A device attached to the wall-mounted TV buzzed and Myron jolted. “That’s Estavez. Shit. Gimme a minute.” Quickly, he fitted the battery into the beat-up old computer chassis and booted it up, tapping in a lengthy sequence of characters to get past the loading screen. “’Nother minute, boss.” The device buzzed again. Myron muttered, “You were supposed to fucking wait, asshole.”
Hoss reached over and punched a button on the remote, turning on the screen. They watched the welcome message for a moment, then Myron keyed in another string of characters, and it came to life, showing them Raul Estavez in a room by himself. That alone was a shock, because if ever there was a club that supported their president, it was the Machos.
“Mason,” Raul’s accent was thick but familiar, and Hoss grunted a hello when his name was called next. “Hoss and Myron. As I requested. Thank you for agreeing to discuss this with me.”
“Estavez.” Mason nodded. “What exactly are we discussing?”
“Myron is the best tech in the business, no?” Hoss nodded, seeing Mason doing the same. “Have you caught wind of the latest unrest here in Mexico?” Hoss looked at Myron who shook his head. “That is…unfortunate.” Estavez sighed. “But not unexpected, because I assumed at first the Rebels would, of course, know, and when I heard nothing from your territories, I was surprised but felt certain you would be working a mission just without my help. Now, knowing that you are ignorant of the threat, I feel the fool for not raising my hand earlier to warn you.”
“Warn us of what, Raul?” Mason jerked a chair out from under the table and angled into it. Resting an elbow on the table, he made a gesture towards the camera. “I’m all ears, man.” Hoss nodded when he swept a gaze around the room. “Give it to us.”
“You remember Carlos?” Not a real question, but because he was an enemy forgotten so far in the past, Hoss gave Raul the benefit of the doubt.
“Yeah. Your blood brother who you bled and buried, keeping your family safe. Took the club from him.” He waited a beat, then continued to remind everyone of the ties Estavez and his family had to the Rebels. “He took your daughter, Carmela, rescued by Slate and Watcher. He let his cousin be sold as a slave, and Watcher also rescued her. Juanita became his old lady. Need me to go on?” Estavez nodded and Hoss shrugged. “Okay, his old lady Silverio tried to stage a coup in Chicago, but she died instead. That it?”
“Memories are tricky things, aren’t they? We learn so much as we go through life, and then forget blocks of time as unimportant, only to have to find those memories again when they bubble back up as need. Sylvia, Silverio’s sister, she hooked herself to a Rebel in Fort Wayne. My sister-in-law’s sister, with a Rebel. My daughter, with a Rebel, now patched into the Malcontents. And no matter what patch he wears, we all know Hurley will forever be a Rebel. Their children protected by three clubs, as was Mela.” Estavez paused and the lines in his face deepened, becoming more prominent as his jaw tightened and flexed. “Six months ago there were rumors of Diamante starting back up.”
Mason slapped his palm on the table and muttered, “No.”
“Yes. We watched what happened through the years. Things settled because without Deacon or Morgan, without Suches, without a leader to drive them forwards, they drifted and disbanded. Chapter by chapter, we all watched it happen, gloating and glorying in the destruction of that cursed club. But not all chapters followed suit.”
Myron spoke up for the first time. “Only three chapters remained, and they were so separate as to be different clubs, not forged from the same bylaws. Ocala, New Orleans, and one down in Mexico.”
“So you knew this?”
Myron shrugged. “Information is power and all that. Of course I watched and kept track. I also know the clubs the various chapter officers patched into after they dropped their Diamante center, and in some cases where the ones are who decided to go lone. A lot of men were put off by the life entirely, something I bet Deacon never counted on. Our world was lessened by his actions in ways that had a long reach. Men who had family and didn’t like what they saw happen on his orders. So, yeah, that much I knew. You said something about a threat and so far all we’ve gotten is a history lesson. Get to the point, Estavez.”
“You have grown a backbone, Myron. It looks good on you.”
“Blame my husband, asshole. Mouse needs me to wrestle him into line a lot.” Myron didn’t flinch from acknowledging his sexuality, something Hoss knew might have been unforgivable only a decade ago. He grinned because Myron wasn’t kidding. His husband, Mouse, was a handful and the older their daughter got, the more out of control Mouse seemed to go in response. “This isn’t you gettin’ to the point.”
