Gunny (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 5)

by MariaLisa deMora

  At the name, Sharon stiffened, twisting so she could see the bodies, and made a shocked noise when she recognized her ex-husband. Squatting in front of Sharon as he turned her away, blocking her view of the bodies, Gunny caged her chin in his hand, drawing her eyes back to him. “Baby, I’m going to make it so we don’t have to think about him again. I have to, Sharon, you know I do. I promised you. You gonna be okay with that?” She stilled under his hands and her gaze darted over his shoulder to where Woolfe stood in the doorway, and then back to his face. Trapping her lips between her teeth, she nodded once decisively, and he said, “Okay.”

  He stood, looking at Woolfe, and had opened his mouth to ask him to keep her in the hallway, when she surprised him again, saying in an unsteady voice, “I am staying right here.”

  “Baby,” he squatted down again to look her in the face, “you don’t gotta do that.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I do, Gunny.” She reached up her hand and cupped his cheek in her palm. Leaning close to him, in a whisper that barely stirred the air around his face, she said, “I won’t be afraid.”

  Looking at her, he realized those words meant more than in this moment. Witnessing this would wrap her around with the knowledge she would never feel the man’s hands on her skin again. Never have to fear an ambush attack from him. Never look over her shoulder again. “Baby,” he whispered back, "I get it; I do, but you watch me do this, and then I have fear.” Leaning into her palm, he let her take the weight of his head, her wrist trembling with the strain. “You watching me kill your fucktard of an ex-husband and, make no mistake, that’s my intent. You watching has the chance of curdling this thing we got here, baby. I don’t want that to happen. It’s one thing to know, but it’s another to see with your own eyes. It ain’t gonna be pretty, and you’ll see that. Ain’t gonna be easy, and you’re gonna hear that. Because I ain’t gonna let him go quick.”

  “Safe.” Said without emphasis, the word still struck him like a blow. She had often said it the first few days after the attack, and he had proven the feeling and her belief in him every single time he had his hands on her since. She was safe with him, would always be safe. Safe. With a nod, he leaned forward and kissed her. Closed mouthed, but fiercely, he possessed her, marked her as his own to every man in the room. He admitted the ownership she had over him too, letting her curl her fingers around the back of his neck and hold him close. He tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder when the kiss had run its course, allowing her to comfort him with the feel of her skin on his. My addiction.

  On a deep breath, he stood, already knowing what direction the next few minutes would take. She had explained about the pain in her breastbone, even where there was no bruising. One night, when the nightmares had woken him, he had spent a half-hour on the computer looking up erotic asphyxiation and breath control play. He knew what the bastard had done to her, and doing it to someone unwilling was as far from the accepted practice as rape was from consensual sex. Suffocation, not play, even if he would bet the bastard had enjoyed every last second of her gasping for breath, as he strangled her or used chest compression to limit her access to oxygen.

  First time me being a big motherfucker is truly going to work in my favor, he thought as he stood over Elkins. The man had his hand clamped tightly on a freely bleeding wound in his neck. It looked like his bullet had probably nicked the carotid enough to kill the bastard, but damned slowly. We’ll speed this process up a bit, he thought, lifting one foot and placing it squarely on Elkins’ chest. The cockroach metaphor came to mind again and he grunted a laugh. The stunned look on the man’s face pulled another dark chuckle out of him, and then he said, “Fucking sucks, don’t it, knowing you can’t stop me from doing this?” He watched the man’s eyes dart back and forth, scanning the room, and he nodded. “I know who you are, Derek.” His eyes fixed on Gunny’s face in shock. “Yeah, I know every fucking thing about you. Know everything you did. I know you better than you know yourself, and I see what’s going on there in your little cockroach mind. You’re thinking you can’t turn loose of your neck or you’re going to bleed out.” He nodded again, shifting forward slightly to give Elkins a little more of his weight.

