I spoke truthfully, something he’d asked of me and I vowed to always do. Tell me if I frighten you, he’d said. Tell me if I hurt you, in even the smallest of ways, my beauty. Promise me. The last had been urgent, important enough he had paused midstroke, staying buried inside me, his heat adding to the already molten core inside me. Teased and adrift at his sudden stillness, I’d promised. I always keep my promises.
So now, I spoke the truth, for the moment, for the present, and for the past. “Right now, no. That tickles a little, but it’s not painful. It doesn’t hurt anymore; pains now are a nay. Pains past, yes, in the execution and realization, even in the sufferance afterwards. It’s ugly.” I paused, then apologized for him having to see the scar, purple and raised, writhing through a private space where I’d never considered eyes being laid, or gazes gazed. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry, my love?” That first time to hear those words, my eyes drifted closed in the ecstasy of the moment. Another gift, and this one I would hold forever in my head. “Ester.” His tone lacked the amusement I had expected, because he usually liked how over the top I would get when he was kind.
“Ester, look at me, please.” Seeing him beyond my opening lashes, he was blurry at first, then jumped into focus, the anger on his face surprising the air from my body. Like a whip, his words lashed the air, not directed at me, but still the fury simmered over my skin from where he lay, belly down on the mattress, head canted so his cheek rested on my thigh.
A firm stroke with the pad of his thumb traced the scar, then skimmed up to press against my clitoris, causing my muscles to jump in a good way. “This is a precious part of you. That someone would injure you so is not something for which you should apologize. You should scream and shout, rend the air with rage that such was done to you.” His jaw tightened, and the lines on his skin quivered with his fury. “My question was because it looks inflamed, and I want you, but I’ve promised you no pain.” He repeated himself, the tone a vow of its own. “No pain, ever, beauty. Only joy and pleasure in my bed.”
“It aches, sometimes, when we’re done.” I offered him more honesty and saw him accept it, not being mad because I told him. “But it’s a good kind of ache, mostly. A doctor once told me there was a cream that would help keep it supple, but I didn’t care then because I didn’t ever want to be touched there again, not even by myself. It was thirty below, and the shelter made a health check mandatory, so I had to let him look so I could stay warm.” I considered, thinking, then told him, “That was eleven, no twelve years ago.”
I got lost in my head for a minute, trying to sort out the weeks and months, thinking I’d thought my way past something important. Something he’d want to know about. A day. He interrupted me, his voice growling and angry when he asked, “You bore this scar when you were but eleven-years-old?” That was when I realized I hadn’t told him everything and must have worn the knowledge on my face, for him to read, because he growled again, his throat vibrating around the words, “Tell me.”
I’d finished my calculations, so I could correct him, but was treading carefully, because his anger was slippery. “I was twelve, but lied and told them I was fifteen so they wouldn’t call the court lady.” Quickly, I finished, hoping to derail his fury, “The scar has been part of me for sixteen years.”
“You were seven.” He had moved, head upright, gaze boring into me, drilling down to the truth he wanted so desperately that I gave it to him, fumbling even in my rush to get it out so he could know.
“I was eight. I’m twenty-four.” He took in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing when I reacted involuntarily, the muscles of my stomach jumping. I wanted to apologize, but I didn’t know for what, and was afraid it would make him angrier.
That day started the period I called Interrogation by Intimacy. Bones way of making me boneless with his boner, and of course I didn’t tell him that, but in the silence of my mind I knew it was true. He would make love to me and then cuddle close, circling me with his body. Building a wall between me and the outside, protecting me. Then, having gained a fresh perspective of the map that was my skin, he would question this line or that scar, this mark or that dimple, following the thread of a story until he held everything in his hands. Then he would make it okay, better than okay, drive me out of my mind and back into boneless, where he would hold me. Even in his sleep, he held me.
I liked that.
Make a play
Bones
“Where’d the boss go?” Opie’s image flickered, then stabilized again on the screen. “Thought he needed a check-in from me?”
