Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Rebels stand with Soldiers.” Mason’s response was immediate and gratifying. “Sleep, brother. Ruby’ll have assigned you a room. You’re stayin’ here. All of y’all are stayin’ here. Safety in numbers, yeah?”

  Watcher stood and scanned the groups of men in the back lot of the clubhouse, saw lights on the first two floors of the building, and knew his men were mixed in amongst these. “Good to have your guys meet mine.” Shaking off the chill which had settled on him when he’d talked about Shooter, he said, “Trust you with my life, brother. I’ll sleep easy tonight.”

  With a lift of his chin, he left Mason staring into the night, and went in search of bed and quiet, so he could call Juanita and tell her he loved her.

  ***

  “Papi,” her voice reached towards the rafters, breathless cries saying he’d gotten it right, once again. Watcher held her hips in place with one arm, lapping at her. Varying the speed of each stroke of his tongue, he eased her down, down, down the mountain, letting her recover at her own pace. When she stopped undulating and began squirming, he licked once more, bottom to top, diddling her clit with the tip of his tongue for a triplet of strokes before he lifted on an arm, crawling up her body.

  As he always did, he took a moment to look down at her, half-lidded eyes staring up at him, a smile curling the corners of her lips. Bending to brush his mouth across hers, he kissed his way to her ear so he could whisper, “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” She giggled, bright and light as a girl, the sound making him smile. Teeth to the lobe of her ear, he told her, “Always wanna fuck you. Want my hands on you.” Tipping his hips, he reached down to grip himself, angling his cock to her entrance. He waited for it, and she gave him what she always did.

  “Love you, Watcher.” Soft strokes up his biceps, she curled her fingers around his neck, palm to either side as she pulled him down, arching up into him, letting him seat himself root-deep in her. Legs curling around his ass, she used the leverage to meet him, thrust for thrust, working with him so he could make the same journey. Mouth to his ear, she told him everything he wanted to hear. “Papi, so good. You make it so good. My whole life. My wonderful man. I love you.”

  “God, ‘Nita.” He angled his head to the side, putting himself face-to-face with the only woman he’d ever loved. She leaned in, touching her lips to his, holding the contact so their breaths mingled. “My beauty. Love of my life.”

  His fingers stroked up the skin of her side, lifting and plumping her soft breast, dipping his chin to bring it to his mouth, drawing the puckered nipple deep like he knew she liked. “Papi.” Fingers in his hair, she pulled his head up, anchoring herself with his mouth as she moved underneath him, driven by an urgency he recognized. That did it for him, and the coiling electricity spooling up his spine, muscles tightening as he lunged deep, deeper, holding still, feeling her clench and grip him, milking his cock. “Papi.” Her cry lifted to the rafters again, and he silenced it with a kiss, letting her take his grunts down her throat.

  “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, shoving it between her back and the mattress so he could hold her close. Elbow to the mattress, he kept most of his weight off her, even knowing she could take it, wanted it sometimes, that closeness. “My hot mamacita.” Brushing a kiss across her lips, he deepened it, stroking into her mouth with his tongue, taking everything he could from her.

  Shifting to his side, he pulled her close, cradling her against his chest. “Love you, Watcher.” Her breath drifted softly, scarcely disturbing the hair on his chest. Watcher bent his neck, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

  “Love you, too, Juanita.”

  Rise of the Diamante

  “Whadda you mean, there’s a new club in town?” Spider’s words were pitched low and spoken slowly, lending a menace the man behind the bar could not mistake. “Ain’t no new club, unless we say there’s a new club.”

  “Man, I do not make up this shit to piss you off.” Bernie, their guy behind the bar, threw up one hand in irritation. “I’m telling you these macho dudes were in here stomping around about an hour ago.” He swept his hand out, indicating the destruction all around, smashed glasses and bottles of liquor, overturned tables. “Think I did this for fun? I do not make this shit up.”

  “And you didn’t think to give us a call?” Watcher stuck the question in before Spider could open his mouth again. “Didn’t think it worth your time, man? You work for me”—Watcher jerked a thumb towards his own chest—“and if you wanna continue working for me”—same thumb jerk—“then you”—a jab of a stiffened finger digging into Bernie’s chest caused him to grunt—“needa make better choices.”

