Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4

by MariaLisa deMora

  Bones accepted the paper, finished chatting with the boy, and went in search of Shades to tell him they would be heading over to Mason’s home within the hour. He was sidetracked along the way by Slate, who nearly earned himself a bloody nose by catching Bones around the neck unexpectedly.

  “Shit,” Bones shook his head. “Are you loco? Keep your hands off me.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Slate nodded, his grin belying his serious tone. “I’m crazy all right. Ruby’s making me absolutely insane.” He put on a falsetto tone, rolling his eyes. “Get me a pickle, Slate. My feet are swollen, Slate. Allen and Dani need their diapers changed, Slate.” His voice dropped back to normal when he said, “Though she usually says Daddy for that one, not Slate.” He clapped Bones’ shoulder twice. “Good to see you, man. You don’t get to the Fort often enough.”

  “Am I to take from what you have said your Ruby is expecting again?” She’d given birth to twins not long ago, or at least he thought, and realized time had again gained the upper hand, getting away from him.

  “Uh, yeah.” Slate used nearly the same tone Chase had earlier, and Bones grinned to hear it. “We’re on the sixty-day countdown because it’s twins again. You didn’t hear about my super swimmers? Fuckers are in beast mode, alla time.” He flexed his arm, and Bones laughed aloud. “Since she went early last time, the doc’s got us jumpy as shit, man. Every time she passes gas, I’m sure it’s labor. Works better for her if I get outta the house some of the time. Today is one of those times, so here I am. And here you are.” Slate slung an arm around Bones’ neck. “Gotta say, I expected you weeks ago.”

  “I never thought I would long for the days when you held me in awe,” Bones said, unwinding Slate’s arm from his throat. “I find that is true at this moment, however.” Slate burst out laughing, and Bones smiled. “Congratulations, brother. You will call me when the children come, yes?”

  “You know it. Gotta get a present outta you some way.” Slate sobered, and asked, “You hear what’s going on with Watcher?”

  “I saw him last week, yes. Unless there is news since then?” Bones followed Slate into the office off the main room of the clubhouse, closing the door behind them when Slate tipped his head at the opening. “Is there news, brother?”

  “Yes, and no. We know Lalo took Bella, how he took her. Duck dug her up, know all of that. Knew Lalo was in Florida. Did not know when he got clear of the DEA there. But Lalo was on Duck’s land a few days ago, and that was the first we knew he’d been cut loose. Someone’s blocking info, and I gotta tell you, it’s pissin’ Myron off.” Slate shot him an amused look. “Pissin’ him right the fuck off. Never seen the man so riled up and set to find out who’s fucking with his pipeline. Geeks and their tech, don’t get in the way, man. Worse than a meth head.”

  “Lalo was in Lamesa? Does Watcher know? He did not speak of the proximity, just that Lalo was ‘in the wind.’ With his anxiety over Bella, I am surprised he did not mention it.” Slate was already shaking his head in the negative.

  “Nope, definitely 100 percent on the negatory on that one. Mason’s protective of Watch, and we all know that’s true. They go way the fuck back, and Mason’s decree was the info would be need-to-know. I’m decidin’ you need to know. Skeptics pissed Diamante off nearly as bad as Soldiers did. If Lalo is out roamin’, then you and your men should take care.” Slate lifted his boots, resting them on the corner of the desk. “Lalo’s crazy, man. Between Bella’s story and what Duck had to say about how the dude acted? Sounds like he’s flat crazy.”

  “Crazy is not good. Crazy is not predictable,” Bones observed, leaning one shoulder against the wall, staring out the window of the office. “My men have families to protect. Are you telling me I need to warn them to expect something like what Watcher has endured?”

