Hoss (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 7)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Give me fifteen. Put a timer on it if you need to, but give me fifteen.” Mason moved back, and Hoss jerked to see the men gathered in the room.

  “The fuck did these guys come from?” he asked with a grin, walking in and clasping wrists and hands with each man in turn. “Seriously,” he turned to look at Mason, pulling free from Duck’s hug, “I pissed for like a minute. Did you have them stashed underneath the fucking desk when we were in here talking inventory?”

  Fury, Watcher, and Bones all laughed at that, and a low rumble came from Duck. Lifting his chin, he greeted the other man in the room a little less enthusiastically. “Pike, how you doin’?”

  Mason interrupted, “Talk to us about Memphis.”

  “Fuck, boss,” he groaned. “If you want a recount of that shit storm, it’ll take a lot longer than fifteen minutes.”

  Mason looked grim as he said, “High points, brother. Just hit the high points.”

  He nodded and, looking around, selected a seat at the end of the desk, leaning his elbows on the flat surface. Palms scrubbing at his face, he took a minute to compose his thoughts, hearing the men in the room settling into chairs and on sofas, recognized the snick of the latch in the frame as the door shut. Without opening his eyes, he cleared his throat and began.

  “Memphis has been a problem since day one. My opinion, I still think we should close the fucking chapter, rolling the boys into Little Rock. Mob and bangers have a chokehold on that city in a way what makes it hard to keep our shit straight from theirs. Corruption as old as the south breeds in the streets and alleyways there.” Opening his eyes, he gazed down at the desktop for a moment.

  “We found Lalo had been circling our house there, taking over territory until he literally started to choke us out.” He gestured towards Fury, standing in a casual lean on the opposite side of the room. “Our brother gave us the info; Mason sent me on a hunting trip. In the time between gaining the knowledge and my run, things had gone to hell in a hand basket. So much worse than expected, it took three weeks to sort that shit.

  “Sitdown after fucking sitdown, I listened to the gripes and complaints of clubs from Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee—even fucking Texas clubs came to the table. Respect paid on both sides, I laid the foundation for further friendly negotiations with several clubs. Meanwhile”—he lifted his head and gazed around the room—“Lalo was having his own meetings.” His eyes stopped on Slate and noted the expected jerking response when he continued, “Ling was his primary contact, biggest dealer in town, ran shit straight out of his place on Beale.”

  Slate spoke up, “I’ve had dealings with Ling. He’s a brutal motherfucker. He and Lalo should have made good bedfellows.”

  Nodding, Hoss said, “Yeah, you’d think, right?” Shaking his head, he said, “You’d be wrong. Ling was too hard even for Lalo to stomach, and they had a…disagreement.” Pike made a noise, and Hoss swung his gaze that direction with a nod. “Yeah, Pike. You know about this part, don’tcha.”

  With a sigh, Pike strode forward a single step. “Is this about Memphis, or St. Louis?”

  Mason growled, “Memphis, motherfucker. Now shut the fuck up. Ain’t everything about you.” Chastened, Pike stepped backwards, putting his shoulders to the wall.

  Hoss shook his head, looking around the table again. “I’m guessing since Watch and Bones are both here, this is about Diamante’s recent losses. Lalo gave up Memphis, but he left a fucking void. He vacated, pulled out within about twelve hours of giving the order. Fucking imbalance of power, we couldn’t let it tip to Ling or he would’ve fucking owned the town.”

  He scrubbed at his face, hearing the screaming, pleading voices of men already dead for months. With those memories, it wasn’t hard to imagine the wails of children for their fathers, women for their men. “We partnered with the reformed Outriders in Lexington, Freed Riders of Texas, and a dozen other clubs. Then, with their help, and our intel, we burned Ling’s empire to the ground.”

  “So Lalo pulled up stakes and walked away? No blowback?” Fury’s voice was soft, curious.

  “Yeah. Found out later he headed towards Virginia first, but then not two weeks later, we heard grapevine reports he got picked up by DEA in Florida. Nothing confirmed, and you boys all know if it could be found in a national database, Myron would find out the shit.

