He was physically still, but his brain was working a hundred miles an hour thinking of all the things they needed to do to keep Tucker away. Oh fuck, Slate realized Digger would be coming over soon. He calmly and softly asked Mica if she was okay with Dig or wanted him called off, and Slate reassured her whichever she wanted was fine.
Dig seemed to be safe, because she quieted down, shaking her head. He told her, “That’s okay; he’s a good guy. Do you want to go wash your face, princess? I’ll order pizza and call Dig real quick to pick up some more beer. We’ll watch some fucking reality show and laugh our asses off, yeah?”
It wasn’t even a minute later before he regretted offering up that reality show, because she reminded him there was a dancing show she liked on TV that night. She also told him—with no visible joking—that he was a good guy, and thanked him for holding her while she cried. Slate grumbled, “Fuck me...dancing?” then pulled out his phone and dialed Digger, telling him to bring the beer. He stopped for a minute, and decided to keep things cool for now, just leaving a message for Tucker that he wasn’t needed tonight.
Now came the call he was dreading, because Mason had to know what was going on with Mica and Tucker. This shit simply wouldn’t fly; no fucking way would that little piss-ant get to put his hands on their princess. Tapping his chest with his closed fist and mouthing fucking treasure, Slate hit Mason’s number on his phone. “Prez, we needa call a meeting. We got a fucking serious problem in the club, man. Gonna cut a rocker I ‘spect.”
Mason snarled in his ear, “What the fuck do you mean, Slate? Because I gotta tell ya, I don’t fucking have time for this right now. I just heard that Bones is ready for a sit down. While Bones is a no-brainer, and we’re just solidifying some of the shit you’ve been setting up for us, it still requires fucking focus. Then after I get done with Bones, I’m headed over to Fort Wayne. I need to talk to Bingo tonight, because he’s got trouble with the gangs crowding him. I’ll be back in town tomorrow, and we can meet at the clubhouse or Jackson’s.” Mason sounded exhausted.
Slate scrunched up his face. He’d wanted to be at that sit down, but he knew he couldn’t be in two places. Making a decision, he decided he needed to be here with Mica for now. “Yeah, okay, tomorrow is soon enough. I’ll take care of what I need to tonight, and you can let me know the time and place. I got this, Mason.” His final call was for a replacement for Tucker, and he called Roach, knowing Mica was fond of him.
15 -
Essa
Beer and pizza helped make the bad dancing show bearable, and so did seeing Mica relax. Her improved mood had a lot to do with Digger and Roach; she was comfortable with them both, friendly and interested in what they had to say, all hugging and tickling, and generally having a good time. Slate was sitting on the floor in the living room in front of the TV, leaning back against the couch. Mica was sitting directly behind him, and every time she moved, she jostled him and his precariously balanced plate of pizza.
Snarling, he brought his head up to complain again and saw something...someone...walking past the big window. It looked like they were going towards the backdoor that opened into the kitchen. He reacted quickly, shifting to his feet smoothly, and issuing orders to Roach to secure Mica as he turned off all the lights.
Slate made it to the kitchen in a few long strides, and sidled towards the kitchen door, keeping his back to the wall without windows, waiting for movement or noise from outside. There was a sudden, hard pounding at the door, and he jerked it wide open. This had the advantage of getting the person outside off-balance, and he leveraged that by grabbing an arm and yanking them hard into the house, slamming the door closed behind them.
He manhandled them into the wall face-first, slamming them against hard surface and using his body to immobilize them. Fuck, this guy felt tiny, like it was a little kid, but he wouldn’t take any chances with Mica right now, so he stayed mashed up against him. Goddamn, there were some deliciously soft curves back here, so it was probably not a him. He was pressed up against them, and holy fuck it all felt good. He snarled at Digger to turn on the lights, and was not surprised at all when the body was revealed to be a young woman. Fuck.
He released her, stepping back quickly, and was nearly taken by surprise when she attacked him without pause. She tried to sweep his feet, and was smacking at him hard, so he captured her hands again. “What the hell?”
