Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4

by MariaLisa deMora

  Myron paused again, and Bones heard Mason’s phone ping, looked down to see a reboot screen. “I’m wiping your phone since you don’t have a burner. I’ll offload the backup before I wipe that. Bones, I’m about to do the same with yours.” A moment later his phone vibrated and went black, then the reboot screen showed. “I’ll wipe the car’s GPS. I’m jacked in now, so I’ll take care of that once I lose you.”

  Another pause, then Myron said, “When you leave the car I will have you on the cameras inside. Nothing else, Mason. Everything outside I can get at will be nonworking once you hit a block away. Inside, I won’t be able to talk to you, but if I can, I’ll jack into the sound system there, so I’ll be able to hear you. I won’t stop trying, man. You tell me what you want done, Mason, and I’ll do my best to make it so.”

  “Gotcha.” Mason’s response was short, and he was focused on driving, angling the car around turns and then they were on a cobblestone alley between high buildings. “You’re a good brother, Myron.”

  “Back atcha, boss.” Myron pulled in an audible breath. “Okay. Here we go. Shooter just hit the front of the lot.”

  Bones saw the buildings opening up in front of them, saw a small building to his left. Mason angled the car that direction, gliding to a hard but silent stop at the back door. “We’re out, Myron,” Mason clipped the words as he grabbed the magazines, then got out of the still-rocking car, gun angled down beside his leg.

  “Shiny side.” Myron’s voice came through the speakers, then there was the ping of a computer rebooting and Bones knew Myron was working his magic on the system.

  With one glance at Bones, Mason reached for and opened the door, and the two men walked inside.

  On the cusp

  Myron

  Myron hovered over the computer screen, eyes fixed on the six different camera views he had pulled up. He watched as Mason and Bones entered the building, noted how they carefully approached the bathroom door and blocked it. On another laptop, he pulled up the 911 call log for Adken, watching in case the girl had taken her phone into the bathroom with her.

  Gaze flicking back and forth between the view that showed Shooter standing over Morgan, arms waving, clearly shouting, and the one that showed Mason and Bones pausing for nearly two minutes just inside the kitchen, listening. He could only watch helplessly as two men he called brother, two men he felt a closer bond with than blood, walked out into the open.

  No matter Mason had said he wasn’t interested in talking, that was what they did. Myron could see the mouths moving on all four men, watched as Shooter grew more agitated while Morgan straightened in his chair, attention entirely fixed on Mason. Something important was happening, and Myron frantically worked at acquiring sound, needing to hear every word.

  ***

  Fury

  Standing in the taxi line outside the St. Louis airport, Fury stared down at his phone. At the last minute in California, with a priority code via text, Myron had routed him from Taft to here in St. Louis instead of Chicago. Backpack slung over one shoulder, he was trying to check in, finding all normal phone numbers were no longer working. It wasn’t unusual for the club to cycle numbers, and especially when there was a lot going on, but right now even the ones that still worked like main clubhouse phones weren’t responding.

  “Fuckin’ blind. Gonna have to go in fucking goddamned blind.” He texted another number, and almost immediately got the bubble that meant someone was responding. “Fuckin’ finally.”

  Twenty minutes in a cab found him across the river in Illinois, and stalking in the side door of the St. Louis clubhouse. Six men stood when he entered, and one of them stepped forwards, hand out. “Fury,” he greeted, and gripped Fury’s wrist.

  Eyeing the nameplate on the man’s vest, Fury returned the gesture and greeting. “Dyno.” Pulling back, he asked, “Wanna tell me why I’m here?” SAA was also on the man’s vest, which meant Fury was dealing with an officer, at least.

  “Office,” was the only response he got, so with a nod to the other men, none of them officers, he followed Dyno to a room off the back of the central area. Once the door closed behind them, Dyno swung to face him, and didn’t waste any time starting. “Pike’s fuckin’ insane. He’s spouting all kinds of shit about Mason, and I had him locked in one of the basement rooms.”

  Fury leaned backwards and felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. “You had your president put inside a cleanup cell?”

