Blinking, staring up, Bethy looked into the pale face of Willa standing over her, gun gripped loosely in one hand, a knife in the other.
***
“Hold up. Wait,” Bethy whispered to Willa, slowing their run, trying to accommodate the slower pace of the third woman, who had introduced herself as Mica. “Wait for Mica.”
“You know where we’re going?” Willa’s question was a whisper, too, and Bethy knew it was because her throat hurt. She was badly bruised; her neck bore dark circles where Judge had choked her. Shaking her head, Bethy didn’t give another answer. There was no way she could know. It was slow going because Willa was injured, and Mica was dealing with the aftereffects from the drugs he’d used to incapacitate her while Bethy was weakened after her weeks in captivity. And, even after running and walking through the woods for hours, they hadn’t come upon a road or even seen a building.
“Away. We’re going away. I grew up in the woods, but these aren’t Kentucky trees. I don’t know where we are. So for right now, we’re just going away.” She leaned sideways, pressed a palm to the bark of a tree and looked over her shoulder back up the trail, thinking for a moment she’d seen something move in the distance. “I wish we’d brought the weapons.” They hadn’t, though. Willa had been adamant, and after what she imagined the woman had been through, Bethy hadn’t pushed her. “Luke Judge was still locked up when we got out of there, but what if he gets out? We can’t take the risk. We gotta get as far away as we can.”
Willa looped her arm through Mica’s, pulling the woman to her side. Whispering, she said, “Luke Morgan. That’s his name, but people call him Judge.”
Bethy stopped, staring at Willa, hearing Davy’s voice as he told her, “Justice Morgan is a powerful man, but he ain’t nothing to us.” Slowly, she asked, “His last name’s Morgan?” She pulled in a breath. “Do you know his daddy’s name?”
Willa tipped her head to the side and chewed her lip. “John. John Morgan. People call him Shooter.”
Bethy bent double, sucking in a hard breath. My nephew was going to kill me.
“Can we go?” That was Mica, and her shaky voice pushed Bethy to get herself back under control. “My husband and son are in Chicago. I need to…I want to go home.”
“We will,” Willa reassured, her voice raw and hoarse. She soothed Mica with the slow caress of her palm up and down her back. “We will, right, Bethy?”
Nodding, Bethy fought against tears. From the few things Willa had said, she knew Luke…Judge had raped her. Raped her, and still she had fought him. Fought him and gained control of the gun she’d used to shoot him. Forced him to release her. She set us all free. “We are all gonna go home,” Bethy vowed. “Every one of us.”
“Willa.” A man’s voice called from behind them, and all three women screamed, Bethy jumping to put herself in front of Willa and Mica. In her fear, it was Luke she saw coming at her, hands out. He was followed by another man, and she again cursed Willa for not letting her bring the gun. “Willa, it’s Hoss, honey.” Bethy blinked, the man’s face gradually resolving into a stranger’s, with warm brown eyes instead of the cold grey ones seen in her nightmares.
“Hoss,” Willa cried, and then pushed past Bethy, running straight at the man. Bethy didn’t know him, didn’t know his face, but she knew he wasn’t Luke. He planted both feet and wrapped his arms around Willa when she hit his chest. Crying, she was sobbing and hiccupping, asking for Davy. She went strangely still when he said Davy was waiting back at the compound.
Mica stood next to Bethy, arm around her waist as she said in a relieved voice, “We’re safe, Bethy. Safe.”
“Who…how do you know them?” Even before she finished asking the question she knew. Between Davy and Watcher, she’d been introduced to enough bikers they were friends with to recognize the type. Hoss and, she squinted, trying to read the name on the second man’s vest, Gunny, had to be with Davy. A third man came into view, his red beard causing her breath to catch in her chest for a moment before realizing she didn’t recognize him. Tater, his vest said. “Davy came for you, Willa. Like you said he would.”
Hoss looked at her then, and said, “Bethany. We’re here for all of you.” He gestured behind her and Mica stepped forwards. “All of you. There’s more back,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “there where y’all were. Watcher’s there, so’s Bones. You know them, right?”
Chin quivering, Bethy nodded, belief finally seeping into her belly. Safe.
