Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4

by MariaLisa deMora

  She watched as Sarge’s chin dipped and lifted, the single motion of his head setting her anger in motion.

  Rumors and secrets

  Bethany

  Sitting in her favorite chair in the apartment, Bethy tilted her head up, looking out the window at the breeze-stirred leaves of the oak trees along the greenway. A few minutes later, silence in the room brought her back to herself, and she turned back to the laptop propped on her knees. The demo track had finished playing, and she not only didn’t know when, but she also didn't remember anything about the music she was supposed to be evaluating. “Shit.”

  Restarting the track was a moment’s effort, and one click of the cursor had the opening swell of music filling the room. Closing her eyes, she tried to dig into the sound, separating the different artists’ efforts to see what would make it memorable, saleable. Something people would call or text radio stations to hear.

  It wasn’t long before she found herself staring out the window again and set the computer aside with an irritated huff. Lifting her hands, she roughly scratched across her scalp, fingers tangling in her long hair as she gathered it on top of her head. After they’d gotten Ty inside, Sarge had insisted she stay the night, bedding her down in a small room in the cabin. She hadn’t rested well, strange sounds kept her awake until late, and it had been a relief when Ty had come in early the next morning to talk. More coherent than he’d been the night before, they’d had a pleasant breakfast shared with three other men staying there. Sarge had been conspicuously absent, and with the other men joining them, she couldn’t really ask Ty anything about Gabe.

  Bethy released her hair, letting it fall around her face. “Derek.” The name spoken aloud startled her, and she snapped her mouth closed. Or Fury, whatever.

  Her phone rang and she picked it up, a curl of fear crawling up her spine at seeing Martha Marshall’s name on the screen. “Martha? Is everything okay?” Michael’s adoptive parents didn’t call her. Martha texted when there was news to share, often sending pictures along with a recounting of the various successes Michael had seen over the years.

  “Well, yes, and kinda no, Bethany.” Martha’s no-nonsense attitude was one of the things Bethy liked best about her. That, and the fact she loved Michael as if she’d carried and birthed him. “Can you come over? Maybe tonight?”

  Bethy glanced at the clock and frowned. Late afternoon was an unusual time of day to receive an invitation for the same day, but Martha was acting odd enough to warrant accepting no matter what she had to reschedule. “Absolutely. What time do you want me there?” She had two station interviews set for six o’clock, but they were taping to play later in the week, so she could arrange to do them later.

  “As soon as you can manage it.” Martha’s breath in was audible, and she blew it out in a shaky stream. “Michael isn’t ill, so you don’t have to worry about that. But we need to talk. There’s a…situation, and I want you to help us sort out what comes next.”

  “Is everything okay?” Bethy repeated her question, then followed with, “I can leave in ten minutes. I’ll be there soon, just tell me if he’s okay.”

  “He’s fine. My boy is fine.” Bethy’s head snapped back, and she froze in the act of rising from the chair. Martha had always, always called Michael theirs. From the first moments of his life, she had promised to share him as best they could. This was the first time Martha had laid sole claim on Michael. Then she kick-started Bethy’s heart into beating again by saying quickly, “Our boy. Our boy is fine.”

  “Be there in a few minutes.”

  True to her word, Bethany pulled up to the Marshalls’ home and was out of her car within the time she’d offered. Martha met her at the door and pulled her into a quick hug, then backed away, hands still clasping Bethy’s. “He’s upstairs. I want to talk to you before he comes down. He’s—” She interrupted herself and then followed up with a simple, “Come sit.”

  Seated on the couch beside Martha, Bethy glanced at the ceiling when she heard a thumping crash followed by the unmistakable driving beat of a rock song. “Lord. He’s been at it all day,” Martha muttered, then pulled in a breath, turning to stare at Bethy. “You’re his birth mother.” Bethy nodded. “He knows that. We’ve made no bones about it. You’ve had a…” Martha trailed off, searching for a word and finally landing on something acceptable, “challenging year.”