  He shook his head and twisted to look at Mason. “We sharing everything, boss?” At his nod, he shifted in his seat then said, “Last thing we truly know about Lalo was an intercepted email to Deacon acknowledging receipt of a package sent from Cali. We don’t know what the package was, who it was…but the assumption is Lalo was given someone to mentor.

  “And that’s it. There are details Myron or I can provide about the numbers and businesses in Memphis, but those inter-club interactions are the most important parts. We now have good relations with a dozen clubs where there was no personal knowledge before, people we can call on in a pinch. We fucked Lalo’s play with Ling and rid the beautiful town of Memphis of a blight that was poisoning it for decades.” He stood, pushing back from the table, getting a nod of thanks from Mason for his willingness to stay and participate in this brief meeting. He shook his head. “What we don’t know…can’t know is what the fallout will be with Diamante.”

  ***

  “One more push, Hope,” he repeated the doctor’s words to her, softly encouraging his exhausted woman. “One more, baby. Time to bring it home. Faith is ready to meet her momma, one more push.” He swept her sweaty hair back from her temples for the thousandth time, willing to do it a thousand more.

  Since she woke him last night, calling him from the bathroom where her water had broken—sweet-smelling fluid staining her nightgown and making her thighs slick, flooding the tile floor—he had been taking snapshots in his mind. Holding the moments to bring out later, for the rest of his life, to remember what this looked like, what it felt like. It was like falling in love all over again, his stomach twisting with fear and giddiness.

  “One more push, baby,” he said, seeing the look of determination edging into her features, knowing another contraction was making its presence known. He shifted, gripping her hand and wrist, giving her a strong anchor to lever her body up with.

  Their eyes caught, gazes locking as she pulled her torso up off the bed, shoulders bending and curling. She nodded and then took a deep breath, bearing down as he and the labor nurse started counting. Halfway through he saw the look on her face change, her eyes rounded in surprise at the different sensation, and he heard the doctor say, “Stop pushing, Hope. Relax a second. Let’s get her shoulders out slow and easy.”

  Glancing back towards the doc, he couldn’t see anything around the man’s head and shoulders wedged high between his woman’s thighs, so he turned back to look at Hope. She had slumped back to the bed, trying hard to blink back tears, and then he saw her eyes go round again. Her head lifted and jerked to look down her body at the sound that started small, squeaking and hitching after every tiny breath, and then grew to fill the room. She looked up at him and he smiled. “Sounds like love,” he said, and she threw one arm around his neck, pulling him down for a sobbing, open-mouthed kiss.

  ***

  “Prez,” he said with a grin, swinging his legs off Hope’s bed to stand, reaching out to pull Mason into a one-armed clinch. “Welcome, brother.” He had been stretched out beside her, watching her doze in and out, resting in between feedings as best she could.

  “Brother,” Mason greeted him with a grin, thumping him on the back.

  Hoss looked past his friend and, seeing he was alone, asked, “No Willa today?”

  “Naw,” he stepped back, “she’s home with Garrett. Boy’s got colic in the worst way. Hasn’t stopped crying for nearly three weeks.” He grimaced. “She’s handling it better’n me. I told her this morning I needed a run and she laughed, holding my boy close to her shoulder, him squallin’ hard and loud. Told me go on, let the wind blow my head straight.”

  “Shit,
brother,” he said, wincing in sympathy. “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, but he’ll settle out and we’ll get on with things.” Mason shrugged, stepping around Hoss towards the bed. Softly he asked, “Little Momma, how you doin’?” He held out his hand and Hope reached up, gripping tightly as she smiled.

  “Good, really good,” she said, and then sniffed. “Interesting cologne choice, Mason,” she remarked with a laugh, and he frowned and then shook his head. She asked, a proud smile on her face, “Did you see Faith?” He shook his head again, and she turned to look at Hoss. “Honey, walk him down. Get out of here for a few minutes; go show off our daughter.”

  “What’s your girl’s name?” Mason asked, leaning down to brush his lips in a tender kiss across Hope’s forehead.

  “Faith Inez,” Hoss said with a grin.

