In Search of Solace (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “And that right there is one of the reasons I love you so much.” She shoved the wave of emotion down, fanning her hand in front of her face. “You can’t be too nice to me, Bane. I might not be pukey, but I’m weepy.”

  Heat covered her belly, and she knew without looking that he’d spread a hand over the baby’s bump. “You’re gonna have this baby.” A statement, but she still nodded in confirmation. “Our baby.”

  Myrt felt her control dissolving, and she threw herself against him, shoving her face into the pillow. “You can’t be nice.” Even to her ears the words were warbling and watery, nearly indecipherable through the sudden tears.

  “Oh, baby.” His arms came around her, a hand flicking the sheet away as he rolled them to the edge of the bed and stood with her wrapped around him. “I’m always gonna be nice to you. You gotta get used to it.”

  Half an hour later, they were presentable, tramping through the woods on what looked like a well-worn path she scarcely remembered from the previous night. “Every time I went outside with the girls, we headed the other direction, across the field to the woods where the creek is. I didn’t even know this house was here.” Bane’s fingers tightened around hers, and she looked down at their joined hands. She gave herself five seconds to remember what those hands had felt like as they roamed her body, then cut off the memory. Or tried to. It kept creeping in as she looked at his hips, his shoulders, his mouth— Stop it. There are kids present. She focused on the path in front of her, watching their feet trample through the dew-kissed grass.

  “Baby.” He sounded amused. She glanced up at him, finding a knowing look on his face. “Whacha thinkin’ about?”

  “Shut up.” Myrt buried her head against one shoulder, heaving them both up in a great shrug she held in place. “Nothing at all to do with you.”

  “Methinks—” He swung around to face her, slowing their pace as the boys and Marian walked ahead talking animatedly with the man who’d come to collect them for breakfast. “My lady protests too much. You were thinking about you and me doing the nasty, weren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t call anything we do together nasty, Bane.” Myrt lifted her chin, aiming her haughtiest expression his direction.

  His laughter was easy and soft, and he stopped in the middle of the trail, pulling her against his chest. “We could step behind a tree and they’d never miss us. Boys are headed to play with Gunny’s and Blackie’s kids, and Marian will be swept into the woman-whirlwind happening in the kitchen right now.” He trailed a finger along her cheek, booping the tip of her nose. “And you and I could do the not-nasty right here, if you wanted me. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, Myrt. Swear on my soul, baby.”

  “I believe you.” She watched in surprise as his eyes closed and saw the way his Adam’s apple traveled down and up his neck with a hard swallow. “Bane, baby.” His continued silence made her uneasy, uncertain in a way she didn’t like. “I do. I believe you.”

  “I know you do, baby.” Rough, his voice still settled along her skin like satin, smoothing out the worrisome goose bumps that had raised her hair. “It hits deep, because it matters so much. I didn’t know how much I needed that. It’s a precious thing, your trust and belief.” His eyes flashed open, shining with emotion. “I’ll never do you wrong. Never. I’ll never betray your trust, baby.”

  Myrt folded herself against him, loving how his arms came up naturally to wrap around her. “I believe that, too. You said earlier you were looking, didn’t know what for, but you were looking. So was I. It might have taken me longer to get started, to get unstuck from where I’d been left. Still, it had to be the right time, because here you are.”

  “Here I am, and here you are.” The weight of his cheek rested against the top of her head, and his voice rumbled reassuringly through his chest to her ears. “And here we’re meant to be.”

  “So fuckin’ sappy. I don’t think I even know you anymore, brother.”

  Myrt groaned and Bane laughed, turning them to face their visitor. Their voices overlapped as they named him, as familiar with his voice as each other’s by now. The grumbled “Brother” came from Bane, while Myrt said a laughing, “Gunny.”

  “Food’s gettin’ cold, so I was sent to retrieve the two of you.” Gunny wedged his way in between them, slinging an arm across Bane’s shoulders as he curved his other around Myrt’s waist. He forced them into step with him, tromping through the weeds the last few yards to the defined edge of Vanna and Truck’s yard. “I got you.” He sounded so pleased with himself Myrt had to laugh, making Bane scowl at her around Gunny’s chest.

