Fury (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 11)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “You basically had me kidnapped.” She yelled, not quite a shriek, but then again they had heard those already. “Kidnapped. Most people don’t get kidnapped once in their lives.” She leaned into him, face twisting with anger. “Much less twice. And, both times by blood.”

  He jerked, the pain of that ripping through him, but before he could respond to that blow, he heard Fury reprimand her, words slightly slurred from the swelling. “Baby, no. Bring it down a notch. It wasn’t even close to the same. Not even close. You need to shut it.”

  “Kidnapped.” Now they were firmly back into shriek territory, and Mason saw Fury wince. “And, he had you beaten up.” She leaned into Fury this time, giving him her pain when she hissed, “Beaten all to hell and back, baby. On some stupid man’s say-so. My man, beaten all to hell.”

  Fury’s voice was dangerously quiet, rumbling around the room when he asked, “Your man?”

  “Yes, my man.” She was exasperated and didn’t hesitate to show it, giving him the point of her jaw as she lifted it. “He didn’t even give you a chance to defend yourself. Just picked you up and worked you over. Then he had me picked up, dragged more than a hundred miles on the back of a bike into the wilderness of bee-eff-eh Ohio. By Hoss. And Hoss is scary. He’s scary standing still, but let me tell you, he’s even scarier at a hundred miles an hour. A hundred. Miles. An hour. A hundred miles an hour on the back of a bike is scary. Scared the juice out of me. I wasn’t sure what—”

  Still quiet, it sounded like he was testing the words when he interrupted her, repeating as a statement this time, “Your man.”

  “Yes, my man. Keep up, Gabe.” Her hands hit the air even with her shoulders, then fell back to her sides in exasperation. Now Fury was getting the edge of a little of her angry vibes and tone, and from his face, he didn’t mind a bit, lips curled up at the corners, white teeth flashing in his red beard.

  “Get the fuck over here, woman,” Fury growled, and Mason grinned as Bethy’s mouth fell open, for once no noise coming out. “Come kiss your man again, baby.”

  Love and then loss

  Fury

  A week later and it still felt surreal.

  A week out from the day he had barely walked into the Fort Wayne clubhouse and heard his name called from the office area. Four men had waited for him there, faces he knew, men he trusted.

  Fury stood and stared, the atmosphere in the room heavy with anger. He moved towards the couch along one wall and Bear broke the silence, “Don’t get comfortable.” The door hadn’t shut behind him, and Fury turned to see a scowling Rebel member standing there, arms crossed, taking up the opening with his bulk.

  Fury nodded. “Brute.” He looked back to Bear, giving him a chin lift and stilling when he received nothing in return. “PBJ, Pinto.” None of them said anything, no one spoke, and the hair on the back of Fury’s neck stood on end. “Wanna give me a fuckin’ clue as to what’s going on here?”

  “We”—Bear indicated the men in the room with the stir of one finger—“are going to escort you downstairs.” Downstairs meant the basement, where the wet rooms were. Standard issue blood drains in the floor, caged lights on the walls, no outside doors or windows. “Then we”—Bear stirred his finger again—“are going to have a talk.”

  “Talk about what?” Fury took a step back and to the side, clearing the arm of the couch and putting his back to the wall. “What exactly do we have to discuss that requires the use of a room in the basement?”

  Pinto shook his head. “Don’t make this harder, Fury.”

  “Harder than what, Pinto?” He glared at the man. “Harder than what, exactly? From where I stand, you all got me backed right into a fuckin’ corner. But—” He dropped one shoulder, angling his body slightly, telegraphing to anyone looking that he was prepared for a fight. “—do not expect me to go easy.”

  Brute started his direction with the intent to pin him away from the door and Fury grabbed the top of the couch, turning it over on the man’s legs. He jumped over the side and ran across the upholstered back, balancing himself with one hand on the wall. Shouts and curses rang out, the noise bouncing off the walls of the small room. Two strides from the door he saw a shadow approaching him from behind, and he put on a burst of speed. Then his boot went through the fabric, tangling with the springs and wooden frame for a moment. Not long, but enough for Bear to grip the back of his vest.

