Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Mica interrupted, “Ray is small; he always said his strength and balance, paired with his size, was what made him a good bull rider. He was about two inches shorter than me, but he could pick me up and throw me around without breaking a sweat.” Mason watched her closely; she was holding herself tightly, but doing well so far.

  Steve nodded at her. “He is five foot, two inches tall, and weighs a hundred-twenty pounds or so. The guy he killed was six-foot-two, and topped the scale at more than two hundred and fifty pounds. Nelms killed him with only his fists and feet. He got inside the much longer reach of the taller man, and muscled him around, even though he was twice his size. Nelm’s father died shortly after he went home the summer you met him. Official ruling was natural causes, but the timing makes me nervous. I’ve got some additional questions out to folks in Lamesa, because the coroner’s report is vague on a couple of things.” He looked at Mica again. “Nelms married that fall; here’s a picture of his wife.”

  Steve handed around a photo printed on a piece of paper, and wasn’t surprised when Jess gasped, “Holy fucking shit, she could be your sister, Mica!” She passed the paper on around the table, all talk pausing for a minute, while they absorbed this information.

  Mica looked at Mason questioningly; he had already seen the picture, and he knew Jess was right. He nodded at Mica, holding it out. “Babe, you okay?” She nodded absently back at him, accepting the picture from him and studying it closely. “Fucking shit don’t get no easier from here, babe. Are. You. Okay?” She raised her eyes to his and held his gaze for a moment, then nodded again. Mason motioned impatiently at Steve to continue. “Rip that Band-Aid the fuck off.”

  Taking a deep breath, Steve said flatly, “Lessa Nelms died nearly a year ago, the same weekend Emily Schneider committed suicide. Her death was questioned, but eventually ruled natural causes. They had no children.”

  Mica gasped and frowned. “You’re kidding, right? That seems surreal. He had a wife that looked like me, and now she’s dead? And she died the same weekend Em died?” She looked at Mason, and then down to where Daniel had laced their fingers together. “Does that even make sense?”

  Steve cleared his throat and consulted his notes, ignoring her questions. “Nelms has been seen in Longview within the last month. I’ve confirmed that he contracted with an investigator in Chicago to trail you, and to provide details and photos. Not all of the pictures that Gentry Dalton had were taken by the P.I., Mica,” he paused, “and we think some of them may have been taken by your brother, Michael.” He stopped there, seeming to try to build the courage to say something else, but then shook his head at Mason. “Can’t, man. Just too much.” He sat back on the chair, putting his phone back in his pocket.

  “Aww fuck, you piss-ant.” Mason shifted in his chair. He put his elbows on the table and touched one finger to his lips, looking directly at Mica. “Babe…” He stopped, rubbing his palm across his face. He started again, “Babe. Mica, honey. Michael took the pictures of the attack. And the ones at our houses. Not the P.I., but Michael. Your twin brother fucking stood there and watched you get beat the fuck up. He watched your shoulder get dislocated and your head bashed into the wall. He didn’t make a call, he didn’t help, but fucking stood and snapped souvenir photographs like a fucking tourist.

  “You gotta make peace with this, babe. It sucks, but you already knew Michael was an asshat of epic proportions. This elevates him to fucktard levels, though.” Mason looked hard into her face, watching as he spoke, and slowly became satisfied at what he saw there. She took a breath in and shook her head. Then blowing the breath out, she nodded at him, her tongue running along the edges of her teeth. “That’s my girl; get pissed the fuck off. Don’t let this shit eat at you,” he urged, nodding back at her.

  Mason continued, “Nelms has been in Chicago for the past four days. His flight back home was supposed to be today, but he didn’t get on the plane, even though he had two tickets. Two tickets, babe...”

  Steve cut in, winding up his report, “I have distributed the make, model, and license of his personal SUV to all security. With your permission, I’d like to put tracers into place on all your phones, not just for incoming calls, but for location. Just in case. We will, of course, discard and disregard anything outside the scope of this investigation, but it would help us track him if he attempts to contact any of you.”

