Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3

by MariaLisa deMora

  He quietly pulled the door closed, walking up the hallway to glance into Bella’s room, seeing Spider seated in the chair, head up, alert. Watcher gave him a wave, which went unreturned, and moved past the doorway and into the kitchen. “Okay, Mason. What’s up?”

  “Lalo’s finally in Florida, best as we can tell.” Every muscle in Watcher’s body locked up at the unexpected words.

  “A gift, brother. Send me a damned address so I can collect.” Watcher wasn’t sure where he got the air to push out those words. Death birthed in a whisper. Guaranteed.

  “Cannot do that. I want to, but cannot.” Before Watcher could make any demands, Mason continued. “DEA picked him up. Got him tied up tighter than a cop’s ass in lockup. He doesn’t make a move without a dozen agents on him.” Mason paused, but Watcher couldn’t speak. To know where this motherfucker was and not be able to reach him was torture. “Good news outta this, brother. Means your family is safer than we thought.”

  “Mela’s in Chihuahua. Juanita goes to a safehouse as soon as I roll to Lamesa with Bella, and Bella’s still coming to you.” Watcher’s response was immediate and sounded as determined as he felt.

  “I think it’s the right course, too, brother. Wanted you to be able to breathe easier for a few.” Silence settled between them, comfortable, reminding Watcher of how well he knew this man. Club. Family. Honor.

  “Brother.” Watcher’s throat tightened, paralyzing emotion choking off his words, but they weren’t needed. Mason knew everything he was feeling right now.

  “I always got your six, brother. Always. Ain’t ever changing, no matter what.” Mason’s words vibrated with emotion, Watcher’s heart pounding in time.

  “Tell me about your boy.” Watcher could get those words out, could extend their time together a while, filling in the moments until Bella woke and he had to submerge himself in the horror of what happened to her. If I think I can’t sleep now, imagine what I’ll be like with that in my head.

  “Willa did amazing, brother. I got there in plenty of time, wasn’t sure I’d make it, but damned if I didn’t. He’s good, back and forth between sleeping and suckin’ on the nip like she wants him to.” Mason paused, and Watcher heard him sigh deeply, his tone rough when he said, “She keeps asking if I think he looks like me. Slippin’ it in like I won’t notice. And the look on her face, brother. Kills. Doesn’t matter how much I tell her, she keeps askin’.”

  “Jesus.” That slipped out before he could stop himself. Utah seemed fresh still, like it had been only days ago but the truth was nine months had elapsed. Mason hadn’t said a thing, but anyone could do the math. Hard shit, held close between friends. Since he’d brought it up now, this meant there was a need to talk about it, and that knowledge gave Watcher courage to ask what he did next. “Does it matter, brother?”

  “Not a fuckin’ bit. Boy’s mine.” Mason’s words were firm, not leaving any room for doubt. Still, raising a cuckoo’s child would be painful, if it were true. Anxious for something to keep him busy, Watcher grabbed the carafe and shoved it into the sink. A twist of the faucet had water running as he opened a cabinet to pull down the coffee. Listening. All he could do, but he’d do it. “He’s mine, and she’s mine. Ain’t nobody gonna fuck with that, especially not a dead man.”

  Measuring his usual spoonful or three of grounds into the basket, Watcher asked, “How you gonna convince her of that?” He shoved the basket into the coffee maker, grabbing the now-full carafe and pouring it into the reservoir.

  “One breath at a time.” Mason snorted a laugh. “You makin’ coffee, motherfucker?”

  “Yeah. Gonna be a long day.” Gut-wrenching sounds came from up the hallway. Frantic, Bella’s high-pitched voice was countered by Spider’s deeper one. A quick pattern of words followed by silence. “A long fucking day.”

  “Hear that. I’ll let you go. Just—” Mason paused a second. “—needed to know you’re good.”

  “I’m good. She’s alive.” Watcher stopped moving, focusing on what he wanted Mason to know. “She’s alive. Miracle twice over. Your man got to her and saved her. I’m in his pocket for life, and I told him he owns a Soldiers’ marker, but he was so fixed on gettin’ home to his woman I doubt he heard me. Remind him, yeah?” Watcher brought three mugs down from the cabinet. “I’ll see Fury in a few hours. I’ll text him before I roll so he’s expecting us. I appreciate you being willing to let him bring her, brother.”