“Mason is coordinating something at the moment.” Bones shifted to the side, letting Fury pull his chair up to the edge of the desk. “We wanted to chat with you.”
Fury nodded, saying only, “Opie.”
Opie lifted his chin, responding to the greeting nonverbally as he asked, “You need me to pull anyone else in, Bones?”
“No, your attention is all that is required. Are you alone in the office?” Bones knew from the scene behind Opie that he was in the barn behind Watcher’s house, the only real clubhouse they had in Las Cruces. Also knew from experience that there were countermeasures in place to keep anyone from getting too close, or from snooping. Opie nodded, his face tense. “Is Juanita in the house?” Opie nodded again. She had headed home a week ago, taking Carmela with her. Hurley was settling things in Fort Wayne so he could go west and join them there. “You have someone on her?”
“Fuck yeah, I have someone on her. Got a half a dozen brothers here all the time. We aren’t going to relax until we know everything’s over.” Opie pushed back from the table, and Bones could hear the deep breath he took, even through the computer’s cheap speakers. “You looking for something in particular?” Opie’s gaze sharpened, and Bones knew he had seen something on his or Fury’s faces when he changed the question slightly. “Somebody in particular?”
“Do you know where Spider is?” Fury leaned in, elbow to the desk, fingers of one hand dragging through his beard. “Right now?”
“In the house with Juanita, watching a goddamned TV show.” Opie shook his head. “He’s trusted inner circle, man, you know that. She’s good with him inside, but not some of the other guys, the newer ones. I got two in the house, Spider and Devil, four outside, two in front, one between house and barn, one out back of the barn.” Opie lifted a hand, thumbing over his shoulder. “I’ve got vid routed here, want me to cycle through quick and see what I see?”
“Yes, do that.”
Bones waited and shook his head when Opie’s face first turned confused, and then hardened with rage.
“Where the fuck is he?” A near mutter, and Opie’s focus wasn’t on the camera, so Bones knew it wasn’t directed at them. “Goddamned bike’s here. I got eyes on everybody else. Where’s he at?” Suddenly Opie sat backwards, face twisting, but not with rage. With sadness. “Spider’s in Bella’s room. I can see him from the cam in the kitchen. Just sittin’ on the edge of her fuckin’ bed. What’s…” Shifting so he stared straight at the camera, he asked, “What are you looking for?”
“He got a phone in his hand?” Fury voice grew intense when he asked the question. “That room got a window that aims towards the office you’re in right now?”
“Yeah. I can see the screen. And the girls’ rooms are both on the back of the house, so yeah, there’s a window that looks out over the pool and yard.” Opie’s eyes closed, and his chin tipped towards one shoulder. Without looking at the camera again, voice flat, he said, “You think he’s trying to listen to us.”
“Yes,” Bones answered. “But as long as you turned on the box Myron sent you before you made this call, he cannot hear you or us. Can you confirm you turned on the device?”
“Yeah. Thought it was paranoid overkill, but Myron’s note was clear.” Opie’s eyes opened, and he stared at the camera. “You wanna tell me what’s going on? Maybe starting from the beginning?”
***
“You thi
nk he’s going to go for it?” Fury leaned back, asking his question as Bones reached one hand to the laptop, slowly closing the lid. “Man’s been through a fuck of a lot, brother. Pretty sure he thought Diamond was the entirety of the LC chapter problems. Got that out of the way, lost their king in the process but got their princess back. Now you tell him a founder ain’t what he seems.”
“We do not know for certain what Spider is, Fury.” Bones reminded him of the truth. They all had concerns, ideas based on what Myron had been able to dig up, but nothing concrete. “He could be what he always seemed to be, for Watcher. He could be loyal to the patch, not our RWMC, but the one Danger put on his back. I know it was something Watcher struggled with, the idea of setting aside everything his brother had worked so hard to create. He had more than come to terms with it at the end, had embraced the idea, much as you and I did. But Spider was a holdout.”