  Daniel shifted and put his arm around Mica. He pulled her tightly into his side, softly kissing the side of her head as she nodded at Steve. Mason felt a tug at his heart, watching the ease and care between Mica and Daniel. She seemed relaxed with him, but Mason still wondered if he had made the right choice.

  39 -

  Hockey

  Daniel’s ass hovered just over the bench, waiting for the shift to end so he could get back onto the ice. He was pleased with how they were playing tonight. The team had really found their groove and were skating aggressively, taking the puck to the Crashers again and again. Seeing the line skating to the bench, he stood with his stick and slid over the short wall. Pushing hard with his legs, he skated quickly across the ice, getting in place for the quick faceoff in their own corner.

  He accepted the tip from the circle, and bounced it off the boards and into place for his winger to snag it. They met behind the Crashers’ net, and he saw the feed coming his way. Barely tapping it, he wrapped the puck around the post and into the net, putting the Mallets up by two goals. Skating slowly backwards into the boards, he shouted wordlessly, watching the team celebrate. After high-fiving the team and listening to the boos from the home team fans, he grinned grimly, taking his seat on the bench.

  He watched intently as the play moved quickly back and forth, over and between the blue lines. Seeing Jason and Gary stacking and chirping at an opposing defender, he knew what was coming. Hoping the shift could change before they dropped gloves, he watched the pushing behind the net, waiting for the icing call…yes.

  Sliding back out onto the ice for the faceoff, he gave Jase a hard shoulder-check, playing the team captain card and reminding him penalties were not their friend. The tipoff got dumped down low, and the Mallets put good pressure on the Crashers. Sticks were skittering on the ice in front of the net as the Mallets players got serious about putting the puck on net, but the Crashers’ goalie saved shot after shot in the blue paint with his pads, knees, stick, and hands.

  Another faceoff and the Crashers won the tip, taking it low, but quickly losing possession to Daniel. Aware of his teammates’ positions, he got the puck under control and pushed hard down-rink. Passing it, he got it in front of the net and triggered off another scrum that moved to the corner boards.

  He was jostled and lost the puck as a Crasher dug it out and passed to a D-partner. Glancing at the clock, he saw there was less than 20 seconds left in the second period, not enough time for another shift change. Sliding himself into position high by the blue line, he was in the right place to knock a slap wide as the horn sounded the end of the period.

  Up in the suite with everyone, Mica was watching the game anxiously. She didn’t understand the rules, and often couldn’t keep up with where the puck was. She even found herself watching the wrong end of the rink sometimes. She always knew where Daniel was, though, and she’d seen him bashed into the sides of the rink several times by the big men on the other team.

  Without looking away from the glass, she asked, “How long is the…I know it’s not half-time…whatever the break is called?”

  Mason grinned. “Intermissions are eighteen minutes long. They start the clock after the players have all left the ice. It’s an intermission, babe. The play times are called periods. They are twenty minutes long, and there are three of them. The game is sixty minutes long.”

  Absently, she thanked him, trying to find Daniel’s face in the group around the bench. Jess brought her a bottle of water, and she glanced at her. “Thanks Jess. Do you know much about hockey?”

  She shook her head. “Not really, I just watch it
for the fights.” There hadn’t been any fights so far this game, and Mica wondered what caused them to fight, if it was the excitement of the moment, or if the players became enemies on the ice.

  “Does Daniel fight often?” she asked as she looked at Mason.

  Frowning, he responded, “No, he’s not an enforcer, so he doesn’t start fights. He finishes them when needed, though. I’ve seen some videos, and he’s pretty brutal when he has to be.” Seeing the look on her face, he softened that with, “Well, not brutal, he just takes care of business efficiently when he’s pushed too far.”

  “Do you see him now? I can’t find him.” She was still staring through the glass, the water bottle forgotten in her hand. “Oh, they are starting again. There he is.” She sighed softly and visibly relaxed. “I found him.” Jess laughed soundlessly at her, catching Mason’s eye and making a twirling motion with her finger near her temple as Mica turned in time to see her. “I’m not crazy, Jess. I simply don’t know what to expect, is all. Stop it!”

