Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3

by MariaLisa deMora

  Hope stared at him wordlessly. The man was gorgeous, and with his brown-eyed focus solely on her, she couldn’t look away, couldn’t speak, could only stare back at him. She watched as one corner of his mouth quirked upwards, pulling his lips sideways into a small, pleased smile. Without thought, she returned the expression back to him, which only caused his satisfied smile to widen. “Beautiful,” he murmured and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. The feel of his hand on her face broke whatever spell he had woven around her and she jerked back, dropping her gaze to the cushion in front of her folded legs as soon as his tender smile faded into a scowl. He drew her eyes back to him when he asked, “Who’s Mac?”

  Frowning, she asked for clarification, “Mac? Mac Derringer?”

  “Don’t know about Derringer, but Sammy mentioned a Mac who liked you. He the reason you had to skedaddle out of Birmingham?” His eyes had narrowed, but his gaze was still fixed on her.

  She was confused. How had they gone from talking about jobs, to discussing her friends? “No, Mac wanted us to stay, says he misses us when we’re gone.” She felt a smile curving her lips. “He’s been really good to us and been Sammy’s friend since before he was born. Likes to reinforce his claim to the longest friend title often with gifts of vanilla shakes.”

  “But he didn’t try and make you stay? He was okay with you walking away from him?” If she hadn’t seen the soft and open expression on his face a few minutes ago, she would be terrified of him right now, because his brows had lowered, and the look on his face was dark and fierce. He looked furious, a muscle in his cheek popping as he ground his teeth.

  Still confused about what Mac had to do with anything, she slowly shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, he was okay with us leaving, because he knew I was losing the apartment. But, he didn’t try and make us stay. Mac would never do that. Even if he hated losing Sammy more than anything in the world.”

  “He ain’t Sammy’s daddy?” She hadn’t thought Hoss’ face could look any more frightening, but she had been wrong. Terrifying didn’t touch the expression he wore now.

  Her voice had dropped to a whisper when she answered, “No, Sam’s dad is Cal, Calhoun Suiter. I met Mac when I was pregnant, back when I first left—”

  Hoss interrupted her, still frowning, “Suiter in the picture?”

  What picture is he talking about? She couldn’t keep up with the topic changes in this strange conversation and glanced at her purse, where her wallet was, mentally trying to figure out what picture Sam might have shown Hoss.

  “I don’t…I don’t think so. I don’t remember any picture with him.” Her nervousness not only had her whispering, but nearly had her stuttering, too. She didn’t understand this line of questioning at all and was ready to retreat to her bedroom, where Sammy was playing with the few toys he had.

  “No, sweetheart, not a picture, the picture. Is he in your life? If Mac was okay with you walking away, what did Suiter have to say about you takin’ his boy and relocating up north?” Hoss’ face had gentled at her obvious confusion, but his focus was still solely on her.

  Glancing at Mercy, she saw a sympathetic look she also didn’t understand, and then raised her gaze back to Hoss’ face. He must be worried she was going to bring trouble down on Mercy, and she needed to reassure him it wasn’t the case. Shaking her head, she glanced at the hallway leading to the bedrooms then back at Hoss.

  “Cal’s not in any pictures, physical or situational. The courts took away his parental rights before Sammy was even born, and his whole life, the man has only ever seen Sammy twice, and not at all in the past six years. Sammy only knows what Cal’s mother has told him, and I don’t correct any assumptions he’s made about his father.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Mac owns a diner, and after my parents had kicked me out for being pregnant without a ring on my finger, I landed there. That was the first night I ever had to sleep in my car. Mac traded me a little bit of food for labor. Nearly every night for more than a year, he fed me. We set the tone that first night, because I only had forty dollars to my name and wasn’t about to spend it on something to eat, not when I knew I’d need gas, and Mac wasn’t a fan of letting me leave his diner hungry.”

  She swallowed hard, forcing back her tears. “He and his wife have been friends with me ever since, and they love Sammy as if he was their own. I’ve…I’ve worked for them off and on since I met them. Sitting in a booth in their diner is where Sammy got the most non-Mommy affection he’s ever felt, seeing as how my parents don’t care for me, and it trickles down to him most of the time.”

