Watcher

by MariaLisa deMora

  Mela was always protective of her little sister, always looking out for her and it warmed his heart that Bella had this in her life. They might not be related by blood, but the bond his two girls shared ran just as deep.

  “He’s not a douche.” Bella whirled, her blonde hair swinging wide. Dark-skinned, his daughter was a beauty, and her naturally light hair was a striking feature. “He loves me.”

  “It sounds as if you have your own drama, my friend.” Bones’ voice came through the phone and Watcher jerked, he’d forgotten he still held the device to his ear. “I’ll let you go and deal with the crisis at hand. Do not be a stranger, Watcher. Give Juanita my love.” Watcher grunted, disconnecting and shoving the phone into his pocket.

  Mela tipped her head back, groaning, “God. He does not love you.” She straightened and stared hard at Bella. “He wants to get into your pants. And he intends to get into your pants because no one’s ever gotten in there before. And you’re beautiful. And smart. You’re fifteen, and so sweet Edwardo will never have a shot at anything like you again in his life because he’s”—she leaned forward, her voice rising again to a shout—“a douche!”

  “He’s not a douche.” Now Bella’s voice was trembling, and Watcher was about to step out and sort the spat when Mela’s next words pulled all the air from his lungs.

  “He’s a douche and too old for me, which means he’s way too old for you. Edwardo defines douche, and the fact he’s going after you makes it official. If you can’t see that from where you stand, then here you go”—she held out her palm, pretending to offer something to Bella—“here’s the stupid-as-fuck award of the year. Open your eyes, Bella. Please,” she pleaded, her open palm fisting, thudding against her chest, “please open your fucking eyes and see what I see.”

  Before Watcher could say anything, the door leading to the carport opened and Spider walked in, sweeping the room with his gaze. “Fucking shit, girls. I could hear you shoutin’ clear out to the barn. Your daddy’s still in bed. Y’all are gonna wake him the fuck up, and he’s gonna be a fuckin’ bear.”

  “Too late,” Watcher called, strolling into the kitchen. He pinned Bella with his eyes, watching as her face flashed red, then paled and she swallowed hard. “Daddy’s up and wondering lots of things. Like who this Edwardo is that’s older, wants to get into my baby girl’s pants, and is a douche.”

  ***

  “Jesus,” Spider muttered, punching the back of the seat in front of him. “Get your ass back into your own fuckin’ space.” He punched again, harder, and the passenger in the row ahead of them quickly raised the seatback. Watcher saw her glare over her shoulder at the man seated beside him. “Boss, this is not how I like to roll.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” came from across the aisle and Watcher turned to see Opie grinning.

  Spider shifted in the seat again, his leg stretched far out underneath the row in front of them. “Shut up.” He twisted, staring at the wing, the only thing visible out the small porthole window. “Shut up until we get to Chicago. I’ll kill you then. Fuckin’ hate a cage. Hate a tin can worse.”

  Tipping his head back, Watcher silently agreed. Then he groaned when Opie poured gasoline onto the fire by saying, “You realize we don’t deplane at O’Hare? We stay on this bird straight through to Fort Wayne.” Even with his eyes closed, Watcher identified the periodic thudding sound as Spider beating his forehead against the plastic surface of the window.

  Once on the ground in Fort Wayne, they were met at luggage claim by Hurley, one of the Rebel hangarounds. If it were anyone but me, this’d be a hella insult, Watcher thought, staring at the kid standing there, flipping a ring of keys around his finger. Mason had to know I’d get it. This must be a test for the kid, and Watcher readied himself to observe so he could report in later. Dressed in a tee and jeans, the only thing that could identify the boy as biker were the boots. Or maybe it’s about discretion, Watcher thought, reconsidering, knowing that like everywhere these days, Fort Wayne cops had a hard-on for clubs. “Van’s at the curb,” the kid said, gesturing towards the doors behind him. Watcher glanced the indicated direction and from the muffled laughter beside him, knew Spider saw the same thing he did.

  “Van that cop is ticketing?” Hurley whirled and cursed. “Go see if you can talk him out of the ticket. We’ll get our shit.” Each of the men had checked a bag to bring their legal firearms. It wasn’t so much they were expecting trouble, but a smart man was always prepared just in case.