“Yes.” Estavez blew out a hard breath. “There is word of a man who has joined the Diamante here in Mexico. All I have is a road name and can gain no traction to find more. Enzo. This man sounds much like Deacon did, as Shooter was.” Hoss watched as Mason’s fist clenched and then stretched wide, flattening on the table. Whatever Estavez was dancing around would be bad. “He is of an age with my Carmela, or your Samuel.” Estavez gestured towards the camera. “Your Chase.”
“So you’re sayin’ this is someone’s kid?” Mason scoffed. “Scared of a kid, Raul? That don’t sound right, brother.” Hoss breathed a little easier with that word out there, because the bond between them was a thread that had held together so many good men through the years. “Whose kid is this supposed to be?”
“That, I am not certain. There are rumors, of course. People cannot keep their tongues from wagging, as you know. I’ve wondered through the years since his death, why it was Carlos never had a family...if rumors are true this could be my nephew, Mason.” He shook his head and angled his eyes away from the camera for a moment. With a sigh, he asked, “Is there a chance for a face-to-face? Video is good, but I would refresh our bonds if I could.” Estavez ran his hand across his forehead and for the first time, Hoss saw how tired he looked. Tired, and old. “There is much I haven’t spoken of, Mason. Could we meet in the middle, perhaps?”
“Chase’s got a show in Longview.” Mason lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I could be persuaded to come that far.”
“Longview, Texas?” Estavez blinked when Mason confirmed with a grunt, then nodded. “I have friends in the area.”
“As do I, which is why I’m willin’ to head there without argument.” Mason grinned, then chuckled. “Haven’t seen Blackie or Peaches in a while. Be good to get some time with them. The boy’s band is playing at the local rally, and it’s good to see them headline such a small event. Bethy’d be there regardless, because Occupy Yourself is still an Iron Indian client, but since Chase doesn’t like the big shows anymore, he only plays with ’em part-time. I wanna watch him do his thing where he can enjoy it, you know?” Estavez nodded. “Okay. I’ll get Myron to shoot you the details. Who you want me to bring?”
“In addition to your family?” It was Estavez’ turn to shrug. “Whomever you deem necessary, Mason. We’ll both be outside of our claims, so it is not my place to say who you can and cannot bring.”
“Yeah, but just like you knew who you wanted in this room today,” Mason swept his arm out to indicate Hoss and Myron, “I’m guaranteed that you’d have a preference in it.”
“Slate, Bones if he will, Chismoso, Hoss, Myron, Fury, Opie. Not a large crew.” Estavez offered a quick smile, this one finally reaching his eyes and making them shine. “Spider, because I think he would have something to say about what’s going on.” His smile flattened. “I will roll heavy, just so things are clear.” Hoss studied Estavez’ face. That one statement revealed more than the man knew. A force to be reckoned with in Mexico and the southwestern US states, including Texas, and yet the man felt threatened enough to reveal he would be willing to brave the border riding with weapons. “If Diamante decide they want to refresh the embers of war, I will meet them head-on.”
“Let’s hope it don’t come to that.” Hoss gritted his response between his teeth.
“But if it does,” Mason interjected, “know that Rebels stand with Machos, brother.” He loosed a harsh laugh that hurt to hear. “I’m guessing you’d like me to call Blackie and let him know what we’re bringing his direction?”
“If you would. I am close to his territory, and I think it will seem less of a threat coming from someone with more miles between your southern chapters and his.” Estavez stared into the camera, and Hoss held his breath understanding a pronouncement was coming. “Know that I will defend your men and your blood with my own, Mason. Do you bring your family, I will protect them as if they were mine. This kid, this Enzo,”—Hoss noted how Myron marked the name, quickly typing it into the computer—“he is a force unto himself. It is good we will be ahead of the curve on this one.”
***
Mason
Standing by the back wall of the clubhouse, Mason let his mind wander over the events leading up to this party. It had been two weeks since Estavez called, and it was a good thing the rally hadn’t been any sooner, because it had taken this long to get all the ducks he needed to line up in a row.
