Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4

by MariaLisa deMora

  In the dark, he eased to the side as he pulled the door closed. No lock from the inside, which meant it was outside, but he gritted his teeth and still gave the door his back, making his way down the wooden stairs carefully. From the numbers, he had to assume the men were stationed three up and three down, which meant he had a trio of obstacles to get through before he found Faynez and Cassie.

  There was noise in the distance, but nothing close to where he was. That gave him the confidence to finish descending to the floor where he looked around, his breath coming faster. So many rooms. There had to be a dozen choices in view from where he stood. Rooms with numbers painted above the doors, red paint slopped on without care, leaving dried runnels of crimson against the gray concrete walls. Garrett rested a hand against the first door, listening intently. After a few seconds of continued silence, he opened the door to see a small, square room with a drain in the floor. Exactly what his father had told him he’d find, these were rooms where secrets were spilled, along with the blood of whoever had held them.

  Please, God.

  He moved down the hallway, taking only seconds per door to verify he wasn’t leaving anyone at his back, that he wasn’t passing Faynez by mistake. The hallway turned at the end, and he stopped there, protected by the angle as he listened. Squatting on his heels, he placed one knee on the floor and dipped his head sideways to peer around the corner. Two men stood on either side of a closed door, the number bleeding into the cement above it proclaiming 16.

  Garrett jerked back to settle back to the wall and controlled his breathing as he slipped his knife from his pocket. The advance and ambush games he and the other Rebel kids played were a weak comparison to what he needed to do, but from the controlled chaos of their regular combat, he knew exactly what needed to come next. Divide and conquer. Soundlessly, he entered the room beside him, verifying he could open the door if closed, that he wouldn’t be stupidly locked in by a simple mistake. Licking his lips, Garrett blew out a slow, steadying breath, and then very deliberately cleared his throat. The door opened inwards, so he left it cracked slightly and crouched low behind the solid steel.

  “The fuck was that?” One voice.

  “Fuck if I know.” The second voice called louder, “Trey?” Garrett waited through several beats of silence and then heard a quiet curse. “I’ll go look.”

  Footsteps neared and Garrett tensed, blade in hand. As he expected, they slowed as they approached the open door. The guy went for stealth and didn’t tell his companion what he’d found, just tried to open the door wider. He was looking for things at eye level, and Garrett’s posture and the shadows in the room helped mask his presence until the man was mostly in the room.

  Exploding from the floor, Garrett sliced at the man’s neck. He felt the knife dig deep, saw the man’s eyes go wide as he started to shout a warning. Garrett slapped his hand over the man’s mouth and yanked the blade free, slicing again, this one traveling more side to side. Heat covered his hand and arm, bitter salt finding its way into his mouth and Garrett silently spat as he eased the body to the floor. He grabbed the man’s boots and pulled, hoping the clothing would be quieter sliding across the cement floor than shoe leather.

  “Trey? Amos?” Voice number one. Garrett hadn’t had time to fully embrace what he’d done, what he’d had to do, and here came the second man. Nothing I can do about the blood. The floor and doorframe were dark, stained with the arterial spray from the wound Garrett had inflicted. His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his chest and Garrett shook his head hard, not allowing the panic he feared to overwhelm him. “Amos? What the fuck, man?” That was just outside, and Garrett tried to crouch back down, but his legs refused to fold up, holding him upright against his will. The door opened until it bumped against Garrett’s foot, and he saw the top of a man’s head begin to peer around the door. Stiff-armed, Garrett slammed against the door, capturing the man’s head with the edge of the jam. He shoved at the door again, hearing a crunch that time. When the door swung back from the impact another body hit the floor. Garrett swallowed, trying not to spew at the sound.

  Quickly, he went to work again, moving the man in alongside the other. He pressed two fingers to the man’s neck, but not feeling a pulse didn’t mean anything. As much as Garrett’s hands were trembling, he wasn’t certain he was actually feeling anything. He stared down at the man and considered leaving an enemy at his back, something he knew his father would counsel against. But he’s not here. Garrett couldn’t do it, couldn’t take that final step, and he didn’t know what that made him. I’m not a coward, but I’m not going to do that.