  “Jesus, Watch,” Bernie said, moving back the two feet the space allowed. “Don’t gotta get physical.”

  “Man,” Spider muttered, “mind your mouth.”

  “I’m just sayin’—” Bernie began, and Watcher interrupted, cutting him off hard. This assclown didn’t know what was happening up north, where Mason had recently absorbed two long-standing clubs, expanding his reach in a way that made other clubs nervous. Made other clubs look to his rivals to see who might fall next, and look to his allies, to see who else might be positioned for a move. Information like this had the potential to be nothing, or everything. He didn’t need Bernie’s attitude to color what he could tell them.

  “Don’t give a fuck. Learn or get your ass out. But you will tell me what you saw, who was here, what they said, who they talked to, and anything else you can think of, which will tell me who the fuck thinks they can come rollin’ into my”—Watcher felt his control slip, voice lifting to a roar—“motherfuckin’ town.”

  Eyes wide, Bernie talked.

  Standing in the alley behind the bar five minutes later, Watcher lifted his phone to his ear, waiting. He’d taken a long moment to think about who he would call, knowing the things swirling south of the border, and up in the northern states. Balancing friendship with need, Watcher knew whoever he called would be leaving themselves open if they provided assistance. Decision made, he’d shot a look at Opie and Spider, said one word, received a chin lift and nod in response. When the call connected, he didn’t waste any time. “I got a problem. Need to call in that marker, brother.”

  Raul answered, as Watcher knew he would, “Anything you need, my friend.”

  ***

  “No. Got no idea.” Fingers tight around the phone, Watcher’s response to the question was clipped. He didn’t have time for this shit.

  “Think back, brother. Anyone you can think of who might own a strip club in Kentucky called Shinedown?” Gunny, one of Mason’s officers in Fort Wayne, proved persistent in his questioning. He’d called ten minutes ago, had gotten right to the topic at hand, which Watcher appreciated, but wasn’t taking no for an answer. Bella and Mela’s voices came from outside by the pool, where Juanita sat on a lounger. Beer in hand, Watcher had been set to rejoin them when the phone had rung.

  “Where in Kentucky?” If it wasn’t his neck of the woods, he could put an end to this questioning. He understood why Gunny was all over this because he’d found the love of his life. Found her after she’d been beaten and violated by her ex-husband. From what Watcher had seen and heard, Gunny felt protective of her. Extremely protective. Like Watcher was with Juanita, making sure nothing like she’d lived through could touch her again. Because of that, he’d give Gunny another minute to route him to a more productive avenue for his search.

  “Cynthiana, or right outside it.” Gunny pulled in a breath. “Said the owner’s name was John, and he was a good guy, but they had rough clientele. Rough enough to make her abandon all her shit, brother. Just pick up stakes and walk away. I’m looking for whatever I can find for her, man. You’re a lead for me because you and Mason grew up there. Help me find something.”

  “Why do you think I’d know anything? I haven’t lived there for decades. Turned my back on that town and still say good riddance.” Thinking furiously, Watcher was runnin
g all the bars and strip clubs he knew of in the area through his head, trying to find one which could match the description.

  “That rough clientele? Sharon said they were bikers. But she didn’t say bikers like she was talking about the Rebels. She said it like what she really meant was a gang.” Gunny paused a second, then said, “Know you were an Outrider, man. Mason’s not made any bones about some of the shit he dealt with back in the day. We’ve barely come off a fucking hellhole run you saw the tail end of, and I gotta say, all of that hellhole was Outrider. You think they own this club? Think they were the motherfuckers she was talkin’ about?”

  “No idea.” Gunny made a frustrated sound at that, so Watcher gave a little. “I’ll check around.”

  “Quiet like,” Gunny shot back, not wasting any time in taking what was offered, and his speed in doing so told Watcher this was more important than the man had let on so far.

  “Quiet like,” Watcher agreed.