He stared down into dark brown eyes, with a golden ring circling the iris. Those eyes were centered in a beautiful face, tanned and full of angles he would love to trail his fingers along, and it was framed with dark hair he could surely sink his hands into.
Fuck me, he thought as the gal yelled for Mica, using her full name. He released her again, but he stepped carefully between the two women as Mica ran towards the room. Digger did his part, stopping Mica from entering just as Roach ran in behind her.
Mica apparently knew the girl, talking a mile a minute, even as Rebel hands kept them apart. She didn’t have any fear of the girl, and Slate motioned to his men to let things go, allowing the two women to meet in a fierce hug in the middle of the room. The gal’s name was evidently Essa, and while she was a little taller than Mica, she was a lot younger. In the full light of the kitchen, she looked about seventeen, but was lean and athletic, so he thought that might be somewhat misleading. God, she was pretty, dressed all casual in jeans and boots.
“Mica?” he asked carefully, wanting clarity for what was going on. He wasn’t sure yet that everything outside was okay, so he sent the men out with a gesture, watching as they split up outside to check the yard and house. Mica moved slightly, but kept her hands on the girl, introducing her, “Slate, this is my little cousin, Essa.” She pointed at Slate, grinning. “Essa, this is Slate, but don’t worry—he’s not as tough as he tries to look.”
The woman—Essa, he tested out in his head—looked up at Slate with a pleasant, but cautious stare, and then totally ruined the moment. “Mr. Slate, pleased to meet you.” Fuck him, that was twice in one day he’d been called ‘mister’, and he knew Mica would capitalize on it. Sure enough, confirming she’d picked up on it, Mica grinned hard at him while clarifying for her cousin, “Just Slate, Essa, he’s...just Slate. What are you doing here? Have you had supper?”
Slate watched Roach and Digger come back in from outside, Roach indicating everything was in order. “Just a truck and horse trailer, no one in either, unless you count the pissed off nag.”
Slate saw Essa stiffen at that; the horse must be hers, but she didn’t say anything back. Slate thought a little arrogantly that maybe she was intimidated by all the bare skin that surrounded her; he and Digger had a lot of ink, and they were shirtless. Plus, Digger worked out at the gym every day, and Slate had his own version of strong and lean going on.
Mica organized a quick plate of food for Essa, pulling her into the living room for a chat while the guys got things ready in the kitchen. Slate followed them, and listened as Mica asked a few quick questions of Essa. He noted in one of the answers that the gal said the horse had been in the trailer for too long already, so he thought he should probably unload it and make sure everything was okay. Essa was obviously attached to the horse, and for some unknown reason, he would hate for anything to happen that would upset her.
His head snapped up as Essa burst into tears, surprising him. She was crying so hard that he couldn’t understand anything she was saying, and he hadn’t been paying attention to what Mica had asked. She wrapped the girl up in her arms, and asked him to take care of parking the rig and get the horse out, explaining things carefully, but like he was an idiot. He nodded, disarmed, because he thought it was funny she’d asked him to do something that was so familiar to him, but she was worried he would fuck it up.
He nodded, turning to walk outside, telling Mica over his shoulder, “I’ll move the rig and unload the horse, and I’ll make sure he has water, a little feed, and see if there’s a blanket for him.” Fuck, this little girl had him on edge. He cou
ldn’t think straight when he was unsettled like this, and that was probably more of his history in one sentence than Mica ever knew about him before. He could feel Mica’s eyes boring into his back questioningly as he grabbed his leather jacket to go outside. He laughed. I’m a fucking enigma.
Walking out, he saw the crew cab truck and a two-horse trailer sitting nearly in the road. Opening the door, he found the keys thrown carelessly on the floorboard, and snagged them. Pulling the truck safely off the road, he set the brake and shut down the rig. Climbing out, he opened the small pass-through in the front of the trailer to look at the horse tied inside.
The dappled gray horse looked aggravated, and rolled its eyes at him. He stepped back, opening the gear and living quarters in the nose of the trailer, quickly finding what he was looking for in the form of feed, water, buckets, and a blanket. Setting things out where he could reach them easily, he opened the gate and unloaded the horse, letting the gelding step slowly and cautiously backwards down the little ramp.