  “No fuckin’ idea, brother. Just wanted you to know.” Slate maintained his position, but his body tensed and Bones watched him carefully. Something big was coming. “This is need-to-know, too. I’m gonna step down. Pull back, be a member. If Mason lets me, I’ll do it easy.” He shook his head as Bones held his breath. “Four babies in diapers at once. Fuckin’ crazy ain’t restricted to fuckin’ Lalo. Ruby’s blood pressure is high.” He sighed. “Was high. Until I told her. Now it’s better. She’d been carrying that worry the whole pregnancy. Eased her mind, made her healthier. Fuckin’ love her, man. My every breath is because of her. So.” He dropped his feet, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the desk. “Mason doesn’t make it easy, I go anyway. Take a beatout if I gotta. Make her life better.”

  “Mason will not ask that of you.” Bones kept his voice low, protecting Slate’s secret for now. “He will allow this, I am certain. A loss for the Rebels, but I am very happy you have that, brother.” He shook his head, deciding to give Slate honesty. “I find myself somewhat envious. Very envious.”

  “Get an old lady,” Slate shot back, standing and reaching out for a forearm grip. He grinned, leaning close to whisper, “Get a fuckin’ life.”

  Transformation

  Bones

  With the words from the phone, an image of the old man’s face swam up in Bones’ memories. Gray, grizzled beard, an elder in the community, a man he had respected. “We are poorer for his loss, Mason.” Silence for a moment, then Bones asked, “When will you have the services for Bingo?”

  “Two days, maybe three. Gotta give his brother time to get here from Wyoming, and if I know Harddrive, he’ll be ridin’. Gonna be a fuckton of brothers here, man. Lotta folks wanna pay respects, lotta clubs rolling here.” Mason’s words didn’t surprise Bones. Neither did the unspoken warning. Which was to watch himself, because so many men representing so very many clubs could lead to anything.

  “Yes, Bingo was well respected. We can only hope those in attendance will hold that respect close, and allow the family their time to grieve.” Running members through his head, he had a question about one, and decided it would be best to get this out into the air. Spoken and exposed. “I would have Shades come with me.”

  No secret that Shades and Mason were not friendly. It wasn’t the Rebels as a whole that Shades had problems with, just Mason in particular, and Bones had never asked why, not wanting to dig too deep, in case the thing needed to remain buried.

  “Bring him.” Mason’s response was curt, brusque and angry. That anger had flared from nothing, before Bones’ words Mason’s tone had been entirely filled with loss and grief. Now, there was an edge of rage.

  “If I were to ask what had happened to earn such enmity between two men I hold in such esteem, would you tell me?” Bones listened, and heard the rumble of bikes in the background, but nothing from Mason. This lay deep, then. “Never mind my question. It does not matter as much as your loss. I will see if Shades wants to come, or not. Perhaps he did not know Bingo as well as I, or others. I will watch to see the date for certain, and bring my men to pay our respects.”

  “Appreciated, brother.”

  Three days later Bones stood with fifteen Skeptics in a windswept graveyard, listening to a eulogy given by a man who wept through it entire. Shades had not made the trip, pleading a need to remain close to home, and Bones did not try and dissuade him. Weeping as he spoke, Preacher’s words were eloquent and heartfelt, but it was his emotional reaction that took many of the men present nearly to their knees. One thing in particular stood out for Bones. Near the end, Preacher indicated the survivors seated in the chairs near the grave. Bingo’s brother, along with that man’s daughter and son. Bingo’s sister’s children. Blood, for certain, shared and diluted in places, still blood. But no heir of his own.

  His poetry fulfilled him, Bones thought, and knew this for fact, having seen Bingo caught in the thrall of his muse more than once. Oblivious to anything around him, seated at a table with a notebook in front of him, short pencil clutched in a tight grip as he poured everything in his heart into words on the page. I do not have even that.

  The service was over, and groups of people began to drif
t towards and away from the gravesite. Some wanting to give condolences, and others, no doubt, wanting to escape the knowledge that death comes for all. Bones and his men held their position, waiting for Mason to give an indication it was time to leave for the wake at the clubhouse. Movement in the distance pulled Bones’ attention and he watched as two of Mason’s men held a short conversation, then parted ways, one leaving with far greater distress than the other. Fury, his trademark red hair giving away his identity, even from a distance, stomped his angry way down the small hill and to a group of men Bones recognized as former Diamante. As a unit, they wheeled and headed for their bikes, not waiting on the signal from their local or national president.