  He grunted. “Then I lean in on you, and now you start thinking that maybe the blood isn’t that big a deal, because you need to get my size fifteens off your rib bones.” He shook his head. “Ain’t happening. Me knowing what I know? You know that ain’t happening.” He bared his teeth, “I know every fucking thing. You want this fast, you need to turn loose of the vein in your throat and accept the death staring down at you. Too fucking clean, but I’ll give it to you just to clear my shit. You want it slow, want the giddy from hypoxia? Then clamp the fuck down on that wound, motherfucker. I got all the time in the world.” He looked up and realized the mirror over the dresser was angled in such a way it let him see Sharon. He watched her standing there, near Woolfe but apart from him, her arms straight at her sides, hands balled, nails digging into her palms.

  “That woman over there? The beauty that’s been sharing my bed for weeks now? You ain’t never going to have sweet like that again. Even if I was to step back and let you live.” He paused for a moment, and then chuckled again, wincing as Sharon shivered when the noise rolled through the room. “Which I ain’t, so don’t get your fucking hopes up, but even if I did, you’d never have sweet like that again.” He shifted, transferring more of his mass to the man’s chest, feeling the creak of bones and cartilage beneath the sole of his boot. Staring at Sharon, he said, “Me? I got that sweet for the rest of my days, man. God, I love that woman.” Glancing down, he saw the rigidity of Elkins’ muscles, the beet-red face, mouth opening and closing like Eklund’s did in the moments before his death in Iraq. Huh, he thought, and then tucked that away to look at later.

  Looking back into the mirror, he found Sharon’s eyes had located the vantage point, and her gaze was fixed on his mirrored face. On him, not Elkins. Him. Her eyes held steady as she stared at his reflection, her face open and trusting. She was telling him so much without saying a word. I trust you, she said. I believe you will keep me safe. I love you.

  He nodded at her and waited for her response. When it came, indicating she was ready and, please God, would be okay with the outcome, he continued to hold her gaze, but shifted forward hard, hearing as well as feeling the greenstick fractures of Elkins’ ribs as the cage protecting his rotten heart collapsed around him. The room was silent for a moment, and then Woolfe quietly said, “Jesus Christ.”

  Stepping back, he spared the body one glance to ensure the chest no longer rose or fell, and then he took the two strides that carried him to Sharon. He pulled her to his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and directing her towards the door, away from the bodies and blood…away from their bed, which until a few minutes ago had been the safest place she had known. Keeping up his one-sided running commentary, he said to Woolfe, “Hard to believe you’d stoop to this, betraying a brother.”

  ***

  Gunny paced, striding back and forth in the small space allowed by the chain tethering his hands, bound behind his back to the wall opposite the door. Separated from Sharon when they placed him in here, twice since then shouts had come through the closed door from the hallway, and once there had been a scream abruptly cut short. That voice had been male, thank fuck, or he didn’t know what he would have done.

  From the moment he recognized Woolfe in the bedroom, he had known they were fucked seven ways from Sunday, and had desperately taken the chance to kill him. Then, when the man hadn't stayed down from being shot point blank in the chest, he knew there was nothing else he could do, unclothed and virtually unarmed. The only fucking consolation was knowing one of the intruders he put down was Elkins. At least that motherfucker wasn't still breathing her air.

  Sharon. That was the biggest question he had. What value did she have to draw in the kind of money he knew Woolfe garnered on a job? He had known the man in the Marines, where he had a reputation
for being the worst of the badasses. Assigned to different teams, they trained together often, but never went on the same assignments. Outside of training, they hung out some, mostly because Kincade was tight with Woolfe. After a shift in political leadership had changed so many things about their deployments and assignments, he knew Woolfe had separated from the military. Kincade had talked at length about him going private sector. They had both been amazed, because from the beginning, as a contractor, Woolfe was pulling in an incalculable amount of money, especially when he became known for taking jobs no sane man would accept. Who wanted Sharon so bad they’d pay those kind of fees?