Calmly patting and stroking the horse’s neck, Slate pulled out the bucket of water, securing it to the side of the trailer. He tied the horse off, giving him only a little slack to sidle sideways a couple of steps. Grabbing the horse blanket, he fitted it onto the horse, clipping the belly and neckbands comfortably. He closed up the back of the trailer, securing the ramp.
Sitting on the fender for a minute, he patted the gelding’s nose and watched him settle down. Slate could see there was some puffiness in his legs; he needed to walk it off, get the blood flowing again. Fuck, she’d kept this horse standing immobile in the trailer for several hours too long in her efforts to get to Chicago and Mica.
Untying the gelding, he slowly walked him down the block and back, pausing a couple of times to run a hand down the horse’s legs. He was still a little hot when they got back to the trailer, so Slate tied him again and found some alcohol, then rubbed him down for a few minutes. That was rewarding, because the gelding’s head dipped slowly as he relaxed into the indulgence.
He dipped out a small ration of oats for the gelding, wanting to give him enough to ease any hunger he might have. Headed back into the house, he found that the women were in the guest bedroom behind a closed door. He snagged a beer, and laughed out loud when he saw the guys were still watching the dancing show, even without Mica to goad them.
Roach looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Cousin from Texas?”
Slate blew out a breath and nodded. “Seems that way.”
Digger looked up, a gleam in his eye and humor written on his face. “That little girl nearly popped you one, Slate,” he teased, grinning widely. “That woulda been something to see.”
Fucker. If she had been successful in clipping him, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure what his reaction would have been, but given the rock-hard erection he had been sporting from pressing her against the wall, it could have gone either way.
A couple of hours later, Mica finally came out of the guest bedroom without Essa, and Slate gathered she was asleep since Mica was careful with noise. Roach and Digger had gone to sleep too, and since Slate had turned the TV off a while ago, he pointed silently towards the kitchen. Once they were both sitting at the breakfast bar, he asked Mica, “She okay?” Mica shook her head without saying anything, her face concerned.
He wanted to distract her from whatever was keeping her mute, and thought about the dappled gray horse and rig. He knew that Mica was a rodeo gal before college and Chicago, and he figured she would want to know all about the horse. “She has a nice gelding; come outside and see.” He handed Mica her jacket and opened the door, grabbing a flashlight to bring with them. Once they got outside, he found he was inordinately proud she seemed impressed with the job he’d done parking the rig and settling the horse.
The gelding was dozing, still tied securely to the off-side of the trailer. Just after the guys had gone to sleep, he had come out and tidied up the empty buckets; he knew from experience that a horse left with loose equipment would quickly find a way to get into trouble. The horse was nice and warm in the blanket, and was relaxed and resting. Slate ran a hand down his legs, relieved there was no heat anywhere. Mica had him shine the light on the horse’s halter on the side of his head, revealing a nameplate bradded into the nylon halter. She spoke the name aloud, “Summer Breeze.”
Slate wondered about everything; this gal had shown up out of the blue, when none of Mica’s family was supposed to know where she was, except her shithead brother...who had gone home. Michael Scott was probably the reason behind this visit. He asked Mica brusquely, “What’s she doing here?” He had a sudden thrill of fear that it wasn’t because of Scott at all.
Mica physically avoided the question, rolling her shoulders in a huge shrug, so he pushed the topic. “Princess, does this have anything to do with Nelms?” She nodded, looking at him silently, and his anxiety level shot through the roof. Fucking shit, she was out here in the goddamn open. He wasn’t even glancing around, or trying to clock anyone, or anything; he was playing with a fucking horse.
He quickly and roughly manhandled her towards the house as fast as he could, short of picking her up and carrying her in, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any danger or threats. “The fuck was I thinking, taking you outside with only me out here?” Goddammit, he was pissed at himself. He forced her into the house, and then just as quickly, he moved her away from the door and windows. Protecting her with his own bulk, he kept himself between her and any openings to the outside. He scowled and snarled at her, “Talk, Mica. I need to know. Everything.”