  She swallowed around the lump in her throat as she saw the look on his face had grown soft again, a concerned expression in his eyes as they stayed fixed on her. “So that’s my story, my picture. Sad and crappy, huh?” She tilted her head down to stare at the cushion again, closing her eyes, still holding the tears back with some effort.

  She felt the heat before he touched her, and then his fingers were underneath her chin, gently lifting it, and she opened her eyes. He brought her face up, tilting her head so she was looking straight at him. “No, sweetheart. Some shitty things in there, but they reflect on those other people, not on you. Something bad had to have gone down for a judge to strip Suiter of his rights even before the babe was birthed. And, I’m glad you stumbled on Mac and his woman, because young, pregnant, alone, and homeless is a hard way to find yourself, so I’m glad you had something good and sweet in there for you.”

  He tilted his head, gaze pinning her in place. “Sammy told me I scared you last night. I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Hope. I want to be something sweet for you here. Someone you can count on. Someone who believes in you. Let me help you find a job that lets you have sweet, have time to mother your boy, loving on him as much as you want.”

  His thumb stroked along her jaw, brushing light as a feather across her lips, strength held in check while he touched her, caressed her. “Give me this, honey. Can you do that? All you have to do is say, ‘Okay, Hoss,’ and we’re good.” His thumb brushed across her lips again. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

  “Okay, Hoss,” she whispered, her lips moving against the pad of his thumb, and he smiled.

  ***

  Sam laid on his back on the grass, looking up at the blue sky through the leaves of a tree planted smackdab in the middle of the yard. It wasn’t Aunt Mercy’s yard, because her apartment didn’t really have one. They had come over here so his mom could meet Aunt Mercy’s boss, Miss DeeDee, and this was the yard behind her big house. The breeze stirred the leaves, and he had spots all over his vision, because the sun sprinkled down on him in rays like golden droplets, blinding him until he had to shut his eyelids. Even then, the glow remained, shining through the thin flesh. He heard kids’ voices and twisted, rolling to his stomach to watch a flood of boys and girls coming from the house into the backyard through the open kitchen door. The kitchen, where he had left the grownups drinking coffee and talking about apartments and furniture.

  The littlest kids made a running beeline to the swing set, and the two oldest ones stopped at the picnic table, parking themselves on the top with their feet on the bench seats, pulling phones out to tap away. It looked as if they had been given the task of policing the other kids, and Sam silently snorted. He struggled to a seated position on the grass as two boys about his age walked across the yard to him. When they got closer, he said, “I’m Sam. Your mom said I could be out here.” He didn’t know what to make of the matching flinches the boys offered him until the shorter one said, “My mom’s dead. You talked to Miss DeeDee.”

  Poop, he thought and shrugged, embarrassed, hiding it by looking down at the grass tickling his bare ankles, where his too-short pants had ridden up his legs. The other boy laughed, the humorless sound a little shrill, and he said, “My mom’s dead too. Me and Kane, we’re brothers from another mother. Miss DeeDee and Papa Jase take care of us. Sam, you wanna go swing?”

  Shaking his head, he kept his gaze fixed on t
he ground between the soles of his sneakers. There was a fierce tightness around his chest, and he couldn’t pull in a deep breath. As he sat there, he tried and failed to imagine how he would feel if his mom died. If she wasn’t around anymore, he thought, what would I do? His ears were buzzing, and that clutch around his chest just wouldn’t go away, the lack of air quickly becoming a concern until he pulled in a harsh, hitching breath and the feeling of being in a barrel receded. She’s not sick and we’re safe here, he thought. Aunt Mercy said so.

  He wasn’t stupid. He figured out a long time ago his dad was what the counselor at one of the shelters called a deadbeat. Which meant he wasn’t a nice guy, wasn’t at all like what Grandmamma had said about him. Sam had paid attention to what the counselor told Mom, even as he had sat there with his head bent over the papers and colored markers intended to keep him busy while the grownups talked. He had heard his mom’s hushed attempts to quiet the woman, and seen the tears still welling in her eyes when they walked out into the bunkroom to pick their beds for the night.