  And that is who Slate favors for his successor, Bones thought, wondering. He looked back to the other man, recognizing Hoss, a member who had found himself tested recently when his stepson was taken by the boy’s biological father. Retrieved by force, the boy was home and safe, which was a blessing. Hoss had found a family wholemade, and made them his.

  Bones snorted silently. If I were a superstitious man, I would see augury and signs in these thoughts.

  ***

  Bones stood, listening to Slate, hearing the things that lay between the words his friend was saying, feeling the pain. Another death. Essa, a girl Slate was once enamored of. Essa, cousin to Mica. Molly, Mica’s sister, a one-time target of Duck’s brother. It seemed fate, these east Texas girls had been destined to come to the attention of the Rebels.

  Bones let Slate talk, listening as he worked through the details. Bones frowned as Slate circled around again and again to feelings of guilt for an imagined role in her death. Finally, convinced he had the right of it, Bones interrupted. “Did you pull the trigger, my friend?”

  “Fuck no.” Nearly a shout, because this cut to the core of what Slate feared.

  “You bear no burden of guilt for this death, Andy.” Bones thought, Let me bring him first to understand the man, then we will tackle the brotherhood. “You were in this girl’s life for a mere span of weeks. Was it six, eight? Less?”

  “We traveled together for a few weeks.” Not done, Slate tried to argue. “But that don’t matter, man.”

  “Truly you believe that while in her life for less than six weeks, you had such a profound effect on her that this sorry event belongs to you? That you bent the fabric of her future, bringing her to this event, more than three years in the making? Vengeance, I can see and would approve. She meant something to you. Eons ago, in terms of a life, but she was an important pivot point for you. But out of the hundreds of weeks, the thousands of days she lived, you hold that the span spent with you the most critical for her? That is a weight of self-importance I did not expect.” He clucked his tongue, mimicking the sound his mother had made when as a child, he had disappointed her. “Essa was important. I will not argue that. Mica’s cousin, and the reason you found your Ruby.”

  Slate made a noise, but Bones talked over him. “Do not gainsay her role in that. If it were not for her immature ways, you would not have been in a place to recognize the beauty you found in Fort Wayne. So named, by you. Ruby, not as some believe for her hair, for all it is lovely and distinct. No, you named her Ruby even before she would have you, because you recognized the giving and loving nature she bore inside. Mica’s blood was not your destiny, but Essa made it possible for you to find and keep your Ruby.

  “Your Ruby, who is a treasure who loves you, gifting you again and again not only with her trust and an unexpected delight in your company, but who has also given you beautiful children. So hold on to the sadness for Essa’s life cut short, before she found the one she was destined for. Hold tight too, to the vengeance in your soul, because I see the importance of this. Our families should be proof against involvement in club business, yet time and again we find them drawn in where they have no expectation or training to be. This is such a case, and cannot stand.

  “Vengeance, not guilt must drive us forwards. And we, Mason’s closest confidants, must guard him.” Bones paused, waiting, and Slate filled the silence.

  “Whadda ya mean, guard him?” He sounded sincerely puzzled, and Bones was surprised, but then not, because until this moment, Slate had been focused on what he saw as his culpability.

  “We know who did this thing, do we not? A man we both saw stripped of rank and recognition in the Rebels, that exile earned for his behaviors. Abomination, among clubs, for a man to go against the known principles of the President. Tucker did this thing, yes?” Bones waited, and Slate made a noise of agreement. “Who deemed it right for him to be cut from the club, and yet allowed him to walk away a breathing man?”

  “Fuck me,” Slate muttered, and Bones knew he understood.

