Gunny (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 5)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Don’t mean he doesn’t have his fair share of issues.” He shook his head, looking back down. “But you’re doing okay, right?”

  She nodded, feeling the subtext of the conversation was narrowly out of reach. There was something he was trying to say without speaking the words, but she couldn’t hold onto the edges of the feeling long enough to figure out what it was, so she waited. He continued, “I mean, you’re okay with Gunny, right?”

  Puzzled, because this entire conversation seemed odd, she nodded again, and then said, “Yes, I’m okay with Gunny. He’s been patient with me, good to me.”

  Deke wrinkled up his nose and huffed out a breath, apparently as frustrated at her answers as she was with his questions. “You going with him tomorrow?”

  She tightened her arms around her legs and shivered, because he was talking about the non-conversation she had with Gunny yesterday.

  “Getting a cage tomorrow, taking you home,” he said, stepping between her knees where she sat on the bathroom countertop.

  Startled, she looked up into his face, a sudden fear spearing her chest, precursor to panic. “A cage?” Wincing when her voice squeaked, she frowned when he laughed at her.

  “A van. Not a cage, baby. I’d never” —his voice dropped in tone, becoming husky and tight— “you never have to think I’d try and control you like that.” He stared intently at her. “But taking you home, that part is truth spoken.”

  “Taking me back to the motel?” She ducked her head, suddenly remembering that Derek took her money, so she knew she wouldn’t have enough to rent the room again. Plus, she hadn’t been able to work for days, so she didn’t have any money coming in, either. She didn’t know where the rental car or any of her stuff was. Even the tee she was wearing right now wasn’t hers, it belonged to Gunny. Her things. None of it had even crossed her mind, because she felt—

  There was a tight feeling in her throat, the panic building, it was as if she couldn’t breathe deeply enough. Time to wake up, chickie. He’s bored with the nursemaid routine, she thought, feeling a shiver shake her body.

  His hands rested on her thighs, and he slipped them up and over her hips, splaying his big palms across her back under the shirt, one low and one high, pressing her body into his. “Baby,” he scolded gently, and she shivered again. “Taking you home.” He placed subtle emphasis on the last word, and she shook her head.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  He rested his cheek on top of her head. “What’s to understand?”

  “I don’t know where you’re…the motel… Why can’t I stay here?” She knew the sob was coming and cut it off, ruthlessly forcing it down, taking small sips of air as she waited for his response.

  “Because I want you in my home, baby. I can’t keep having folks take care of my pups, so I need to go home. But I want you with me.” He said this simply, as if it made all the sense in the world, when she was still scrambling to understand.

  “You want me to stay at your house?” ‘Move in with you’ had been on the tip of her tongue, but, still panicky, she had stalled that part of the question at least, replacing it with the less needy words.

  “Want you to move in with me, yeah.” He kissed the side of her head, chuckling at her gasp. “What’s so hard, baby?” He moved, leaning backwards and looking down at her. Upon seeing her expression, the one on his face changed, hardening and growing distant, impassive. “Unless I’ve read things wrong, Sharon. Motherfucker twisted every good thing, I know from what you’ve told me. This thing between us is fast, and I know that, too. So, baby, it would kill me, but you need space, you got it; all I can give you…anything. Every choice is yours, baby.”

  She smiled now, thinking of the look he wore when she stretched up to brush his lips with her own. Like a kid in a candy store, his grin had been immediate, broad and joyous. Now, sitting in the room she had shared with him for days, she answered Deke’s question in a clear voice, not wanting any misunderstanding, because she thought she knew why he was here. “Yes. I’m going with him tomorrow. He asked, and it’s what I want. But, I promise you; I’m not going to take advantage of your friend, Deke. I’ll only be there as long as he wants me. When he’s done with me, I’ll…I’ll go away, won’t bother him.”

