No Man's Land: A Rebel Wayfarers MC & Incoherent MC Crossover Novel

by MariaLisa deMora

  I was wrong, but me tearing my stitches while fucking the idea clean out of her head pissed her off.

  I counted myself the winner anyway. Angry sex was good sex.

  My gaze flicked to my mirror, automatically cataloging the men behind me. The pain in my gut hit hard when I realized I was looking for Trammer and not finding him. Not ever gonna find him again. “Fuck.”

  Forcing my thoughts away from the losses and back to Talia, I remembered with pride how she’d held her head high, chin lifted as we said goodbye. I couldn’t tell her the why of everything, and I loved the fact she didn’t cling, just kissed me with everything inside her and backed away as I settled onto the bike. The way the driveway around the Jailbreakers’ clubhouse curved, I could keep my eyes on her until we rolled off the gravel and onto the highway. Head on a swivel, I kept my gaze locked on her face and she held that damned smile for me until I couldn’t see her anymore.

  I’ll be back. I repeated my promise to her over and over in my head. I’ll be back real soon.

  Eyes fixed in front of me, I rode the remaining miles at speed, following the club’s leadership in more than a symbolic way, hoping we could find a quick end to this.

  We pulled into Mother’s clubhouse, and I’d be the first to admit I wasn’t prepared. They’d brought brothers to the Jailbreakers house for the tactical assault, and I’d felt the grief from them. We were only days away from losing Trammer, Graceless, and Pizzaboy, and I’d been neck-deep from the get-go, but it wouldn’t have occurred to me that I had an advantage over anyone.

  I did.

  Their deaths had been a visceral awakening for me. I understood the gaping wound left inside me—inside and out. As it should be when every waking moment, and some of my sleeping ones, had been spent processing what had happened.

  The dozens upon dozens of men standing on the clubhouse grounds in front of me hadn’t made it as far along the road as I had. Not leaving my brothers behind, never that, but moving along to where their memories were not always painful.

  They were on me before I finished getting my kickstand down.

  Man after man, a seemingly endless line of grief I had to battle through, hearing the muttered curses as my brothers grabbed tight to what remained. Me.

  After the last member approached me, I looked up to see Twisted standing on the front porch, feet wide apart, fists propped on his hips. He stared at me for a long minute, then called me up beside him with a brusque tip of his head. I took the steep stairs slowly, one foot in front of the other until I was next to him. He shocked me by doing exactly what the other members had done, drawing me into a one-armed clinch and pounding my back gently. Mouth to my ear, he told me, “The club continues, as it should. IMC isn’t dependent on one single member but the sum of it all. You takin’ their grief on like you did tonight, you’ve welded that entity even tighter together. Proud of you, brother.”

  I had no words, nothing I could say that was pithy or wise. All I had was pain and exhaustion, and more anger than I expected because I’d been made to leave Talia behind. Just because it made sense didn’t mean I liked it. At all.

  Voice soft, pitched just for my ears, with every word spoken Twisted proved he understood exactly where I stood. “War ain’t pretty. When you turn around and look at the men standing at our backs, you mark the fact that three in ten likely will not be there at the end of things. Thirty percent, brother. Those are men who’ve vowed to protect with vigorous application of will. For the most part, they understand what we’re facing—and what they don’t get right now, we’ll clear up by the end of the night. Not a one of us is innocent. Our women and children, though? For them, their man is primary, and anything to do with the club is secondary. That is as it should be, too. Talia couldn’t be here standing next to you. And won’t be, not until we clear our patch of ground from this threat.”

  “Will we ever, though?” I hadn’t meant to respond to him, but his words resonated with me, except that last portion. “Won’t it be another threat following, and another?”

  “None like this one, man. Not for you. They’ve taken it personal-like.”

  I nodded and stepped back, studying Twisted’s face. He looked tired, and strained, but there in those warm brown eyes was still the spark of confidence I needed to see.

  “Then we take the fight to them.” I lifted my lip, curling it arrogantly. “Personal-like.”