  After that, he had noted every time his mom talked about his dad her face got tight. Then came his birthday, and when storing the cards in his special box, with a sinking feeling in his belly, he saw that the writing looked the same. Shuffling through all the cards, he found they all had the same handwriting. The same. He knew what that meant, and from that day forward, he decided no matter what he knew, he would never let on he knew. From there forward, he would try to make-believe alongside Mom. Because she still thought his dad was a good guy. Make-believe.

  He wished things were different, but like his grandfather said, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. He hadn’t understood that one at first, but then Mom explained it meant if things were easy to come by, then everyone would have anything they wanted without working. On the surface, it might seem like a good thing, but she said if people didn’t have to work for things, then whatever they had, no matter what they had, they would value it less.

  Jeans-covered knees dropped into the grass beside him and a hand stretched out, entering his field of vision, accompanied by the boy’s voice. “I’m Jonny Morgan.”

  Clasping his hand around Jonny’s, he gripped it firmly and pumped it one time like Mac had taught him, introducing himself, “Sam Collins.”

  “You aren’t from around here, are you?” Jonny gave a little hop with his legs, landing on his butt in the grass and sprawling backwards, elbows to the dirt, careless of his sleeves. Either he didn’t care if he got dirty, or maybe he had so many clothes he could change whenever he felt like it.

  Sam gave a little sigh, saying, “We’re from Birmingham, Alabama. Came up here to visit my aunt.” He plucked a piece of grass and, trapping it between his thumbs, put his hands to his mouth and blew, producing a satisfyingly piercing whistle.

  “Ohhh, cool. Show me how to do that?” Jonny asked with a grin. “That was awesome.”

  ***

  Hope’s mind was whirling. Things were happening around her so fast it was hard to keep up. Shaking her head, she decided to put a pause on the conversation. “Wait, please. Hold up. Can we pause for just a minute? I’m not sure I understand what’s going on.” She held her hand out to the redhead seated across from her at the table. “You manage the club where Mercy dances, but you aren’t the manager of this bar, right?”

  “Yep,” came the cheerful acknowledgment. “I’m manager of Slinky’s, nothing to do with the bar except working on the books when they need help.”

  “So then, how can you offer me a job as a waitress at this other place?” She couldn’t remember the name, lost amidst the many ideas tossed across the table between DeeDee and Mercy. “I’d appreciate if you could put in a good word, but I’m more than happy to apply through normal channels. Do they use a temp service or agency?”

  Mercy and DeeDee shared a laugh, their glances catching and releasing, then their eyes turned back to her. For her part, she kept her gaze on DeeDee, waiting for a response. When it came, she didn’t understand what it meant. “Hoss called.”

  That was it. The sum total of what DeeDee said, and she left it lying in the air as if it made sense. “Hoss called?” She parroted the words back like an idiot.

  “Yep.” That cheerful monosyllabic response would quickly get on her nerves, because it was less than helpful to sort out her current state of confusion.

  “What does that mean, Ms. Moser?” She laid her hand palm-down on the table and continued, “What does ‘Hoss called’ mean?”

  “Oh, sweetie, call me DeeDee. What it means is Hoss called Slate and asked if we could find a job for you that could support you and your boy. I’ve got a policy against having family working together, so it puts Slinky’s out of the picture for you, but the club owns several other businesses here in town. We’ll start with the bar, and then if we need to, we can shuffle you around until we find a fit.” Wow. From three letter responses to a much longer one filled with information she didn’t wholly know how to process.