  “Anything you need.”

  “Back atcha.” Watcher disconnected as he poured himself what would be the first of many cups of coffee that day.

  I’ll give you everything

  Isabella

  “Please no. Please. No, please.” Isabella chanted the words to the man who had been assigned to her. In the time since her just-met cousin had dropped her off here in Chicago, she hadn’t been offered many decisions. Where to sleep, how to spend her time, even what to eat was all dictated by this man, Tater.

  Growing up around her father’s club, she had long been accustomed to the behaviors and attitudes of this kind of man. Growly and gruff, taciturn by nature, they were what her mother called salt of the earth. Resolutely no nonsense and Bella had long ago given up arguing with any of them. Her sister Carmela never stopped and Bella had often sat back and watched, confused because the men seemed to approve of Mela’s rough behavior more often than not. That was at least until she’d matured. Since then they’d been less forgiving, turning her away when she would act out.

  Tater hadn’t given anything away. No emotions, no condemnation, but also no indication he understood her fears. He’d escorted her in and out of buildings, staying close, hand tight on her elbow. Palm pushing to tilt her head as he helped her into and out of cars and trucks. Not on the back of a bike. Never near a motorcycle. Even if she missed the thrill of riding behind someone, Bella tried to tell herself staying away from bikes was okay with her because the ride up with Fury had been terrifying. He had given her scarcely any time to rest, and hardly any time alone. The level of tension he’d carried had transmitted to her, building what she was already dealing with up to unbearable levels. She hadn’t been ready for the trip, not for the way the open spaces made her feel, and not for the chill she couldn’t seem to shake.

  Her thoughts drifted from Fury and the chill in her bones to what had come before. Nothing had prepared her for the memories that wouldn’t go away. Wouldn’t leave her alone, invading her mind whether she was asleep or awake. Memories of being forced onto Edwardo’s motorcycle. Bound wrists secured to the frame, her body bent backwards over the tank as slim hips shoved between her legs, clothing seeming a too-thin barrier. The ride had lasted a lifetime as with every chance his hand explored her body in ways she’d never given permission for. Never would have, if she’d been given the choice. He’d enjoyed humiliating her, pinching and twisting at her flesh, fingers digging into her throat.

  Edwardo had hurt her. More than she’d told Daddy. She couldn’t imagine telling anyone the things he’d done. Things he’d made her watch. She had been so frightened when he was yelling at her. Then terrified when he’d yelled at people who weren’t there. Talking to the air most of the time, one hand twisted in her hair, the other swinging back and forth, slapping her ruthlessly, and shouting about enemies who seemed to exist only in his mind.

  Bella snapped out of her memories when something moved right in front of her. She recoiled, knew the movement meant she had cowered back into the couch, but couldn’t stop the instinctive retreat. Everything seemed like a threat now, and she kept getting lost in her own head. Looking up, she recognized Tater. He repeated his words from earlier, the ones she had refused. A demand that shouldn’t carry terror, but was filled with the emotion. “Come on, Bella. Time for lunch.”

  Shaking her head, she pushed deeper into the cushions, hoping he would give up. And, as ever, he refused to change plans, bending close and gripping her wrist. He was patient but firm, and Bella didn’t know why she fought him. I won’
t win.

  “Honey.” The moment Tater said that word with the pressure of his fingers circling her arm…she was gone. Back in the cell, Edwardo’s face pushed right up into hers, his shrieking voice echoing in her head and the enclosed space. Pulling, struggling, she struck out, connecting once, twice, screaming and shoving to get away before he hurt her again. Arms wrapped around her, pinning her hands against her chest so she couldn’t move. “Not gonna let you go, Bella.”

  “Let me go. Please. God, please. I don’t know what you want. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t. I won’t. Not anyone. You can go. Go. Just go.” Words fell from her lips in overlapping sounds, and she struggled still, twisting and shoving with all her strength. It wouldn’t matter. It never did. “Let me go, Edwardo. I won’t tell.” He always wins.

