Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Uh, huh.” She nodded, hair wisping across his face as she moved, hips pumping back against him. “Love you, too, honey.”

  “My name,” he growled, bending his neck to graze the side of her throat with his teeth. “Say my fucking name.”

  “Gabe.” Whispers filled with urgency, she called, “Gabe, honey.”

  Sweat slicked her skin, and he stopped torturing her nipple, wrapping his arm around her waist to drive her down onto his cock. Her pussy pulsed and rippled, every change in tension and pressure pulling him closer to the edge. He worked her clit, first slow, then fast until she gasped for air, mouth opening as she threw her head back, turning to bury her face against his neck. On a rising wail, she cried out and her body tensed in his arms, her hands gripping his wrist, holding his hand still as he pressed hard, hips moving fast. Driving deep, he clamped his teeth into the muscles of her shoulder, brutal in his chase towards climax. She cried out again, and he heard what he’d been waiting for. “Gabriel.”

  Deep inside her he held still, balls tight to his body as his orgasm poured from him, the heat around the head of his cock intensifying until he had to move again. Another thrust, then another, slower, feeling her relax into him, turning into an exhausted ragdoll in his arms. Still he glided in and out, slowly, filled with the indescribably beautiful sensation of being inside the woman he loved more than life.

  “Baby?” He kissed the indents left from his teeth, wincing to see how deep they ran, knowing she’d bear bruises tomorrow. “You okay?”

  “If by okay, you mean bonelessly satisfied and exhausted? Then, yes. I’m that.” She sighed and then froze. “Gabe, your spooge is leaking out of me.”

  He grinned, pressing his forehead tight to her back, hoping he was out of elbow range. “Yup.”

  “You spooged in me?” He tried to bury his laughter, unsuccessfully, and when he chuckled, she twisted in his arms, turning to see his face. “You spooged in me?”

  “Yup.”

  She reached up and touched one corner of his mouth. “Stop smiling.” He shook his head. “I’m serious, Gabe. Stop smiling.” She lifted both hands and tugged on the corners of his mustache, trying to pull his lips into a somber line. “Stop smiling. I can’t be mad at you if you’re smiling like that.”

  “Like what?” He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, watching her nose crinkle as his softening cock slipped out of her. “What am I smiling like?”

  “Like you’re six years old and someone told you that Santa and the Easter Bunny were real things.”

  He kissed her again, trailing his lips up her jaw to press a final caress in front of her ear. Whispering, he told her, “Better. I got told that you’re mine, forever. I’m just working to seal the deal.”

  She pulled back, studying his face, her expression one he hadn’t seen before, equal parts terror and hope. “I’m not on birth control.”

  When her fingers touched the corner of his mouth again, he knew he was smiling. “I know.”

  ***

  He stared at Mason, not certain he’d heard correctly. “Come again?”

  Grinning, Mason lifted his beer and tilted his chair back in the same movement, leaning backwards on two legs. “Fort Wayne.” Slate snorted a laugh and matched Mason’s posture, his balance wavering for a moment. Then he collected himself and took a long pull from the bottle in his hands.

  Fury looked around the room, narrowing his eyes as he realized the men had been handpicked to be there. In addition to Mason and Slate, there were national and chapter officers, a couple of members, and one prospect, Hurley. He ran through the names again, and any humor or goodwill fled when he realized every man who had witnessed Mason’s distrust of him was here, Bear, Brute, PBJ, and Pinto. Turning back to Mason, he stared at the man for a moment, then asked, “Why are you fucking with me?”

  Mouth flattening, Mason shook his head. “Not fucking with you. And, gotta say,” he let the legs of the chair thump to the floor, “most men got told they were having a promotion like this, they don’t much argue.”

  “Most men aren’t me.” Fury was intensely aware that he’d deposited his phone and weapons into the lock box before coming into this room, the lightness of his vest pockets making him uneasy and that uneasiness pissed him off. I shouldn’t be like this here. These are my brothers. “Wanna start from the top, and maybe begin with why this isn’t going to be a voted change?”

