Ruby Ink (Clairmont Series Novel Book 1) Read online

  A bump in the highway reminded Aaron that Alec was there. He took a breath and tried to come up with conversation. Relevant topics were thin. Aaron squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he saw Nickel Springs’ main thoroughfare. The fast-food places he hung out at as a kid, the bowling alley where he’d gone with Ruby, scoring a perfect game. Three days later, he’d scored a major deal out back. It was as if he’d been two different people. Yep. It was all right where he left it—all the shit that didn’t matter. As they turned onto Lakeshore Drive, Aaron took back the thought he had getting into the car. Prison wasn’t the worst fucking thing that could happen to a guy.

  Alec pulled into the side driveway of the Clairmont’s lakefront Dutch colonial. Aaron’s brother was savvy enough to know the covert option gave them the element of surprise. No one would be watching from that direction. Aaron needed to get it together. He needed to bury his mood like a couple of kilos of contraband. No big deal. He knew how that was done. Aaron reached for the same numbing mindset he’d used the last time he was here. It was the night he left home prepared to take down Dante Vasquez. Icy rain had trickled through the night sky and down Aaron’s back. Nervous breaths caught on winter air. Before he got into the Dodge Challenger, Aaron double-checked his weapon. The gun was loaded, ready to go. It was precisely what Silas Brikk and Jerry—the faceless operation mastermind—had ordered.

  He and Alec made their way up the sidewalk and Aaron was rushed by a different thought. It had been so many years since they’d lived there as a family. More than a decade since their parents were gone—killed in a plane crash. If it hadn’t been for Jake, his siblings would have sold the house to pay for his legal expenses. The screen door creaked, and Aaron took a deep breath, thankful circumstance hadn’t come to that. Only Honor and Troy lived here now. Himself too, he guessed. They hadn’t discussed it much before his release. He’d just filled in the Lakeshore address on his paperwork. Maybe it wasn’t what Honor really wanted. Troy was only twenty-one, thirteen when they’d hauled Aaron off. Maybe a brother with a record wasn’t the best influence. Aaron stopped moving.

  Alec took off his sunglasses. “It’ll be fine,” he said, putting his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. This time he couldn’t stop the reflex. Aaron’s fist curled. Alec ducked fast as his arm blocked an incoming punch. Both men backed down fast.

  “Sorry,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “But where I been, a guy puttin’ his hand on your shoulder means one of two things—neither pleasant.”

  Alec was quiet. Aaron’s gaze pressed into the ground. His brother was wearing boat shoes, a departure from military-issue boots. He was even wearing shorts, a Navy Seal emblem on the outside of his ankle. Aaron wore the same basketball treads he had on the night he was arrested. Prison officials had returned the sneakers that morning. He’d waited in the discharge-holding cell, wondering where prisons stored beat-up, size-twelve Nikes.

  Alec’s deep voice cut in. “Okay, I swore I wasn’t going to ask. But, Aaron, if something like… like what I’m thinking went down in prison, you need to tell me.”

  He looked up. “It’s easy to imagine, isn’t it? Gettin’ fucked up the ass happens pretty much like roll call. I got threats. I got offers.” He shrugged. “I think it was the eyelashes, maybe the divot.” Along with brooding, these were other Clairmont traits—long, thick lashes and square jaws, though only Aaron and Jake owned the divot. “But no. It never happened to me. Between my former colleagues and a big brother who’d kicked my ass enough to teach me a thing or two, I managed.”

  A sigh seeped from Alec. It had so many edges of discomfort Aaron couldn’t count them all. And for a second, Aaron thought about bolting. Why was he doing this to them? Ruby and her father were smart enough to erase themselves from the Nickel Springs landscape. He should do the same. There was nothing here for him.

  Alec was one step ahead. “Aar, everybody in that house is glad you’re here. It’s all good.” He looked into Alec’s dark eyes. Aside from being a registered felon, it was one of a few clashing differences between the brothers. Aaron noticed that they’d traded haircuts over time. Aaron’s was shorn to the tight buzz-cut his brother no longer needed—his pitch-colored hair styled, wavy. Christ, Nickel Springs might not have changed, but their lives sure had.