On the plane headed back to Chicago and then Fort Wayne, Bethy sat beside Davy, recounting everything she could think of, wanting to purge it from her mind. As she narrated the past weeks, his tension was palpable, muscles all over his body tight. When she told him about Willa trying to protect them, and then in the end saving them all, his jaw moved as he ground his teeth, his jaw clenching repeatedly while he tried to hold onto his composure. Willa had retreated into herself after they got back to the compound. Bethy wondered if it was because Davy was there. Still, he made Willa feel safe enough that she could lean on him, quietly falling apart in his arms.
“She’s pretty amazing, Davy.” He nodded, eyes on a sleeping Willa, and in the intensity of his gaze Bethy saw how much he loved this woman. So much more than just a girlfriend, she thought, a little wistfully. She’s part of his family now. I love you, Michael. “I want to go home, Davy. When can I go back?”
He leaned close and pressed his lips to the side of her head, answering absently, “Soon.”
Still trying to make sense out of everything, Bethy mused, “What I don’t get is why he brought Carrie and Mica. If he had known who I was, it would make more sense. I’d understand me and Willa, because, well”—she pointed at herself—“sister and”—she held her hand out towards Willa—“girlfriend. But why the other two?”
That was when Davy upended her world, showing her that he’d been keeping secrets as big as hers were. “Mica’s been important to me for a long time. A long time. Since the day I met her.” He paused a breath, then said, “Carrie was my boy’s mother.”
Davy has a son. Like her, but not, because from the way he spoke, she knew that his son was in his life. Not like me. “What? Your...boy? You have a boy? Davis Mason, you have a son? I have a nephew?” She knew her voice was loud and saw Willa stirring but couldn’t stop, the pain in her chest fierce, consuming her.
“Well, yeah. I’ve been meaning to tell you—”
As if a child were disposable. A casual afterthought, when to Bethy it would have been a cherished being. “You’ve been…meaning to tell me? How long have you known about this boy?” The look on Davy’s face was unreadable for a minute. Then pain flashed across his features and in that instant Bethy wanted to pull all her words back. He hadn’t meant it that way, and the idea that she could believe he would had hurt him. Changing tactics, Bethy pulled on her DJ experience to drive the conversation in a different direction, picking humor as the only possible option. “Does the child have a name, or do you call him Boy? Like the cat you once named Kitty? Boy?”
Davy turned to Willa, murmuring to her, and Bethy saw this as a retreat she couldn’t allow. She’d driven a wedge without realizing and needed to fix it. Jamming her elbow into his ribs, knowing she couldn’t hurt him, she at least gained his attention.
“Well? Tell me now, it’s as good a time as any. I’m a captive audience.” Those were the wrong words to use, and she pulled in an involuntary breath that hitched, any words silenced in her throat. Davy seemed to realize what had happened, because he offered her the boy’s name in return.
“Chase, his name is Chase. I haven’t known about him that long. Carrie kept him a secret until Watcher found out about him and told me.” Watcher, who has a namesake and doesn’t know it, she thought, fighting tears again.
Forcing her lips into a smile, she murmured, “Chase Mason. How old is he?”
“He’s sixteen now.” That hit hard, because he and her Michael were nearly the same age. If she’d known about C
hase, she could have spoiled and doted on him like she’d wanted to do Michael. Damn.
“Sixteen? I have a sixteen-year-old nephew? When did you find out?” Still trying to hide her emotions, she reached out and smacked Davy’s shoulder.
Davy asked, “You wanna meet him?”
Time for humor again, B.T. Without hesitating she said, “Well, duh. Aunt Bethy, I kinda like it. What does he think about having an aunt?”
His words were quiet when he admitted, “He doesn’t know about you. Things were fucked up with Sosa.”
The screaming woman. Bethy had seen the bundle loaded into the belly of the plane and knew what it was. Now I know why Luke…her brain stuttered, and she lost the thread of her thought, caught up in what to call her dead nephew. Luke. Morgan. Judge. None of them seemed real. Creepy Guy. Chase’s mom, killed by his cousin. How sad. “Poor guy, and now you’ll have to tell him his mother is dead.” She turned to look down the plane at Watcher, wishing she could tell him. “Some secrets are harder to keep than others.” Ty had told her that, and she hadn’t understood it at the time. Boy, I do now. “I always knew you were a keeper, Michael Otey. Glad you located him, and more than glad you got him to Davy. How long ago did you find him?”
