Hoss (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 7)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Honey.” This was accompanied by a hand covering hers, halting the repetitive movements she was making, cleaning an already spotless bar. “It’s okay to be scared, but we were never in any real danger. You’re safe, Hope. And, your boy is safe.”

  Jerking her hand back, Hope drew a deep breath then another. Rolling her lips between her teeth, she bit down hard. Shaking her head, she turned to walk to the back room, only to be stopped by Tequila blocking her way. He stared down at her, a scowl in place on his features. Shaking his head, he sighed then said, “Out with it, girl. It’s only going to get bigger and bigger the longer you keep it locked away.”

  “Where’s Hoss?” Her voice was quavering and high-pitched, and she bit her lips again to stop the sound from escaping.

  “He’s at the clubhouse,” Tequila said immediately.

  “Why can’t I go to Sammy?” Her voice sounded painfully unfamiliar to her ears, and she made a face at the evidence of her fear surfacing so blatantly.

  “Orders, sweetheart. No one leaves here until I hear from either Slate or Hoss. Only a president or vice president can lift a lockdown, which is what we’re doing here. We have every one of our places locked down, so we know where folks are. It makes it easier to protect everyone, if they aren’t moving around or in transit.” This answer was also immediate, and his voice was pitched low, just for her ears. Protecting her ignorance, because she was the new kid on the block, and he was telling her things the rest of the women already knew. Mercy already knew all this, too. She had been around the club for years and had probably seen this kind of thing often.

  “Does this happen all the time?” If it does, can I handle it? Do I even want the answer to that question? Before he could respond, she asked a different question. “Are you sure Sammy’s okay?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. Sammy is at Jase and DeeDee’s, and he’s probably sacked out on the living room floor with the rest of the boys. They were all dog-tired after the game and skating, so once they got pizza in them, they were likely out before you even got to the bar. We protect the kids with our lives, sweetheart, from anything, including knowledge that could make them afraid. No one will have told them anything, so he’s not sitting there wondering where you are. He’s sacked out with his best friends, on an impromptu sleepover, which you approved, hugging and kissing him before he climbed in Jase’s SUV.” He sounded so certain of everything he said that the quivering in her stomach began to recede slowly. Then, his next answer brought everything swooping back in a rush.

  “Listen to me, Hope. This kind of thing doesn’t happen all the time, but when you have things others want, then yeah, sometimes people try to come in and take it. We protect our own, protect our family to the death if needed. You’re ours twice over, honey, because we owe Mercy. She owns a big fucking marker with the Rebels, but even before that shit happened, she was ours. You’re her sister, makes you hers. You’ve heard this all before, I know, but that makes you ours, too. Now, you’re Hoss’ old lady, which means any member would die before we let anything happen to you. We got you, pretty lady. Ain’t no shit going to get to you, and surely not the kind of shit that rode down from Michigan tonight. You and Sammy, you are club, and we got you.”

  He leaned a hip against the back counter, gaze on her as his eyes narrowed. “Shit happens around a club, sweetheart. Wouldn’t any one of us lie to you about something that important. Shit happens, and sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes people die. Fortunately, that particular brand of shit runs few and far between and, thank God, the way Mason runs the club, it’s even farther. You bein’ with Hoss means you’re going to see the shit when it does happen, because he’s one of the men in charge. Your man is our veep, our vice president. That office puts a certain target on his back, and by extension, at times, on yours.”

  He paused, and sighed again. “My brother is gonna kick my ass, but I’ll tell you now—you need to decide if you want him enough to warrant the risk, sweetheart. Because I see from your face this hit you hard tonight, and you’re gonna wear yourself out going over it in your head. So figure it the fuck out before he rolls in, so you don’t make a mistake based on fear alone.” His gaze stayed on her face until she nodded then he lifted his chin with a jerk and moved aside, opening the way to the back room.