  Gunny heard a noise at the door and futilely spun that direction, even knowing the tether didn't have enough slack to allow use as a weapon against whoever was coming in. The door swung open, and he was shocked because it revealed not Woolfe, as he expected, but a large man with a leather cut that said President over his name, Fury, instead. For about the thousandth time that day, he thought, What the fuck? Not recognizing the man or the name, Gunny settled into a watchful, waiting stance, thinking if he could only lure the man close enough...

  Then Fury stepped aside, and he saw a bound and blindfolded Sharon in the hallway behind him. "Baby," he said without thinking, wincing when she first flinched at his voice then lapsed into panic, twisting at the zip ties holding her wrists together. She was calling his name over and over, not able to hear anything over her own terror. Another man stepped into view beside her and all Gunny could do was shout, “NO,” and watch as he casually raised his fist, hitting the side of her head brutally, hard enough to knock her sideways and to her knees.

  He felt a tearing pain in his wrists and shoulders, and vaguely heard a roaring noise, not realizing for a moment he was the cause, straining at his bonds and lunging towards the man standing so nonchalantly next to a now-sobbing Sharon. "Bitch absolutely won't shut—" The man’s complaint to Fury was interrupted by the hard butt of a pistol upside his head in response, knocking him on his ass. Fury’s patch in full view now, Gunny committed it to memory. Diamante.

  "Stupid motherfucker," Fury gritted out, reaching down to grip Sharon's arms, ignoring her flinch as he lifted her to her feet, leaving the bleeding and unconscious biker lying on the floor. "Calm down, girl," he said quietly, gaze locked on Gunny's face, talking over the sound of Sharon’s soft cries as she twisted and pulled against the restraints locked around her wrists. He held both her arms in one hand, saying gently, “You’re going to hurt yourself, honey. Be still.”

  He pulled out a pocketknife, flipping it open, and Gunny held his breath in fear until it was folded and repocketed, her bonds snipped free. "Ain't no one gonna hurt you again, long as your man plays us right." She was silent now, and Gunny could see her shaking, see the trembling of her lips as she bit them in her efforts to be quiet. Fury rubbed her wrists, frowning at the marks he found there and Gunny clenched his jaw in frustration at the sight of his hands on her. Mine.

  "What do you want?" Gunny ground out, confused at what Fury had said, ‘Long as your man plays us right.’ He thought Sharon had been the primary target and he’d only been brought along because of his history with Woolfe. Now, it sounded like he had bargaining value. This was very good news, because he would be willing to gamble with his own safety much quicker than hers, any goddamned day.

  Fury stepped away from a still blindfolded Sharon, scowling as he handed her off to another man in the hallway, and with a jerk of his head, directed her removal. No, no, keep her here. Need to know… Gunny kept his eyes on her until he could no longer see her, mutely watching the door. Staying silent was hard, but he wouldn’t give these motherfuckers more information than they already had. They already had to know she owned him, had to see it in his frantic need to get to her…had to know he would do anything to keep her safe and whole. Mine.

  He watched as yet another vested man hooked his hands underneath the arms of the one on the floor, walking backwards and dragging him out of sight. The heels of the man’s boots scraped along the cement floor, bumping through the blood grooves leading to a central drain. Compound, he thought, recognizing the kind of layout the Rebels had in each of their main clubhouses. Isolation rooms with built-in restraints, easy cleanup after a messy interrogation. What does the Diamante club want? Ignoring the activity behind him, Fury pulled the door closed and said, "You and me got friends in common, Gunny. We also got enemies."

  He paused here, apparently expecting a response, so Gunny asked what felt like an obvious question, given how he had been brought here. "Where's Woolfe?"

  Shaking his head, Fury said, "He's been…unavoidably detained. Can't join us right now." Reaching up, he smoothed his beard, the paleness of his hand stark against the deep red. Leaning against the wall, it looked like he had settled in for a long chat. Motherfucker. Gunny closed his mouth firmly, sending a clear message.

