Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4

by MariaLisa deMora

  He got one.

  “Fuck, yeah, she died. Torched and shot up on the freeway.” Shooter came off the bike and was standing stiff legged, fists balled at the ends of his arms. “Daddy saw it, wasn’t in time to save her. Ran ‘em off, pulled her out. Too late. She was dead.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “The fuck you say!” Shooter lifted an arm, finger pointed at Mason, stabbing the air with each sharp exhalation. “She’s fucking dead.”

  “I saw her. Talked to her. She ain’t dead, John.”

  “Where do you think you saw her? You so stupid you didn’t know you weren’t talking to her?” Scoffing, Shooter shook his head. “So fucking stupid you don’t know the difference between Mama and some fucking skank you saw on the goddamned street.”

  “You know we got another sister?” This was pure speculation on Mason’s part, and Bones knew it. “You know our daddy got a girl on another woman?” If Bones read things right, this was the first time Mason had acknowledged any truth to Morgan’s assertion he was Mason’s father. “Two boys, two girls. Perfect family.”

  “Fucking shut up.” Shooter’s head moved back and forth in short, sharp arcs. “Just fucking shut up.”

  A bike near the end of the line roared, followed by a dozen more, and Bones watched as the mass of machines started untangling themselves. The first group was followed by another, and another, the sound of their exhausts dwindling down to nothing. Shooter didn’t even notice, his attention focused on Mason.

  “Yeah, you, then me and Bethy, and then Justine.” Mason dropped the name into the conversation casually, as if he expected Shooter to already know. “Baby sister.”

  The last bike pulled out, turning around and heading back down the road. Bones had counted a dozen different patches, likely clubs where Shooter had held markers. Markers wasted on a call in like this, where there was no good outcome.

  “Fuck you.” Shooter stepped backwards, stumbling as he tripped over the pegs on the bike behind him. “She’s dead, and there’s no fucking bitch like you’re talking about.”

  “I’ve seen her. Spoken to her. Talked to Justine. Morgan lied to you. I don’t know who the woman was he killed, or why he did it, but he lied to you.” Mason’s fingers dug in again, and Bones began paying close attention to Shooter, seeing how his agitation increased with every word. “Stole her from you, took her away just when you needed her. Stole her and put her into a place where she’s protected. Why did he do that, John? Why did he feel like he needed to protect her from you? Keep her from you? What was going on that made him think you couldn’t be around her anymore?”

  “Fuck you. It wasn’t like that.” Shooter’s voice cracked, rising in pitch. “She’s not alive.”

  “She’s very much alive. I have pictures, and she’s just as beautiful as ever. Our mother, hidden away all these years. Morgan kept her safe.” Mason barked a laugh that sounded painful, and Bones was reminded it was his mother who had been stolen from him, too. “Kept her for himself. Kept her away from you. Didn’t want you to taint her with your brand of crazy. Am I right? You were crazy, and you hated she had other kids. Hated she loved Bethy and me. Hated her enough you were going to hurt her, weren’t you?”

  “Fuck.” Shooter leaned forwards at the waist. “You.”

  “Alive, and so happy to see me. Told me so. Told me she loved me.” Mason’s voice softened, gentled. “Told me she loved Bethy and me so much. Didn’t mention you, though. Wonder if you’ve slipped her mind, finally.”

  Face red, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, Shooter stood and stared at Mason. With jerky movements, he woodenly turned to the bike and straddled it, head bowed. Without another word, without looking at Mason, he started the engine and turned the bike, back wheel spinning and skidding on the road as he roared off.

  Silence settled on the parking lot as they all watched the motorcycle grow smaller, dwindling in the distance.

  “Jesus. That man’s batshit crazy. I’m thinkin’ he won’t be back like that again.” Opie laughed. “You tore him down.”

  “And I’m thinkin’ you’re wrong. Won’t stop him from being a pain in my ass. I’m on the fence about how fuckin’ stupid it is to let him ride the fuck away,” Mason said, then huffed out a breath, frustrated. “Bones, we need to follow him, see where he goes. Get ahold of Myron, have him set up a call with Fury. We need to figure out why we didn’t know Shooter was out.”