  “And they’ll hire me just like that? What about applying for the job, or interviewing? Background checks?” Furtively, she moved her hand underneath the table and pinched the side of her leg…hard. The immediate sting of tears in her eyes testified to the reality of what was happening around her. She had never been this lucky before, hadn’t benefited from anything falling into place in so long she found she didn’t trust it and glanced around, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Just like that.” DeeDee smiled at her and reached out, gripping her hand and giving it a hard squeeze. “Mercy’s ours, which means you and Sammy are ours, too.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, feeling tears welling in her eyes again, but for an entirely pain-free reason this time. She had already asked Mercy why Hoss seemed so adamant she work for the club, and hadn’t really gotten an answer, and now here was more evidence he was advocating for her, that he was on her side without them even being friends. This was foreign to her; she didn’t know what to do with it.

  Mercy laughed, bumping her shoulder into Hope’s and leaning in close, so the sisters’ sides pressed tightly against each other. “To quote Hoss from this morning, all you have to do is say okay.”

  Hope glanced out the sliding doors into the backyard, seeing Sammy seated on the grass with one of the kids who had rushed through the room earlier, seeking the freedom the backyard represented after whatever they had been doing all day. He and the boy seemed to be in a deep conversation, and then while she watched, her breath caught in her chest when Sammy threw back his head and laughed, the riotous sound reaching her ears even through the closed doors. For once, instead of an intense older-than-his-years facade, he looked like a child, laughing and free. He needs this, she thought, feeling Mercy’s fingers wrap around her other hand, DeeDee still retaining possession of the one resting on the table. I need this.

  “Okay,” she whispered, watching her son leap to his feet and chase his new friend across the expanse of the yard. The pair headed for a set of playground equipment, and she saw him mimic the other boy and flip upside-down, wrapping his legs over a bar so they hung like bats while still animatedly chattering at each other. Putting aside her questions about this, as well as why Hoss would have called anyone on her behalf, when she had spoken to him exactly twice, she decided to let herself soak up the good luck that seemed to be swinging her way. “Okay.”

  ***

  “What’s your play here, Hoss?” Deke slipped to a stool beside him at the bar, signaling to the bartender for a beer. He turned, leaned backwards and propped his elbows on the bar, eyeing the girls currently on stage, his posture seemingly relaxed and inattentive.

  “Covering for DeeDee, man. Beginning and end, nothing else.” Hoss used the mirrors to check the club patrons behind him, affecting a similar nonchalance. “She and Jase went to the doc with Bingo, needed a couple hours. Called and said they needed a couple more hours, because it ain’t good news.” He lowered his voice, “
Then Mason called, said there’s unrest out west again. Said he wants to make sure we have extra members everywhere it matters for the next few weeks.” He shrugged. “So I called you.”

  Deke sighed, asking, “Is this about Michigan?” All Rebels knew Rogue, blood brother of Demon, a long-dead Michigan biker, was still looking for vengeance on them, and had been since the day his brother died. The fact he was looking in particular towards the Rebels’ Fort Wayne chapter was no secret, either.

  Several years ago, Demon had been president of the Devil’s Sins, an upper peninsula Michigan club. He had arranged a situation and mistreated the woman who would later become Slate’s old lady. She dealt with the aftereffects of that abuse for years until Slate made it his mission to woo and win her. Then, after she had finally recovered, and made a leap of faith into Slate’s bed, Demon orchestrated a play involving her that went sideways in a bloody way, ending him and nearly killing her. Since then, Rogue, his brother, had refused all attempts by Mason and Slate for a sitdown, and to this day continued to snipe at them from the north.

  “No changes there. Motherfuckers are still fucking with our runs and deliveries.” Hoss shrugged; the Rebels may have rubbed out the original Devil’s Sins, but in the aftermath, Rogue had birthed a new club, calling it Sins of the Brother. Immediately, they had started jacking inventory and fucking with Rebel business on a regular basis, escalating things significantly over the last year. Every Rebel knew it would come to war eventually, and given their history with the people who made up the club, it went without saying that it would be bloody.

  Without speaking, Deke lifted his chin in response, and they sat there for a few minutes in silence. It sounded like Deke was going to speak a few times, but then didn’t follow through, instead lifting his beer for a drink. Finally, he turned to look at Hoss and tilted his face down, asking as if it didn’t matter, “Mercy working right now?”