In Search of Solace (Rebel Wayfarers MC)
Page 9
When a woman’s had all her choices stripped away, the last thing she’s gonna want is to tumble into bed with a controlling prick of a man.
He wouldn’t put himself into the same low class as—he stumbled over what to call Sallabrook. Not a husband, not a lover. Her owner? Fuck, that’s messed up. Sallabrook was levels and levels below Bane in terms of human decency, but Bane would never deny his own sense of possession could get a little intense. Only when it’s a give-and-take situation. The woman he was with would never wonder about how he felt, and he demanded the same in return.
Which was why he’d picked up three years ago and left everything once again, moving from Wyoming to Texas. A woman he’d been involved with hadn’t been honest about how she’d felt. Wasn’t like I wanted anything out of the norm. Just to be the only one in her bed. He’d found out later the woman had been using him for a place to live and as her own personal ready supply of money. Never loved her. Never claimed to. Bane had finally come to understand what he’d been looking for was stability and partnership. Behaviors he’d turned a blind eye towards during their relationship had come into crystal focus once he’d realized the extent of her betrayal.
He might not have wanted to be in his brother’s club, but the life itself had called to him. So, Bane had found one that seemed to be a fit for his desires. Another time when I have to admit how wrong I was. After his prospect period, the truth had unfolded in front of his eyes.
Behind closed doors, the club he’d become a member of had been chaos personified. In the few years he’d been part of it, they’d gone through no less than a half a dozen presidents. The little circle of men he’d grown comfortable with had provided the truth of the kind of brotherhood he’d been seeking, but it hadn’t been enough. The last straw had been finding out the woman his brothers knew as his ole lady had been fucking around, giving it up mostly to men Bane couldn’t stomach, members of his own club.
No matter she’d been offering, they shouldn’t have ever accepted, not in a thousand years. We were brothers, supposed to have each other’s backs. He’d fought with the men she’d fucked, encouraged to engage in multiple fights by the club officers, never mind they should have been forbidding the line-drawing behavior. And Bane had beaten each opponent with echoes of their laughter in his ears. She wasn’t innocent, not a bit.
It had taken a couple of weeks, but he’d finally kicked her to the curb, watched her walk away, and then laughed when none of the bastards she’d been cheating with had wanted her. The first time she’d shown up crying and lonesome on his doorstep, he’d let her know in no uncertain terms she would never be welcome in his home, or bed, again. Not long after, he’d handed his vest back to the latest president and ridden south, looking for a better life for himself.
And I found it.
The Freed Riders were the kind of club he’d longed for, filled with men who stood shoulder to shoulder with their brothers, and who’d been horrified when he’d finally explained the reason behind his tendency to hold back trust. Called out during a drunken pool game with Horse, Bane had laid the stick on the felt, ready to walk away when his brother had caught at his shoulder, pulling him back around. “I wanna understand the man, Bane. Ain’t no right or wrong here. Ain’t no reason for you to dodge a question. In this building, behind these doors, we’re all equals, and there’s no judgment. I wanna hear your side of why you patched out, man.” So, Bane had told him, an hours-long conversation finished over glasses of very good whiskey. He earned my respect that night.
The former club still had his enmity and hatred, a bubbling cauldron of anger that never seemed to go away.
Betrayed twice over.
He followed Myrt down the stairs, watching her ass sway with every step.
My brothers and my ole lady.
He considered the relationships he’d had back then, comparing them to what he had now with the Freed Riders MC. No comparison. It’s like night and day. Bane knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the FRMC had his back. Wouldn’t matter what the ask was, they’d meet it and go ten steps beyond just to make sure he was good. He could pull into a clubhouse with Myrtle on his bike, leave her sitting at the bar with the other ole ladies, and trust that not a single brother would hit on her, even if she asked for it.
But she wouldn’t. She’s class, no matter how Sallabrook treated her.