  “Boss?” Opie stood, duffle slung over his shoulder, staring out the doors and watching as the kid talked animatedly with the officer. “You gonna clue us in on what’s goin’ on?” Opie and Spider hadn’t questioned when Watcher called and told them they were booked on a flight with him. They’d shown up at the barn, and Devil had driven them all to the airport, dropping them off in front of the terminal.

  “Mason called.” All he was willing to offer until after he talked to Mason face-to-face. “Soldiers stand with Rebels.” The cop walked off, leaving an irate Hurley standing next to the van. Watcher gave it another minute, then led his band of men outside into the sunlight.

  Watcher was surprised when Hurley pulled the van to a stop next to the Rebel clubhouse because there were zero bikes on the lot. Two cars parked at an angle next to the building, but other than the sign over the porch, nothing would indicate this was a motorcycle club’s headquarters. Hurley didn’t say anything, hadn’t actually spoken except for his brief greeting at the airport, but given he wasn’t even a prospect, it shouldn’t really be surprising. He led them through the gate, waiting with his head up until it had locked into place behind them, manned by a member in a guard shack off to the side.

  Walking into the building, Watcher came to a halt when he saw the crowd gathered inside the main room. A dozen patched members stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a line crossing the center of the room, positioned between a gaggle of women and children, and the outside door where Watcher stood. “What the fuck?” Spider’s voice was pitched low, for their ears only, and Watcher felt unease bleeding off his two men.

  “Thank fuck.” The voice behind the heartfelt greeting sounded familiar, and then he saw an older, grizzled man push forward, arm out to clasp Watcher’s. Bingo, the former Fort Wayne chapter president. “Watch, man, glad you could answer the call.” He looked over Watcher’s shoulder and introduced himself to Spider and Opie, “Bingo. How y’all doin’?” This encounter got more and more interesting. Bingo was a past president of this chapter, but Slate had replaced him more than a year ago. First a hangaround, now a greybeard with one foot out the club’s door.

  Watcher swept the room, taking in everyone this time. “Bingo, heard good things about you. Man, you sure you want company right now? Looks like y’all are on—”

  Bingo heaved a sigh, interrupting him. “Lockdown, yeah. Mason wasn’t able to get you on the horn before he had to leave. Y’all probably passed each other in the air somewhere.” Turning, the old man walked away, giving Watcher and his men his back. “Come on back. I’ll fill ya in.”

  The office behind the bar was stifling with hot, unmoving air, and the mood suffusing the crowded space was explosive even before Bingo made a motion to someone behind Watcher to close the door. With the skin on the back of his neck crawling, Watcher positioned himself in front of Spider, Opie to the side.

  Without preamble, Bingo said, “Mason ain’t here. You know that. Brother”—Watcher saw the already focused attention of the half a dozen Rebels in the room sharpen at the word, given freely, and not refuted—“you know the kind of shit Outriders are capable of. And this? Jesus. This might be the worst we’ve seen. Bar none.”

  Without saying anything, Watcher willed Bingo to keep going, because this, all of this, was not the beginning he would have wanted. “You know Bear.” Bingo waited for a nod from Watcher, indicating he knew the Rebel member. “You know his old lady.” Watcher stiffened because Bear’s old lady was Eddie, Shooter’s daughter. He’d seen h
er and Luke, now called Judge, when Watcher had come to Fort Wayne for Slate’s party. Outriders and Eddie in the same conversation didn’t bode well. “Shooter wanted her back in Cali.”

  Watcher shook his head. That didn’t make sense; Eddie loathed the club in Cali. For three years she and her mother had been on the run from Shooter, only coming back when her mother got cancer. Then, as soon as she could, she left again, landing here in northeast Indiana. “Eddie hasn’t lived there for years. Years, Bingo. She’s kept all ties to Shooter distant since high school. What would he need her in Cali for?”

  “He found a use for her.” Shuffling feet telegraphed the unease in the men around him. They didn’t know where this was going any more than Watcher and his men did. “Auctioned her off. Needed her back so he could keep up his end of the bargain.”

  “No fuckin’ way,” Spider mumbled, and Watcher threw up a hand for silence.