  Back in the hallway, he walked to the door they’d stood in front of. Filling his chest again and again, he sucked in air as if the entire basement of the house had suddenly decompressed, not enough oxygen to sustain him. He stared down at his hands for a moment, then folded the knife and returned it to his pocket, pulling the gun from behind his belt. Another breath and he opened the door, slamming it wide.

  A man whirled to face him, raising his own weapon. Garrett stared at the dark circle as it lifted, aiming his own gun in response.

  ***

  Cassie

  They escorted her inside, and she was surprised at how normal everything seemed. To the casual observer, this could be any house. A home. A home with a living area, a kitchen complete with table, coffee maker on the countertop.

  Enzo pointed to a door in the hallway they’d just come through. “I need you to come with me.” Bedlam had disappeared before she’d entered the house, footsteps overhead testifying to his location. She opened the door and stared at the dark stairs in front of her. “Down, please.”

  “Is Faith down there?” She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him nod. “Okay.”

  His directions to the room Faith was in were brusque and it was only moments before Cassie stood in front of a closed door. He reached out and twisted the knob, and Cassie saw a young woman through the opening right away. She was bruised and bloody, but from the look on her face, anger held more sway than fear. Thank God. Faith was okay. Would be okay. I just have to get us out of here.

  Enzo chuckled, the sound grating on Cassie’s nerves. “I wondered how long it would hold you. Very well done, Faith Inez.”

  Faith ignored him and stared at Cassie. “You’re here.”

  Startled at the sense of recognition Faith gave her, Cassie opened her arms to the girl she’d grown to know only through stories, recognized her face because she looked at a younger version in the painting on her wall every day, and had spoken to once years ago in a conversation she didn’t expect the girl to remember. “Of course I am, sweetheart. I’m here.”

  Faith bolted from her position in the corner and barreled into Cassie, knocking her back a step with the force of her embrace. “You’re here. Oh, God, Cassie, you’re here. Why? Why are you here?”

  She turned them, holding Faith close to her. Glaring at Enzo, Cassie demanded, “You have to let us go. Have to.”

  “I cannot.” He pushed the door closed with one foot and took a step towards them. “This is hard, I know, but it’s necessary.”

  “Do you have kids?” She needed to find an argument that hit deep, one that would make him see them as people. “People you love?”

  “Yes, and before you try to appeal to my sense of gallantry, you should know that my children are why I do this today. I need to secure a future for them, and it is for them that this must happen.” He shook his head, eyes on Faith’s shaking shoulders. Cassie felt wetness at her neck and knew Faith had started crying. “The Rebels are not the innocents you believe them to be. They are not above using family to secure what is needed. This is my response. Trust me, it is not my first choice, but when all others have failed, one must use the last resort.”

  “I don’t understand.” And that was on her, she knew. She’d fallen into a relationship with a biker, an artist, sure, but he’d been a biker first. And she hadn’t taken time to get to know that si
de of him. She’d played at being a biker chick, encouraged by a gentle old man she couldn’t imagine hurting anyone. But she’d seen Tug’s gun many times, seen him watch people who got too near them, and she wondered now at the things he might have done through the years. A sense of anger filled her at her own disloyal thoughts. Tug never hurt me. Neither did Hoss. No matter what they might have done, she loved them both. Differently of course, but she loved them and would—I’d die for them. She tightened her arms around the sobbing girl. I’ll die for her. “But it doesn’t matter. If they’ve done something to you, then either you earned it, or you’re earning it right now. People like the man I love don’t start something without cause. So what did you do, Enzo? What did you do?”

  “My transgression was years ago. I thought it was in my past.” He shook his head. “My family is scattered, fled through the passing of time. I want them back, but until I clear my honor with the Rebels, I cannot earn my way back into my family.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Cassie frowned at him. “If they’re your family, then they’re always family. You don’t have to earn anything.”