  Mason shrugged. “Hand-picked successor.” He pointed a thick finger at Slate who grinned around the mouth of his bottle. “Slate suggested, and I agreed.”

  “Why are you suddenly willing to step down?” This was directed at Slate, and he saw true amusement in the man’s eyes as he thudded the legs of his chair down in turn.

  “Nope. Not sudden. I took over from Bingo, you know that. He and Mason lassoed me into it, kinda like he and I are doing to you right now. Bingo had too much going on, kids and everything, he couldn’t spend the time to deal with all the bullshit that comes to the president’s plate.” Slate twisted his head side to side, looking at each man in turn. “Not that I wouldn’t trust any of y’all, but Fury’s got a vested interest now.” He turned his crooked grin to Fury. “Bangin’ the boss’ little sister and all.” Mason’s face hardened, and Fury glared at Slate, who broke out in laughter. “Seriously, Fury. It’s not sudden. I’ve been talking about it for a while, and with Ruby blessing me with another pair of twins, I cannot be both the man she needs, and the president the club demands. Not now, and not for a while. Turns out being a parent isn’t a transient event.” He shrugged. “Who knew?”

  “Me?” Fury locked eyes with Mason, holding their gazes until Mason nodded slowly. “I accept, of course, with the understanding that the office is not dependent on anything outside of the club.”

  “More in spite of, than because of,” Mason assured him. “Lotta men gonna be hatin’ on you for this.”

  Fury let the idea settle in his mind. President of the Fort Wayne chapter was a large step up from a no-voice member just over a year ago. Mason was right, of course, there would be dissent. I'd worry more if there wasn't. He glanced around the room, letting his gaze rest on each man, much as Slate had done moments ago. Support and excitement on every face except one, and Hurley looked more confused than anything. Probably about why he got invited to this little powwow. Fury shook his head. “Thing about haters? They’re a lot like noisy bugs. Chirp, flap, and crap all fuckin’ day but when you walk past ‘em, they shut the fuck up.” He shook his head. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  They spent the next twelve hours going over many plans and projects already underway, and Mason unveiled a few that he’d been holding close to the vest. Timing was a bitch on this change, because of how many irons were already in the fire.

  Fury yawned, and Mason laughed, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead. “My fuckin’ brain is mush.” Mason leaned back and hammered on the door, telling the prospect who opened it to bring in the lockbox. Phones and weapons were passed out and Fury checked his phone, groaning to see five missed calls from Bethy. “Can we pick back up tomorrow, brother?” He waggled his phone. “Got some explaining to do to the old lady.”

  Mason stared at him for a minute, face expressionless. Slowly he shook his head, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Never for a minute thought I’d hear that applied to my sister.” Without looking up, he said, “She’s about used up her vacation. What are y’all going to do when she goes back to Nashville?”

  Fury knew better than to let his amusement show, so he kept it clamped down as he said, “Business is between her and her partner. I’m no part of that.” Mason grunted and flattened his palms on the table, pushing to his feet. “As her old man, though, I’m strongly recommending she have a conversation about hiring a local manager for the Nashville part, and sticking to what she does so well, the tour management.”

  Nodding, Mason looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “She’ll still spend a lot
of time away. She gonna be okay with that?”

  “I doubt it, which is why the second argument I have is for her to stay home and be barefoot and pregnant with my babies.” Mason’s chin lifted, and he stared at Fury. “She won’t go for that either. Seriously, she’s got to sort it out. I can listen and tell her what I think, but it’s on her in the end.”

  “Real mature attitude.” The words should have been a compliment, but they came out sounding like an insult instead. Fury knew where Mason was coming from though and didn’t take offense.

  “I’m just”—he thumbed over his shoulder—“gonna go give my old lady a call.”

  “You do that. I’ll do the same. We’ll circle back around tomorrow, brother. Set some timelines on things here in the Fort.”

  Fury nodded, his attention already on the phone in his hand. Two rings and Bethany answered, voice breathless. “Hey, honey.”

  “Baby.”