  She turned back to the glass, leaning closer. The players were standing near the circle in the middle, and the game started again. Daniel was on the ice; he moved in what looked like random patterns, but always seemed to be where the puck was. She thought that he must be able to read the plays, or knew what to expect. His team was ahead, and she didn’t think hockey was a high-scoring game, so maybe this last period was a formality.

  Her breath caught in her throat; Daniel was sliding across the ice on his back, flipping over, scrambling up to skate back hard. He caught up to the action and pushed into the mix of players in the rounded corner behind their own net. There were a lot of players there, all fighting over the puck; she could see skates and helmets, their sticks rising and falling on the ice.

  The game stopped, and one of the other players skated slowly across the ice, escorted by one of the officials in black and white stripes. The player stepped into a glassed-in box, and the door closed behind him. She could hear boos and yells from the crowd in the arena.

  “What just happened?” she asked.

  Steve answered, “Dubakki was called for high sticking; he had the blade of his stick up in Daniel’s ribs pretty good. He got a couple minutes in the penalty box. Wait,” he looked closely at the action, “I think they found blood on the stick; that’s a double-minor, which should mean four minutes in the box. Nice power play opportunity for the Mallets. Yeah, “ he nodded at the scoreboard, “four minute power play.” He grinned, watching the play continue on the ice.

  Mica frowned at him. “There’s blood on that player’s hockey stick? You mean Daniel is hurt? Why is he still playing?”

  Steve and Mason glanced at each other and shrugged, watching the time tick down on the clock as they said in unison, “Its hockey.”

  40 -

  Hometown

  “WOOOOO! Fuckin’ win column again, baby,” Jason yelled as the team headed into the locker room. The game had been won with a nice margin, but because they had prepared hard for it, it was still a good-feeling win.

  Gary yelled at Jason, “Catch,” and threw a box across the room at him. Jason caught it and burst out laughing, ripping the box open. He shoved a handful of the contents into his mouth with a loud growl.

  Charging towards Daniel, he caught him and shoved a handful of what looked and tasted like fruit-flavored cereal with marshmallows into his face and mouth. “Fucking lucky charm, motherfucker! WOOOOO!” Grabbing Daniel around the shoulders, he danced around the room with him. “Fucking win column, baby. Yeah!” Jason flashed his easy smile, the one that got him girls in every town they played. “WOOOO!”

  Daniel winced and pulled away. “God, you stink, Jase. Take a shower and get outta here; celebrate at the hotel.”

  Gary hooted, “Aaahh yeah, get a little celly-bration going on, Jase. Get your celly on!”

  Nate walked up to Daniel. “Good game, good game, man. You guys were reading them left and right; they couldn’t find a play you didn’t already know about. Awesome strategy, perfectly executed, that’s why you are the best.” He clapped him on his shoulders. “Awesome game.”

  The medic waved impatiently at Daniel from across the room and he nodded, turning to tell his friends, “I gotta get this taken care of, guys. I’ll see you on the bus in the morning, yeah? Get your celly on.”

  Stripping off his jersey, he wrinkled his nose at the blood that covered it from armpit to hem. Thankful it had absorbed it all and he hadn’t bled on the ice, he threw the jersey at Nate. “Take care of that, would ya, old man?” Laughing, he walked into the first aid room for his stitches.

  Nearly an hour later, Daniel walked back into the locker room. It was quiet now, and all the gear was packed on the bus, ready for the trip back to Chicago. He figured all the rest of the players were off eating and drinking in celebration, but was surprised when he saw Jason and Gary stand up from where they had been sitting, and he smiled as he spotted who was with them.

  “Mica,” he breathed, smiling at her, “sorry you had to wait.” She looked stunning, wearing a Mallets shirt, her faded jeans, and low-top sneakers.

  She frowned at him. “Are you okay, Daniel? Steve said you were cut by a stick?” He thought to himself how sweet she was, worried about him. He was smiling broadly until she said, “I would understand if you don’t want to go out to dinner tonight. Jason and Gary explained how much it can hurt after a game like this, once the adrenaline wears off. If you’re hurting and want to go back to the hotel, I can eat by myself, or with them.”