  “Woman.” Whatever else he’d been about to say was interrupted by a cheer from the men and women wandering around the house in front of them.

  “Patchover,” Truck shouted, a fist thrust into the air. “Breakfast first, then we’ll get to the patchovers.”

  “Brother,” Bane yelled back, “you sound excited to be my second.”

  “Oh I am, brother. I very much am. Cannot wait to see what you’re gonna do with this new chapter.”

  The door opened as Vanna appeared, face wreathed in a smile. “There’s the happy couple.” Stepping to the side, she gestured into the house. “Come on in, the boys have already finished eating, but Marian’s still at the table.” As Myrt and Bane passed her, she paused each for a quick kiss on the cheek Myrt was happy to return. “Hope you had a good night and a better morning.” She turned away with a wink, and Myrt was glad Vanna couldn’t see her cheeks heat with embarrassment.

  “Everybody does it, baby. We haven’t done a single thing to be ashamed of.” Bane’s whisper was meant for her, mouth close to her ear as he steered her to the table. “I’m not a big breakfast guy, but those pancakes seem to suit you, Miss I’ll Have Cake for Breakfast.” Myrt twisted her head to glare at him, but he pulled the expression right off her face when he kissed her softly. “Sit and visit. I need to take care of business.”

  “What’s a patchover?” She turned in his arms and threaded her hands behind his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. “That’s what you were talking about last night, how you’d stay in the area and work with Gunny and Truck?”

  Bane smiled against her lips. “And here I thought you were fast asleep, me talkin’ to myself.” He brushed his mouth against hers a final time, his focus still on her. “Yeah, I get to keep my patch and my brothers, and those two’ll leave the RWMC and come over to play for our team for a while. We all know it’s only for a couple of years, then we’ll all be under the Rebel skull and key. But it means a lot, them giving me the president patch and takin’ a chance I’ll be a half-decent leader.”

  “And your old president, he’s happier with this than you leaving his club, no matter where you’d go?”

  “He sure as fuck is.” The booming voice from behind her startled Myrt, and she jumped forwards, plastering herself against Bane, ducking underneath the dark leather of his vest. “Shit fire, I scared your woman, Bane. Your little mouse needs to get used to me. Y’all are gonna be seein’ a lot of me and my old lady.”

  She turned to see the man who’d fetched them from Truck’s house standing next to the woman she’d met yesterday, Peaches. “You’re Blackie?” Peaches’ grin was wide as her husband’s when he nodded, shoving a hand towards Myrt. She carefully accepted, shocked as hers was enfolded entirely by his. Tugging free, she angled her body against Bane, loving the strength at her back. “Pleased’ta meetcha.” She paused a breath, then remembered he was in essence Bane’s boss and added, “Sir. Blackie, sir.”

  Chin lifting, Blackie stroked a hand down his beard, grinning widely. “I like that. Sir Blackie.” He flung an arm out, finger pointing to everyone in the room. “You heard it, she named me. I’m keepin’ it. She’s Bane’s Little Mouse, and I’m Sir Blackie. Write alla this shit down, woman.” He looked down at Peaches, who had threaded her fingers around his belt, holding herself upright while laughing. “Write. It. Down. This just fuckin’ happened.”

/>   “Gonna get her situated, then I’ll come outside.” Bane pulled a chair out for Myrt and put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her down. “Where you wanna do this thing, Blackie?” His lips grazed her cheek, and a hand stroked down her braid to her back, heat settling where he touched her. “Who you want there?”