Watcher grinned at her, and she recognized that look on his face. It was the one Tabby would have right before she would suggest something she knew would get both girls in trouble, but didn’t dare do alone. What in the world is he about to say? “Oh, hard to remember. About four years ago? Does that sound right, Mason?”
“Are you kidding me? You—” She whipped her head to look at Davy and realized Willa was grinning at her, glad beyond words to see the expression on the woman’s face. “—have known I had a nephew for four years? And you didn’t think to mention it at any point?” Hypocrite, she thought, remembering the pictures from Michael’s fifteenth birthday his adopted mother had e-mailed her two months before. You’re worse than a liar, Bethany.
***
Fury
He stared at the blank wall. Blank, mirrored, or decorated with priceless art, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Fury didn’t see anything. His vision had gone red, and he was holding onto his control with the barest of grips.
Shooter’s boy, Judge, had taken Bethany. Along with three other women, one name which made him flinch, because he’d known Carrie before she became a pawn in the Outriders’ schemes, back when she was a fresh-faced girl working at her grandmother’s produce stand along the highway. But the information that came closest to pitching him over the edge of his celebrated control was Bethany.
Put his hands on her. Memories of Bethy’s smile as she lay propped on his chest mocked him. “I like you.” His mind put his real name in her mouth instead of the fake one. “I like you, Gabriel Ledbetter.” He knew he’d never hear her say those words.
“Brother, she’s breathing. Mason’s woman is hurtin’, but she’ll be okay. Mason’s bringing his sister back here.” Slowly he swiveled his neck, resting his gaze on Gator, who flinched at whatever he saw on Fury’s face. “Jesus, brother. What the fuck is wrong? He’ll get back, and we’ll keep workin’ our deal. No sweat.”
“Bethy okay?” He wished he could haul those words back, but they were there lying on the air. Trying for damage control, he shifted the question to ask, “Are all the women save Sosa okay?”
“Yeah, they’re okay. They’re bringin’ Sosa’s corpse back.” Gator shrugged. “Myron’s figuring out what to do to deal with that pile of bullshit. They torched the compound, so there shouldn’t be any blowback. But for Mason to give his kid closure, they need to figure out how to deal.”
Fury reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He’d never stopped looking into Tabby’s death, and over the years had found a surprising bit of information that might help them now. He dialed, then put in his security code and waited. A moment later Myron picked up, “Yeah?”
“Clean line?” Might as well ask, since he didn’t understand the technology that’d been handed to him. A bridge between clubs, he knew this was supposed to be a secure way of communication, but using an app to call seemed risky.
“Yeah, talk to me.” Full confidence in his tone, Myron sold his assurance.
“About Sosa. Your problem with what to do.” Myron made a noise. “Got an idea for you to consider, that’s all. There’s a fuckton of wrecks in the mountains around Cynthiana where she lived. Get her in a car and sail it off a turn.” Memories of Tabby’s body edged into his mind, and he shoved them back. “She’ll be so mangled by the time it stops pinwheeling through the trees, it won’t even be questioned that she’s mutilated.”
“Copy that. Good idea.” A hesitation, then came the words he wanted, “Thanks, much appreciated.”
“No problem. You know when they’ll be getting in? Me and Gator and some of the boys are gonna round up Chase, get him home from y’alls clubhouse, and then we’ll lay in some supplies so Mason don’t gotta leave.” He stared at Gator who was looking puzzled. “Call it a goodwill offering. After an ordeal like this, he’s gonna need some space, and I’ll not be shoving my needs in his face. Having shit there will give him time to deal.”
“Better than decent idea, Fury,” the words came easier this time, and Fury smiled grimly. “I’ll call once I know.”
“Sounds good. Ride on, man,” he responded, hearing Myron’s return, “Shiny side,” just before he disconnected the call.