  Fury ducked and twisted, putting his head and shoulders underneath Bear’s arm. He stood and twisted again, completing his turn and yanking his cut out of the man’s hand. It would have been easier to skin out and leave the man to deal with a handful of empty leather, but Fury’d worked hard to earn the right to wear this patch and he’d be damned if he’d give it up without a fight. Through the door and to the left, he ran, furiously trying to recall the details of the clubhouse’s layout. Another left turn put him in the kitchen and he ran into someone’s back, bouncing sideways, trying to regain the lost momentum. Hurley turned, eyes wide, holding his hands out to try and keep Fury from falling.

  Then a hand clamped on his arm, another on the back of his neck, a third man swept his feet and Fury went down with a shout of anger. So fucking close. Pinto groaned when Fury’s elbow found his ribs, then the man landed a crippling blow across Fury’s kidneys as he gritted out, “For the record? This is you making it harder.”

  They’d taken him to the basement and started with questions first. Well, he shook his head, they started with tying my ass up, and the questions came second.

  Nothing had made sense. Memphis wasn’t on his radar, ever. He’d been fresh from Lexington, tucking his men into their new places up in Fort Wayne when that went down, trying to manage Shooter’s varying moods and instructions. He’d heard about it, yeah. Wasn’t a man in the life who didn’t hear about the Rebel Wayfarers sweeping in and cleaning house, then staying to have meetings with a dozen clubs who wanted reassurance that the activity wouldn’t be bringing federal attention their way. Most of his notice about the whole thing went to Hoss being out of town and out of contact, because it was a critical delay in the negotiations getting them to where they were today.

  Bear and PBJ had led the questioning, Brute and Pinto providing the muscle needed to keep Fury in one place. Fury hadn’t worried about what the outcome would be, not really, because he knew he didn’t have any connection to whatever they were looking for. Not in Memphis. Not ever. Nashville, yeah. Lexington and Louisville, hell yeah. Little Rock, yeah. Raleigh and Charlotte? Yes, and yes. He’d run cons or clubs in all those towns. Not Memphis. So he hadn’t worried. They hadn’t used more force than necessary to get him downstairs, hadn’t retaliated for his struggling, probably because they all knew they’d be the same. Then Captain came downstairs.

  Every man in the club had heard the story of how Captain had dealt with trouble sent the Rebels way from out west. A cancer set free from Shooter, a member named Birdy had pulled some bullshit, beating up a stripper. Bad, but not a death knell. No, that had been rung by repeated threats against Captain’s old lady, and family. A bruiser on the ice in his previous life, Captain had systematically taken the man apart, leaving him to drown in his own blood on the floor of the same room Fury had been sitting in. So when Captain came in, things got serious.

  They stayed serious for about three hours. Fury hadn’t blacked out, and while there was no real damage, that didn’t mean they hadn’t hurt him. He’d known from experience it would take a while to heal, and had slept for most of this week. Which was good because every time he pissed and Bethy saw the blood, she got angry all over again.

  Bethy stirred beside him, scooting backwards in her sleep until her ass pressed against his hip. He smiled and reached across, sweeping a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. He’d heard her story several times. Grinning, he tweaked the tip of her nose, smirking as she jerked away to press her face into the pillow. Several, several times. She’d recounted it often, each rendition providing a new reason to r
age. She might never forgive Mason at this rate.

  For his part, Fury didn’t hold any grudges. He’d bought the five officers and members a beer the next time he’d seen them in Marie’s, letting them know he understood. As president, if he’d been handed the same intel from a chapter president, he would have acted quickly to investigate, too. Rank and file were just doing their jobs, and that’s what the club needed them to do. Not question, just accept and move forwards. Mason had been harder to convince, but the man had been dealing mostly with Bethy, and she was still angry.

  He dragged the pad of his thumb across her temple, continuing down to her cheekbone, caressing her softly. She’d been on her way to him. Through some miracle, she’d pieced things together, and instead of picking up the phone and calling for his head, something her brother would have been all too happy to hand over, she wanted to talk to him. She’d said she needed to see his face. For his part, he was stunned.

  Thank God for Mason.