  “I’m going to make myself some dinner. If you can let me know when you’ll be home”—he caught his breath, liking how the word sounded in her mouth—“I can have a plate ready for you.”

  “Baby, did I tell you yet today?”

  When she answered him, her voice had softened, growing warm in a way that made him smile. “Yeah, but I’d love to hear it again.”

  “I love you, baby.” He heard her sigh through the phone’s speaker, knowing she liked hearing the words. “I’ll be home in twenty, so wait for me and we can eat together. Whatcha makin’?”

  “Just some fried squash and skirt steak. Nothing fancy.”

  “Sounds good, I’ll be there soon.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  It’s a little strange, he thought as he straddled his bike, waiting a moment after starting it to allow the engine to warm up, how quickly we’ve settled into this. As he pulled out of the lot, lifting a hand to the prospect who was manning the gate, he tried to shake off the feeling that it had been too easy in the end.

  ***

  “Brother? What’s happened?” Fury wordlessly waved Pinto away, needing a minute to try and make sense of the info he’d been force fed. Mason’s voice echoed in his head, the words chasing each other around and around.

  “Watcher wrecked out, brother. He’s gone.”

  Followed by a guilt-ridden explanation of the scene that lay before Mason, those words, choked to life in a tear-thick voice, wouldn’t lay down and be still. They kept clawing at his chest, working their way underneath his skin until he twitched in place. He’s gone. It didn’t seem real, and he could only hope this was a nightmare, a restless night followed by a startled waking filled with relief.

  “Brother? Fury?”

  Squeezing his eyes closed, he ground out the order, “Call the officers in.” Mason had asked for face-to-face and phone calls, such a loss was not something to be disseminated in a text message, or, God forbid, first seen on social media. Pinto’s presence receded, and Fury knew he was going to do as asked. With the sirens in the background, it was unlikely Mason had finished calling chapter presidents before he would have to conduct a different kind of interview, so once he’d told the officers here in the Fort the few, sparse details he had, he would call Myron, then Bones.

  Shuffling footsteps behind him, then a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Gunny standing there. “I just got off the phone with Road Runner. We got news, brother.” Fury gestured towards the seat across from him. “I found records,” Gunny started, pulling the chair out and turning it around, seating himself on it backwards, arms crossed on the wooden back of the chair. “Records going back a few decades, about wrecks in those mountains. You told me to dig deep. Well, brother, I dug fuckin’ deep. You remember how you said Duck’s Brenda was left in a hospital with a note pinned to her coat, transported up a ravine from a burning car and across two county lines to land in that ER?” Fury nodded, finally realizing what Gunny was going on about. He’d asked the man to look into the wreck that killed Brenda’s parents, and to look at what Fury had put together about Tabby’s wreck, trying to find a connection. It seemed he had. “I found another one just like it. This one was Watcher’s little sister, Tabitha.”

  “Tabby,” Fury interrupted. Her name was a punch to the stomach, the memories of her loss piling in on top of what Mason had told him. “Call her Tabby.”

  “Tabby,” Gunny acknowledged, eyeing Fury curiously. “Her wreck wasn’t no accident. You’re right about that. She was dead before her truck went off the road. What you didn’t find was the boy.”

  “What boy?” Fury’s memory of the conversation between old man Mason and his father swam up to taunt him. “Which boy are you talking about?”

  “Night of her wreck, two counties away a little boy was laid on a gurney in an ER hallway, note pinned to his coat. Said his parents were dead, family that had been raising him were overwhelmed, couldn’t do it anymore. Got made a ward of the state.” Gunny stared at him intently. “Handwriting on the notes is identical. Same person wrote both, years apart.”

  Fury waited a beat for him to continue, and when he didn’t, made an irritated gesture. “Get on with it.” So much to do, and this was likely the least important part of anything.

  “Five-year-old kid, not hurt but drugged unconscious. His name is Christopher Camp.” Gunny paused again and when Fury just stared at him, shook his head. “Camp. Deacon’s name is Camp, Ryan Camp.”