He shook his head, rounded the corner into the kitchen, and came to a stop when he saw Truck standing in the middle of the room. “Brother.” Truck’s hand rose to meet his as he stepped close, grasping in a warrior’s hold and pulling him chest to chest. A fist pounded his back as he returned the favor, still shocked to see the man home. “Thought you couldn’t break away for a couple more weeks. Good to see you, man.”
“Called in a couple of markers, set up a rotation for what I needed to cover, and hied my ass home.” Truck stared at him and tipped his head towards the door. “I’d like to have a chat, if you have time.”
“Make it for my friends, brother.” Bane settled the bags along the base of the wall near the back door. “No time like the present.” He gestured Truck ahead of him, looking back at the last moment to face Myrt. “Back in a minute, sweetie.” That damn smile reappeared, accompanied by a shy chin dip. May have found a new favorite. “Maybe rustle up some road snacks for us?”
Myrt looked puzzled, but Vanna laughed and curled an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve got you covered, Bane. I’ve got you.” Turning away, she told Myrt, “Road snacks are basically anything salty or savory, nothing messy.” Their continued conversation became inaudible as they moved towards the pantry on the opposite side of the kitchen.
“Man, you got it bad.” Bane twisted to see Truck grinning widely at him. “Come on, brother. I’ll bring you up to speed, and you can give me the same courtesy.” The man’s hard elbow connected with Bane’s ribs, making him wince. “And you can tell me all about your intentions for my daughter Myrtle.”
“Your daughter?” He caught the edge of the screen door before it slapped shut, settling it quietly into the frame. “She’s not your daughter.”
“She’s mine same as Sharon is, same as Kitt’s my boy. If they belong to Vanna, then you better believe they belong to me, too.” Truck’s smile dimmed. “Woman would do well with a full house, and that’s what I understand you may be bringing back our way. But that’ll be the second part of our discussion. I need to give you a message.”
“From who?”
“Mason.”
Bane froze. Davis Mason was the international president of the Rebel Wayfarers MC, and the name he’d invoked when talking to Sallabrook. Bane had banked on the old man knowing Mason’s name—and still respecting and fearing it—on account of Mason being born only a handful or miles from where Myrt was from. Terror had been the initial reaction, but the bastard coming back and smashing a mailbox didn’t say it continued past the moment. Also, Mason’s second had a long history with not only Blackie but Peaches, his ole lady. Slate had rolled through East Texas years ago, long before he’d earned that name, and to hear Blackie talk, the man was the founder of his family in some obscure way. Mason’d had his fingers in a lot of pies over the years, so Truck saying his name, here, in the context of an urgent message—definitely caught Bane’s complete attention.
“I’m listening.”
“Gratitude, brother. He knows it was Blackie’s call who would answer the summons, but Mason’s pleased it was you. He’s only laid eyes on you a couple of times but has good associations with each interaction. Promise you, it didn’t hurt that Blackie talked you up, because not only Mason but Slate have a good relationship with the man.” Truck pulled in a heavy breath, palm smoothing his beard. It seemed as if he were preparing for bad news, and Bane rocked back on his heels, waiting until the man blew out a stream of air in a sigh. “Shit’s happening down here in Florida. Club business, and I’ve been authorized to be clear and transparent with you. We’ve absorbed the Jailbreakers over in Adken.”
“Shit’s been changing by the day, almost. You’re working off old info.” Truck let one shoulder rise and drop in an uneven shrug. “Justine’s in Baton Rouge with Wildman.” Bane let his head rock back, allowing his surprise to show. “Yeah, so now we’re tyin’ RWMC and IMC in tight knots. Something which hasn’t been widely advertised is we patched over Jailbreakers because otherwise Twisted was gonna scoop ’em up. He had a man who got involved with Sparks’ little sister.” Sparks had been the president of the former club and was now the president of the newly minted local RWMC chapter. “Hitch was the pivot, brother. Twisted had every valid argument for their claim. Good thing Mason was in the neighborhood, and we caught wind of what was goin’ on. Our tech guy assisted in their raid of an enemy’s camp and raised the hazard flag. So, we picked up Adken but lost out to IMC on another front.”