  ***

  Hoss tipped his head back, eyes tracking the spray of liquid on the ceiling. Foaming, the amber liquid dripped slowly, froth marking the place the beer had splashed when the bottle exploded against the wall. Two days. All I got was two fucking days. His gaze flashed to the doorway to see Hope standing there, mouth agape, drawn there by the shatter of glass and now looking at him with fear in her eyes.

  “Baby,” he breathed, but stopped when she shook her head and disappeared. “Fuck,” he ground out, gaze fixed on the doorway.

  She had been quiet when he picked her up in the early morning, quiet but sweet to Sammy when they snagged him from Jase’s place, and then just quiet when they got home and Sammy ran to play in his room. Glancing over her shoulder at him when he moved to follow her to their room, her nervousness shown through clearly.

  Both Gunny and Tequila had sent him texts earlier, letting him know she was badly shaken by the events. He would have loved to be able to go to her right then, but they had shit to deal with in the basement of the clubhouse, and that was where he had to be. He didn’t even bother justifying it, because obligations sucked, but knew in his gut that making sure shit was dealt with would help make her world safer in the long run.

  Now they were home and he wanted to bury himself inside her, find that quiet center she brought him, because the night’s work had been full of shit and pain, and he wanted to forget it for a while. He felt his lips curling up when he called her name from across the room, but then that smile died as she turned to look at him. Chin up, eyes swimming in tears, she no longer looked nervous; she looked fucking terrified and broken.

  Taking the two strides across the room, he wrapped his arms around her unresisting form, pulling her to him. Cradling her head against his chest, he told her, “It’s okay, baby. No harm, no foul, everything’s okay.” Badly shaken, fuck that. She was tore up about it all.

  And, who could blame her? It was only the second time she had been exposed to any of the club’s fuckery, and the other time had been mild, happening while she had been safely locked in her car. Tonight, she had been unprotected in a dark parking lot, had to watch as men threatened her and the other women, some of them pregnant, carrying precious life inside them. All those lives subjected to the stupidity of the club’s enemies.

  “Baby,” he whispered, arms tightening even as she was pushing at his chest. “Hush, now. It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” she sobbed out, pushing hard at him, twisting in his arms. “Let me go.”

  “Hope, be still, baby.” Carefully, he moved her, steering her towards the bed. Turning to sit on the edge of the mattress, he pulled her into his lap, her still shoving and trying to jerk away. Frustrated at her continued attempts to extricate herself, he barked, “Hope, knock it off.”

  At his sharp tone, she froze, no longer fighting, but sitting stiff and still, and his arms loosened, because it suddenly felt as if she were fragile, breakable. “Baby,” he started, but she shook her head. Changing tactics, he said, “What? Hope, you gotta talk to me. Tell me what’s in your head.” Her ass shifted; she had created space between their bodies, was as far away from him as she could get, even with him holding her like this. “Hope, what the fuck is going on?”

  “I can’t do this.” The whisper, delicate as a spider’s web, fell into the silence between them.

  “What?” His heart stuttered until he couldn’t pull a breath. Fuck. “What, Hope? What can’t you do?”

  “I can’t do this, Hoss.” He watched her trembling mouth form the words, saw a tear track down, resting for a moment on her upper lip then falling to darken her shirt. “I can’t.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”
His voice came from far away, and from her flinch, he knew it was far louder than he intended. Attempting to hold himself in check, he asked again, “Hope, what does that mean?”

  “I have to put Sammy first. Ahead of myself. Ahead of what I might want.” Now he was confused, because he wasn’t sure what Sammy had to do with this. Her face twisted and she brought up her hand, covering her mouth to try and hold in a cry. Her next words were muffled, but clear, and left no confusion behind.

  “You told me you brought danger to my door. I saw last night what it really meant. What if it had happened when we were all out? What if Sammy had been there? What if he had gotten hurt? I can’t let that happen to us, to him. I’ve thought and thought, trying to find a way to keep what I want—” Another sob broke free, and she lifted her hand halfway to his face then let it fall, and he saw her lips were pressed tightly together. In a voice clogged with tears, she said, “And I realized what I want doesn’t matter.”