  “Aaron, listen to me.” His tone sounded like Pop’s, and it made Aaron obey. “We’re going in there, and everything’s going to be fine. Got it?”

  Aaron nodded, took a deep breath, and forward marched.

  The room whirled. Aaron was used to noise. No problem there. But there were so many faces from the past. Faces time had aged, some he had trouble putting a name to. At least nobody ambushed him—well, nobody but Honor. Admittedly, the hug felt good—soft. She seemed too overwhelmed to speak, handing him a drink and a fresh starting point. Alec stuck to him like a bodyguard, making the small talk Aaron couldn’t.

  He saw the Martels, his parents’ best friends. After Sebastian and Evie died, the Martels hovered nearby, though they never invaded the Clarimont kids’ lives. Alec had taken over that job.

  Aaron thought he saw Hause Deacon, his baseball coach, grade school through high school. Then he remembered Honor telling him, three or four years ago, that Hause Deacon had died—a heart attack. It hadn’t sunk in, not until that moment.

  There were other familiar faces, people who’d talked themselves into giving the Clairmont kid who’d gone bad a second chance. There were the Brewsters and the Lamberts, the Pikes, who’d brought their daughter, Chloe. At least Aaron thought it was her. She wasn’t much older than Troy, but she used to look after his kid brother.

  Aaron recalled a chunky girl with frizzy red hair. While she was still curvaceous, the only chunky part was the boobs spilling out of a dress that, otherwise, grabbed her ass like blue cellophane. The hair was still fiery red, though like her figure, she seemed to have it under control.

  Even so, her presence screamed: I’m Here! I’m Hot! He never did care for obvious. Damn. He had nerve being cynical. No doubt, Chloe Pike had dressed for her boyfriend, who she planned to fuck later, after fulfilling her parents’ demand that she put in a polite appearance. But as he turned away, Aaron saw Chloe smile at him. Her red head tipped just so, making Aaron feel like the weirdly wired science fair exhibit. He thought about how old she was now. Maybe twenty-three. Time had moved on. Aaron reminded himself he’d finished out his twenties in prison, marked off a few thirties from behind bars.

  After an hour or so, Aaron confirmed his suspicion—most people had come for Honor’s sake, maybe out of respect for the parents of the Tribe of Five. Shame rolled through Aaron’s gut, sure about how Pop would have reacted. A party? Hell no. Sebastian Clairmont wouldn’t have been celebrating. He’d be giving Aaron a private speech about not making the same mistake twice.

  The party-goers knew it too. There were curious glances and Solo cups swinging his direction, but not much attempt to engage him. Well, fuck, go figure. What was a good conversation starter for a guy who’d done hard time—who’d been convicted of attempting to kill the town’s mayor? The father of the girl he’d claimed to love. Like a lame graduation party, Aaron guessed the distant chatter was about the polite amount of time you had to hang around.

  Aaron decided he’d met his quota. He made his way to the celebratory cake. Mercifully, it was not hacksaw shaped. Of course, now it was almost gone. Not surprising. While he was in prison, Honor had launched a successful catering business: Honor’s Guests. Great. She could add “Now hosting parole parties…” to her repertoire.

  Aaron hadn’t eaten all day. He hadn’t eaten icing in seven years. He cut a thick slab off the corner, and along with a beer, headed up the back staircase. From near the top steps, a spot that offered a good overview, Aaron stared at the scene.

  Honor was caught up in a conversation with a man he didn’t recognize. He looked slick in a shiny suit—lawyer-ish or a sharp businessman. The guy was standing too close to Honor, and Aaron wondered if ther
e was something between them. Admittedly, Aaron didn’t know much about his sister’s personal life. When she visited prison, talk had been generic. Filler rambling about her business, a few words about Troy, talk always ending on the hope that he’d come home soon.

  Alec was deep in conversation with a blonde woman, dark tan—Jess. Alec had introduced her briefly, said she was his roommate. Like that made sense. She was hot though she looked older. Well, shit, didn’t everybody? He didn’t see Troy, who hadn’t grunted more than hello before disappearing. Like male dogs in a den, they seemed to be giving each other space. Aaron took one last glance before taking the rest of the steps two at a time.