  Standing, Deke stretched his back and looked down at her. “Got that bit wrong, little one. It ain’t Gunny I’m worried about getting tired of the arrangement. He gets pretty…intense.” Reaching into an inside pocket on his vest, he pulled out a card and handed it to her. She flipped it over between her fingers, reading the name Grant Williamson. There was a phone number, and when she looked up at him, he nodded. “Yeap, that’s me. If you need me, Sharon, I want you to call me. Day or night, if you or Gunny need me, you pick up the phone and call. He’s my friend, and my brother, which means if you are his, then you’re mine, too. I got you, little one. You need me, I got you.”

  Amazing how reassuring the phrase had become to her. When Gunny spoke it, she believed down to the tips of her toes it was true. Now, hearing the same words from his self-proclaimed friend, her belief morphed into trust. Deke was a man she could trust.

  He turned and walked out as she sat there looking down at the card. In a moment, she sensed the presence in the room that she had come to depend on, and looked up to find Gunny leaning in the doorway. If she thought Deke had taken up most of the room in the opening, she was wrong, because Gunny took up all of it, his shoulders stretching nearly from edge to edge.

  “He get his words out finally?” He asked this with a grin, and she knew he had been waiting impatiently for Deke to leave.

  She nodded and flashed the card at him, frowning when the smile fell from his face. He nodded and sighed, then said, “Keep the card, baby. Use it if you need to.” Walking across the room, he leaned down and scooped her up out of the chair, turning and settling them onto the bed. “Napping is the order of business right now. Goose said you need rest.” Kissing the top of her head, he told her, “Sleep.”

  ***

  Safe. Four letters, but a depth of meaning beyond those vowels and consonants that was hard to describe, she thought, then shook her head. Standing in the doorway to his bedroom, she glanced down the stairs to the rest of the house, trying to put her finger on what made this feel more comfortable than the bedroom she had been sleeping in for the past few days, and couldn’t. My head hurts, she thought, lifting one hand to rub her fingertips across her forehead. Even though she hadn’t had to lift a finger today, she was still exhausted from the move.

  Snorting at her oh-whine-is-me attitude, she twisted to look at the sum of her possessions—a pleasant surprise Gunny presented her with today—her purse with the money retrieved from Derek, and three not-large boxes lining the bedroom floor beside Gunny’s closet door. He hadn’t made a big deal out of it, but when she asked about the guest bedroom on the main floor, he simply shook his head and said, “No, baby, you’re in mine.”

  As he had the last time they traveled in a vehicle together, Gunny held her in his lap the whole way here, in a van driven by one of the Rebel Wayfarers members. He had cradled her to his chest while he talked about Slinky’s with the driver, his hands ceaselessly stroking and soothing her. Being out in the open after being closed up in the condo for so long made her nervous, and she had found herself looking anxiously around the neighborhood. Logically…intellectually, she knew looking for Derek wasn’t reasonable, but since he hadn’t yet been found, she couldn’t help herself.

  She wandered back down the stairs and out to the living room, listening closely and pulling to a stop when she realized she couldn’t hear Gunny, but she did hear birds. Turning her head, she isolated the direction and walked across the room, pulling back a section of floor-to-ceiling curtains to see a large, groomed backyard complete with a grill and patio. With a smile, she worked the latch on the sliding door and walked outside.

  She took a breath, and then another, realizing she wasn’t nearly as nervous here as s
he had been standing in the driveway outside Jase’s condo, because this area was surrounded and protected by a tall fence. And, because this place, everything she could see, all of it normal, ordinary, and sane…was Gunny’s. Tilting her head up, she closed her eyes and let the sun bathe her features, the warmth sinking into her and allowing her to relax a little bit more. Safe.

  ***

  He hung up the phone with Goose and stood in the kitchen, looking out the opened door into his backyard, staring at Sharon. So fucking beautiful, she was standing in the middle of the patio, hands cupping her elbows protectively. But her face was lifted to the sun, and even from here, he could see a small smile stretching her lips. As he watched, he could swear he saw her shoulders inch lower, see the muscles in her back uncoiling and relaxing.