  He smiled, that same anguish-ridden grimace she’d seen from him outside. “Our version of family is somewhat different. For you, it’s love and blood, and always there.” He held out one hand, palm first, showing her a deep, twisting scar along his palm. “For me, family is an earned thing. I need to make my mark again. We are not blood, but a family nonetheless.”

  “They’re mob, Cassie.” Faith’s voice was soft, sodden with tears still. “We’re his blood debt to regain whatever rank he’s lost.”

  “You are a good student, Faith Inez. Your papa must be proud of you.” Enzo folded his arms across his chest. “I wish my daughter were as brave.”

  “It doesn’t matter, though, does it?” Faith disengaged from Cassie, turning to face their captor. “You’re going to kill us anyway.” Cassie shoved a hand into her pocket, fingers tracing the outline of the device there. She’d brought it with her intentionally, not sure if she could use it, but the man’s next words solidified her resolve.

  “It is likely.” He tipped his head toward them, and Cassie’s blood ran cold at his casual admission. “I had hoped to spare you by trading you for the woman, but that did not work as planned.”

  The door burst open behind him. He turned and a gun appeared in his hand. Cassie pushed Faith behind her and pulled the Taser from her pocket, thumbing the switch to turn it on. She lunged forwards and shoved the device into the middle of Enzo’s back, pulled the trigger and tried to keep from contacting his body, feeling the burning surge of electricity along the skin of her hand like a warning. She looked over his shoulder expecting to see one of the men from upstairs, instead seeing a blood-covered boy no older than Faith, his weapon up and leveled at her.

  ***

  Hoss

  “Ping it again.” He paced the length of the kitchen, glaring down at the toes of his boots. Pulling in a deep breath he stopped, fists clenched and said, “Know what, fuck this noise. I’m going.” Mason stepped in front of him and Hoss shook his head. “I listened to you and did what you wanted. I stayed here. It’s killin’ me, brother. Killin’ me and it ain’t gettin’ me one fuckin’ bit closer to my girl.” He lifted his chin. “My woman. Mason, you can’t ask me to do this.”

  “My boy’s right there, too, brother. We’ve got men approaching the house now, and you don’t want to be on the road when it goes down. You’re gonna wanna know when it happens, one way or the other.” Mason’s expression was soft, compassionate. “We’re waiting here, together. And once we know, we’ll lay a path. Right now, we need to wait, and believe.”

  “Believe?” Hoss wasn’t certain he had it in him to believe in anything. “In what?”

  “That we gave our kids what they need to get through this. Trust that they’re coming out the other end stronger than they went in. Confidence in what we’ve wrought, that’s what we need to believe.” Mason’s hand landed on his shoulder, heavy and hard, holding him tight. That grip was an oath between them. If Hoss couldn’t stand on his own, Mason would help, and if Hoss couldn’t walk, Mason would carry him. “Believe with me, brother.”

  “And my woman? Cassie? You don’t know her, Mason. She’s more fragile than anyone would think.”

  “Untruth,” Myron chimed in, lifting his head from where he’d been studying the video feed from the drone he had hovering near the clubhouse.

  “Untruth? No, man. You’re wrong.” Hoss’ head swung back and forth. “She’s mine, through and through, but I went into this with my eyes wide open.”

  “Watch this.” Myron gestured to him and Hoss walked around the island to stand at his shoulder. Mason crowded in behind him, Tug on the other side of Myron. “Gimme a sec to queue it up.”

  The screen froze, then a small video screen expanded to the edges, blurry footage of the clubhouse captured in a still. Myron clicked and the video started playing. “No sound, but we have Garrett’s phone speaker, so I’ve paired it up as best I could. The drone was closer than I thought. Found this when I logged back into the unit.”

  Hoss watched as Cassie idled up the driveway, head held high. She glanced at the man on the porch, then dismissed him to turn her bike and park. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mason nodding in approval. He stared at the screen, picking apart her behaviors until he saw her fear. Saw it start to take her over as he’d seen happen more than once, but then she rallied, rising above the wave that would have swamped her only weeks ago.

