Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Nope,” he responded, watching his friend’s face fall in disappointment. He let that stretch between them for a moment then took pity on him, continuing with, “She’ll be here in about thirty, though. Her set starts at nine, and she is supposed to close, so she’ll be here until at least two.” Deke didn’t look up, but Hoss saw the corner of his mouth tip up in a smile. “You gonna do something about this dance you’re doing with her?”

  The pleased look fell away and Deke scowled up at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You stupid motherfucker.” He laughed. “You ain’t fooling anyone but yourself, and doing a shit job of that, if you ask me.”

  Deke ran his hand through his hair, fingers threading through to the back of his head. “She tell you about her ma?”

  Hoss nodded. Mercy had talked to him about her mother and the home life endured in Alabama before leaving as soon as she was legal. When she was recovering from Birdy’s beating, she had talked a lot. Some of that due to the painkillers Goose left for her, some of it a need to confide in someone she saw as a friend.

  Deke said, “I get why she was the way she was. Looking to wipe out memories of the shit her ma put her through, the grabby-handed boyfriends she’d turn loose in the house with her barely teenaged daughter. The things those fuckers did to her, what they took from her…I get being wild was her way of taking back everything she thought she’d lost.”

  Deke shook his head, catching Hoss’ eyes in the mirror. “I liked her the first time I ever saw her, you know? She wasn’t looking for anything like me, though. She didn’t want someone to make her think, or be honest about what was going on. She was looking to fuck her mind back straight, but goddamn”—he sucked in a breath—“I liked her. More than you could know by just looking at things from the outside. I liked her. So every fucking time she took a man into her body in the main room, pulled a fucking train, or danced up the stairs with one of our brothers, it tore off another piece of my heart.”

  Hoss cleared his throat, sensing movement behind them. Ignoring that, he asked, “Why didn’t you stay with her after Birdy? When she was hurt? Why’d you stay away?”

  “Because him takin’ her was on me. I took my assignment, didn’t argue with Slate, didn’t speak up and tell him to put me on Mercy. If I’d been there, he wouldn’t have gotten her. I was on Willa, and I fucked that up, too.” Deke lifted a hand, rubbing his fingertips across his brow. “Mercy’d been coking, so Birdy thought she might have something he could use. I listened to the tapes of you talking to her, so I know you got this, but once he figured out she didn’t have anything, he cranked her up, tore her up, and tossed her out like trash. Fucking shit, man, I shoulda been there. Kills me I wasn’t.”

  “So why are you angling away from her now? Sounds like you’ve figured out what you’re after, so why the hell aren’t you putting that want into effect?” Hoss shook his head. “What are you waiting for? What do you want?”

  Deke scowled and said, “I want something with her, but I can’t stay straight around her long enough to settle things out, man. She unnerves me and I can’t find my balance, can’t find my words to say the things I need to say. To apologize to her. To tell her...” His voice trailed off and he glanced down.

  “What do you want?” Hoss asked, again boiling things down to the simplest question.

  “Everything,” Deke whispered, and met his eyes in the mirror.

  “Everything?” Both men jumped when the soft voice came from behind them, and Hoss turned around to see Mercy standing there. Her gaze locked on Deke, and Hoss watched as the color leached out of his friend’s face. Without turning around, he nodded slowly. She asked him, “What does that mean, Deke? Everything.”

  Hoss saw the confusion on her face when Deke responded, “It means I want you, woman.”

  Hoss stood and said, “And that right there’s my cue to walk the fuck away,” laughing to himself when they ignored him. When he was near the office door, he glanced back to see Mercy standing beside Deke as he slid his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer.

  Pausing for a moment, he watched as the man lifted his other hand, using fingers far more used to violence than tenderness to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Deke leaned into her, tilting his head down as he brushed his lips across hers, and Hoss saw how Mercy, trembling with emotion, lifted on her toes to meet his mouth, giving and taking in one breath. One stanza of their dance had come to a close, and he suspected the next would be even more beautiful to watch.