  In the van, she had been tight and tense, holding herself stiff as a board. She hadn’t given anything of herself. Even when he kissed her temple, she hadn’t leaned into him, hadn’t sought any comfort. He tried to keep the focus off her, but he had seen PBJ carefully watching her in the rearview mirror.

  He knew some of his brothers were worried because of his behavior, worried and comparing it to his past episodes, but this wasn’t like anything he ever experienced before. He simply had to know…needed to know she was okay, needed that to breathe. And sometimes, when he thought he saw pieces of his own fear and terror in her eyes, he wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, would never be alone again.

  He had tried to be okay with Deke talking to her yesterday, giving them all the privacy he could manage, barely able to stay in the kitchen until Deke walked out. He was obsessed, sure. He would admit that in a heartbeat, but this was different. What he had in his heart for Sharon was so much more than anything he had before…even Wardah looking bland in comparison. Wardah, he thought, and the scene before his eyes changed.

  Sand underfoot, coating everything in a fine layer of grit, his keffiyeh covering his mouth and nose to try to filter out the powder drifting in the air. The first time he saw her was when he walked with his team to the house their interpreter shared with two other families, she had been seated in the corner of the main room with the rest of the women. Dressed conservatively, the colored veil covering her hair made her dark skin look even more exotic.

  Eklund had finished his conversation with their contact, and Robinson walked out of the building alongside his team, never expecting to see the woman again. But, she had been there the next time they visited, and then again the time after that.

  At the time, it had seemed nearly too good to be true to find her waiting for him one night, standing at the checkpoint by the gate, and now he knew it had been. Night after night, until he was entirely wrapped up in her. In her eyes, she had sacrificed her body to gain information on her enemy. He knew, as infatuated as he was with her mysterious beauty, he had been too easy to give it up, indulgently answering her questions while lying beside her, thinking she was only trying to get to know him better.

  “Stupid,” he hissed, and saw Sharon move. Oh, fuck. Did she hear me? Did she think— His thoughts stuttered to a halt and he smiled, because his pups had found her. He frowned, watching her move slowly and painfully, squatting down to pet them, and he hated the hurt she still suffered, the discomfort revealed in her movements. Her hands stroked over the dogs, rubbing and patting them, effortlessly calming Tank, who was easily excited, and soothing Rocky, the nervous one.

  She turned and caught sight of him, and he smiled back at her, because the joy on her face was completely pure. “These are your pups, huh?” She called the question and the dogs looked up at her, tails slowing as they recognized they had momentarily lost her attention. “What are their names?”

  Walking to the doorway, he looked out at her, seeing her hands still moving over the dogs, giving each equal attention. “Short stuff is Rocky; he’s a rat terrier.” The dogs laughed up at him, mouths open with good humor. “The whirlwind there is Tank; he’s my beagle.”

  Sharon laughed, and the dogs’ heads swung back to her, apparently as taken by her as he was. “He’s your bagel? That’s hilarious.” Pursing her lips, she glanced down at the dogs, cooing, “Who’s a good bagel? Hmmm?”

  Gunny squatted next to her, and then settled onto the patio, feeling the heat of the cement under his ass and legs. “Beagle, not bagel.”

  “I like your accent. It’s cute…you’re cute. But, my way is more fun,” she teased, head down, looking at the dogs.

  “Yeah,” he said, reaching out a hand to stroke her back from the nape of her neck to her waist, and then back up. “It sure is.” Her finding humor in anything, even his southern accent, made him want to give her more of whatever it was that made her laugh. Even if her thinking him cute were absurd, he would give her that, any day.

  “They are adorable,” she said softly, rounding her shoulders and leaning into the pressure from his hand. “Mmmmm,” she hummed, fingers slowing but still touching the dogs. “That feels amazing.”

  “You need a massage, baby?” He twisted, putting himself behind her and resting his other hand on her shoulder.

  “God, that would feel so good,” she murmured, and he could tell her eyes were closed because of the tilt of her head. She was taking in the sun’s rays on her face again, and he smiled.