  “Bella, not letting you go. You’re with me. Tater. In Chicago. Bella, you’re with Tater. You’re safe.” Gradually she heard the words. Recognized the voice and knew it wasn’t Edwardo. It was steady and safe and calm. So very calm. The very steadiness gave her strength, and with that small bit of composure, she rested her head against the wall of muscle in front of her, feeling the rumble of his words, “You’re safe with me.”

  “Never be safe again,” she whispered, each sound falling like a brick building a jail cell, locking her into her head. “Never again. Never safe.”

  “Yeah you are, honey. Safe with me.” Warmth suffused her chest, and she tasted salt in her throat. “Safe, Bella.”

  Lifting her head, she closed her eyes, the tips of her whipping hair stinging her cheeks. “No. No. No. Not safe. Never again. Never safe.”

  “Safe.” He reassured her, and hands were cradling her face. Firm. Hard, but gentle, not frightening. “Safe, honey.” A tingle in her arm preceded the darkness swallowing her, but the last thing she heard was that same voice. “Safe.”

  It seemed hours later when she woke up in a bed. Curled on her side, she faced a blank wall, the grooves in the stained paneling giving her something to focus on as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Dim light illuminated the room, and when she lifted her head to look over her shoulder, she saw Tater sitting in an armchair near the door. Not sleeping, he was watching her. Impassive as it always was, his face didn’t give her any indication of what he was thinking.

  Bella remembered her meltdown and let her head drop, curling her legs to her chest, pulling into as tight a ball on the mattress as she could manage. Maybe I can disappear, she thought, curling her toes as hard as she could, trying to make even her feet smaller. Gradually she became aware of the sounds of his breath, deep and slow and calm. Unceasing, in and out, and even more slowly she relaxed, unaware her breathing had progressively matched the same cadence.

  “Bella.” She liked the sound of Tater’s voice. It was deep, melodic, and sturdy sounding. He’s a sturdy man. “You can’t go on like this.” She swallowed, aware her throat was dry, clicking loudly through her ears to echo in her head, nearly drowning out her thoughts. I can’t go on. “You need something.”

  She twisted, looking at him again to see he’d bent forwards and now sat with his elbows on his knees. Staring at her. He didn’t smile, didn’t grin, didn’t offer anything other than his words. “You let me in, I can give you what you need.” I don’t know what I need. “You need me.” He took everything. “You need what I can give you. Let me into your head, Bella. Talk to me, let me in.”

  “He took everything.” Turning her back on Tater, she curled up on the mattress again. Small, smaller, smallest, she thought, curving her back and bringing her arms into her chest. “Everything, everything.”

  “No, he didn’t. And I can give you back what you think he took.” She shook her head, pressing her forehead into the pillow. “Bella, I can give you what you need. But you gotta let me in.” Her hair rustled on the pillow again, moving with each sharp shake. “Gotta let me in, honey.”

  “He took that. Called me that. Took it. Took it. Took it. Took it.” Thumb and finger met with a fold of skin between and she pinched, twisting viciously, the pain pulling her back from the edge. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Bella.” He pushed a heavy breath out and in that sound, she imagined echoes of Edwardo’s breathing. Gusting and hot past her ear as he rubbed his crotch, his other hand tight around her neck. Words filled with so much hate, she could feel it on her skin. Puta. Worthless puta. Chinga tu madre.

  Sharp as the blade of a knife, her name rang through the room, cutting a swath through the fog in her head. “Bella.”

  “Yes?” What does he want? Why doesn’t he leave me alone?

  “Look at me.” She rolled onto her back, keeping the tight pinching pressure on the inside of her bicep. “I can give you back what he took.” His hand covered hers, hot and scorching as he pried her fingers apart, the blood rushing back into the muscle and burning when it flooded the bruise. Tater kept her hand in his, not crushing as Edwardo had, only holding her loosely, cradling her fingers. “Give you everything back.” Tater stared at her, and she heard him, the sounds echoing throughout her body, diving deep into her chest, setting up a resonance that made her believe. “Everything.”

  Uncommon name

  Watcher

  Jesus, keep her in the palm of Your hand, Watcher thought, staring out the window in the barn. “That fast?” Filled with memories of a silent Juanita surrounded by blood, it was the only thing he could think of to ask, hoping to hear that when Hoss’ woman died, she at least did it quickly. Painlessly.