  “Auctioned her off?” Best to have clarity here, and so far, this was about as muddy as any creek back in Kentucky. “Auctioned her off to who?”

  “President of some upstart club in San Diego.” Bingo shook his head slowly. “Never woulda thought I’d see anything like this from the Morgans. Done gone past anything human, man. I’ve been in the life for a long time, rambled my way through a half a dozen clubs across the country, and been exposed to about any kind of man you can think of. This ain’t right.”

  “Who? Who bought her?” Watcher thought of a better question. “What do you need from me?” Fuck. I’m in Fort Wayne, I was closer in Las Cruces. “Tell me what Mason needs.”

  “Blue Line.”

  It was Opie’s turn to react, and his curse wasn’t mumbled, but Watcher was already digging for his phone. Thirty seconds later, the call connected, and he received a brusque, “You got shit timing. Not a good time, Watcher.”

  “Oh yeah, it fuckin’ is, asshole. This is me telling you to stand down.” He waited for a beat, then when he got nothing in return, continued, “Stand the fuck down. Eddie Morgan is off fuckin’ limits, Blue Line.”

  “Jesus.” This was a breathy mutter from Bingo, then from the phone Watcher got, “A moment while I get private.”

  Like each man in the room, Watcher stood still, every muscle rigid, waiting, then Blue Line barked a question, “How in the fuck did you hear about this?”

  “Don’t matter how, only matters you hear me, motherfucker. I’ve been nice, been the good neighbor, eating your friend of my friend’s bullshit, but you do this, and it’s”—Watcher took a breath, then gritted out the word he knew every man in the room feared most—“war.”

  “It does matter how you heard because it could change the entire fucking play.” An accent he hadn’t noticed before threaded through Blue Line’s words, either New Jersey or New York. Definitely not California, not the styled surfer persona presented in the past. “So you’re gonna tell me right here and right now and be real careful to get it right. How the fuck did you hear about this?”

  Eyes locked on Bingo, Watcher took a second to think about what he knew about the man on the phone. Loyal, faithful to his own agenda and beliefs, Blue Line had worked with Estavez but only where it didn’t compromise his own principles. This man would no more buy a woman than Watcher would, and this was something Watcher knew down in his soul. So Watcher made a decision and went with it, ignoring the uproar all around him when he said, “Standing in the Rebel clubhouse in Fort Wayne, called here by Mason, but he’s on his way to you to stop this bullshit.”

  Shouts around him, but Watcher kept his eyes fixed on Bingo, staring at the old man over the front sight on the end of the barrel pointed his direction. He knew Spider had stepped to the side, and expected Opie had done the same. Knew it was three against seven, and he’d not be walking out of this room if he had chosen wrongly.

  “Fuck,” Blue Line ground the word out. There was a burst of noise on his end of the call, then a shouted, “Play’s changed. We’re going from a rescue mission to a fucking partnership on a fucking rescue mission. Someone get me word on a bird coming in, gonna be quiet and private, tell me where and when. Toto, get me a fix on Judge. That motherfucker does not slip this net.” Louder, sounding closer to the phone, Blue Line’s frustration was as clear as if he were still shouting. “Watcher, you didn’t make this call. Never made it. Got that? You don’t know anything, and if you’re asked, you barely know me. Do not fuck me on this, or I swear to God you’ll regret every breath you take from this moment forwards. You get those boys to agree. Do not fuck me on this.”

  “Fuck you how?” Watcher asked, shaking his head in disbelief and confusion. “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “I got a line on shutting Shooter down. I’ve been working it, and today I’m taking that line to the shore. I’ve been running with it, and I’ve got his ass, Watcher. Told you. Fuckin’ told you. Taking his motherfucking son with him, because you’ve never seen wicked until you look Judge in the eyes. I don’t have long, but I’ll give you this and then I’m gone.” Blue Line’s voice changed, and from the intensity of his tone, Watcher braced. “This boy slips my net and gets in the wind, you watch your back. Watch your back, your front…fuck, man, watch your sides and over your goddamned head. I’ve never met a man with as much hate as he’s got inside him. Now”—there was the noise of motorcycle exhausts and wind, and Watcher knew Blue Line had made his way out of whatever structure he’d been inside—“I got places to be, and people to fuck up. I’ll update you as I can.”