  “Like he could keep any of us away.” Myrt looked past Blackie at several men who’d crowded in behind him, all faces familiar from the brief greetings in the yard yesterday. The speaker had hair nearly as long as hers, and his face split with a grin as he flipped it over his shoulder. “Me, Mason, Twisted, Wrench—fuck, everybody is still here, man. We all want to see this shit happen. Historic. The dominants of the area not only allowing a new charter, but actively encouraging it by allowing their own men to patch over. Hell, even one of my Bastards has expressed interest, and there’s another guy I’d been eyeing who’s on his way down now to talk to you. This news has already spread far and wide, and has been well received.”

  Longer hair seemed to be the norm for some of these men, and another spoke up from his position leaning against the wall near the entrance to the dining room. “I heard tell a couple of my boys are interested too, Bane. Gonna fill your fuckin’ roster before you even have to go out recruitin’. That’s some shit right there.” He glanced at the other man. “Retro, who you got comin’ down?” Their conversation faded as Myrt turned her attention back to Bane, who seemed to be holding a staring contest with a man standing beside Blackie.

  “Mason, you standing witness today, too?” Bane’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, and Myrt twisted to look up at him. His expression was cautious, and she looked back at the man to whom he’d spoken, seeing lines of strain there.

  Mason nodded. “You’ve learned of our struggles along the Gulf Coast; hell, you’ve lived some of them. You’re the man for the job, and I want everyone in our worlds to know you’ve my full support. Hundred percent, brother. Rebels stand with Freed Riders, no matter the charter. My hand to God.” He lifted a palm, then reached out and laid it on Blackie’s shoulder, much as Bane’s rested on hers. “My brother here is a lucky man to have such members as you and Horse, and the rest of them. Honored to call you my friend, too.”

  “Fuck, Mason.” Bane stepped away, his fingers trailing along her arm until he was out of reach, then he’d pushed his hand out towards Mason. Fists clenched between their hearts, Bane and Mason came together with a collision that promised bruises, followed by heavy pounding claps against shoulders and backs. “Blackie.” Bane pulled back and greeted Blackie the same way, the two men murmuring before they released. “Let’s do this thing. Front porch? Give the spectators an elevated view?” He pushed past Blackie and the other men, headed to the front of the house.

  “You won’t want to miss this.” Vanna’s whisper pulled Myrt’s attention around, and she saw the women filing out the back door. “They do very few things not behind closed doors, so don’t get used to it, but this is open for all to see.” Vanna’s clasp on Myrt’s hand drew her from the chair, and she followed Vanna out the door and around the house, coming to a halt in front of the group of women off to the side. Bane stood along the rail of the front porch, facing the growing group of men.

  “Brothers.” He propped his palms on the rail, leaning out over the edge, sweeping the small crowd with his gaze. It landed on her, and he smiled and tipped his head at her, then went back to the men in front of him.

  That single gesture had nearly every man’s head turning on a swivel to stare at her. Instead of being taken aback, Myrt squared her shoulders and stood tall, hearing Vanna’s muffled, “Good girl,” from beside her. The expression on the men’s faces ran the gamut from coolly interested, to a deep study, and on to smiles and welcoming waves before they returned their focus to Bane and the men next to him.

  “You know me. FRMC took me in and taught me the way a club’s supposed to be. Introduced me to the reality of the brotherhood under the patch and in the life. I’m Freed Riders to the core, but beyond that, I’m all about livin’ the way I always have. Free.” He huffed out a laugh. “Blackie knows this next bit, as does Horse, but I need to make sure my history isn’t kept a secret, not with what’s being proposed. So a little bit of backstory comin’ your way.” He shuffled his feet. “My blood isn’t something I’m proud of.” He sounded like whatever was coming next would be painful.

  Myrt kept her gaze on him, leaning forwards in her eagerness to help him any way she could.

  ***

  Bane

  He’d gone over this with Blackie and Mason last night. Myrt asleep in bed beside him, he’d made two calls, starting with his president. His family history needed to be laid out for Mason, because no way was he hiding anything that had the potential to come back and bite him in the ass.

  The faces turned up to look at him from the front yard were open, not yet judging him, and he hoped like hell they wore the same expressions in five minutes.