  Pain and Darkness

  Talia

  Working helped, she found. Even the monotony of sitting in the ambulance waiting for a call was better than lying in her own bed staring into the darkness.

  He’d been gone three days before she got the first call. Seeing an unknown number, she’d thumbed her phone to silent mode and let it go to voice mail, only listening to the message after she’d finished her shift.

  “Hey, baby.” Even now her eyes drifted closed at the memory of his low, vibrato voice in her ear. “Gotta use a burner for now, but it should be safe for me to call and text this way. Two rules, though. You don’t call back, because I’ll be yankin’ the battery soon as I hang up. So don’t call back, ever. And second, you lose my real number. Delete it now, so you can tell me you did it when we connect. I got my reasons, and ain’t one of them gonna be what you might be thinking, so get those thoughts out of your head.” He’d paused a moment, and she’d heard him pull in a breath that sounded painful somehow. “Keepin’ you. Remember that, through everything that might come our way. I’m. Keeping. You.”

  It had been another two days before he’d called back, and she’d nearly fallen over herself in her rush to answer the phone, the need to hear his voice a primal craving strumming through her body. She didn’t try to decide what it meant, just accepted it as part and parcel of this thing between them.

  Short but sweet, the call had underscored her hope and desire to build something with him. He’d again talked about relocating if she didn’t want to leave Ewell but put a caveat on it this time. “After this shit’s done, you and me are gonna take one hell of a trip. You on the back of my bike, we’ll take to the road, decide where to go turn by turn. Just you and me, you got me? Will you do that with me, Tee? Can you give me that to look forward to?”

  It had felt like he needed the promise, because he’d pushed until she’d given it to him. “Anything you want, Hitch. I’ll be there, at your back.”

  Any hesitation she’d felt had disappeared when he’d responded immediately. “Give me what I need, every fuckin’ time. That’s my baby. Right back atcha, baby. You speak a need, trust that you’re speakin’ it into existence, because I’ll fuckin’ meet it. That’s my goddamned promise to you, Tee. I’ll meet it.”

  In the month since, they’d talked every few days. Nothing like a set schedule, but he’d clearly memorized her shifts and usually called after she’d had a chance to get home. She’d unlock the door, put on the hands-free headset, and cook supper, do laundry, clean, or work out. She’d wait.

  On the days he did call, she’d quickly gotten used to their rhythm. They’d chat a bit about her work, about Ewell, about her house, until Hitch would start to tease her. He’d mention he was lying in bed, wishing she was there, and that would start the fun times. She’d never known phone sex could be that satisfying.

  “Talia.”

  She jerked upright, suddenly aware she’d been drifting in her head for a while.

  Looking to her left, she saw her partner frowning at her. Again. This had become a common occurrence in the past few days.

  “Yeah?”

  “I asked if you wanted to go out after our shift. There’s a few of the guys headed to the bar.” He made a show of checking his watch, even though there was a clock embedded in the dashboard. “We got a half hour until we’re done, and it’s been—”

  She lunged across the space separating them, slapping her hand across his mouth. “Shut it. Do not jinx us.”

  He rolled his eyes, laughing as he shook off her hand. “Superstitious.”


  “It’s true and you know it.” She made big, shocked eyes at him. “You know it as well as I do. Saying what you were about to say ensures Mother Karma pays attention.”

  The radio crackled, the sound of their dispatcher keying a previously silent mic, and she glared at him even more while they waited. Nothing else came through, and Talia huffed a breath of relief while he laughed.

  After a few minutes, she remembered the question that had started their exchange. “No bar for me tonight. I gotta go home and wash my hair.”

  He grinned and looked out the side window, shaking his head. “Whatever, Talia. What ev-ah.”

  The phone in her back pocket buzzed, and she scrambled to pull it out. The display said Unknown Number, and her heart raced as she glanced at her partner. Hitch. “I gotta take this.”

  She already had the door opened and was climbing out by the time he replied, a nonsensical response that had her staring at him as the phone rang again. “I’m sorry.”