  Dropping the phone to his side, Watcher saw the door had opened, admitting even more Rebels to the already tightly packed room, and even though the weapons had been lowered, every one of them had hostile eyes turned on him. Before anyone could ask, he volunteered what he knew.

  “Blue Line is part of a cop club in SoCal. Through my Mexico dealings, I’ve had occasion to talk to him. According to him, he’s not buying into the auction to get Eddie, except to get her away from her old man. Y’all know Shooter”—he scanned the room and saw heads nodding somberly—“and y’all know Judge. Blue Line’s looking to take them both down. Which means”—Watcher focused on Bingo, who held the greatest sway in the Rebel club with Slate out of town on his honeymoon trip and now Mason out west—“he and Mason are working the same side of the fence. Blue Line’s gonna update me when he can, but brother, you need to get a call to Mason, soon as you can. Would make life a fuckuva lot easier if he wasn’t blindsided going into this mess.”

  ***

  “Slate’s got a good woman.” Watcher tipped the beer bottle in his hand up, listening to the music coming from the open back door of the clubhouse as he took a long drink.

  A heavy sigh came from the chair beside him, then Mason agreed, “Yeah, he does.”

  “Like that chick for you. Willa. Don’t think I got a chance to tell you last time. She seemed solid at the hospital yesterday.” Watcher lifted his hand, pushing his hair back. Need a haircut soon as I get home, he thought, smiling at the idea of Juanita’s hands in his hair, pushing and combing as she trimmed the ends.

  “She’s good to me,” Mason said, and Watcher snorted laughter. “No, man, she is.”

  “She’s good for you,” Watcher corrected him, and Mason laughed.

  “True story. I’ve never…” Mason took a breath, seeming to find his thoughts. “What you found for yourself in Juanita. That’s what I’ve been wanting. What I’ve looked for. The best kind of give and take, where you don’t have to be everything. You don’t have to try to be what you’re not, because what you can’t be, she is right there and picking up the slack. I wanted that. Coulda had it, and looking back, I know I coulda, but fucking hell, man, I’m glad I didn’t get my head out of the sand. I’d have missed what I needed, lost in what I might want.”

  “Juanita’s all of that for me. Doesn’t matter what kinda shit goes down, she’s like a rock. With her background? You’d think she’d give the refugees a wide berth. You know the kind of conditions we pull people out of every da
y. Dig them out of holes in the ground, every single fucking day. Bring them over, give them a better life. A chance at what they need to make their family whole.” Watcher drained the last inch of beer into his mouth then rested the still-cold bottle on his knee. “Juanita’s there nearly every day. Giving. Giving of herself, organizing things, making sure Pastor has what he needs. Making sure the families coming through the mission get what they need. Giving herself to them. Every day.” He drained the dregs of the foam out onto the dirt beside his boots, the drops quickly turning into dark spots which gradually lightened, fading away. “Every day, Juanita’s that for me.”

  “I get it, brother.” Mason leaned his head back and the two men sat in silence for a moment. “Bear’s gonna be okay. You get a chance to say hey to Eddie?”

  “Yeah, caught her in the hallway. Wasn’t sure she’d remember me, but she did. She looks like hell.” He shook his head. “Hard to believe John would do this kind of shit to his flesh and blood. I can’t fathom the idea of a father caring so little for his baby girl. And Luke?” Goose bumps crawled up Watcher’s arms. Dusting his palms against his jeans, he pushed to his feet, staring down at the shadows wreathing Mason. “Too fuckin’ bad he wasn’t there when Blue Line showed. I know you said Shooter saw him after Bear and Blue Line brought Eddie out, but that boy is dangerous. I hear word of him, I’ll call.” He paused a moment and saw Mason’s head move in agreement. “You do the same, brother. Fuckin’ glad you got everybody back alive, Mason. Coulda been a serious shitstorm. Soldiers stand with Rebels.”

  “Rebels stand with Soldiers.” Mason’s response was immediate and gratifying. “Sleep, brother. Ruby’ll have assigned you a room. You’re stayin’ here. All of y’all are stayin’ here. Safety in numbers, yeah?”