  Smiling, he walked into the office, his thoughts turning to Hope. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her, and now, standing in front of the desk, he closed his eyes, recalling for the hundredth time how her skin had felt under his hands. How her stunning blue eyes had held him captive for as long as she would meet his gaze. Pulling from his memory, he teased to the surface the heat and softness of her lips…the look on her face when he leaned close and talked to her…the silk of her hair, sliding across her shoulders, thinking about her mass of hair sliding across other places.

  Fucking hell, I like her. He liked everything about her, the love she had for her son, how fearless and determined she was to make her own way.

  He had put the wheels in motion to get her boy a bed, but according to Myron, there were no three-bedroom apartments free right now, so all the things he wanted would have to wait. He liked her boy, too, and could see he had his job cut out for him to get Sammy on his side, but he would find his in with the boy. He had to go slow, keep to the deep background so the club’s enemies wouldn’t get a glimpse of what she could mean to him. If they did, then he might never get a chance to find out if they would fit alongside the other like he thought they might…like he hoped and dreamed.

  Nothing works for long

  “Okay,” she muttered, maneuvering another plate onto her already heavily laden tray. “You can do this.” Yay, now I’m my own crazy cheering section, she thought, and then slid the tray onto her flattened palm, tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth as she lifted it to shoulder height with a practiced swing. Five minutes later, she had returned to the kitchen pass-through to load up the next table’s lunches. The fast pace continued through most of her shift without slackening, and at just over six hours in, with less than an hour to go, she knew she was visibly flagging.

  She had been working here at Marie’s, one of the club-owned bars, for about a week. She felt like she was doing a good job, but there was so much to learn: the menu, specials, dishes not on the menu, plus a computerized order entry system that was so complex it boggled the mind. So far, each day still felt as if it were the first, so by the end of her shift, she was mentally and physically exhausted. Even when the shift wasn’t as busy, it still felt as if she were being run off her feet, barely any energy left over for Sammy at the end of the day.

  She hated feeling like that, about half sick, but wouldn’t ask for time off. Not having just started working. She wouldn’t be that employee, the one everyone knew had problems everyone else had to work around. I’ve never given less than one-hundred-percent, she grumbled internally, and I’m not going to start now. Just gut through it, woman. You can do it. Today, even with her mental pep talk, she gritted her teeth in frustration when the hostess waved at her, the signal another group had been seated in her assigned section. She knew it meant Kerry, the relief waitress, would probably have to finish out their service, and the idea of sharing tips was not in that woman’s handbook.

  Swinging around the corner of the bar, she began her approach of the table with a smile firmly in place. That smile wavered and she felt her step stutter a little when she saw the seats were filled with men wearing black leather. Bikers were the norm here in Marie’s, but even at first glance, these men looked different…harder, somehow. Forcing the smile back onto her face, she stepped up between two of them, laying coasters down on the table, bending at the waist and reaching across to set them in front of the men on the opposite side. “Gentlemen,
” she said pleasantly, frowning when they laughed. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

  “Yeah, baby,” the man next to her said, and she felt a hand creep around her hip, a gentle tug pulling her sideways into his body. “Beers all around, and keep ‘em coming. Make sure the tab comes to me, yeah?”

  The men called out their individual orders and she quickly jotted them down, shifting away from the man without saying anything, moving until his arm fell away. Sometimes it was most effective to simply ignore behavior you didn’t want to encourage. “Sure thing,” she said. Pointing to the menus on the table with her pen, she told them, “If you are looking for food, the specials are listed in the menus. I’ll be right back.”

  At the waitress station, as she entered them into the computer, she called out the ten beers to Tequila, the Rebel member tending bar today. He was also the bar’s business manager, and like most of the Rebels, he seemed to be a good friend of Mercy’s. He was pleasant enough to work for, even if, or maybe especially because, he didn’t talk a lot. She finished the entry and moved to the kitchen to collect an order, delivering it and returning to the bar just as Tequila finished. As she loaded up her tray, he paused and frowned, glancing over her shoulder to the occupants of the table, then back to her face. “If those men give you trouble, you give me a yell, okay, sweetheart?”