  She hadn’t told anyone about being kidnapped. Couldn’t, as Davy had explained it because there’d been no reports to the cops, no official version of events, and so many things that couldn’t be explained. Not legally. Work and friends, everyone got the same story of a sudden illness on tour, weeks of recovery in place. She’d been so skinny and pale when she got home, it was an easy sell. Everyone except Ty. Bethy nodded.

  “Tyrell called Michael.” Bethy froze in place, and Martha arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah. Tyrell wasn’t having a good day.” They knew about Ty’s PTSD, he had been a fixture in much of Bethy’s life, and by extension Michael’s, too much for her to hide something that could disrupt his life for weeks on end. “He talked to Michael about a lot of things. Michael said he was rambling, mostly. But he told him something about you. Something I think you’ve tried to keep a secret, not wanting to upset anyone.”

  “What? What did Ty say?” Bethy’s palms were sweating, chilled and damp when she clasped them between her knees, trying to hide the shaking that had set up in her fingers. “What did he tell Michael?”

  “You have a brother?” Martha’s soft words weren’t a statement, she was giving Bethy an out if she wanted to say there’d been a mistake, that Ty had misspoken. Bethy couldn’t do that. She remembered Mason’s face as it had looked on the plane as they traveled home from Utah, talking about his boy Chase. Chase, who she’d seen take to a stage last weekend as if he’d been born to it. Chase, who loved his Aunt Bethy so much, it shone from his face. Mason hadn’t gotten the chance to be an uncle to Michael, but he probably would love it as much as she loved being Chase’s aunt.

  Bethy nodded and Martha pulled in a lungful of air. “I see.” Another loud thud from overhead, then the screeching sound of something heavy being dragged. “Michael is unhappy he didn’t know.”

  “I’m gathering that. Martha…” Here Bethy had to be careful, because she had worked hard to stay in Michael’s life, worked hard to cultivate a sustainable relationship with his adopted family. She had never regretted her decision, but every day she’d longed to have been given the chance to make a different one. Martha and her husband had provided the best of both worlds, loving and raising Michael as their own child, while acknowledging that Bethy had a claim, too. “Does he want to talk to me about it?”

  “Yes.” Martha breathed the word out in clear relief. “He very much does.”

  “Should I go up, then?” Martha shook her head, and Bethy offered a different solution. “Want me to go back to my car and call him? I can tell him I’m outside?” Martha nodded. “Okay. I’ll make it right.”

  Martha smiled and leaned forwards, lifting her palm to cover Bethy’s cheek. “Honey, you’ve always had his best interests at heart. He’ll see this as more of the same.” A loud thud rattled the pictures on the walls, and the music got louder, booming down the stairs. “Sooner or later.”

  The young man who climbed into the passenger seat of her car fifteen minutes later didn’t resemble Michael as she’d last seen him. Dark hair longer than he’d ever worn it, he slumped into the seat with a teen’s boneless ease, grey eyes cutting her direction as he rolled his head to the side. She sat a moment and waited until he finally deigned to buckle, her persistence provoking a sarcastic sigh.

  She pulled out and turned at the first opportunity, deciding to cruise aimlessly for a bit. It was a tactic she’d used on recalcitrant band members before, and she knew it would eventually work. He’ll be easier to manage if he’s a captive audience. “So, you’re pissed at me.”

  She got a grunt, followed by a “whatever” shoulder shrug.
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  “If you want to know the story, I’m happy to tell it. But you need to let me know what you want.”

  “You’ve got a brother.”

  “Two. One of which I’ve never met.” Before the words escaped her mouth, she hadn’t planned what to say, but clearly her subconscious wanted to go with truth.

  “Why haven’t you met him?” Michael shifted in his seat so he could watch her. “Any sisters I should know about?”

  “I haven’t met him because my family is complicated. John is my half-brother and was raised in California.” She sighed as she stared out the windshield. “No sisters that I know of. I always wanted one, but no luck.”

  “Your dad left and went to California?” He sounded shocked, but she was about to rock his world a little.

  “No, Mom left us. I was just little. She went to California and had another family.” For a moment, echoes of Mason’s voice sounded in her head, retelling the story of their mother’s death. She pushed that aside for now. “Daddy raised me and my brother.”

