she didn’t think that was going to make a bit of difference. All that counted in the moment was how much they both wanted it.
“Yeah,” she said, not recognizing her own voice. “Sit up and take notes like a good boy.”
~*~
He needed to fuck, and there was no delicate way to phrase it. Fighting like that worked in his veins like a drug, and tweaked his nerves until he was no longer his own master, but just a monster running on impulse. He needed his old lady on her stomach, hands twisted up in the sheets, and he needed hernow.
But now wasn’t an option, so he was going to have to settle for a cig and a little torture instead.
Mercy finished tying off his black butcher apron and lit the fresh Marlboro dangling off his lip. The first drag helped. A little.
He stood in the bike shop office, the garage bay beyond already prepped with plastic by Harry and Littlejohn, his toolkit set out and waiting for him. Their captive was duct taped securely to a chair, also covered in plastic.
Beside him, Fox stood with Walsh’s usual clipboard, having offered to cover for his brother. “Spend time with your old lady, mate,” he’d said, clapping Walsh on the back. “I haven’t gotten to watch the beast work in a long time.”
Then there was Colin, looking beat-up and sullen.