  With a smile, she shook her head. Nope, she told herself again. No freakin’ way would she become that employee either, the one others had to dance around, the one who couldn’t handle whatever kind of customers fate threw her way. “Pfffft,” she made a dismissive noise. “I so got this, Tequila.”

  Picking up her tray, she turned, setting her shoulders and making her way between the tables and chairs to the group of bikers. As she approached, she saw the symbol on the back of their vests was a one-eyed jackrabbit, the empty orbit filled with what looked like a massive diamond. The word Diamante was inscribed on the fabric each had across the top of their shoulders, and there was another piece of fabric sewn to the leather near the hem, but she couldn’t read what it said.

  “Here you go, guys,” she called cheerfully, placing the mugs and bottles of beer in front of the men, referring to her paper a couple of times to make certain she had the beverages and owners paired up correctly. “Y’all wanting to order any food?” She glanced around, catching the eyes of several of the men as they shook their heads, and nodded. “Okay. Let me know if there’s anything else. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes,” she told them, turning to walk away.

  Her progress halted when the same man as before reached out a hand, gripping her hip, but this time, he pulled her off her feet and down onto his lap. She froze stiff, feeling herself shrinking in on herself, and was about to scream for help, but then she hesitated. Looming over her with a relaxed grin on his face, he didn’t look like he intended to cause trouble, so she attempted a laugh, placing her hand on his chest to push away. “Baby,” he muttered, “could use some company.”

  “Sorry,” she said with a grin, hoping his feelings wouldn’t be hurt by her rejection. “The big guy behind the bar is my boss, and he’s kinda particular about having folks actually work for their wages.” He released her with a wry twist to his lips, hands to her waist to set her on her feet. Once stable and upright, she patted his cheek, glad she hadn’t overreacted and yelled for Tequila. “Thanks for the offer, but I gotta serve the booze.”

  Glancing around the table, she saw all eyes were on her, and from the looks they were giving her, she wondered if she had offended them after all. Their unapproachably grim-faced stares intimidated her and, gradually, the smile fell from her face. Turning, she muttered, “Just yell if you need anything.”

  By the third round of drinks, she had figured out how to maneuver around the hands and arms and still get the beers on the table without spilling. All but one of the men had rebounded from their earlier aloofness and now were rowdy and loud, flirting and joking with her at every opportunity. The reserved man sat with his chair slightly pushed back from the table, and she noticed his gaze never stopped attentively sweeping the bar. He had strikingly beautiful red hair and a beard, and she had found herself focusing on him more than once when she served their table. She thought to herself that these men behaved distinctly unlike the Rebel members she had met so far, and she felt a frown wrinkle her brow as she walked back towards the bar.

  The Rebels were all consistently pleasant to her, but in comparison to the occupants of this table, she now realized it went further than that, because they weren’t just nice, they were too nice. They were friendly, but not one of them flirted with her like these men were. Standing at the waitress station, she waited for Tequila and gave him her remaining orders. Seeing Kerry slipping into the kitchen, she looked at the clock.

  “I’m off in five,” she said quietly, and he nodded. “Kid gloves,” she muttered to herself, looking around the bar, thinking it was how the Rebels treated her. She saw Tequila tilt his head in question at her and she laughed. “You guys all treat me with kid gloves, like I can’t handle things.” Flinging her hand out behind her, she indicated the table of Diamante members. “These guys, not so much.”

  “You’re ours,” he said with a shrug, placing the last bottle of beer on top of her slip. “If they’re fucking with you, tell me. I’ll sort their shit.”

  “Whatever that means.” She shook her head, turning back to take the men their drinks. Standing next to the man who had first ordered, she told him, “I’m about to take off. Did you want to tab out, or carry over to the new waitress?”