  “You’ve never talked about having family, Bethany.” As it always did, her name sounded funny coming from Michael. In her dreams, he called her mom. “Why’s that? I’ve never met anyone from your past.”

  “You say past like I’ve lived some sordid life or something. I don’t keep in touch with anyone except my big brother.” After Tabby died, after Bethy had left the mountain and hollers, she hadn’t answered a single call or returned even a Christmas card. “You’ve met Ty.”

  “Ty’s from here, not somewhere in Kentucky.”

  “Right.” She turned onto a larger street, then took the next road to the right, knowing it was a winding thing, edging along old homes and buildings.

  “I’m named after him, right?” Bethy glanced at him, seeing Michael’s focus was on his fingers, gripping and twisting together in his lap. “How’d you meet Ty?”

  “If I’m going to tell that story, then I’m going to have to start at the beginning.” He didn’t say anything, so Bethy plunged in. “My daddy wasn’t a good man.” Might as well turn out all the pockets on that suit; she’d never get a chance to dig out the dirt any other way. “He made me marry a friend of his when I was fourteen.” A shocked inhale told her he was listening. “My brother had left the family farm several years before, so he never knew.”

  Michael got out a stuttered, “What?” but she talked over him, needing to get it all out at once. Questions could come later.

  “Things were bad up there back then. So much worse than anyone knew. When I was sixteen, my best friend committed suicide. I knew if I didn’t make a change, I’d risk following her footsteps. So I got some help from an old family friend. Her brother, actually. His name is Michael.”

  “Like me?”

  She nodded. “Mikey was like a brother to me. He got me out of that situation and brought me here. Ty knew them because he’d served with Mikey in the military. All I cared about was it was safe, and not where I grew up. I don’t know why me and Ty hit it off, but we did, and I moved into his apartment.” She took a breath. “Three weeks later I knew I was pregnant.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, kind of a mix of the worst and best kinds of wow. Did you know Ty was in the delivery room? He’s known you all your life.”

  “So I’m named after Mikey and Ty?”

  Bethy nodded, steering the car around another curve. “The two men who saved my life. Seemed fitting, and your mom and dad were willing.”

  “Martha and Rodney.” He didn’t say anything else, and she wasn’t sure how to take that statement, so she left it alone for now.

  “My brother had left home already and had all kinds of his own problems to tend to. He hadn’t known about what daddy did, and he didn’t know when Mikey rescued me.” She slowed the car, waiting for a cat to complete a deliberate promenade across the street. “He didn’t know about the pregnancy, either.”

  “You mean me, he doesn’t know about me.” She shook her head. “Is it because of who my fa—the man was who got you pregnant?”

  “No. He doesn’t bear the burden of why I’ve never told him. That’s all on me. Michael, I was sixteen and grieving for my best friend, torn willingly away from everything I’d ever known. But some of the lessons we learn when we’re young never go away. Like picking up your socks.” Something she’d heard Martha tell him countless times, and it earned a humorous snort. “I was told to suck it up, dust myself off, and figure things out.” She shrugged. “So I did. I’m really good at that. I knew if I told him while I was pregnant with you that he’d do his level best to help me do what he thought I wanted…I was so young, but I knew you deserved all the best things. Afterwards, if Martha and Rodney decided to close the door between us…” She shook her head. “But they didn’t. Then, like with all deceptions, the longer it drags on, the harder it is to change the outcome.”

  “You were sixteen?” The heaviness in the air had been gone a while, his questions and her honest answers clearing things to a point she felt lighter than she’d been in years. Pulling the car into the parking lot of the nearest diner, she nodded. “That’s…young.”

  “It is.” She gathered up her purse and turned to face him, bracing herself for the look of disgust she expected. Instead, she just saw Michael, intelligent grey eyes studying her from under the fall of dark hair. She smiled, and his lips twitched, sliding sideways in an attempt to remain stoic. “Let’s go inside and eat.”

  “One more question first?” He waited and she nodded. His mouth opened and closed. Then he narrowed his eyes and opened it to speak. “If he knew, would he want to meet me?”