  Fury looked at him and nodded. "All right, I’ll give you a little. We’ll get a little give and take going; I’m fine with that idea. You have been looking into my business, and it is seriously jacking things up for me. I want you to stop, simple as that. I hear you’re an honorable man. So, if you tell me you’ll stop, well then I’m gonna take you at your word, turning you and the girl loose."

  "What Diamante business am I fucking up? Only things I’m working are to sift out the connections between my club and Outriders. It isn’t a secret we had trouble with them a few weeks ago. I'm merely making sure the piece of shit that lost itself in the wind doesn't make its way back to Fort Wayne. My brother Bear's old lady already had to put up with a fuckton of shit from the little bastard, and we want her clean shut of him." He stated these truths in a voice saturated with conviction, hoping to lull the man in case there were harder questions waiting in the wings.

  "I'm aware of Mason's nephew, what he did...where he’s not, and what that means for the Rebels." Not realizing the size of the bomb he just dropped, Fury continued while Gunny mentally reeled underneath the knowledge that the relationship between Mason and Shooter was known to this man, when the inner circle of the Rebels had only learned this information a day ago. "Got a vested interest in the same outcome, man."

  "What business then?" If I can figure the angle—

  "Got a profitable business in Kentucky; need your nose kept well clear of what I got going there." This was said in an agreeable, offhand tone, but Fury gave the lie to that with his steady gaze.

  "Was only looking in Kentucky as it touched Shooter," Gunny informed him, but Fury shook his head.

  "Stop blowin’ smoke up my fucking ass, man. It was your gal who brought you down on us and I know it. Know what happened there, too. You just need to understand shit has been handled. I’m here to tell you that shit was dealt with in a terminal way. Those prospects didn't…make the cut, so to speak." He reached over, briskly pounding on the door with a closed fist. "I 'spect we're done here. From the look on your face, I hope so, at least. She's not been harmed, no more than you saw. And, my word on it, I'll deal with that shit, too. Fucking kids don't get the idea of honor, man. We fight that stupidity every single fucking day."

  Gunny nodded and then shook his hands, rattling the chain as a silent reminder his agreement was coerced, and then finding himself grudgingly liking this man, he offered him an extra bit. "My oath to you, we have an understanding, Fury." They stared at each other for a minute, and then Fury nodded.

  “Well, all right,” he said, coming over and standing behind Gunny as he unlocked the chains binding him to the wall. Once freed, he stepped back, and the two men silently retreated from each other, quickly taking mirroring stances on either side of the room.

  They brought Sharon to him then, and true to Fury’s word, she had suffered nothing but the blow he had seen in the hallway. In that small room, smelling of his sweat and anger, he ran his hands over every inch of her he could reach, reassuring them both with a touch that they were okay. Mine. He whispered to her, feeling her fingers winding themselves into t
he shirt under his cut, “I got you, baby.” She nodded silently, her face burrowing into his chest, and he felt her breath hitch with unvoiced sobs. Looking at Fury over her head, he said, “She stays with me,” receiving an easy, agreeable nod in response. Their release was quickly organized, and hoping he wasn’t making a mistake, he talked Sharon into accepting the blindfold again before they were loaded into a van and driven around for a half-hour.

  Fury ordered the blindfolds removed, and Gunny looked out the windows as the van pulled into the parking lot of a diner he recognized. They were in Markle, a little village just south of Fort Wayne, and he looked at the glass windows on the front of the building as if they embodied safety. The shelter and security of friendly territory, nearly within reach. There were a few cars in the lot, but no one standing around, nothing out of place…nothing to indicate an ambush.

  When the side door of the van opened, as if they did it every day, he and Sharon climbed out and turned to watch as the vehicle drove off, and he noted the plate number. Nearly safe, he thought, keeping one arm firmly around her shoulders, pulling her to his side. Against all odds, twice in my life now, I’ve made it back, he thought. Oorah.

  Inside the diner, Gunny borrowed a phone and made a call, and less than twenty minutes later, another van drove up. They watched as Mason stepped out of it, walking into the diner as if he owned the world, his confidence going a long way in helping Gunny keep things together.

  14 - Soroicide