  “You sayin’ Tabby had Deacon’s son with her that night?” The words didn’t make any sense even as he spoke them. “That doesn’t compute, brother. I don’t understand it, but need to tell you now, we gotta put this aside. We’re about to go to the back room and I got news to lay on you.”

  “Age ain’t right for a son. Not unless he was masterful at hiding things. Best I can tell, he had just one boy, James. Lived in California with his mother.” Gunny shook his head, pushing up from the chair as the room began filling with men walking towards the meeting room behind the bar. “I think it’s his grandson. That fits what you heard, right?”

  Struggling to keep his composure, Fury nodded. It didn’t quite fit, because all this time he’d been assuming old man Mason and his father had been talking about Morgan. Then he put that information aside and turned to see every face pointed his direction. There were a dozen members in the room, too, and suddenly he couldn’t stomach the idea of telling the story twice. “Let’s do this out here, brothers. I’ll just—” He walked towards the bar and pushed as he jumped, twisting to sit his ass on the bar, putting him head and shoulders over nearly all the men. “I got news, and it ain’t good. Y’all know about the run to New Mexico, right?” Nods around the room, features sharpening as men went on alert, knowing that whatever was coming, it warranted attention. “About eight hours out from Las Cruces, they encountered a group of Diamante.” Involuntary movements placed hands near weapons, just the mention of their enemies’ name enough to bring the level of tension in the room up about a dozen notches “There was a wreck. Watcher went down.” Chins lifted and shoulders squared, bearing the weight of the knowledge he was laying on them. “Mason said he’s the only one on our side lost.”

  “Watcher’s dead?” The question echoed from a half a dozen throats, in varying degrees of disbelief. Fury nodded and waited.

  Slate’s voice asked, “You’re sure?” Fury couldn’t see them, not a single face, not now, because the staggering pain in Slate’s words plunged a knife into the wall of his grief. Mikey’s gone. How can that be true? He nodded.

  “I don’t know much more than that, but Mason asked we do a call and tell, no texting. Watcher was important enough to a lot of us.” His throat tightened, and he felt a hand settle in the middle of his back, fingers pushing deep to help hold him together. “All respect, yeah?”

  Gunny was behind him, his growling question asking what a number of men were probably wondering. “He wrecked out, wasn’t taken out by Diamante?”

  Fury lowered his head, feeling hot tears tracking next to his nose. He shook
his head. “Wrecked out. Mason said he got his target, took out Lalo. Went down in the process.” Murmurs now, and those fingers on his back flexed. “Gonna miss that motherfucker.” Dragging in a deep breath, he steadied himself and blew it out slowly. “Cops were showing while we talked. Mason was sticking tight. Said he’d see Watcher into the bus, then he’ll head on to the compound in Las Cruces. Juanita”—Jesus, Bethy has to know this. She’s going to want to go to Juanita—“deserves to hear it from him.”

  Bear asked something Fury hadn’t even considered. “Merger still going to happen? We still gonna fold the Soldiers in as a westerly chapter?”

  “Far as I know. I’d be surprised if they didn’t, because, with Watch gone, Soldiers will need help to stay together. So—” He lifted his head, taking a moment to blink until his vision cleared, looking out at the ring of men who appeared as devastated as he felt. “—make your calls. Slate and I will touch base with the chapter presidents, in case Mason didn’t get a chance to call ‘em all. But you can call who you need. Respect, because he’d been a friend of the club for years, and in all but one detail was already a Rebel.” He took another breath, then began the phrase, knowing the men wouldn’t leave him hanging, “Rebels forever—” Every man’s mouth opened, and the words rang out loud, filling the room, “—forever Rebels.”

  ***

  “Baby,” he crooned, cradling the back of Bethy’s head, his other arm curved tightly around her waist, holding her in his lap. When he’d walked into the house, she’d taken one look at him and come straight over, wrapping herself around him.

  When he’d pulled her close, she’d demanded, “Tell me,” sounding so much like her brother it was almost funny. He’d told her, starting with what he knew, and then answering her broken questions as best he could. The tears had flowed in earnest, and she’d held on like her life depended on it, Fury welcoming the tight grip she’d maintained.