  “No, baby.” He didn’t even know if he said the words. “No, no.” Moving fast, he twisted around, laying her on the bed, leaning into her with his hip, pinning her, even as he bracketed her with his elbows. Hands holding her head still, he looked into her eyes and said again, “No, baby.”

  “Hoss,” she whispered, her eyes tracking up and down his face. “I can’t.”

  “No, no.” He leaned down, brushing his lips across her forehead. “No. Give me a minute—”

  “I can’t,” she repeated, and when he pulled back, he saw her eyes were squeezed shut.

  “Baby, just give me—”

  “I can’t, Hoss. Do you think this is easy?” Now her eyes were open again, brilliant blue blazing up at him hotter than fire. “But I can’t put Sammy in dang—”

  He crashed his mouth down over hers, stopping the flood of her words ripping and tearing his heart out of his chest. Pushing between her lips, he lapped at her tongue, gasps of breath the only noise in the room until he heard himself groan. Eating at her, he poured his feelings into the kiss, feeling her hands beginning to move on him. Dropping his forehead to hers, he listened to her labored breathing for a moment. Sliding his cheek alongside hers, he whispered into her ear, “Don’t, baby. Don’t take this from me. I need this. I need you, us, so much. Mine. My Hope. My Sammy.”

  She jerked, and he felt her hands again, but now they were pushing against him, shoving her deeper into the mattress when he didn’t move. “Get off,” she sobbed, pushing again. “Get off me.” He froze, because her voice shredded him, tore through him with the pain it carried. Red and bloody as the floor of the clubhouse basement last night, she flayed him alive. “Get off. Let me up.”

  Rolling to his side, he pulled her with him, locking his arms around her, hugging her close, tucking her head underneath his chin. “Baby, talk to me. Nothing you say is making any sense. Give me a chance to talk to you.” He wrapped a leg over her, holding her to him as she fought to get away, pressing into her.

  “It was laid out for me pretty plain last night,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest, but no way would he let up on the hold he had on her. He had a terrifying certainty that if he couldn’t change her mind here, like this, then when he did let her up, it would be for good, and she would be walking out of his life the first chance she got.

  Her voice trembling like her lips had been earlier, she said, “The club is your life, Hoss. And, I understand putting others before yourself, so when things happen like last night, the club has earned your loyalty a thousand times over. I’ve heard story after story from your friends about how you’ve always given to the club, and last night they took from you again.”

  She shivered, and he tightened his arms as she continued, “They are your life, and Sammy is mine. You’re the one who told me you were dangerous, and last night, I saw that in truth. Anything could have happened to me, to those women, simply because we were out for dinner and drinks with the men we love.”

  Every word struck like a blow, because she was right. Last night had been his worst fears brought to life and the reason he had kept his distance from her for weeks, even wanting her as he did. Why he had protected her from afar, because wanting her, being with her, would put her at risk. “I can’t do that to Sammy. All he has is me, Hoss. I am all he has, all he’s ever known. It’s better for me to walk away now before he gets more attached to you than he already is, because I can’t do this.”

  Standing in his kitchen, staring at the doorway where Hope had so briefly appeared, he knew she had gone back to Sammy’s room and would have returned to her task of packing. Boxes and tape, suitcases and bags. Things that had made their way into and out of her car too many times over the past few weeks. She was preparing for him to make a call to get his brothers to move her out of his house. Out of his life.

  He couldn’t be angry, couldn’t hate her, because—whether she believed him or not—he got her. Soul deep, he got her. She put Sammy first, which meant even if she could get past what had happened last night, she still had to go, because living with him could place Sammy in the path of shit he didn’t need. And, she was right; he was also used to putting others first. Which meant now, he put her first. Ahead of his wants. His needs. Him. No fucking fairytale ending for him. He would put her first and let her go.

  I will protect you

  Hoss sat on a stool in the clubhouse, sliding his half-empty beer bottle back and forth between his palms on the bar. Chin tipped down, staring at nothing, he didn’t even register the presence of a body on the stool next to him until a hand reached out, plucking the beer from his grasp. Twisting to see Mason next to him, his body jolted, watching as his friend drained the last of the beer from the bottle. “Fucking warm shit, man,” Mason said, thumping the bottle back on the bar and motioning to the prospect manning the liquor bottles and coolers for two more.