  Mason had learned of their involvement in Lamesa and hadn’t been pleased with the knowledge that a member had fucked his sister. Add to that the lies spewed by whoever—Mason remained tightlipped on the who, just voiced a loud what, and since everything went down, that whoever had backpedaled like a motherfucker, claiming all innocence—and it’s a wonder Fury lived to walk out of that basement. By the time she’d driven to Fort Wayne and broadcast she was looking for him, Mason already had him locked down.

  The look on her face when he stepped to where she could see him had made his knees weak. In an instant, he’d flashed back to Nashville, all the years in between swept away like cobwebs by a freshening breeze, her face shining, smiling down at him as she laid it out, “I like you.”

  He’d fucked her over in Nashville, then ditched her attempt to reach out with a cut that went deep. He’d seen how deep he’d hurt her in the seconds before he’d turned and walked away. They hadn’t spoken since west Texas. He’d sent her a shitty text and hadn’t called. Had known she wasn’t for him. And she’d persisted, coming to him. She was coming to me.

  She’d spent two weeks putting the puzzle together and talking to people who knew him along the way. Tyrell’s advocate had served with Dion and knew Fury by extension. Told her he knew Fury was in over his head but wasn’t in a place to step in and help. She found and spoken to Gator, who hadn’t known to keep his mouth shut. After all, she was the big boss’ sister, and apparently in the know. According to Bethy, Gator had painted a prettier picture than she’d expected but hadn’t glossed over the fact that Fury might have fucked up, but he was a man who wasn’t afraid to take responsibility for his actions. She’d apparently dug up a dozen people who sang the same song, and that, along with her gut feeling about them, decided her, putting her in a car alone driving from Nashville to Fort Wayne, and determined to find him. By the time she’d made it to Indiana, her mind was made up, and she was already on the path of forgiveness.

  That didn’t mean they hadn’t worked their way through a ton of shit. For days now, every time he opened his mouth he had waited for her to say, “Know what? Enough. I didn’t sign up for this.” But she didn’t. She’d held his hand as he talked through his journey, and he’d held her while she cried because of the days and months they’d lost. Between Nashville and Lamesa, he hadn’t been the only one in her bed, but nothing had gelled—thank fuck—and she’d always walked away, looking for what they’d had together.

  Jesus. Everything he’d ever dreamed of, right here lying next to him. If I’m asleep, I’ll gladly stay here ‘til I fuckin’ die.

  His fingers played with a curl of her dark hair, smoothing it across the bare skin of her shoulder, teasing the tiny strap out of the way. The baby doll nightie she wore was sexy as fuck, and she knew it, giving him a smirking half smile as she sauntered to bed last night. They’d had a failed attempt to fuck on day three, her riding him, but even the slight sway of the mattress had started his injuries singing, and once she saw the pain in his face, she’d climbed off and refused to let him even get close to getting her off.

  Today would be a very different story. He’d woken feeling considerably better, and strung out with his need for her. Lemme drink at your fountain, baby.

  “Beth,” he murmured, lips following the trail of his fingers on her skin, deliberately dragging his beard across. Soft curves pressed against him, he wanted to devour her. “Wakie, wakie.” He slipped his hand under the covers, finding the hem of her nightgown with his fingertips, trailing along the heat of her thigh. Mouth to her neck, he pressed kiss after kiss to every inch of flesh he could reach. Sketching slow circles on her shoulder with the tip of his nose, he dipped his fingers under the satin fabric, dragging it up the few inches until he could cup her mound with his palm. Hot, so heated when he gently wedged his hand between her legs, he sucked in a breath of anticipation.

  Bethy mumbled something and moved in the bed, arching back and lifting her leg slightly. He shifted his hand slowly back and forth, then changed position to find the top edge of her panties, slipping underneath to trace the lips of her sex with his fingers. “Fucking wet, baby. You dreaming of me?”

  “Always, Gabe.” Her voice was whisper-soft, a barely there exhalation of sound that reverberated inside him. He’d wanted to hear his name from her lips for so long, wanted and imagined how it would feel. So much better than anything I could have dreamed.