  “Take your guilty feelings and magnify them by a thousand, and I suspect you will not yet tap the depths of Mason’s. First, he allowed Deacon to live, and that is a death for which he wishes with everything that is inside him. Deacon partnered with Morgan, targeting women closest to Mason. Even if Judge did not know Bethy was Mason’s blood sister, you and I know Morgan did. Did, and allowed her captivity. We know what happened to Willa, and I am confident that a test would prove Mason her babe’s father, but that does not change the violation pressed on her by Mason’s nephew. A man who slipped the net cast by Mason in California, only to breathe his last in Utah. With Deacon—if any moment in time could demand the ability to return and make a different decision—I know Mason would give much to be able to change that day. So you and I must guard him, or he will take this on, and a man can only bear so many stripes of guilt before he collapses underneath the load.”

  Silence for a minute, then Slate sighed. “I gotta make a couple of calls.”

  Bones immediately gave him what he knew Slate needed. “You are a good man, Slate. I could not ask for a better brother and friend. You do not wear the same patch, we do not work within the same club, but you are my brother. Never forget that.”

  “Back atcha, brother.” Silence for a moment, then a quiet, “Fuck me, I can’t imagine how Duck’s dealin’ with this shit. His woman is hurt, sounded like touch and go for a bit. Essa dead. Jesus.”

  “Indeed.” Sounds swelled in the background, first one, then another baby crying, the volume and pitch enough to note the difference. “You are at home, then?”

  “Yeah, I don’t get out much these days.”

  Bones smiled, looking down at the toes of his boots.

  “Your words might lead one to believe that isolation at home with four little ones is taxing you.” He paused. “I have a different belief, though. If you are not careful, my friend, I might think you enjoy this noisy and smelly phase of fatherhood.”

  “You just might be right, brother.” Soft words told Bones his attempts to lighten the mood had worked. “Mason’s got the same bug, man. You hear he and Willa are tryin’ for kid number two?”

  Bones blinked. “I had not. Already? Garrett is less than three months old.”

  “No time like the present.” Slate’s quiet words struck a chord and Bones straightened.

  “You are right.” Thoughts of Ester chased through his head. “We are not guaranteed anything beyond our current breath.”

  ***

  “Truly, this is done?” Bones lifted a hand, scrubbing it across his skull. He had recently started to grow his hair back, after having shaved his head for decades. Ester had made a comment about his hair, and he wanted to see what her reaction would be. So far, at two weeks in, it was less attractive than itchy, and he was not confident it would see another dawn. “And this is what you desire, Slate?”

  “You know it, brother.” Bones didn’t really need the confirmation; relief was audibly present in Slate’s voice, and had been since the initial hello before he told Bones he had officially stepped down as Fort Wayne president of the Rebel Wayfarers. “Been ready for a while, just things kept us from making the transfer.”

  “Smart move on your part, as well as Mason. When there is already turmoil in a club, a
leadership change would be like throwing gasoline on a fire. Is Fury ready for this? Nearly outside his experience, yes?” He had just finished dinner when Slate had called, and strolled the block as he listened to his friend. Entering a park near his home, he paused and sat on a bench. Tipping his head back, Bones watched the first stars of nightfall appearing in the night sky. “I know he held the president title before, but even he had admitted that was a short-term thing.”

  “Yeah, he’s more than ready. Mason’s been moving him around, getting him to meet most of the leverage members, sending him here and there on missions that required he get cooperation at the local level. Mason’s the master at this shit, man.” Slate snorted a laugh. “Fury ain’t afraid of making the big decisions, either, you know that. Witness how he wound up here, man. He’s gonna be what the chapter needs right now.”

  Bones asked, “And you, my friend, what do you need right now?”

  “Right now? I need to get to the store because we’re low on diapers and wipes. I need to go to PBJ’s place and check out his puppies, he’s saving a female for me, although why I’d want to flood my place with more estrogen is beyond me, man. I need to get going so I can get home, hold my babies. Make memories for my woman, who had a shit set of parents, so she’s entirely fucked up about how to parent herself. I should buy stock in that online bookstore. She buys so many books about what not to do.” He sighed again, this one a happy noise, one that made Bones smile. “Right now, I got nothing except my old lady and my babies on the horizon, brother. I’m ready for the change.”

  “Then you should go,” Bones told him, seeing movement at the back of his park. Slowly it resolved into a figure, and he tensed, then recognized the silhouette. “I have someone waiting for me, too.”