“Shit, man. That’s a lot of change in a short time.” He paused, going back over everything Truck had said. “Mason’s sister is paired off with an inner-circle IMC. That’s some treaty-level info. Does Blackie know?” A sideswipe of an ask for permission to share, and Truck didn’t hesitate to pick up on it.
“Not yet, but he will soon as you give him a call. We know you’re his go-to when it comes to shit about clubs, so I wanted to make sure you got it from the source, so to speak.” Truck flashed a grin, the corners of his mouth lifting his beard. “I’ve got more if you wanna listen. Say the word, brother. I’m auth’ed to give you a lot.”
“Gimme.” He returned the smile, lifting one hand and curling his fingers into a come-here motion. “Gimme, gimme. I’ll take it all, man. Take it and run with it, you give me the go signal.”
“Blackie’s aware of Mason’s interest in Texas. They’ve had many a conversation about the westerly toeholds we’ve got in the state. What Blackie won’t know yet is our strong interest in a club over in Freestone County, near Fairfield.” Truck paused, but Bane had an idea where this was going and wanted to finish it sooner, so he made a rolling motion with his hand, urging the man to get on with the story. “Iron Riggers. More a riding club than an MC, but we like the feel of them. Normally it would fall to the FRMC to wrap them into a support-club relationship, but we’ve got decent ties with a member.” Bane sucked in a breath, shocked to his core. “Means this is a courtesy call passin’ along the info that we’ll probably be making a move in the next couple of months.”
Bane remained silent, counting his breaths as he tried to re-center after internally reeling. Fairfield wasn’t far from Longview, not by road or as the crow flew, and having the RWMC gain a chapter in the area felt very much like an unsubtle threat. He needed a hot minute to tone down his initial response, which had been to deny access, something he absolutely did not have authority to do. This wasn’t something for a casual backyard chat between friends but a significant treaty dealt with at an official meeting at a wide table, allowing the presiding officers elbowroom to posture and advance or back away.
Rebels in Lamesa and El Paso weren’t a risk. They were far enough away from any FRMC control to be nonentities. Rebels in Little Rock were the same. Not in the close orbit of the club. Fairfield, though? Hell, half our charity rides travel through the goddamned town. Bane slipped his tongue across the inside of his teeth, then caught the end in a pinching hold, biting down hard enough to stop the words still threatening to boil out of him. Shouldn’t be me holdin’ this info. The final thought gave him the direction he needed to begin a response.
“I will pass along the information to the proper officers about what you claim as the RWMC intentions. Blackie and Horse and the others will guide the club, as they always do, in the direction of our best interests.” Chin up, he stared at Truck, not shying away as his gaze darkened in response to Bane’s rejection of the done-deal statements the man had been trying to sell. “I’m well aware of the Iron Riggers, and we have a good relationship with them. I’m sure Skyd will be fascinated to hear this as well.” Skyd was the IRMC president, and not known for keeping a lid on any kind of reaction. “I’m curious to see how things shake out—” He almost withheld the honorific, deciding at the last moment to give it to Truck. “Brother.”
“Our only ask is to contact Blackie first, brother.” It galled a little to hear how easily Truck gave him the word back, no hesitation or change in his tone to indicate anger or irritation at all. Bastard, he thought affectionately. “And then do with the info as he sees fit. No worries, man.”
“Is that it for club business?” Bane wanted to keep the conversation moving, needed to put distance between his emotions and the bomb Truck had handed him. “Myrt and I have a trek ahead of us.”
“Yeah, brother. That’ll do for now.” Truck cleared his throat and glanced back towards the house, taking a sidestep towards the back door. “Vanna said Sallabrook was a dick when he showed. Your take on the event was key for me making the decision to come home, and I thank you for your insight, Bane. It didn’t sit right with me knowing shit was going on in my own home and me way the fuck over on that side of the state.”