  Phone to her ear, she waited for Hitch’s usual greeting but instead heard only dead air. She looked at the screen as she slammed the ambulance door. Turning away, she struggled to stifle the overwhelming feeling of loss at missing the call. Then she realized the call timer was ticking up, as if it were still connected. Lifting the phone again, she queried, “Hello? Hitch?”

  “No, senorita. Guess again.” The oily, deep voice was heavily accented, and the call had an odd echoing effect, as if she were hearing the words twice, slightly delayed.

  “What?” A car blasting past honked its horn, and she also heard it twice, slightly delayed.

  Talia jerked the phone away from her ear, scanning the area around where the ambulance was parked as she stabbed the button to disconnect the call. A shadow separated from the dimness within a nearby alley and began moving her way. Talia reached behind her for the door handle, shocked when her hand hit only open air. She whirled in time to see the vehicle bounce across the curb, gaining speed as it pulled into traffic and drove away. For just a moment, her partner’s silhouette was in view, but he looked steadfastly forwards, not once glancing back to where he’d left her. She had only partially turned back to face the shadowy man when pain blasted through her neck, turning her muscles into rigid blocks of flesh.

  The sidewalk rushed up at her, unforgiving as she landed on the concrete face-first, not even able to lift her hands to break her fall.

  Black boots with square scuffed toes appeared in view, stepping close to her face. She heard a vicious crackling of electricity right beside her ear. Flinching didn’t help, her muscles still locked tight. The sound seemed to go on forever, until the pain and darkness swallowed her up.

  Go On From Here

  Hitch

  “No, man. She’s not answering.” I answered Sparks’ question impatiently. “She always picks up. Don’t matter when or where, my woman picks up.”

  Sparks made a pained sound, a grumpy noise I knew was due to my claiming statement. I needed the man to get past his desire to protect Talia from whatever it was he thought I represented. Now.

  “Sparks,” I started, closing my eyes to focus more fully on the call. In an instant, I decided to lay myself out before the man, because that’d be the only way he’d be able to trust me. “She’s it for me, and I can’t say it any plainer than that. She’s it from A to Z and back again. Got a power over me with each word from her mouth. I want…no, I need to know she’s okay, because from where I stand right now, I can’t do or even think about anything else, man. I’m keepin’ her.” I pulled in a breath, not trying to hide how shaky it was. “Now, right now…I gotta know she’s okay. If she’s not at your clubhouse, and she didn’t pick up for you”—something I knew because he’d already disclosed the fact—“then I’m askin’ you to send someone to her place, to check on her. She’s not on shift tonight and should be home.”

  “I got someone rollin’ already.”

  I couldn’t find any anger in me for the knowledge he had been busting my balls, only an easing of the tightness that had been choking me for the past few hours as I tried and failed to contact Talia.

  “Obliged, man. Call me as soon as you know anything? Use this number.” I rattled it off, since I’d dialed him from the burner, not that he’d know that fact since there was no reason for him to have my regular number.

  After getting a grunt that I hoped like hell signaled compliance, I disconnected the call with my thumb and stared across the table at Twisted. He was shaking his head slowly, the pained expression on his face foreshadowing what he was about to say. I cut him off with a gesture. “No, not until I hear back from him. I don’t wanna hear it, brother. I can’t hear it. You get me?”

  Ragman stepped up beside me and rested an arm across my shoulders. He gave me a squeeze for a moment, then dropped his hold and continued across the room to stare out the window.

  “Any progress on tying that group down in Homer to this bunch?” Twisted’s question seemed to come out of left field, and I wasn’t the only man in the room who looked at him with a sideways-tilted head.

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Ragman didn’t turn around, making his statement as if addressing the clear glass in front of him.

  “How about figuring out where they post this shit from?” Twisted turned to face the rolling board we’d been using to pin and write information on, trying to draw lines between what seemed like a sea of unassociated things. “I’m not above involving other clubs, long as they know what they’re stepping into. So if we haven’t talked to Mason yet about what Myron might can do for us, then let’s make that call now while we’re waitin’ on Sparks to get back to us.”