She moved her head, and he heard her neck crack, and realized how tense and afraid she had to be. Something Essa told her had to have been bad, probably whatever made the little gal cry like she was earlier in the evening. Slate chopped out a quick, “Sit,” and then just as quickly reversed himself with a, “Wait,” as he moved to grab pillows and blankets from the living room to make a pallet. He threw the bedding on the kitchen floor between the sink and the kitchen island, pointed, and said again, “Sit.” He sat down next to her, leaning his head back against the sink cabinet. “Start with Essa—who is she to you?”
Mica was still strangely calm and was clearly fond of her cousin. “Essa, or Esmeralda, is my cousin. She’s the daughter of my mother’s sister, and two years younger than my baby sister, Molly. They’ve grown up together, more like sisters than cousins.”
Slate knew her sister was placed with her family after her daddy was convicted of raping Mica’s best friend when she was barely seventeen. During his trial, Mica had come forward with testimony about years of abuse at her daddy’s hands, and she had been important in his final conviction. Being apart from her little sister was hard for Mica, and her statement just now had been made with a tone of both sadness and ruefulness. It sounded like she’d missed so much of her sister’s childhood. Mica continued, “Aunt Janet and Uncle Rob don’t know she’s here. They know she’s on the circuit, and she was supposed to be headed to a rodeo in Urbana. She kinda detoured to here.”
Slate interrupted, because for him, this was the most critical question of the night, “How did she know where ‘here’ was?”
Mica rolled her neck again, pulling and stretching her muscles. “According to Essa, she got a letter a few weeks ago. All it had in it was a picture of this house, a picture of me, and an address. Molly got one too, but her age division had more events out west, so the girls decided Essa should investigate while up this way.”
Leaning over, Mica laid her head on a pillow. “The pictures are some of the ones Ray had, so I think he must have sent them to the girls. I don’t know why yet…can’t figure it…but I am sure there’s something going on. It’s like something is just outside the range of hearing, you know? I can almost grasp it, but it slithers away. She’s also got something else going on I need to figure out. She wouldn’t talk about it, but it’s there.” Mason and the Rebels had found out about the pictures Nelms had taken weeks ago; it was one o
f the things that had caused the huge uptick in security.
She yawned, snuggling into the pillow. “I’ll go down to Urbana with her in the morning, make sure she’s solid, and then watch her compete. That will be fun, to be behind the scenes again. I miss it sometimes.” Pulling one hand out from under the pillow, she started chewing on the side of her thumb again, a sure sign she was nervous. Her voice was uneven as she added, “Ray’s taken so much from me, and I hate him, Slate. I hate him.”
He hated seeing her like this, not just stressed out, but so clearly and evidently fearful. It had been a long time since he’d seen her face without that dark shadow of fear on it. Maybe if she saw him as a person, not merely one of Mason’s Rebels, but as a man...a friend...then, maybe she’d have confidence that he could keep her safe this time. He knew he had failed her, badly, but he was much more committed now. He wanted to build on a friendship he felt was budding, so reaching out a hand to smooth her hair down her back, he gave her his name—not his road name, but his real one. “Andrew Jones.”
She was confused, looking up into his face. “Huh? Who is Andrew Jones?”
“Me.” Slate smiled at her, seeing the recognition in her face of what he had offered her. It was a window into him as a man, into who he had been before. She seemed to accept this as a precious gift, and he felt a little less exposed. “Sleep, princess, and tomorrow,” he waited for a beat, watching for a nod from her before he continued, and reminded her, “you go, I go, remember?”
They stayed on the floor for a time, Slate watching over her as she slowly relaxed into the pallet on the floor. He curled around her, feeling her loosen and ease into sleep. Waiting patiently beside her as she delved deeper into a healing rest, once he thought she was far enough under, he picked her up and carried her to bed. After straightening the house and putting up the bedding, he settled into a chair in the living room, keeping watch for the rest of the night.
Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 20