“Myron’s tied him to some shit, man. All kinds of shit.” Fury reminded him of the reason for their call with Opie.
“I would disagree. Myron has uncovered some coincidences, but Spider is not yet tied to anything. That is still under evaluation, and Myron would be the first to tell you the same.” Bones shook his head, sliding the laptop into a drawer. “There are tightly drawn lines, but everything is held together only by conjecture. We need something to hold to before we accuse. Otherwise there will only be division in the chapter, pitching the long-timers against the newer men. Opie will be on watch now, which was the reason for the call. So we shall see what he finds. And we shall see what Myron can unearth, too.”
“Wish like fuck Mason hadn’t headed out.” Fury stood, pacing the length of the desk to the small window set high in the wall. It overlooked the front of Tupelo’s, and Bones knew from the rumbling sounds that it was a packed house tonight. “He don’t got anything solid, not sure why he’s sniffing around after rumors.”
“Because Deacon was good at blending, good at pretending to be something he is not. Did you hear Watcher’s story of Hope’s funeral?” Bones winced when he saw Fury jerk as if he’d been physically hit. With the tales circulating about Fury and Mason’s sister Bethany, it was easy to forget he had thrown his hat in the ring along with Hoss at one time when it came to Hope.
Bones pressed on, “Deacon was there. He wore a stolen Legends’ patch, but the nameplate was one only someone who knew the Fiends’ history would put together. Plain sight of everyone and he nearly got his hands on Mason’s son.”
Fury swung to look at him, lips pressed into a tight line.
When he remained silent, Bones said, “Deacon and him are tied so tightly to Morgan. We have a dozen such stories, all of them showing Morgan appears to feel invincible. We know he is not, he is a flesh and blood man, and will bleed and die like any other man once we find him. We just have to find him, first. Mason is likely the best qualified to do so of all of us, because he knows not only the man Morgan was, but the man Deacon had become. Knowing as we do how Morgan and Deacon were in each other’s pockets for so long, there will be some traits shared between the men. With Shooter no longer talking to us, Mason has to follow a trail gone cold.”
Fury nodded, and Bones steepled his fingers, pressing them against his lips for a moment.
“My opinion? Shooter is no longer contained. We have one story placing him in Florida, already. Another making the rounds of rallies about an appearance in Georgia. I shared all of this with Mason. Too many things point to Shooter pulling in markers and favors to gain freedom. I also shared what Myron found out about the woman in Florida. That agent is key. We just do not know what she knows. She may know everything, or nothing. We have Shooter to confirm on the west coast, and Mason’s probable sister to play on the Gulf coast. He will seek out one, and see if it leads him to the other.”
Faded memories
Mason
He watched her for most of a day, following and cataloging as much as he could about the woman, Justine LaPorte. Noted who came and left her house, her offices, watched how her coworkers treated her, how she treated them in turn.
Myron kept up a steady feed of information, and by the end of the day, Mason knew more about LaPorte than she may have known herself. More than once over the years, Mason thought to himself that Myron was a little scary and today underscored the skill of his diverse set of talents.
She’d gone into a bar for lunch, not to drink but just to eat a burger and shoot a game of pool. When Mason complained via text about the music she’d played on the jukebox, Myron had gotten giddy. He’d gotten into the app on her phone through the box on the wall, because she’d connected to buy credits. From there he’d found a route to her bank accounts, and with that access, Myron said it was smooth sailing to every membership she had, every financial institution she used, and he had even found a reservation she’d made for dinner tomorrow night at an exclusive restaurant in Jacksonville. For one.
Everything pointed to her being a straight-arrow Fed. She had excelled in school and aced the testing necessary to place herself in the sights of the government for employment recruitment. She had long-term friends who were loyal, and she returned that loyalty. Her family loved her, and she was paying for a niece to attend a private school out of her own pocket, even though she didn’t pull down a fuckton of money at her job. In everything Myron found her morals and honesty shone through. Hell, he’d even found a video of her pulling back around into a bank drive-through to return an extra twenty the teller had put in her envelope. The only thing questionable was the release of Lalo.