  Bones turned and looked at the men who stood behind them. Shoulder to shoulder, they presented a united front and seeing this, it was no wonder the mismatched men who had ridden behind Shooter hadn’t stayed once it was clear what the intent was for the visit. Motioning to two of the Little Rock members, he was gratified when they didn’t hesitate, just nodded and moved towards their bikes. In a few moments, they were off and down the road, trailing behind Shooter.

  ***

  “You’re saying he’d been stonewalled for a whole day, and hadn’t checked in?” Mason’s words were delivered in an angry tone, tense with frustration and disbelief. Bones waited for Myron’s response. They were inside the Little Rock clubhouse, back in the office.

  “I’m saying he didn’t have a chance to check in, Mason. He got held up in visitor intake at the prison, you know how Taft is out there. Access to anything is iffy, and for us, it’s a definite way for LEO and Feds to isolate.” Myron sounded just as frustrated. “We knew sending Fury out was courting trouble, but you wouldn’t let me use the lawyers like we’ve been doing.” The cell phone buzzed with an incoming text, but no one picked it up to check what it was. “And as to why our legal assistance didn’t know Shooter had gotten released, I’m still following up on that. There’s no paperwork behind it. From the surface, it looks like he’s still in jail. Got no idea how the fuck this worked, but from what I’ve seen, there weren’t any markers our men would have picked up on.”

  Silence in the room, then Mason sighed heavily. “Okay. Keep me updated. Not a bit of this shit smells right.”

  “Stinks to high heaven,” Myron agreed, then disconnected.

  Mason looked at Bones, picking up the phone. “Find out from Digger when Fury’s back in Chicago.” He read the text, then tapped out a response, saying offhandedly, “Let Bethy know.” At Bones snort of disbelief, Mason lifted his eyes and glared at him, shrugging, “I can’t talk her out of it. Tried a dozen ways. Her choice.”

  “Leave or stay?” Bones asked Mason, already knowing what he wanted wasn’t what he would recommend if he were asked. Leaving now would give the local chapter the wrong message, and could position them for further conflict if anyone got the wrong idea that it was a retreat.

  “Stay.” Mason’s voice was flat, gruff, and Bones understood. He felt the same way.

  “Shooter has long been a problem. He is one that should not be allowed to remain unresolved. We have both done that in the past.” Bones shook his head. “It never ends well.”

  “And we wind up doing the shit we knew needed to be done to begin with. No.” Mason paused, and reached into a pocket on his vest, pulling out his phone. “I won’t let it rock on. We need to know where he’s headed, and why he’s here. Out of all the places he coulda gone when he got out of prison, why did he come here?”

  “I do not know, my friend.” Bones shoved his shoulders back, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “We need that information, and to know how he managed his release in the first place.” Rocking on his heels slightly, he shook his head. “I have calls to make. Do you need anything from me, Mason?”

  “Million bucks and a better family?” Mason’s laughter was bitter, and Bones winced to hear it. “Naw, brother. Make the calls. I want to check on Juanita, call home and check on my fam. Appreciate you putting yourself out there today. It did not go unnoticed.”

  “My job, to protect my president,” Bones said without looking up, and at Mason’s derisive snort, his eyes cut up from his phone to Mason’s face. “My honor, to do this for my friend and br
other.” The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Bones said, “Rebels forever…”

  Mason finished it, with, “Forever Rebels.”

  ***

  “You are certain of this information?” Bones asked the question, already on the move, his feet taking him down the back stairway of the clubhouse. The slapping echoes of his boot soles in the confined space did nothing to block the affirmative response on the phone. “I will be in touch. Expect us within the hour.”

  Rounding the bottom of the stairs, he crossed the kitchen in a few strides, pushing through the swinging doors and into the main room. Scanning the occupants quickly, he didn’t see the ones he wanted and jerked his head at the prospect manning the bar. “Where is Mason?”

  With a tip of his head to the door behind him, the prospect said, “Office, but they said they weren't to be interrupted.” He grimaced, clearly uncertain what to do, and Bones solved it for him by moving to the door.