  “Prez,” he said in greeting, eyes still on Mason. “Good to see you, Mason. Didn’t know you were coming into town, man. We gonna do it up right, have a barbecue at Captain's place?”

  “Maybe,” Mason returned, accepting the beer that slid across the bar towards him without removing his gaze from Hoss. “Need to have a chat, brother.”

  Shit. He had halfway expected something like this, but hadn’t thought he would have the office stripped from him so soon. Seventy-five days. Not that I’m counting, he thought with a twist to his mouth. Seventy-five days, where all he could do was sleep and drink. Deferring club business to others, not picking up so much as a crayon, sleeping at the clubhouse when he could convince his eyes to close.

  That had been his last communication to Hope, a plea for her to stay in his home with Sammy until they knew all danger was dealt with. Safe behind a locked gate and an alarm system even Gunny said was top of the line. Safe from the danger he had laid at her feet, not the legacy he wanted, but the truth. He knew from Jase she was still working, knew from Deke she hadn’t left, knew from Mercy that Hope and Sammy were staying in the guest room. Not living in the house, but staying in a single room, as if the rest of the house were filled with nothing but bad memories. Shit.

  “All right,” he ground out between gritted teeth, swinging off the stool and swaying for a moment. Glancing up at the clock, he saw it was not even eleven a.m., far too early to be this wasted. Fuck. “Office?” The question gave him a moment to regain his equilibrium, but when Mason answered, he knew his friend understood the delaying tactic for what it was.

  “If you can walk that far, fucker.” Mason’s tone was sad and quiet, jerking Hoss’ eyes to him in time to see pain wash across his features.

  In the office, Hoss stumbled as he went to sit on the couch, falling sideways into the cushions with a grunt. Sighing, he said, “Give it to me straight, Prez. You takin’ my patch, too, or just my office?”

  “Ain’t taking anything, fucktard,” Mason said, shaking his head as he pulled out the chair behind the desk and sat. “Wanted to talk to you and couldn’t get you on the phone. Talked to Slate, and he told me what h
appened after the shit went down with the Sins, man. It’s been two and a half months; you didn’t think to talk to me about this bullshit?”

  “It’s only been five months since Utah.” He watched Mason’s features tighten, but pushed on anyway. “You’ve been gone on a run out west for most of the last month and a half, Mason. You and her needed a chance to get right, so it ain’t like you needed to take time out of the life you’re building with her for anyone else’s bullshit. I’m not complaining, mind, because if anyone deserved the trip you just took with Willa, it was you. Something you don’t deserve is hearing how shit went sideways for me, man. Love you, brother, but it doesn't mean I have to pile my shit on you every fucking time I hit a road bump.” Hoss struggled upright, bracing his elbow on the arm of the couch. “You look good, Prez. The run have the effect you wanted?”

  Mason pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and grinned, his expression relaxed and open, easy in a way Hoss had never seen it. Nodding slowly, he said, “Yeah. I haven’t told anyone else yet, but I married her while we were in California. Place on the coast called the Wayfarers Chapel. Fated, man. I asked her sitting on the prettiest beach I’ve ever seen, watching kites dance in the fucking wind. Does that sound like me at all? That’s the kind of sensitive shit I’d expect from you or Bingo, but damn me if it didn’t feel right. Then, sliding my rags on her shoulders for the first time? Putting my stamp on her for everyone to see with that vest? That felt right, too.”

  Mason laughed. “I suspect she’d talk more about the ring, but putting her on my bike with her wearing my patch? Gave me a fucking hard-on that wouldn’t quit. I get it now, understand what would pull a man to mark a woman as his own, understand what drove Slate like it did, why Bear took the shit he did to make Eddie his. I fucking love her, tell her that shit every day, and cannot fucking wait for her to birth our babe growing in her belly.”