  “Yeah.” Mason’s words were soft, reverent, and full of pain. “Docs said she was gone before he hit the floor beside her. Nothing Hoss coulda done. Nothing anyone could do.” Silence on the line for minutes, and he knew they were both thinking the same thing. There but for the grace of God.

  “Services?” Watcher began putting a list of members together in his head, an honor escort to go to Fort Wayne for her funeral. He liked Hoss. Knew him to be a solid club member and friend, and liked him even more after hearing stories from Fury about how Hoss had taken in the woman and her boy, making himself a family in the process. Fuck, I just saw the man. Watcher had been in Fort Wayne last week, and Hoss had provided more detail as to what had gone down in Memphis then tore out of the clubhouse to get home to his woman.

  “Seems the only reason I get up north is to visit the boneyard.” It had been only a few months since Bingo had died from cancer, and Watcher had ignored the dangers dancing around Las Cruces at the time to take half his club up out of respect for one of the long-time Rebel members. Old school biker, one of very few people who had remembered the heady days when clubs first sprang up across the country. Bingo could tell stories for days, and the man had captured a bunch of those memories in poetry.

  “Yeah, we’re waiting on word, but Hoss should be able to bring Faith home from the hospital in a couple of days, so probably the day after that happens.”

  Faith Inez, Hoss’ baby daughter. He’d gotten the text and the picture of a proud momma and daddy cuddled close to a tiny pink bundle. A moment that should have been filled with nothing but joy, had turned to ruin and devastation.

  “Jesus.” Silence again. Watcher saw the backdoor of his house open, and Juanita stepped onto the patio and walked to the pool. She dropped the towel, and he was lost for a moment in the vision of her in a skintight bathing suit, dipping the toes of one foot into the water before bending at the waist and cleanly parting the water with a dive.

  Mason broke his reverie with a question. “Why ya askin’?”

  “Coming up, brother.” Pulled back to the conversation, Watcher answered quickly. “I’ll sort guys and we’ll head out today. Make it there in plenty of time. Pay my respects.”

  “You coming, Watch?” The skepticism in Mason’s voice wasn’t expected so Watcher stiffened, his angry rigidity not going away at Mason’s next question. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Why the hell wouldn’t it be? You don’t want Soldiers there, man?” His pride stung at the
slight, Watcher waited impatiently for Mason’s response.

  It started with a heavy sigh.

  “Fuck, Watch. I’d be obliged if you didn’t take everything so fuckin’ personal, brother. I’m thinking of all the shit you got going on. You’ve been running every lead to the ground, rolling twos nonstop. Juanita’s back home, and Mela’s still in Mexico, but Bella’s up here in Chicago which is close to fuckin’ Fort Wayne, and before you get your ass in a twist about that, she’s welcome to stay here for as long as it takes. You know this, brother. But you on the road makes you vulnerable, and you fuckin’ know that, too.” Mason sighed again, the frustration evident in his tone. “You are the closest thing to a brother I have, man. You know it. Know all my family’s secrets, and still you’re there for me anytime I call. I’m fuckin’ honored every time you pick up, knowing I’m gonna have an ask. I wanna keep you on this side of the sod, brother. You mean a lot to me. Kinda used to the idea of you breathin’.”

  Jesus. Watcher absorbed what Mason had said for a moment, then in a voice he knew was thick with emotion, he told his best friend, “Love you, brother. You’ll never know, man. You being there for me when Darrie died. And then, fuck—” Watcher broke off for a moment, unable to continue, struggling to keep the tears flowing down his face from sounding in his voice. “When my Bella…when it happened, you rolled everything you could. Balancing your own needs, you still saw to me and mine. Fuckin’ love you, man.”

  “Returned. Straight up, brother. Returned.”

  ***

  Watcher

  Watcher stared across the funeral home parking lot at a patch from a Utah club, not trusting his eyes for a moment. He moved towards the group who had been speaking to the biker now rapidly walking away. “Hey,” he called, trying to place the face of the man in the group. He looked a lot like Grant…Deke, from the army, but it couldn’t be. By the time Watcher had gotten out, Deke was long in the wind, and they’d never reconnected. Watcher called again, trying to remember if he knew this guy’s name. One of Mason’s from the patch, and Watcher needed to know who he’d been talking to a moment ago. Because that was another face which looked all too familiar. “Hey.”