  The upstairs was empty and familiar smells permeated. Downstairs there was food and drinks and people who affected the air Aaron associated with the house on Lakeshore Drive. Upstairs held the scent of home—a heady mist of lakefront breeze that rolled in on waves. The hall floor creaked in the spot he expected. Aaron thought that was wild, the way a floorboard made him relax, feel comfort. A few steps farther and Aaron knew he’d come up there for exactly that—comfort. He hadn’t looked for comfort in ages. He didn’t dare. But now… now the urge had surfaced—like tunneling from Chicago to China and finally coming up for air. It was quiet. He walked past Honor’s room. She’d taken over their parents’ bedroom long ago. Aaron peeked inside, seeing soft things, fluffy bed covers and a quilt. He kept going but stopped as a cat ran past him. They had a cat?

  Aaron glanced toward Troy’s room. The door was almost shut. He could see the tips of his brother’s sneakers on the end of the bed. He thought about going in. No, the kid didn’t have anything to say to him downstairs. There’d be plenty of naturally awkward moments to come. Besides, Aaron was just avoiding the unavoidable.

  At the end of the hall, cake and beer still in hand, he pushed open the door. His bedroom. Aaron exhaled a last prison breath. Well, at least Honor didn’t hang streamers from the ceiling. Item for item it didn’t look too different. Late-afternoon sun spilled in from the southwest windows. There was cat fur on the bed—a perfect circle where the sun, and he guessed the cat, spent the afternoon. He could see where there might be some territorial issues. The good news—a cat would be easier to negotiate than a new cellmate. The furniture was the same, maybe the bedspread was new. He couldn’t remember. He’d never made the bed anyway.

  But staring at the neatly made bed, another Ruby memory surfaced. The last time Aaron had left the room there was the impression of her body in a tumble of sheets. They smelled like her. On the chair, in the corner, there’d been a black athletic jacket. Ruby had kept forgetting to take it with her. The jacket was gone now. Had she come by for it after his arrest—some quick, tense exchange with Honor? More likely, Honor had given the jacket to Good Will. Ruby wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with Aaron or his family.

  That night, seven years before, Ruby started to dress as he lay in the bed—watching. Aaron had told her not to worry. Everything would be fine. Ruby didn’t argue. She had wanted to but she didn’t, slipping into frilly bikini panties—bright pink. Jesus, he remembered the color. Ruby wasn’t a lacy kind of girl, she didn’t need to be. He still remembered his favorite ensemble, the simple white undergarments from the Rose Arch Inn beach. But she’d been amused by the experimentation of lingerie, the tempting ways to pique Aaron’s attention. He saw no need to spoil her fun. Like a spell, Aaron was drawn into reliving the beach-scene memory and all the others. The fancy lingerie and the down-to-earth girl inside. Aaron had assured her again, “Just go back to work, babe. You’re worrying about nothing. I swear.” She’d looked at him, unconvinced, corralling her thick dark hair into a pinchy clip. It was a Ruby look. She always wore it up to work—her new job, the newly graduated nurse earning herself a coveted spot in the local ER.

  Aaron could still see the questioning look in Ruby’s eyes. She didn’t trust what he was telling her. Aaron had tried to be more convincing, “It’s nothing to be concerned about, baby. Look, I swear, I’m done with Silas Brikk…” I will be after tonight…

  Aaron had reached from the bed and tugged at her arm. It was his intention to kiss her, just once more. But it never came down to one kiss. Aaron ended up pulling her back into the bed. In the weeks leading up to that night, his bed had become a safety zone, the last place where he held all control.

  He knew what Ruby liked in bed—though his once-innocent girlfriend gave as good as she got. Sex had been worth the wait. Even now, Aaron’s mind wouldn’t let go of her body or the way she touched him, how she tasted—how, if Aaron asked, she would strip every piece of clothing for him in a personal, private way, signature signed by Ruby Vasquez.

  Aaron cleared his throat. The fabric of his jeans had grown one size smaller since standing there. In fact, the crotch was fucking strangling him. This was a bad idea. There was no Ruby. And that night, only hours after she’d left his room, Aaron could not have looked more like a miserable lying son of a bitch. He also needed to keep something else in mind. While his life had taken on a forced vow of celibacy, wherever Ruby was, surely she had not. As tough as Aaron Clairmont was, surviving prison gangs and psychos of every imaginable variety, the punishment and isolation of being locked up, the one reality he could not stand was the idea of Ruby with another man.