  Bethy couldn’t help herself, laughter ringing in the enclosed space as she reached out, grabbing one of Michael’s tightly clenched fists. She squeezed and he turned his hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. “Oh, yeah. He’s going to want to meet you. He’s also going to rip me a new one when I tell him.”

  “You’ll do that for me?”

  Suddenly sober, she blinked fresh tears from her eyes. “Baby, I’d do anything for you.”

  I am what they made me

  Bethany

  The weight of his silence battered at the room. In her mind's eye, she imagined the paint peeling, ceiling sagging in response to the oppressive atmosphere. Raw and agonized emotion bared on his features brought her to tears, and she lifted a hand, palm up, as if that could stop the waves of disappointment. She knew how he felt, and knowing gutted her. "I am what they made me." His words tore through her and wrenched her to her knees. "I cannot be anything else." Head bowed, she slowly crept towards him until she felt the heat from his body radiating out. Fingers working at the fastenings of his jeans, eyes to his face, she released him and waited. It felt like the touch of an angel, the grace of pardon when he cupped the back of her head, guiding her mouth to his cock.

  Bethy’s eyes opened and she stared up at the dark ceiling, fighting for breath, every nerve in her body firing. The sensation so similar to the moment Judge had tasered her, Bethy found her muscles locked tight, and for an instant, she was too terrified to move. Just in case.

  The dream had taken her by surprise. Right after coming back, she’d dreamt of Gabe often. Her brain refused to call him by his club name, and most of her memories of Derek had been buried for years, so Gabe was how she thought of him. Back to our roots.

  Pulling up an image of him in her head, she compared the Gabe of now to the boy she’d known, still shocked she hadn’t made the connection. Might never have made it without Sarge’s voice in the dark, drawing lines between past and present in an undeniable way.

  Derek. A thing the prosecutor had said about how the lies of Kentucky had invaded the courtroom made sense now. At the time, she’d held onto hope it meant Derek wasn’t guilty, but now, she wondered if it was because he knew who she was at the time, even trying to hide behind her married name.

  God. So many layers. Anger at Davy for not being there when she needed him had pushed her to reject th
e name they shared, and it was only after their nephew kidnapped her that she took ownership back, introducing herself to Benny Jones with a hyphenated name.

  Maybe it’s time to ditch the Taylor part. She pulled in a startled breath when her door creaked, swinging slightly as the air conditioning kicked on, dark shadows leeching into her room from the hallway. “You agree with me, right?” Her question asked the air, because she’d been alone in the apartment since coming back from Texas. Ty had left Sarge’s cabin and gone to communal housing where he had access to other veterans and more intensive therapy than she’d ever been able to make him accept.

  Turning to her side, she ignored the aching throb between her legs, a reminder of her dream. Gabe had been in the military too. Maybe he brought back more than she knew about. Dot’s pictures of Ty before enlisting were more a match for the Gabe she remembered. Tall and lean, where now he was muscled and bulky. He’d often called it his armor for what might come after him.

  Maybe Gabe’s behaviors are his armor? He’d confessed, preventing a drawn-out trial, keeping her out of the papers, because she would have had to testify. It helped her keep things from Davy, too. Still, there were his words at the prison. Maybe that was more deflection, not wanting her to come and see him, not wanting her to wait. Or maybe he faked that, too.

  Bethy flopped to her back, shoving the sheet and blankets to the foot of the bed, impatient with the confinement. In Texas, Gabe had his own set of defenses. He’d hidden behind protocol of the club and the demands of her brother.

  Except in bed. As both Derek and Fury, Gabe had shown a tenderness and care that she didn’t think could be false. He likes me. His text messages were a smokescreen, like his words to her through the jailhouse phone so many years ago. She reached up and twitched the curtains to one side, staring up at the winking stars. Please let me be right. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, letting her hand fall back to the bed beside her. In Texas, everything he’d done had been with her well-being in mind. Before they slept together, before he’d taken a rescued Bella to Chicago…she could look back and see where she’d come first. I think he likes me.