  “He’s fuckin’ nuts, man. At first I thought maybe it was a bad trip, because he likes to party hearty. But then he started sayin’ things that didn’t make sense in a bad way. Talkin’ about killin’ Mason, how he hated him.” Dyno shook his head. “Ain’t takin’ chances. Not ever again.”

  Shaking his head, Fury asked, “Not again? What does that mean?”

  “I’m from Des Moines.” The way the man’s lip curled said a lot, and Fury had learned enough history to understand what he was referencing. “Saw good men die because they believed bullshit that got spewed. Wasn’t taking any chances here. I figure, I keep him away from the rank and file, they don’t get to hear it and wonder. I got a couple of officers on his door now.” He paused, then said, “The fact that I’m not on my own in this, and called Mother right away, that’s gotta count for something.”

  “You had to relocate to stay in the club, right?” Dyno nodded. “Hard on the family, man. I get why you want to be proactive here. Who else knows what Pike was on about?”

  “Me, and two others. Nobody’s asked where he is. You mention him to any of the guys out front, who don’t know a fucking thing about what’s going on, and you’ll see relief that he’s not here right now, which sucks.” Dyno pulled a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Gimme a minute.” Fury pulled his phone out and checked messages. Still no response. On impulse, he texted Opie and received an immediate invitation to call. “Gimme the room,” he ordered, and Dyno stepped out, pulling the door quietly shut behind him. Fury shook his head, not sure why he ranked that kind of respect.

  “Opie, I got a dilemma.”

  Without pause, Opie responded, “Hit me.”

  Movie mirrors

  Ester

  I stood just outside the office Bones had on the main floor. Ronnie had gone in there two hours ago, telling me he needed to focus on what he was doing. I knew about having to focus. Needing to dial in on something to the exclusion of anything else. I could do that sometimes, watching how a bird’s wing caught the sunlight, reflecting bands of iridium beauty.

  But it was time to eat now, and Ronnie hadn’t come out when I called him. So I knocked. With no answer, I was left with only two options, and I wasn’t about to allow fear to keep me from my brother. Bones had told me to be more forceful about what I wanted. Well, what I wanted right now was for Ronnie to eat dinner with me.

  So, I opened the door. I took a single step inside, and then my feet turned traitor, refusing to retreat as I wanted. Ronnie had so much stuff in the room, I could feel the electricity running along my skin. I knew the words, of course I did. Computers, phones, tablets, monitors. I just didn’t like saying them, even inside my own head.

  I didn’t know why movie houses didn’t bother me. Just like I didn’t know why the tiny cellphones did. It just was how I was and no arguing with it. I had nearly convinced my feet to leave with me when I saw something move on one of the boxes sitting on the desk. It looked like there were all these small movies, all in a row. Two rows of little movies, and one of them flickered in time with the stuttering beat of my heart.

  Movement again, and my breath stuck in my throat because on the tiny movie in the middle was my Bones. Not caught in the box, I knew that wasn’t how things worked, knew these were reflections of a different place. As if a mirror had been set up to relay things. I could deal with mirrors, liked them, liked playing with them, seeing how many faces I could give myself. This was like that, and it showed me Bones.

  His mouth opened, and the silence tha
t had been in the room went away. Splintered and destroyed by noise from the desk. A roaring that sounded again and again, and on one of the movies a man stood only to fall backwards, his descent taking a table with it, sprawling him on the floor like a disjointed pickup stick game gone wrong. Another movie showed a man turning around, and I saw his arm raise, stiff and thrust outward. Fire flashed, like the sparking wheel of an old-fashioned lighter, out of sync with the roaring.

  Bones mouth opened again, and then he jumped backwards, as if he’d been pulled by a rope. He hit a table and fell sideways, chairs skittering away from his body. Darkness blossomed along his shoulder, and I watched as he lifted his hand, recognizing the gun he held by shape.

  ***

  Fury

  The basement steps were narrow and steep, matching the decades-old style of the house. The area had been separated into four rooms, and glancing through the open doors of the other three, Fury saw they were utilitarian: bare floors, cinder block walls, no windows, and light bulbs set inside cages like you’d see in prison.