Blackie, as Mason predicted, wasn’t happy about the potential to be seen siding with Rebels and Machos against another club he didn’t have a beef with, but after talking things to death, and pulling Slate and Truck in on the discussions, the grizzled graybeard had finally come through. RWMC would have a designated hillside at the rally, apart from the local clubs, not only to give them distinction in the eyes of attendees, but also to help keep any bloodletting away from weekend warriors who didn’t have more than a toehold in the life. Machos would be assigned a nearby hillside, and Blackie’s boys would be positioned between them.
In addition to the men he’d tagged to ride to Texas, there were another dozen who’d asked permission. Various RWMC chapters had ties to Blackie’s Freed Riders, and a chance at attending a sanctioned rally had everyone chattering. That meant the riding column would grow, picking up additional members as they went, and he had Brute already plotting out their course to ensure enough stops between the required clubhouse visits.
An arm slipped around his waist and he wrapped his around Willa’s shoulders. She snuggled up to him and he grinned at her. “How long will it take to get there, chunk of hunk?”
“There and back? Three weeks, minimum.” He sighed. “Hate being away that long, but it’s necessary.”
“You know I’m coming with you, right?” The smile Willa angled up at him held a touch of deviousness that made him grin even as he shook his head. “Oh, yeah, I am. So are Garrett and Dolly. I’ve got it all planned out.”
“Woman, you are not riding with me.” He shook his head again. “Brothers only on the run.”
“Of course I’m not riding with you.” She patted his ass, gripped one cheek and shook it until he laughed and swatted her hand away. “Your ass will be flat as a pancake at the end of those three weeks, and you like mine round and soft.” Now her smile held more than a touch of slyness. Eyes crinkling at the corners, she laughed. “So, in the interest of keeping this round ass you like so much, I hired a bus.”
“A bus?” He stared at her, nonplussed. Jesus, this woman. “A fuckin’ bus?”
“Yeah. Me and Dolly, Sharon, Bexley, three or four more from Chicago, then we’ll pick up a couple more women along the way. Oh, before I forget, Garrett is going to ride with you if you’ll let him, and before you say anything, he already knows he’ll have to stay at the back of the pack. He’s cool with it, as long as he gets to take this first long trip with you.” She shook her head and reached up, tipping his open mouth closed. “Peaches and I have sorted RVs for the campground, too. I’m too old to sleep in a tent. Plus, I don’t like swamp boobs.”
“Swamp boobs?”
“Why am I not surprised that out of everything I said, you focused on the tatas.” Willa laughed and rested her hand on his chest, pressing close. “Three weeks? Oh, hell no. I don’t want to be alone that long, hunk ’o mine. Plus, Peaches sounded excited as hell.”
“She tell Blackie yet?” The phone in his pocket buzzed and Willa laughed, then grinned broadly. “That’s him now, isn’t it? You planned this to the minute?”
“Maaaaybe.” She rolled up on her toes and pressed a loud kiss on his cheek, smacking hard as she pulled away. “Remember you love me, okay?”
“Woman.”
“I know, oh growly one.” She laughed and landed her lips on his chest. “Remember I love you?”
“You better. All this time, I ain’t letting anything fall apart now.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her close, then bent her backwards over his arm, following her down to kiss her deeply. Tongues sliding and thrusting, he tasted her with the knowledge earned from years of loving her, working the kiss to bring her to a soft, boneless state quickly. When he felt her wilting, he straightened and set his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “I like the love drunk look on you best, Willa mine.” She blinked languidly at him and smiled, her lips red and swollen. “Love you, babe.”
“I love you more,” she whispered. His phone buzzed again and she shook herself, giggling. “Best answer that, Mason. Lay your manly plans, because your woman wants to have her way with you not just tonight, but every night she can. I’m looking at this as a re-honeymoon.”
“What?” He laughed again, still smoothing his palms over her skin. I’ll never get enough of her, he thought as he dipped his mouth to touch hers again. Never.
“I don’t want to do anything silly like renewing our vows.” She stopped and stared at him. “Because the time we married, that was perfection. Can’t top it, not for me. But, I wouldn’t be against another long trip with you. Without the numb ass. Hence, the bus. But the nights? Oh, darling—” She trailed her fingertips up his chest, wrapped her fingers over his shoulder and used him to steady herself as she lifted to place her mouth at his ear, whispering, “those nights were the absolute best. No worries, no weight on your shoulders. Just you and me. This is a re-honeymoon trip, because I want that again. I want it before we get back to the business of what you need to do with the Rebels.” She fell back to her heels and stared up at him. “Gimme.” She blinked. “I want it. Those three weeks.” Narrowing her eyes, she wound her fingers through his belt loops and pulled him against her so his hard dick pressed tight to her stomach. Then she gifted him with that grin he loved when she felt how much he wanted her. “Gimme.”