  She anticipated the grab from in front of her and dodged to avoid the grip with a laugh, but found herself pulled quickly backwards into the lap of one of the other men, the quiet redhead. With a squeak, she tried pushing off his chest as she had the first man, but his hands held her firmly in place and she could find no purchase to twist free. One of his hands wrapped around her ribs with fingers right underneath the curve of her breast, the other one flattened on top of her thigh, thumb tucked down between her legs, hot even through the fabric of her jeans.

  Startled, she stared up at him and sputtered, “I need to—” Her voice trailed off when she caught the intensity of his gaze, his face only inches from hers. He had the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen, his stare filled with strength and power.

  “Blondie, you need to calm the fuck down.” The redheaded man said this on a growl, as if she had been arguing with him for a while and had finally tested his limits, his hands tightening on her further as she tried to wiggle out of his hold. One of the pieces of fabric on the front of his vest said Fury, and she didn’t know if that was his name or some kind of title. She thought it probably was, because it was right underneath one that said President, which was a clear title. The look in his eyes had her so frightened she couldn’t have told you what was rolling through her head at that moment, much less why she thought it was probably his name. “Stop squirming around, or I’m gonna smack that ass,” he gritted out between clenched teeth, and she froze when she felt the pad of his thumb sweep up along the side of her breast.

  “Please,” she whispered, still staring into his blue eyes, not certain now what she was asking for. He leaned in, breaking the connection by pressing his face against the side of her neck, and she felt the rough texture of his beard rubbing along her skin. “Let me up.” She tried for a laugh, but failed when he didn’t release her. “Please, I need to finish my shift.”

  “What the fuck is going on here?” That rumbling voice came from behind her, and when she tried to twist in his lap to see who it was, the fingers around her thigh tightened down painfully. For an instant, she thought she felt teeth at her neck and stilled her efforts, fear now holding her in place as effectively as the hands of the muscled man. “Fury, you need to get your goddamned hands off her.”

  “She yours, Hoss?” His name now confirmed, the man who held her pulled his face away from her neck as she sucked in a harsh breath when his word
s registered. She hadn’t seen Hoss since that first day at Mercy’s apartment, but knew from the conversation with DeeDee that he was behind her being offered this job. Please, God, don’t let him think this was my fault, she thought, wiggling again and pushing harder against Fury’s chest with the same limited results. Mouth beside her ear, he growled at her again, “Keep the fuck still, Blondie.”

  “Fuck yeah, you see her working in our fucking bar?” The hard hands holding her down disappeared and she scrambled up, gaining her feet and taking several wobbly steps away from the table.

  She sucked in a shaky breath, remembering why she had come to their table to begin with, and said, “I can…I’ll just carry your tab over to Kerry. She’s coming on, and it’s no problem to—”

  She didn’t get any further before Hoss spoke, interrupting her, “Fury, pay the woman.”

  “No, no.” Holding up one hand palm first, she tried for a smile but knew it probably looked more like a grimace of fear. “No, no. Hey, it’s okay,” she tried to say, but found herself holding two one-hundred dollar bills.

  Fury didn’t look at her as he said, “Keep the change, gal.” He shoved back his chair, standing in a rush, and she took two more fast steps backwards. At her movement, he glanced her way then back to where she assumed Hoss was standing, shifting to stand in front of her, giving her his back. She hadn’t looked at Hoss yet, afraid of what she would see. “Got yourself a little house mouse, Hoss? She’s skittish, but pretty enough. Soft in all the places I like my tail to be soft, too. You get tired of the whore, pass her Diamante’s way, yeah?”

  “Fucking shithead. She ain’t no goddamned whore,” Hoss said, and his voice sounded strained.

  She glanced his direction, but his features were shadowed and indistinct in the bar’s lighting. She held her breath, ducking her head for a moment and then straightened, turning to the man in front of her, bringing her chin up with a trembling smile. He turned to her when she spoke, and his blue eyes were absolutely as mesmerizing from five feet away as when only bare inches had separated them moments before. With a hitch in her voice, she said, “Let me get your change. Your tab is about one-thirty; this is too big a tip.” She turned to walk to the bar when a light touch on her arm halted her.