  He moved, stripping her panties down her legs, gripping her thigh in one hand and lifting it so her calf draped over his hip. He might not be able to fuck her properly yet, but he’d be damned if he waited another instant to be inside her. It was the work of moments to position himself at her entrance. “Bethany?” She responded with a slow pump of her hips, still half asleep but aroused by his play. “Baby, you with me?” A soft hum was his answer. “Beth,” he dragged the head of his cock through the wetness she’d given him, “are you with me?”

  “Yes, Gabe. I’m right here.” Now she sounded peeved, and he grinned at that because a peeved Bethany was an awake one.

  “Bethany?” She turned her head finally, a tiny frown drawing her brows together as she glared at him. When he didn’t say anything else and didn’t move, she shifted slightly, angling the top of her body away so she could see him better. Her brows lifted, arching up towards her hairline and he grinned at her. He moved then, thrusting into her, feeling her pussy part and give way, accepting his invasion of her body. Her lids drooped, those gorgeous eyes heated and her lips parted as she pulled in a breath. Midstroke, he gave her everything. “I love you.” Her eyes focused on his face. “I’ve loved you for so long, baby.” He saw wet gathering in her eyes. “I’m never giving you up. You’re—” Bottoming out inside her, he ground deeper, finding comfort in every inch of skin that touched along their bodies. He pushed her nightgown up, palm sliding over her breast, fingers wrapping around to caress and plump as he pumped into her again. “Mine, forever. You get that, right?”

  “I know, honey.” She lifted a palm to his face, thumb sliding along his bottom lip, fingers threading through his beard. “Forever.” Catching her lip between her teeth, she hissed as he thrust hard, pussy pulsing around him. “Gabe.”

  He rolled her nipple between finger and thumb, tugging and playing just how she liked it best. He remembered every moment spent in her bed and used those memories now. Shoving his other arm under her, he wrapped his hand around her hip, stroking down until his fingertips were pressing on her clit. Timing his thrusts, he alternated between tweaking her nipple and flicking her clit, watching as her eyes closed, then opened, finding his. “Bethany, you know I love you?”

  “Uh, huh.” She nodded, hair wisping across his face as she moved, hips pumping back against him. “Love you, too, honey.”

  “My name,” he growled, bending his neck to graze the side of her throat with his teeth. “Say my fucking name.”

  “Gabe.” Whispers filled with urgency, she called, “Gabe, honey.”

  Sweat slicked her skin, and
he stopped torturing her nipple, wrapping his arm around her waist to drive her down onto his cock. Her pussy pulsed and rippled, every change in tension and pressure pulling him closer to the edge. He worked her clit, first slow, then fast until she gasped for air, mouth opening as she threw her head back, turning to bury her face against his neck. On a rising wail, she cried out and her body tensed in his arms, her hands gripping his wrist, holding his hand still as he pressed hard, hips moving fast. Driving deep, he clamped his teeth into the muscles of her shoulder, brutal in his chase towards climax. She cried out again, and he heard what he’d been waiting for. “Gabriel.”

  Deep inside her he held still, balls tight to his body as his orgasm poured from him, the heat around the head of his cock intensifying until he had to move again. Another thrust, then another, slower, feeling her relax into him, turning into an exhausted ragdoll in his arms. Still he glided in and out, slowly, filled with the indescribably beautiful sensation of being inside the woman he loved more than life.

  “Baby?” He kissed the indents left from his teeth, wincing to see how deep they ran, knowing she’d bear bruises tomorrow. “You okay?”

  “If by okay, you mean bonelessly satisfied and exhausted? Then, yes. I’m that.” She sighed and then froze. “Gabe, your spooge is leaking out of me.”

  He grinned, pressing his forehead tight to her back, hoping he was out of elbow range. “Yup.”

  “You spooged in me?” He tried to bury his laughter, unsuccessfully, and when he chuckled, she twisted in his arms, turning to see his face. “You spooged in me?”

  “Yup.”

  She reached up and touched one corner of his mouth. “Stop smiling.” He shook his head. “I’m serious, Gabe. Stop smiling.” She lifted both hands and tugged on the corners of his mustache, trying to pull his lips into a somber line. “Stop smiling. I can’t be mad at you if you’re smiling like that.”