  I stared around the room to find all faces turned to me. Rolling my neck, I laid the burner on the table and got out my phone. Looking up the number took only seconds, and within a few moments from that, the conference phone was echoing with the ringing tones of a call waiting to be connected. Twisted gestured brusquely and most of the men who’d been crowding around the room quietly filed out.

  There was a cautious “Hello,” but before I could respond, it was followed by the sound of a blow, not quite fist on flesh. I stared at Twisted, who was shaking his head back and forth again but this time had an amused smile on his face. A moment later, another voice came on the line. This one I recognized. “The fuck IMC want? What the hell you doin’ callin’ this time of the goddamned morning?”

  “And a good day to you, too, Gunny.” The man’s grunt made me smirk, giving away the fact that he didn’t like being recognized so easily. “IMC would like to have a conversation with Mason, if you please.”

  “Mason, or the national president?” That was a fair question, because it would mandate the kind of protocol we’d have to follow for this call. I glanced at Twisted, who looked like he’d sucked on a lemon, mouth pulled to one side.

  “Nat prez.” Twisted gritted the words out as he looked at me with shuttered eyes, all emotion driven away. “No way around that shit, man.”

  “In that case, give me a minute to transfer the call.” Gunny had evidently recognized Twisted’s voice, because he didn’t ask if the person on the call had the standing to make this kind of request for our club.

  There was a click and hum, and I opened my mouth, only to close it when Twisted lifted a finger. We stood in silence until there was another click, followed by the murmuring of several men. I could only make out snatches of conversations, but it sounded just like casual chatter that went on in every meeting just before it was called to order. We waited, and finally we heard the voice we’d wanted.

  “IMC, I understand we’ve got Twisted there. Care to enlighten us as to who else we’re talking to?”

  Twisted inclined his head, which I took as my permission to speak now. “On this end we’ve got Twisted, Ragman, and Hitch. Appreciate you takin’ the call, Mason.”

  “My sister’s man’s club calls, I fuckin’ pick up.” He was talking about Justine, his sister who’d moved to Mandeville recently from Adki
ns, Florida. She was the reason the RWMC was connected to Sparks’ club, the Jailbreakers, because Mason had reached out more than once to have Sparks and his brothers provide assistance when it involved his sister. Then she’d gotten herself into a world of hurt and been rescued by IMC, resulting in her hooking her star to our own Wildman. “On this side, you lucked out with your timing. We hadn’t yet shut the doors, but we were close, so you got every fuckin’ officer in the Fort, along with some nationals down from Chicago.”

  That meant they’d called church, but at an odd time of day, since like most clubs, they’d typically do an officer meeting in the evening, just before a run or party. Having church in the morning, kind of like Twisted, Ragman, and I were, meant they were meeting about something of importance. I glanced up at Twisted, and he nodded. He’d caught it too.

  “So lay it out here, brother.” I liked Mason using that word, because it could mean he was already anticipating meeting our need. “Gimme what you got.”

  “We’ve been skirmishing since the last time we talked.” That had been during the initial search for the men who had killed my brothers. RWMC had assisted with an intelligence network, the same thing we were hoping to tap into again. “We’ve gotten some rebuttal from the other group and would formally like to request assistance in tracking down the source of this narrative.”

  “If you’re on a secure line, know that we are too. Lay it out plain, Hitch.” Took me a second, but I recognized that voice by its dampened Alabama accent.

  “Hoss, thanks, man. Yeah, we’ve found some lists posted to social media, and we’d like a handle on where they’re coming from. Might not mean anything, but it could be something we can use as a direction finder.”

  “Death lists? Fuck me, man. You and I both know those are a dime a dozen.”

  “Slate, good to hear you, brother.” I’d had several chances to meet the man through the years, and I liked everything about him. “Yeah, but they’re very fuckin’ specific about who they’re targeting, and the idea they’d focus on family is pissin’ us right the fuck off.”