  He put the Solo cup and the cake on top of the dresser. The mirror was unavoidable. What did he see? What would people see? More important, what was the difference? A punk who got caught up in an underworld of drugs, who agreed to take out his girlfriend’s father—a direct order from Silas Brikk and the elusive mastermind Jerry. Aaron shook his head. Yeah. That’s what all of Nickel Springs would see—better to just accept it. He wouldn’t be changing anybody’s opinion anytime soon. He got it.

  Aaron picked up the beer and downed the entire thing like it was a funnel contest. He wasn’t used to it, and the alcohol hit him like a central line to his vein. Standing there, lost in a space as familiar as his name, the room registered—this wasn’t a seven-by-ten cell. He turned, pushing the bedroom door shut. He locked it. Just as fast, Aaron unlocked it. He could take a nap. He could take a walk. Fuck no. Walking didn’t sound like such a great idea. The beer had made him lightheaded. Aaron looked toward the en suite, the luxury of his end hall bedroom. He could take a shower. A fresh grin edged across his face, and Aaron stripped his clothes as he went.

  Other than dirty towels, Aaron didn’t recall what was in the bathroom the last time he’d seen it. But Honor had made damn sure it was as inviting as a five-star hotel—all kinds of perfumy bottles of shit he’d never open, matching everything, three different shampoos, and two kinds of body soap. Towels that felt as thick as one of Jake’s movie-star bathrobes, or so he guessed. Christ, towels that couldn’t double as sandpaper, stamped with “Biddeford Correctional Facility,” would have been good enough.

  Aaron and his naked ass turned the shower control until it was too hot for human touch. But he wanted to see the steam. The hard-on that had accompanied him into the bathroom had eased to half-mast. He pulled the curtain back and climbed in, figuring he’d have to take care of that one way or another. For a while, water and privacy washed around him. Aaron let the spray from the showerhead try and beat the last seven years off him—like taking rust off metal.

  He was no longer used to being alone, which was probably the reason he didn’t startle when the shower curtain ripped open. Standing opposite to his soapy body and a cock that was suddenly hard as hell was Chloe Pike.

  “Downstairs, I didn’t get a chance to say so, but welcome home.” In her hand was the plate of cake. She smiled. Her teeth were a little crooked, but so was the whole fucking scene. Chloe swiped a finger through the icing, her tongue licking it off with seductive ease. It made him forget about her teeth. “I didn’t see a place for presents downstairs.”

  “Presents?” he said, half attempting to use a loofa to cover a cock that arrowed like a spike.

  “Uh-huh. Parties mean presents, don’t
they?”

  He shook his head vaguely.

  “Doesn’t matter. The one I brought isn’t meant to be opened in public.” She took another swipe of icing and a deep breath. The buttons holding her in the dress nearly squealed under the pressure.

  Aaron blinked hard, mostly trying to bring into focus the teenage girl he’d last seen in the Clairmont house. Clearly, this was someone else. “Are you drunk?”

  “Drunk? No. Believe me, my plan was to be cold-stone sober for this.”

  “Your plan?”

  “Since I heard about your release, I’ve been thinking...”

  Aaron cocked his head, wondering how much of that she actually did.

  “There are an awful lot of things you haven’t had for a good long while.” Steam surrounded her, adding a misty layer of sex appeal to redheaded, big-breasted Chloe Pike. “I bet you’ve had plenty of time to put them in order, item by item.”

  “Have you been talking to my brother?”

  She shook her head.

  “Uh, yeah,” he said. “There’s a list… of sorts. But not all of it takes place in a bathroom.”

  “I’d bet the top five might.”

  “Top three. I’m not that complicated of a guy.”

  “Ah, more basic needs. Good. That gives me a great starting point.”

  “Starting point for what?”

  “For whatever it takes to make your homecoming memorable. You should know, Aaron Clairmont,” she said, putting the plate on the sink edge, “I’ve always had a huge crush on you.”