“God, you kill me, woman.” He pulled the phone out to see he’d missed two calls from Blackie, followed by a text of Call me. “Seems there’s business to take care of before I can deal with your shit. Can you give me a minute here, darlin’? I gotta settle some ruffled feathers and then I’ll be back for round two.”
“Twenty-seven.” Shaking her head, Willa took a step backwards.
“What?” So fuckin’ kooky.
“Round twenty-seven. And that’s just from today. I love you, chunk of hunk.” Blowing him a kiss from her fingertips, she crooked her fingers in a tiny wave as she skipped away. He watched her angle towards a gaggle of women along the wall, including Sharon, Bexley, and Bethy. They gathered around her for a moment, then as if connected, each woman’s head came up and they stared at him. Willa waved at him again and then wrapped her arm around Bexley’s waist. She thrust her other hand out into the center of the ring of women, her animated face aimed at each one in turn. It took only seconds for the women to pile their hands on top and he watched as they counted up to something, hands flinging in the air, words unheard underneath the wash of laughter.
“You’re so fucked.” Fury’s laughing voice came from beside him and Mason cut him a rueful glance. Fury held up his phone, showing Mason the same text message from Blackie.
“Correction, we’re so fucked.” Mason smiled and shook his head. “Come to the office. Let’s get this over with.”
Inside with the door closed, Fury gave Mason a long look before he walked all the way around the desk, ending up at the other end. He sighed and then gestu
red to the chair while he moved to sit on the arm of the couch along the facing wall. There was a long moment of silence, then Fury asked bluntly, “You want both?” When Mason didn’t respond immediately, Fury kicked his feet out, scuffed and worn boots tipping to the sides. He rolled his neck and rocked them back and forth for a moment. “It’s written on your face, brother. Go ahead and spit it out.”
Mason watched him for a moment longer, then walked to the chair and gripped it with both hands, drawing it from under the heavy, wooden desk. With a practiced move, as if he had never sat anywhere else, he turned the chair and settled into the leather, allowing the cushions a moment to adjust to him. “Depends.” He’d tossed ideas around in his own head for two weeks now, and hadn’t come up with an easy way to open this discussion. “What do you think is happening here?”
“Give me a little credit, Mason.” Fury laughed and lines of strain fell away from his face. “You’ve been an asshole to everyone except me for the past bit, but you aren’t talking to me at all. Not even small shit, even when my kids want to see their uncle. I don’t know what you think I did, but whatever it is, I’m willing to fix it. My Bethy needs her brother, and asshole—” He leveled a finger at Mason with a shake of his head. “—I need my rock. In all the years since you dumped this on me, you’ve been there for me. I could ask you anything without worrying you’d turn around and use the info for your own agenda, because we didn’t have agendas. There was you and there was me, and we walked the same path. Whatever’s best for the RWMC. Now? It’s like there’s a fuckin’ ocean between where I stand and you sit, and I had two guesses.”
Fury folded the rest of his fingers against his palm, lifting the pointer from Mason to the ceiling. “One was we had some shit in the club that I hadn’t caught, and you were disappointed in me, but that didn’t hold water because no matter what you’d move to clear the club. That left number two.” He flipped his middle finger up. “Two is you’ve tired of sitting on the sidelines, and who could blame you? You set things in motion, but so much has happened with my face in the front line. Germany, and fuck me if I’m not proud of what we’ve done there. Four chapters, all fifty-plus members. Italy, which I hadn’t even seen coming. Australia, and there’s more pride to be had. Perth, Sydney, and Melbourne, all hosting RWMC chapters and good relations with existing or previous dominant clubs.” Mason leaned forwards and propped his elbows on the table. He cupped one scarred hand in the other, bent and scuffed knuckles wrapping around to support his chin. “So,” Fury finished, head lifted high. “Which is it?”
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