Mason and Myron had a bet going. Myron leaning towards pressure from her superiors being the cause of her cutting the nutjob loose, and Mason thinking it was an external threat. That was about the time the niece moved from public to private, and the pictures Myron found of LaPorte from those weeks showed a woman exhausted, deep circles underneath her eyes, features drawn and tense.
So, when she pulled out of her driveway ten minutes ago, Mason hadn’t thought anything about it, maneuvering the rental car he was in away from the curb and into traffic to follow her. About eight minutes into the journey, that was where things got interesting. Going through a residential area, LaPorte took a series of left- and right-hand turns and if Mason hadn’t been paying close attention, he would have either lost her, or exposed himself as a tail. Exiting the streets filled with family homes, she got onto a state highway and drove straight out of town, this strategy having the same challenges for Mason as he followed her. Too close and she’d notice his car, but too far away and he might miss her turning off the road.
Putting his phone on speaker, Mason called Myron. “LaPorte is driving out of town headed north. You got her on anything?” A logging truck pulled onto the highway in front of Mason, and he had to slow down for a few moments before the road widened, and he could pass the vehicle. “She ran through a series of defensive maneuvers while still in the city, makes me wonder where she’s headed.” Pulling back into his lane, he angled his head trying to determine if LaPorte’s car was still traveling in front of him. “I didn’t put a tracker on the car, didn’t expect to have to.”
Clicking over the phone was easily identified as fingers tapping on his keyboard, and Mason waited, knowing the less he distracted Myron, the better. A moment later he heard, “Got it.” Myron sounded smug when he said, “Bluetooth in her car is the same password as her phone. I got whatever you want, Mason. I can send you the route she’s got programmed in if you want, but it looks like she’s nearly there. Wherever there is. On your map.”
Mason’s phone dinged and he looked down, seeing a map application active. There were two blue dots, one traveling and one stationary.
“Her coordinates are in the middle of nowhere. There aren’t even any houses nearby. It’s an old sand quarry.” More tapping, and Myron said, “Hold on, I got…” His voice trailed off, then came back. “Mason, it’s a compound of some kind. I’ll keep looking, see if I can figure out who owns it, but this ain’t her first rodeo here.
According to her car computer, she’s traveled this route at least once a week in the past two years. She’ll be there for about an hour. Return travel is more varied, looks like she’s probably stopping for either a beer or food.”
“Anywhere I can park, get close, see what’s going on? I wanna keep an eye on her if I can.” Mason saw the blinker ahead of him and grunted. “She’s here, turning into the driveway.” He drove past, glancing at the fence and façade he could see, noting the circumference of the clearing denoted by the edge of the forest. “Got anything I can use, Myron?”
“Half a mile, there’s a logging road to the right. You can drive in and park, then either walk back out to the highway or angle through the woods. Mason, I don’t like the idea of you getting close. We got nobody there with you, nobody to take your back, man.” Myron’s voice carried a sour note of concern, and Mason grinned to hear it. “You’re effectively blind, and I don’t have enough time to give you anything that makes it better.”
“Yes, Mom. I know the bad men might pick on me today.” Laughing, Mason turned onto the rutted dirt road. Narrow at the beginning, just past the tree line it widened, and he made a quick three-point turn, aiming the car back towards the highway for a faster retreat if needed.
“Fuck you,” Myron said, then followed up with, “take your phone. I’ll listen in and see where you are. At least we’ll know if something happens.”
“Doom and gloom, Myron. Not the best confidence builder.” Car in park, Mason killed the engine, letting the silence of the nighttime dark woods settle around the vehicle. “You got anything you want to pass along before I climb my old ass outta the car?”
Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4 Page 25