  “Good name,” Mason agreed. “Come on and show me my boy’s potential old lady.” That dragged a loud laugh from Hope, who shook her head. “What?” Mason feigned surprise then laughed softly. “Can’t fault me for wanting to keep my family together, can you? I’m just looking ahead, makin’ plans.”

  Shaking her head again, she shifted to her side, putting one hand under her cheek. “Goofballs, the both of you.”

  Walking down the hallway, Hoss was surprised to see there was a large gathering of men near the nursery windows. Shaking his head, he asked, “You bring the whole club, Prez?”

  “Naw,” Mason said with a chuckle as they reached the group and Hoss was surrounded by their brothers, their family, congratulations ringing through the air as friendly hands pounded his shoulders and back. “There’s another hundred at the clubhouse impatiently waiting their turn.”

  What she showed me

  “Ready for a stroll, baby?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Doc said walking is good. Let’s have a slow stroll, go gather up our daughter, and bring her back to the room for the night.”

  She sighed and stretched, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss, pressing her lips firmly against his for a moment. “Sammy’s still coming later, right? Mercy and Deke are going to bring him?” She swung her legs to the side, sliding out of bed and standing next to him, swaying for a moment as she laughed, grabbing at the rail on the bed.

  “Yeah, Sam will be here in an hour or so. When he called, Deke said they’re feeding him first.” Hoss reached out to steady her, hand on her hip, while she shrugged on her robe, tying it loosely in front.

  Looping her arm through his, she said, “I could use a bottle of water. I hate the smell of the city water.” She flicked her finger against the pitcher standing on the rolling table. “Weirdest thing, I’ve been smelling oranges all day, but the water here still stinks.”

  Hoss grinned, wrapping his fingers around her hand, pulling her close for a quick kiss. “Love you, Mama,” he said softly as they moved into the hallway.

  “Love you so much, Isaiah,” she told him. “Love of my life. I don’t know what I did that deserved to find you at the end of my trip from Alabama, but I’ve thanked my lucky stars every day that I did. Me and Sammy, we needed love like you’ve shown us.” Her voice sounded thick and, because he knew she hated for him to see her cry, he kept his eyes fixed on the window at the end of the hallway.

  “Do you smell that?” She asked this loudly, finally drawing his attention down to her face, and sudden fear clenched hard in his chest, his heart stuttering to a halt as he saw one of her eyes was almost entirely black. “Oranges,” she slurred. Her suddenly rigid grip was dragging at his arm, and as if in slow motion, he saw her knees beginning to buckle.

  He reached out, grabbing and holding her upright as her body sagged backwards over his arms. He remembered the first time he got her back, the day she fainted and he was barely able to stop her from falling. This felt different; her body was loose and lax in a way that wasn’t natural. This wasn’t a faint.

  Shouting came from behind him, the pounding of running feet, but all he could do was stare at her face as her eyelids closed, covering the sight of both eyes now black, pupils fully blown. Her form had gone limp, hanging heavy from his arms, trying to slide from his grasp, mouth open and unbreathing. Sinking to the floor with her in his arms, he saw the boots of his brothers surrounding them, felt their hands trying to take her from him. Then, as if from a distance, felt the sobs racking his body when they succeeded, his arms suddenly as brutally empty as his chest.

  Kneeling on the hard floor of the hospital hallway, he rocked backwards over his heels, tilting his face to the ceiling as he gave voice to the grief ripping through him, because he knew what had happened. Felt the difference in her body when she left him. He flashed to a remembered image of Ruby, pale and still on a basement floor and knew, unlike Slate and his woman, there would be no miraculous intervention for him and Hope. From the pain in his chest, the shaking of his hands, the rawness in his throat…he knew she was gone.

  ***

  Gaze fixed on the floor between his boots, he felt numb, removed from everything happening around him. They had seated Hope’s doc in a chair across from him and the man was leaning forward, head in his hands and not trying to hide his own grief behind a professional face. Hoss felt a hard hand grip his shoulder, pulling him sideways into a body, strong arm around his shoulders holding on tight. Eyes still streaming tears, he looked up at Mason, seeing the anguish twisting his friend’s face and knew it reflected the pain on his own. He turned his head, burying his face into Mason’s stomach, wrapping his arms around him.