  One man stood to either side of the only closed door, and he took a minute to introduce himself, seeing an anxiety on each that matched what Dyno still wore on his face. “He’s been quiet,” the man on the left said, “been a relief.”

  “You think it’s bad drugs?” Fury wasn’t surprised at the head shake, because his search of Pike’s room upstairs hadn’t turned up anything. No drugs, and no kit, either. Meant if he were using heavy, then he wasn’t doing it here, but Pike didn’t keep a home away from the clubhouse. His room here was his home. “He seem unstable before?” Another head shake, this from the other man.

  “He’s always been hard, but relatively fair. Get some drink in him, he’s harder. But, he never seemed crazy. Not like this.”

  Fury reached for the door, and the man on the left spoke up again. “You want us to watch your back?”

  Fury paused, studying his face. “You think I need protection from one man in a closed room?”

  “No offense”—this was the other man—“but he’s fuckin’ crazy. I wouldn’t want to go in there by myself. We got your back, brother.”

  Dyno spoke up from behind Fury. “You ain’t going in there alone, Fury.”

  “Then we all go in,” he decided, and caught the looks of relief on all three men’s faces.

  Pushing the door open, Fury paused in the doorway, looking at Pike who stood leaning against the far wall. Head back, he was studying the ceiling overhead, arms relaxed at his sides. Slowly, he brought his gaze down to rest on the group, and Fury got a glimpse of what had so spooked the men. Pike’s eyes were wide, whites showing, and the lines on his face were drawn, deep furrows in the weathered skin.

  “Fuck.” The single drawn-out word sounded hoarse, as if he’d screamed his throat raw. Slowly shaking his head back and forth, Pike lifted one hand, tips of his fingers bloody. His movement brought attention to his vest, and Fury noted the dark rectangle above Pike’s nameplate. A glance at what Pike held clutched in a fist confirmed his initial impression. Two rockers, the center patch, and the president patch. Stitches picked free from the vest with his fingernails.

  “Mason’s not comin’, is he?” Now Pike’s tone was plaintive, as if Fury’s being there was a disappointment beyond what he could sustain. “Can’t even come deliver the beatout himself.”

  “You want a beatout?” Fury took two steps into the room, hearing the other three men spread out at his back. “Droppin’ your patches, Pike?”

  “Cannot abide the man.” Pike shook his head back and forth. “He’s a fuckin’ blight on the life, and I cannot abide.”

  “What can’t you abide?” Between words, the silence in the room was thunderous, and Fury felt his muscles tensing involuntarily. It felt like something was coming. Something profound.

  “Heard you’re fuckin’ the sister.” Now it was Fury’s fists tensing, curling into balls of skin and bone at the derisive tone.

  “What can’t you abide?” Man is fucking crazy. Dyno didn’t lie.

  “Can’t abide a man who thinks he’s so far above everybody else, he can tell them what to do. What to think. When to do any-fuckin-thing.” Pike’s arm drew back, and he tossed the patches to the floor at Fury’s feet. “I’m done.” Arms to his sides, he lifted his hands, palm up. “Show me what ya got.” He curled his fingers, making a “come here” gesture. “Bring it on. Do me a favor, though. Make it look good. Don’t fuck around and miss or some shit like that. Show me what you can do.”

  Opie had said it would come to this. Dyno had intimated the threat had already been laid out there. Fury pulled his phone out, and saw a response had come in from Mother. It could have come directly from Mason, or from any of the other nationals. The who didn’t matter. The message did. Do what’s needful.

  Hand to his six, Fury drew his pistol and saw Pike might not be as certain as he presented himself, because the flinch at the gun’s appearance was real, and huge. Shaking his head, Fury flipped his grip, grasping the gun by the barrel and handed it to Dyno. “Hold this for me, would ya?”

  Advancing on Pike, Fury twisted his rings, getting things lined up just how he liked them. “You want it? Want out? Wanna throw it all away?”