“Dick and a half. Man’s a total shitheel. Thought he could come in and push Vanna around, ordered Myrt to leave with him as if she were no freer to make her own decision than a goddamned trained lapdog. Pisses me off just to remember it.” He relaxed his clenched fists, shaking his hands slightly to ease the sting of tension. “Tolled his story like it was a church bell, expecting me to see the rightness of his words. Said she was his when she isn’t.” She’s mine. The thought didn’t make him stumble, because he knew it was right, understood in his gut where his heart was headed. “Called her all kinds of names because she dared to leave his ass. Shoulda seen his face when I told him she was under the protection of a man associated with Davis Mason.”
“He recognized the name, then? Mason’d hoped you’d use his reputation if needed.”
“Hell yeah, I’ll use any lever I’ve got to wedge an asshole like that out of your front yard.” Bane let his lip curl like it had been wanting to, voice a growl far back in his throat. “She ain’t his, Truck. Shoulda never been put in his path to begin with, but that’s in the past, and there’s nothin’ I can do about what’s happened. What’s done’s done.” He straightened his shoulders, consciously taking up more space. “But you can bet your sweet ass I’m not letting her cross his path again, not in that way.” The memory of Myrt’s voice hit him, dragging scores of pain along the inside of his chest as his heart clenched. “She wasn’t but a child, Truck. We’ve seen this kind of thing over in Texas, mostly with coyotes dragging vulnerable migrants into shit they were marked for before they ever crossed the border, but…she’s from fuckin’ Kentucky, man. A child shouldn’t be sold into slavery, regardless of background, but Kentucky? That’s unreal.”
“Seen it happen here, in Florida. In Missouri, sold out of semis at the state fair. Men, women, children—doesn’t seem to matter the who, as long as the merchandise matches up with the order. Turns my stomach, I tell you that much for sure.” Truck folded his arms across his chest. “So what’re you gonna do about this turdball? You gonna deal with him, or you gonna deal with him?”
“Far as Myrt knows, we’re going up to grab the younger brothers she thinks are in danger. Something Sallabrook left in the mailbox has her convinced he’s got his hands on at least one of them, and maybe both.” Bane glanced at the house, then back to Truck. “What she won’t know won’t hurt her. When I’m done with him, the man won’t be able to hurt
anyone else, ever again.”
“Good man, Bane.” Truck’s hand settled on Bane’s shoulder, gripping and shaking him side to side. “I knew I liked ya.” He recrossed his arms and leaned backwards slightly, stretching the muscles of his back. “I’m gonna hold the fort down here. Gunny’s on his way, too, so you can probably count yourself off escort duty. He’ll likely be here before you get back with the two young ’uns.”
Bane considered Truck for a moment, then asked, “You sure you and Vanna gonna be up for two kids? Fourteen and eleven, and the older boy is challenged, according to Myrt.” He shook his head. “Of course to hear her talk, she’s backwards just because she didn’t graduate from high school. Talking to her is like a breath of fresh air over any girl in a bar anywhere. She’s got ideas and considers everything anyone says.” Tipping his head down, he traced the toes of their boots with his gaze, caught up in the memories of these past few days. “She’s good with the kids, too. Approachable for even little Josh. He’s decided she’s his girlfriend, wants to hold her hand wherever they’re going.”
“Like I said—” Truck’s drawl slowed to a halt until Bane looked up, questioningly. “You got it bad, boy.”
Bane didn’t even try to deny the truth this time, simply meeting Truck’s smile with a smirk.
“Let’s get back inside and I’ll gather Myrt up, get this show on the road.”
“Bane.” The warning tone pulled Bane’s attention from the house back to his friend, and he stilled at what he saw there, waiting. “She’s got a bucketload or ten of issues.”
“So?” He lifted his chin, forcing his hands not to ball into fists at the perceived insult to Myrtle. “That make her any less worthy?”
“No, man. Not what I mean at all. You didn’t see her when she first showed up. Beat to hell and back, bruised, and still so sweet and damned thankful for any kindness. Tough fuckin’ life for anyone, and her nothin’ but a kid. Just sayin’ with the past couple of years of her life the way it’s been—”