  “You get something…anything, you call me direct. Don’t worry about protocol. I’m Mason’s voice on this.” Gunny didn’t wait for him to respond, simply disconnected the call.

  “Jesus,” Watcher muttered, lowering the phone as he stared out the window but he did this not seeing his woman and kids poolside. Instead, he remembered the scene in his old office at the Outriders’ clubhouse. “Rough clientele. Fuck yeah, I’d say so.”

  Coulda mighta

  In an aggrieved tone, Bones complained, “Why is it there always seems to be another viper striking at our heels?” Watcher laughed aloud at this, leaning back on his bike, listening to Bones on a tear about some upstart club. “Do not laugh, Watcher. You have the same problems there with the Diamante.”

  “It’s true they’re here and in the way,” Watcher agreed. “But I’d classify them as more of an annoyance than anything else. A gnat as opposed to a viper.”

  “Then count yourself lucky, and tell me how you will be helping me.” At this, Watcher froze in place for a moment. Bones never asked for anything, and for him to do so now was telling.

  “What kind of help do you need, man?” Not quite an offer of assistance, Watcher was more testing the waters to see what was eating at the man he’d come to know so well. “Talk to me.”

  “Every time I roll past my own borders, I find they have fallen in behind me, pushing the boundaries as they can. Mayhem, mostly, but an annoyance which has quickly grown into something that is dangerous for their continued good health. I push back, of course, but we are in a vicious cycle of take and take back, and it cannot stand. This running battle has come to the point where I cannot assist Mason in even the smallest request.” Bones took a deep breath, this alone signaling the man’s rage. Normally he was so closed off and controlled, to hear him rattled was disturbing.

  “What do you need from me?” A tractor-trailer passed by where Watcher was parked on the shoulder of the road. Winds caused by the vehicle whipped around him and carried sand and grit in an abrasive wave that coated Watcher and the bike. “Talk to me.”

  “I do not expect anything from you, my friend. You have enough on your plate without accepting a serving from mine. This was a call to commiserate, more than anything. I find myself frustrated with Mason, and what he is doing, or more to the point, not doing, and that, I suspect, is something I should immediately take up with him.” Another truck rolled past, closer, and in the noise of its passage Watcher lost the next thing Bones said, “…pted things in my neighborhood.” A horn sounded and distracted again, Watcher jerked his gaze up to see a pickup stopped in the road on the other side of the median. Halted on the inside shoulder going the other direction, the driver stared at him. Watcher gave the man a thumbs-up, receiving a wave in return as the vehicle drove away. “…splaced something important to me.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Watcher muttered when another vehicle slowed, and he was about to give the same thumbs-up to indicate he wasn’t broken down when he saw the barrel of a gun extending from the barely opened window. With a shout he threw himself from the bike, scarcely getting out of the way as it lurched and died, toppling sideways towards him. Metal striking metal reverberated as the bike shuddered, and he saw a spark as a bullet ricocheted off the motorcycle’s frame.

  Gun in his palm, he rolled, putting the handlebars between his head and the now speeding away pickup. Elbows to the sand, he propped his gun hand in his other palm and squeezed off three shots before an oncoming vehicle cut through his line of sight. “Fucking shit.” He lay there a moment, then blinked, his left eye stinging. The car sped past, carrying another wave of sand to lash at his exposed skin. Lifting a sand-covered palm to sweep the sweat from his eye, Watcher was startled when it came away covered in red. Sand and blood.

  Fingers to his head, he found a furrow in his scalp. The wound was bleeding profusely, and from the corner of his eye he saw the shoulder of his shirt was already saturated. On the air, he smelled blood mixed with gasoline as fuel leaked from the bike lying on its side. Scanning for any additional threats, he didn’t see anything, not even any more traffic. The lone vehicle which passed during the skirmish hadn’t stopped. He was alone. “Fucking shit.”

  Scooping up his phone, he held it in one hand as he stooped to grip the handlebars and frame. Scanning again, still not seeing anything, he pulled, grunting as he heaved the bike upright, lifted it from the ground and shoved the kickstand down with the heel of one boot. Looking at the phone’s display, he found the call to Bones had disconnected. “Shit.” Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the ringing, he saw splatters of blood land on the bike, the random pattern taking all his attention for a moment. “Shit.”