  “Damn, girl,” Tug murmured admiringly as Cassie offered herself for Faith. There’d been no hesitation, no pause to consider, just straight up courage driving her forwards to save his girl. “Kick his ass, honey.”

  Then the door closed, shutting her inside a building with at least six men, one of which was certifiably crazy. Bedlam. He remembered his conversation with Blackie and shuddered. Shoulda let him take care of the man. Blackie had mentioned it casually, the idea of snuffing a man coming up in an offhand way that Hoss hadn’t missed. He’d shut it down at the time, erring on the side of caution and Blackie had backed off. Shoulda let him.

  “Untruth,” Myron reminded him why the video was important, and Hoss leaned back, scrubbing across his jaw, he covered his mouth for a moment.

  “Untruth,” he agreed. “That took courage in spades, and fuck me, but I’m proud of her at the same moment I want to beat her ass for putting herself in that position.” Teeth clenched, he forced back the roar of anger that wanted to escape. “Fuck.”

  “Hey.” Myron’s voice was urgent, and Hoss focused on the screen. There were more than a dozen bikes rolling up the driveway towards the house. From the angle the drone was at, they could see three men head out the back door at a run, trying to keep the building between them and the RWMC members coming in force to take back what was theirs. “Three down.” Myron tapped on the keyboard for a moment, and Hoss watched a man pause after getting off his bike. Gunny looked at his phone then up in the air, unerringly finding the drone. He gave a thumbs-up and must have given an order because five men separated from the main group and headed around the house at a dead run, guns in hand. “That leaves three.”

  The men spread out, approaching the front and back entrances with caution. Arms locked on the counter, Hoss leaned towards the screen, feeling Mason and Tug adopting the same position beside him. They watched as their men disappeared inside, all movement ceasing. Myron changed the pitch of the drone, and they saw the smaller group already on their way back, dark forms lying on the field behind them.

  A man came out the front, strolling as if he had all the time in the world. The image was blurry, but Hoss watched as, without looking up, the man offered the drone a view of his fist, middle finger raised. He headed for a bike parked near the side and threw a leg over, straddling the machine.

  “Fuck.” Myron muttered and sent a message to someone. But before anyone could respond, the man rolled out on the bike, aiming at t
he road where he turned south, quickly moving beyond where the drone could see him. “I don’t want to leave the site until we know.” He sent another message and the group coming back from the field moved faster, rounding the house and mounting their bikes, angling out into the road following the lone rider.

  Hoss knew, had a premonition, that they’d never catch the man. He expected to find it was Bedlam, and that wouldn’t bode well for anyone’s future, Freed Soldiers or Rebels.

  Then he forgot the man, gaze fixed on the front porch of an insignificant club’s house in backwoods Ohio, as the two most important women in his life walked out of their own accord from the shadows and into the light. Faith’s face tipping up as the heat of the sunshine shone down on her.

  Garrett was just behind them and Mason sucked in a breath as filled with relief as Hoss’ gut felt.

  They both watched as the boy walked up to the girl and wrapped his arms around her, inky stains on his clothing exposing his deadly work in the darkness of the house’s basement. The girl turned in his arms and threw herself against him, cradling his head to her neck, pressing closer until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Cassie watched them for a moment, answering Gunny’s questions without turning her head away from these kids who would never again be children, having earned their adulthood in a trial by fire not one man would wish on them.

  He saw Gunny reach out to Cassie, puzzled for a moment when she took something from him. An instant later, Myron’s phone rang and Hoss understood. He lifted it from the countertop and, without preamble, without introduction, he told Cassie, “I owe you my life.”

  Come home to me

  Cassie

  Phone pressed tightly to her ear, craving to hear more of the voice of the man she loved, she kept her eyes on Garrett and Faith. They hadn’t moved, hadn’t shifted a muscle since latching on to the other, and she waited for one of them to fall apart. She heard their murmurs, mouths pressed close to each other’s ears, and knew whatever was said were words meant for them alone.