“Gets us in deeper, every good deed.” Since his men knew Fury was trying his damnedest to get them an entrance into the Rebel Wayfarers world, he knew that would be all the explanation Gator needed. He’d never know the satisfaction Fury would gain from selecting things certain to soothe Bethy. Favorite foods, the bath products he remembered her using. The idea of her wearing clothes he’d picked out sat easy in his belly. “Let’s roll.”
***
Bethany
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Bethany pulled on a shirt and then reached up to smooth her hair down, the scent of her shampoo a familiar comfort in this strange setting. “You might as well come on in,” she called, having heard heavy footsteps pause outside her door. A moment later the knob turned and she had a shiver of fear. Then the door opened and Davy’s face appeared. “Stop lurking.”
He grinned at her testy order then came through the doorway, leaving it open behind him. The mattress lurched and shifted, and she rocked against him when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You doin’ okay, honey?”
“Did you call Ty?” Davy wouldn’t talk to her about going home yet, and she understood his fears. Understood, and shared them, because right now she couldn’t imagine being alone. “Just because I’m not fighting you on staying here a couple of days doesn’t mean I won’t be going home. You know that, right?” It won’t always feel like this, so it’s best to set the ground rules now.
“I did, and he’s ready to rip me a new asshole. Man’s protective of you, girl.”
She grinned. “He’s a good friend.” The smile tried to fade, and she kept it plastered on her face, holding it in place while gritting her teeth. “I bet he was worried.”
“I fired your assistant.” Davy’s words shocked her and she twisted to stare up at him. “Asshole told everyone you were out scouting. Shit you do all the time. Ty never thought to check your room or we’d have known things weren’t right.” He paused, then swallowed hard. “You’re gonna have to give me a few days. Me and Ty got some things in common. You being the main one, and guilt about this shit is another.”
“Jesus, Davy. Do you know how long it took me to find that guy?” She leaned against his side, letting him take her weight, trusting him to hold on. “Thank you. He was kind of an asshole.” Davy’s frame shook, and she knew it was with suppressed laughter. “I like Chase.” His arm tightened around her shoulders and she nodded. “Yeah. I’m gonna be the best aunt in the history of aunthood.”
“A natural with him. I didn’t know you were so good with kids.” His word
s cut deeply, and she buried her face in his chest in an instinctive avoidance of the pain. “Honey, what’d I say?” Can’t pull anything past Davy. “Honey?”
Now would be the perfect time to tell him about Michael. In this moment, with so much going on around them, he’d never blame her for keeping a fifteen-year secret. Bethy bit her lips, holding the words inside. Michael’s mine, she thought, denying the words a voice. “Who bought me clothes? They’re nice.”
He had to know it was a diversionary tactic, but he gave it to her, chuckling as he responded, “Some of my friends volunteered. I can’t imagine them trolling the bra and panty section at the mall, but they did it for me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “For you.”
“Well, whoever they are, tell them they have excellent taste in lingerie.”
He laughed aloud at that, still laughing when he told her, “Yeah, not gonna be tellin’ Fury that you like the panties he bought you.”
Eyes dipping closed at the glad sound of his laughter—maybe we’ll come out the other end unbroken after all—she smiled, slipping her arm around his waist and hugging him close. “Love you, Davy.”
“Love you, too, doll. More than you know.”
Protocol
Fury
Two months past the events in Utah, Fury sat quietly at the table in a Rebel-owned bar, trying hard to suck in air past the pain that closed his throat, watching as the RWMC member known as Hoss stalked away. The woman was already gone, fleeing out the door to the kitchen, but she wouldn’t be returning. Nope, Hoss had sacked her where she stood. Because of Fury.
His path to this point had been long and bloody, dragging his feet through the corridors of three different clubs before finding one worth any risk, any cost. A club that was as loyal to its men as it expected the men to be to it. He had pursued that goal with every waking moment. Of course, the club he found had to be the Rebel Wayfarers, and as soon as he heard the first story of its bloody birth, he knew. Even if Bethy’s brother, Mason, was at the helm, if the core of the club stayed as advertised, he knew he had found a home. Everything he had been looking for, tied up in the patch of a club so righteous that even their enemies spoke words of praise alongside cursing their name.
Fury (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 11) Page 7