  Knocking with one fist as the other hand turned the knob, he entered without delay. Mason sat behind the desk, two Little Rock officers seated on the couch opposite, Opie and Slate in chairs at either end of the room. “Shooter left town a while ago, riding like the devil himself were after him. LaPorte left town about an hour before he did. Shooter’s in Mobile already. Mason, I think he’s following her down to Adken.”

  Mason stared at him for a long moment, and his chin jerked up once. “Fuck, did I hang her out there today, saying that to him?” Bones shrugged, not certain how to respond. Another moment, then Mason reached out for the speakerphone before pausing, drawing his hand back and bringing out his cell phone instead. Two rings, then a sleepy Myron answered the call with a hoarse, “Yeah, boss?”

  “You get eyes into the med place in Florida?” The tension in Mason’s voice must have been evident to Myron, because his response was quick and affirmative. “Pull up the feed. Tell me what you see.”

  “Minute, boss.”

  Bones closed his eyes, understanding instinctively what could have pulled Shooter to Florida, even if he didn’t know about LaPorte, or the facility.

  Myron’s voice came back, and he said, “You needa see this, Mason. Sending a screenshot to your phone.”

  Bones shook his head, opening his eyes to stare at Mason. Taking out his own phone, he composed a text to Digger, and paused, waiting.

  A soft ping from his phone, and Mason angled it so he could look at the screen.

  The single word was snarled, Mason’s eyes never lifting from the image on his phone. “Morgan.”

  Bones hit Send.

  ***

  Their plane was scarcely on the ground when Mason pulled out his phone. Bones heard a grunt and glanced his way, seeing Mason’s phone tilted so he could see the screen. The text message displayed there was innocuous, but the person who sent it was a surprise.

  Blue Line had sent three words. Need a call.

  “What do you have going with the Malcontents? Did you connect before we left Arkansas?” Bones stood when Mason did, entering the aisle, noting with annoyance how the pocket of space around them was left undisturbed. Mason was busy with his phone as Bones reached up, dragging their bags from the bins. Handing Mason’s to him, he slung the strap of his over his shoulder, automatically adjusting it so his empty holster at the small of his back was accessible. Their weapons were in the checked baggage, and would not be returned to their normal positions until the men were in the rental car. Their permits were not valid in Florida, but neither man mentioned it.

  They had hit the concourse before Mason responded, Bones giving him as much space as he needed to take care of whatever business had cropped up while they were in the air.

  “Blue Line’s callin’ in the marker he earned with Bear.” Mason let a half a dozen strides go by before continuing. “Fuckin’ shit for timing, but cannot deny the man has a marker to call.”

  “Truth.” Bones avoided a stroller sticking out from a gate seating area, smiling down at the sleeping baby strapped inside. He tried to ignore the wide-eyed stare from the child’s mother, but his mind drew a comparison to how his Ester looked at him, seeing past his skin to the man hiding inside. “What does he need?”

  “Need is a strong word.” Mason snorted a laugh. “He’d like a representative in his area, someone he could call on when he’d like to chat. Someone who would be a direct conduit to me.”

  “Will you give him this?” They exited the secure area, heading to the luggage carousel, already turning and sliding along, carrying a few bags, more coming, thumping off the feeder belt every minute.

  “Inclined. Thinkin’ Tug would enjoy a SoCal assignment for a few months. He and Maggie have already been out there off and on for over a year, checking on his nephew. LeRoy’s about ready to get out of the navy. Tug’s been helping him sort out what he wants to do. Wyoming isn’t a place the guy wants to live, and Tug’s made some statements he’d like to be wherever that winds up being. At least for a while.”

  “Cannot fault a man for wanting to be with blood.” Bones saw their bags and stepped to the carousel, waiting. He grabbed the handles and jostled them, distributing the weight. “Car next.”

  Mason grunted, already turning towards the rental counter. Ten minutes later they were in a car, guns retrieved, bags stowed. Mason plugged in the device all the Rebels used, bypassing the car’s standard Bluetooth system. A minute later, Myron’s greeting came over the speakers, and Mason responded.

  “Made it. We’ll be on-site in twenty minutes. Tell me what you’ve got.” As he spoke, Mason jerked the car into gear, pulling out of the parking lot and getting them on the highway without needing any directions, underscoring to Bones how much time Mason had spent here in the past few weeks.