  Vibrating on the seat where he’d laid it, the phone indicated an incoming call from Opie. “Good tim—”

  “Where the fuck are you?” Opie’s roar cut off what Watcher had been about to say. Breathing heavily, his words came out with stuttering pauses between. “Boss, where…the fuck…are you?”

  “Out on Highway 70, out by the Rio. Opie, I need—”

  Opie cut him off again. “On our way. We’re only two from you. Hold, boss. Fuckin’ hold.” The call disconnected and Watcher stared down at the phone, engrossed at the sight of a smear of blood across the screen. In the distance came a deep rumble of bikes, and he recognized from the sound and reverberation through the air that it was a lot of them. He went to recent calls and was perplexed to see it had been nearly thirty minutes since he was on the phone with Bones, with no traffic coming past for almost as long.

  In the distance, beyond an overpass that looked to be about two miles away, there was a pillar of smoke. Black and rolling, it lifted to the sky, winds at altitude tearing it apart, dispersing it across the heavens. “Hey, mister?” Watcher heard the shouted question and jerked, looking across the divided road, seeing a pickup pulling a camper stopped on the shoulder, “Are you okay?” Lifting one hand, he gave the family in the truck a thumbs-up, hearing the wife warn her good Samaritan husband, “Honey, he’s in a gang.” The window closed, and the truck pulled away as dozens of bikes swept into view. The double line of his men crossed at a dirt-covered culvert about a half a mile up the road, coming into the lanes nearest him going the wrong way against nothing.

  He stood straight, boots planted wide to hold on the shifting sands underfoot. Watcher was thankful he was no longer reeling from what he knew had to be a ricochet he’d taken to the skull. Counting thirty bikes, he jerked his chin at Opie and Devil as they rolled to a halt in front of his motorcycle. Opie’s eyes had narrowed, and he was shaking his head back and forth. Without a word, Watcher pointed to his bike, lifting a drop of gasoline from the bottom curve of the tank with one finger. He shook it off, and then told them, “Sprung a leak.”

  Devil laughed openly as he got off his bike, bending to the tool roll on his front forks. A moment later he held up a tube and a roll of tape. “Got a fix.”

  “Good deal,” Watcher said, letting his gaze roam up the line of men now milling on the side of the ro
ad, walking out into the lanes and looking towards the smoke, eyes shaded with palms. “Opie, wanna send a couple guys to check that out? I mighta clipped the bastards who put a dent in Bertha.” He patted the tank, still not smiling when he said, “I’m partial to all the fluids being inside, where God intended.”

  “On it, boss,” Opie said. His mouth twisted and he obviously wanted to ask questions, but followed Watcher’s lead, turning to direct a half dozen of the men to go check out the smoke. “Meet y’all back at the clubhouse.” His closing instructions gave them permission to follow whatever they needed without having to worry about hooking back up with the main column.

  Turning back to Watcher, Opie got close, looking to see what Devil was doing to the leaking hole on Watcher’s tank. “Epoxy won’t stick to that paint,” he warned, “needa use the tape as a short term. We’ll get it taken care of when we get back to the barn.” Not looking at Watcher, he muttered, “Fucking hell, boss. Bones called. Said you were on the phone and then you weren’t, but there was gunfire. He couldn’t raise you so he called me.” Devil glanced up, but Opie beat him to the question. “You okay? Fuckin’ covered in blood.”

  “Head hurts. Got my bell rung, but I’m okay. Wanna get off the side of the road.” Watcher lifted his gaze, seeing a line of bikes and men between the three of them and the highway. Human shield, in case the shooters returned. Each man either had a gun in hand or had their vest moved so they could easily get to their pieces. Club. Honor. “And before you ask, I got no fuckin’ idea. Was a pickup truck. Coulda been any farm truck. White stepside, about an ’05. Coulda been anybody, Opie. If I’d been a second later seein’ the barrel, they’d ’a had me.”