  Pike gave the smallest nod, mouth twisted to the side.

  “You got it.”

  Fury swung. He did not miss.

  Best in the history of ever

  Bones

  Seated on the edge of the bed, Bones rolled the muscles in his good shoulder, trying to stretch out the kinks. He reached up, dragging his palm across the back of his neck, digging in with his fingers and pulling at the tense muscles. “Here,” he heard, and felt the heat from petite palms smoothing up his shoulder blades. “Let me help.” He dropped his head backwards and Ester leaned in, letting him rest between her breasts. He looked up into her face, seeing a solemn expression on her features. Before he could ask, she shook her head, repeating her words, “Let me help.”

  “I always want your hands on me, little one.” Her fingers and thumbs rubbed circles, working the stress away. He slowly let his head sink to one side, then the other, giving her full access to his neck and shoulders. “The sling is annoying.”

  “Only another two weeks, Red said.” He felt her press close against his upper back, the stir of air beside his head, then her lips touched his cheek. “You can do anything.”

  “Does not keep it from being annoying.” He knew he was grumbling, but didn’t care. And Ester didn’t really seem to mind. As long as she could touch him, be with him, and reassure herself over and over that he was real, he was here, and he wasn’t badly injured.

  Myron had told him about her reaction to the firefight she’d seen on the computer screens. Dreams of her screams had echoed in his head, because by the time he and Mason made it back to Chicago, she had been frantic to see him. To know with her own senses that he lived, that he was okay.

  It had been nearly a week, and she remained as diligent of his comfort as the first minutes he had been home. Red and Myron had a few laughs at his expense, when she’d insisted in petting and fussing over him, bringing pillows for his head and a blanket for his legs, and giving him soft kisses and a whispered, “Good luckies.” It wasn’t until he recognized the blanket that he understood, wrestling with his own pride to allow her to care for him. It was the one she’d been wrapped in when he found her ill, the one she had taken with her after their very first date. Good luck, indeed.

  Tonight was a party at the clubhouse, and Bones was determined to go, and just as determined to bring Ester with him. She had met most of the men who would be there, and he’d promised her she could stay by his side all night, if she wanted. She was giving him that, and if touching him eased her nerves, he would gladly give in to her needs.

  The firefight had been brief, and deadly. Both Morgan and Shooter were killed, Mason entirely unscathed, seeming to walk between the bullets without a scratch. As he fell, Shooter had squeezed off several sho
ts, one of which Bones caught in a glancing blow against his shoulder, breaking the collarbone. He and Mason had gotten out, leaving the dead bodies behind, scarcely managing to evade the incoming police, called in by the hysterical teenager locked in the bathroom.

  The conversation he and Mason had listened to between father and son, and then what Morgan had said to Mason…all of that would require thought, and conversation. But that could come later, because they had time.

  Myron had wreaked as much havoc on the video footage as he deemed wise, leaving images of the two men pulling their weapons. He couldn’t do anything about the blood Bones left at the scene, but since he had no intention of returning to Florida anytime in the future, it would be unlikely for him to ever be placed at the coffee shop.

  It had been touch and go for a while, getting back to where a club doc could pin his shoulder back together, but Red was confident Bones would heal. Ester was determined, too, and had taken to teaming up with Red to keep Bones corralled. If she had her way, he would be flat on his back in bed, with her spooning soup into his mouth.

  Chin resting against his chest, Bones grinned at the image in his head, changing it so they were both naked. Mouth to his ear, Ester murmured, “Feels good?”

  “Mmhmm, yes, little one.” One of her arms wrapped around his chest and tugged. Bones went with it, leaning back against her. He felt her fingers on his chin and looked up, seeing a strange expression on her face. “What is it, Ester?”

  “I was scared.” This was the first direct statement she’d made referencing what she’d seen, and he watched her, seeing how her lips trembled. “I could see you, but couldn’t hear you. Then you fell, and I could tell it hurt, that you were hurt, but I couldn’t reach you. Couldn’t touch you.” She swallowed. “I was scared.”