  “Morgan left about an hour after you hit the airport in Arkansas. Tracked him into town. He’s not far from where you are.” Bones looked at Mason, trying to determine what would be next.

  “What’d he leave behind?” Squinting against the sun, Mason reached up and slid his sunglasses down, covering his eyes.

  “It’s dinner time there. Ladies are eating. That’s all, nothing odd, Mason. It looks like he was only there for a visit. Left when it was time, considerate of their schedule.” Myron paused, and Bones knew something bigger was coming. “He’s at a coffee shop across the street from LaPorte’s offices.”

  “She meeting him?” Bones knew Mason hadn’t approached the woman who was his half-sister, hadn’t approached his mother, either, no matter what he’d said to Shooter that morning. “Got eyes on her?”

  “Negatory on the eyes. But I can hear her. Nothing out of place, boss. She’s just back at work after being in the field all day. Not making any evening plans, and nothing she’s saying registers as off. Just another day.”

  “Where’s Shooter?” Mason turned the wheel sharply, swinging the car through a U-Turn, taking them back towards downtown. “Know where he is, yet?”

  The flight Digger had gotten them on had left minutes after they’d boarded. Given where Shooter was at that time, they might very well have beaten him into town, since he was riding down.

  “Caught him on a cam about twenty minutes ago. He’s headed to the coffee shop, boss. I saw you just pulled a uey. You sure that’s the best course?” Bones knew Mason’s increased speed had registered when Myron muttered, “Of course you do.”

  Bones waited, then interjected, “Mason, we do not have backup here. We have few allies in the area on which we can call.” No response, so he decided to try another tactic. “Myron, what is the location around the coffee shop? I would assume open, with ample foot traffic to warrant having a shop there.”

  “Not really,” Myron returned immediately. “It’s more a drive up, or drive-through place. There are a couple of stores nearby, but not next to. The building on the other side of the road is your biggest threat, because of the number of federal employees who are officed there. There are like three alphabet divisions in the building. Fed parking is underneath and
behind, though, so there are only a few who come and go from the front.”

  Bones reached to his holster, pulled out the pistol and checked the magazine, then opened his bag on the backseat and pulled out a spare. “I have thirty,” he told Mason, who nodded. “Myron, can you send me images of the shop and the surrounding area, just so I can have a visual?”

  “You got it,” Myron muttered, and Bones heard the keyboard in the background. A moment later his phone vibrated against his leg.

  “Want your spare?” Bones didn’t look at Mason, kept his head down, studying the images on his phone, trying to orient himself on the shop building and the surrounding environment. Mason grunted, which Bones took as affirmative, so he tucked his gun underneath his leg, reaching back to grab Mason’s bag, digging out and retrieving two spare magazines. He checked both, pressing the top cartridge of each against the spring to ensure it was fully loaded. He pushed them underneath Mason’s leg, trapping them against the seat. “What do you want, Mason? Do you plan to talk, or do we hit the door with intent?”

  “No talking.” Short and clipped, Mason’s answer was all Bones needed.

  With a nod, Bones accepted this. “Whatever you need, brother.” Mason met his gaze and held it for a moment before twisting to look out the front window again. “Myron, we need to know where Shooter is.” Bones looked at the time on the dashboard clock, and then asked, “Is there anything you can do with the cameras on the building LaPorte is in? Past quitting time, so there should be only a few remaining inside, unless some of the companies have shift work. How many people are in the coffee shop? Where are they? Where is Morgan?”

  “I have everything in the fed building if you want it. I can keep their security guys busy so they aren’t looking out front. Mason…” Myron paused, then said, “It looks like Shooter’s going to hit there about the same time. If you come through the alley to the back, and in that door, you’ll have distance and surprise working in your favor, no windows on that side of the building.” Bones studied the images again, seeing the alley and employee parking lot Myron referenced. “Morgan’s at the table on the front wall, in the corner. You come in the back, you’ll hit the kitchen first, then through the doors into the shop proper. There’s one gal working, and she’s spent the last ten minutes guzzling about a gallon of what looked like green tea. She just went into the toilet, so I expect her to stay there a while.”