  The medical phrases circled around in his head, but he didn’t give a shit about knowing the why. Knowing the words like cerebral cavernous malformation didn’t change the fact Hope was gone. Understanding this wasn’t anything they could have foreseen, or even likely fixed if the docs had known about it, didn’t matter. None of it mattered, not really. He had noted the part about genetics, knew it was something he would have to revisit at some point, but that wouldn’t be today. Today he was just trying to keep sucking in air, one anguish-filled breath at a time.

  Muffled and small, he heard himself ask, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, brother?”

  Wordlessly, Mason’s grip tightened, holding on, holding him in place, holding him together. He heard the doc get up and leave, heard other footsteps come into the room. He felt other arms circling his shoulders, hands resting on his head as he sobbed, unashamed of his grief, because—as fierce as it was—it didn’t hold a candle to the love he had for Hope. That’s what he held onto, the idea that his love for her was bigger than anything else; it had to be. Her last words to him came back, and he wasn’t aware he was repeating them aloud until he heard Mason’s tortured voice say, “Brother.”

  Hoss pulled back, looking up, finding it hard to focus through his tears. “She said I was the love of her life. Said she didn’t know what she’d done to deserve my love, said she needed me. Sammy needed me. Mason,” his voice broke again, “what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

  He watched as Mason fought for control over his emotions, the struggle playing out across his face. Before he could speak, however, Hoss heard an unexpected voice, one he hadn’t heard in far too long, and he turned to look at Tugboat walking into the room, the sea of black leather-clad men moving out of his way. “You go on.”

  Tug and Bear’s mother, Maggie, had been away for months on a trip to California, and Hoss’ breath caught at the knowledge they would never get to meet Hope. Fuck, he thought, as awareness ripped through him that his parents never met her. “You go on, son. You figure it out every day when you set your feet on the floor beside your bed, and you thank God for it every night when your knees hit that same floor.”

  Tug kept speaking as Hoss pushed to his feet, the hands of his brothers still touching him, supporting him, wordlessly telling him they were there, they had his back, and they would do anything he needed. All he had to do was put words to anything, and they would break their backs for him. “You make a life for your boy a
nd your baby girl. One that honors the life of their mother. One that honors the love she had for you. That gift she gave you. Let that love take root inside you and grow until it’s all anyone can see. That love you shared with her? You gotta let it shine, brother. Her love will tell you what you need; just let it talk to you.”

  Behind Tug, he saw the hallway door open and the doc walked back in. From the tender care in his posture, Hoss didn’t have to ask to know he had brought Faith back with him. Being in the same room with her made the air electric, and he stared at Tug. That energy filled him up, and he suddenly got it. He understood what Tug was telling him, speaking with the wisdom of loss, and love.

  Soft and quiet, Hoss said, “Love them like she’d want to be loved, like she would love them.” He paused for a moment, the drying tears on his face making his skin uncomfortable, too tight. Smiling used muscles he felt would break before stretching, but instead shattered the feeling, freeing a bit of joy in its place. He said, conviction rich in his voice, “Like she loved me.”

  Tug nodded, turned and took Hoss’ baby from the doc, cradled her to his chest, and looked down at her. He gently pushed the blanket back from her face and whispered soft words, making sweet nonsense noises to the child in his arms. Precious. Loved. Watching his friend with his infant daughter, Hoss’ heart swelled with emotion. His voice stronger now, more certain, he said, “With every fiber of my being. Love them.”

  Stepping over beside Tug, he reached out a hand, cupping the back of Faith’s head, conscious of the delicateness of her skull, of how tiny she was. Newly born, fragile and precious. He found himself overwhelmed by the terrifying knowledge she was totally dependent on him. Just him. She was his.

  “She’s gorgeous, Hoss. Most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen,” Tug said, lifting her and placing her in Hoss’ arms so he had to take her. He had held her earlier, walked her to and from the nursery, rocked her to sleep after Hope fed her. This was different, felt different because this time it was with the knowledge that Faith needed him to take on both roles. He accepted the burden, feeling the weight on his shoulders ease minutely as he held her close, protectively.