  She didn’t seem to want to have their dinner date after all. It was her first hockey game; maybe she didn’t like it, and by association, him. In a terse tone, Daniel clipped, “If you would rather not go to dinner, that’s fine, Mica. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be riding the bus back to Chicago tomorrow, but Samuel can take you home.” He nodded at Jason and Gary, stalking past them and holding open the door. “Hotel it is, then.”

  He saw Jason look at Gary, hands up and shaking his head. Mica gazed at him with emotion welling in her eyes. “Daniel, I want to go to dinner with you, but if you are hurt, I would be okay with postponing our date—not canceling it, just postponing—unless you decide canceling it is what you want.” She walked through the open door, making her way up the hallway.

  Jason spoke up, “What the fuck just happened?” Slapping Daniel on the shoulder, he explained, “She was excited about the dinner, you bastard. What just happened? I thought you liked her, Daniel?”

  Daniel turned back and punched Jason hard in the chest. “The fuck, man? She said she could have dinner with you two instead. I don’t know what happened. You tell me, friend.”

  Gary got between the two men, pushing them back and frowning. He looked back and forth between his two best friends and frowned harder, an old hockey scar puckering up beside his eye. The door snicked closed on the now-empty hallway.

  He pointed at Daniel. “You, go after her. Take her to dinner.” Turning, he pointed at Jason, “You, shut the fuck up. Walk with me.” Snagging his shirtfront, he pulled Jason into the hallway with him, taking him towards the exit nearest the hotel.

  Walking out of the room, Daniel saw Mica standing a little ways up the hallway chewing on the side of her thumb. “I’m hungry,” he said, walking towards her, “and…I’m sorry. I misunderstood. Would you still want to have dinner with me, beautiful? Can we rewind and start over?” Her wide smile was his reward as she nodded at him. He smiled back. “Let’s go, then.” He took her hand, weaving his fingers in between hers, pulling her towards the parking garage. “Samuel should be waiting for us,” he said. “I had a plan all laid out, but it might be too late now. I didn’t expect it to take so long to get cleaned up after the game.”

  Opening the back door, he helped her into the car ahead of him. Keeping possession of her hand, he pulled her close to him as he sat down. “Samuel, were you able to call ahead?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rupert, they will still be open; there is plenty of time. I�
�ve called…the other location as well, to let her know we are delayed.”

  Daniel sighed and sat back into the seat as the car moved out of the garage. “Great, thanks. Let’s go.”

  Mica looked at Daniel; he was wearing dress slacks and a crisp button-down shirt opened at the neck, and on his feet were dressy, leather shoes. She frowned, looking down at her much more causal outfit. “Daniel, am I dressed okay? I didn’t bring anything with me to change into after the game.”

  He laughed. “You are fine, beautiful. I’m overdressed, if anything.”

  “Okay. So…you guys won. That’s good, right?” she asked, smiling. “I don’t know much about hockey, but the end score was easy to read.”

  “Everything about hockey is easy, simple. All we have to do is skate, pass, score, and win.” He scoffed after a moment. “I wish it was really that easy. We were well-prepared for the game tonight, and the guys all did a great job handling the puck and playing under pressure.” He sighed, leaning his head back.

  Watching the scenery pass by through the car windows, Mica wasn’t prepared when Daniel tugged her back into him, and she fell awkwardly across his lap. He grunted when her flailing elbow planted in his side, and she jumped back up, horrified that she had hurt him. “I’m so sorry, Daniel; I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  He laughed. “My fault, Mica, I wanted to be closer to you. It’s okay, beautiful.”

  Scowling at him, she put on a serious face, all business. Reaching out for his shirt, she tugged it from the front of his pants. “Let me see where you’re hurt.” Unbuttoning his shirt quickly, she smiled as he objected mildly, and then gracefully submitted. She pulled it the rest of the way out of his waistband, then unbuttoned his cuffs and pushed it off his shoulders onto the seat.

  Gasping when she saw his torso, it was marked with bruises all along his ribs on both sides. He had more big bruises on his right shoulder and left bicep, but what her eyes stayed on was the long length of stitches running raggedly up his right side.