  “Come on, then.” He climbed to his feet then reached down and plucked her from the awkward squat she was maintaining. Carrying her up to the bedroom, he laid her face down on the bed, climbing up beside her and then straddling her ass, placing one thigh on either side of her.

  He read the anxiety in her body as she twisted her neck to look back at him, so he was ready for her questioning tone when she started talking. “Um. Gunny? Goose said…um, still…”

  “Sharon,” he scolded, “I know, baby. I just got off the phone with him. This ain’t me demanding anything from you. I ain’t fucking you. We’ve done had this conversation. You don’t have to worry about me pushing you. We ain’t going there, not until he clears you, and even then not until you’re ready. And if you ain’t ever ready, baby…I’ll still count myself lucky to have this much of you.” He pushed her shirt up and winced in sympathy when she reached over her head to gather the fabric up, hearing her groan as she tugged it off with his assistance. Stroking slowly up her back, he gently used the heels of his hands and his thumbs to find the knots and sore spots, cataloging the colors still marring her skin. “Count myself lucky,” he repeated under his breath, feeling her relaxing under his ministrations. “Goddamned lucky.”

  10 - Under my skin

  Standing at his post inside the front door, opposite the bar, Gunny surveyed the patrons of the strip club. His face impassive, he looked around and realized he counted no person in the room a friend. Some were his brothers, men he would gladly die for, but they were not friends. Not a one of them. He was fucking pissed off to be here and not in California, where he was needed, where his damn friends were. Leaning his shoulders and ass against the wall, he forced himself to present a calm, relaxed self-possession and casually crossed his legs at the ankle.

  He knew why he had been left behind, but knowing he was trusted to keep things under control here did not ease the rub of not being there much. The office door to his right clicked and opened, and he shifted his gaze that way, seeing DeeDee standing in the doorway. “Did you hear anything yet?” she asked, and he shook his head, watching as she scrunched her face in response. “Do we know anything more than we did two hours ago?” He shook his head at this too, and she nodded, closing the door behind her as she went back into the office.

  Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text to Slate and waited on a response, sighing when he received a curt two-letter reply. Slate had also been prohibited from this trip, due to an entirely different reason, and for both of the men, knowing their friends were engaging enemies without being there to back them up was hard. Onstage, the acts were changing out, the two girls on the side stages sauntering backstage carrying their costumes in their hand
s. Slinky’s didn’t have a DJ or announcer during the day, but the next shift of dancers usually warranted the expense, and sure enough, Gunny heard the buzz and hum as the PA system clicked on.

  The speakers popped loudly and then a smooth voice slipped through the room. “Good evening, gentlemen. We would like to welcome you to Slinky’s, where your every desire is ours, too. We are very pleased to invite a beautiful lady back to our stages. Too long gone from view, she’s here tonight for your yearning pleasure. I give you the stunning Sharmane.” Loud pop music blared as Gunny went rigid at Sharon’s stage name, jerking upright, his eyes locking on the center stage in disbelief. What the fuck…

  He watched as Sharon strutted into view, her full lips curved into a smile, her gaze sweeping the area around the raised platform. That’s my woman. What the hell is she playing at? The click of her stiletto fuck-me heels might be inaudible over the music, but there was no missing the seduction implied in the sway and pop of her hips as she worked the edges of the stage. His gaze traced her form down and then up, making that circuit twice in the time it took her to circle the stage once, her carriage and the way she moved resonating with pure class. Slipping her shoes off, she lined them up near the edge of the platform, placing them neatly side-by-side before turning her back to the audience.

  Most of the bruising from the beating had faded, and in the areas where he knew she still carried marks, it looked as if body makeup evened out the flaws. Tonight, her movements were fluid, the smoothness at odds with the jerking, flinching woman he had held such a short time ago. Lying in bed last night, his hands had moved over her shoulders and back, gently tracing the outline of the remaining bruises. He hated she still carried marks from Elkins on her skin, and resting there beside her, he had to work hard to make certain the tension of knowing the motherfucker was still breathing her air never made it through his fingers and onto her. He shuddered now, thinking, She doesn’t need that. Not last night, not ever.