  “I hail from Philly. I come from an old family. Crow isn’t my birth name. It’s family from my momma’s side, and one I took because it’s about as far as possible from the one I grew up with. My father was in the family business.” He laid heavy emphasis on the last two words, hoping he wouldn’t have to spell out the darkness that had surrounded his childhood. “My brother didn’t follow him. That motherfucker branched out, started himself an MC. MDMC is his.”

  “Monster Devils?” Tension filled Retro’s voice as he spoke up from his position propped on the corner rail of the porch. “I know someone who had some dealings with them. One of my members used to be patched. Bad juju, brother. They are shit in my eyes, and you know I don’t say things idly.” He spat in the dirt. “Just the mention gives me a bad taste in my mouth.”

  The fact Retro still called him brother eased the binding pain around Bane’s chest a little, but there was an unspoken question in there he needed to address. “He is. The only thing he seems to want is pain and death. If he’s still alive, I’d be surprised. I don’t keep up though. Him and my old man are dead to me. Still, I know he’s fucked over a bunch of people. That’s why I wanted it out there right up front how he might be blood, but he’s not family, you get me?”

  “Oh, I get you, man.” Retro smiled slowly and turned his head, calling out, “Mudd, get a call in to Einstein. Tell him we’ve got some insider info comin’ our way.” He looked back at Bane. “You will help us out with what you might know, right?”

  “Anything I have is yours, brother.”

  A hand slapped between his shoulder blades, right over the patch, Blackie’s way of telling Bane he had his back, even in this. “Any other questions about that shit?” Shoulders hunched, Blackie glared at the crew of men, angling his chin back and forth as he darted glances to and fro. “No? You fuckin’ sure? Cuz this is gonna be your one fuckin’ shot at my man, so get with the program, dammit. Going once, twice.” He slapped Bane’s back again. “Fuckin’ sold. So here’s what’s happening.”

  Bane shuffled to the side slightly, letting Blackie take center stage.

  “We’re expanding the FRMC. To date we’ve only occupied territory within the Texas national border.” That quip got him a few laughs, and he beamed a grin at the men. “Yeah, you heard it here, I’m all for Texas being a nation, but that’s neither here nor there, dammit. I’m expanding, takin’ on the expense and strain of starting a new charter, not in a neighboring state, but way the hell over here. Why, you may ask?” Without waiting for a response, he jumped into the conversation they’d had yesterday. “Because it’s fuckin’ time. This area is a gray zone, used for all sorts of trafficking, and the doms of the region’d like to have some help policin’ the kind of shit passin’ through. Ain’t gonna be no cakewalk, no sir. Bane’ll have his work cut out for him. He’s been doin’ a hella job as an unofficial liaison between FRMC and others such as represented by the men standin’ up here with me. This will kick his job up a couple of levels. We’ll pass him a couple of members who’re loo
kin’ to grow. RWMC is very sweetly”—he lifted his pinched thumb and finger to his lips, as if sipping from a dainty cup, the gesture gaining him more laughter—“supporting two members’ patchover without a beatout. We won’t take anybody out bad, so be fuckin’ sure you’ve got permission before you start a convo with the man.” Blackie looked at Bane. “I forget anything, brother?”

  “Old storefront in town was purchased yesterday. We’ll fit it out as the local clubhouse.” Bane nodded to Mason. “Thanks to the RWMC for the assistance.” He smiled at Myrt. She still looked nervous standing next to Vanna, but he was proud of how she stood her ground. “Me and my ole lady will be lookin’ for a place to stay, so if you hear of anything openin’ up for a family, let us know.”

  “I happen to know of a place.” Truck, standing at the bottom of the steps, propped one booted foot against the wooden edge. “Me and Vanna, we were talking. You and Myrt grew your family overnight, bringin’ on her brothers and sister. I got a house what needs livin’ in. Sounds like we can help each other out.”

  “Sounds like we can.” He spoke slowly, remembering the way the house had been outfitted when they walked in yesterday. “I’d be happy to rent from you, brother.”

  “Rent? Who the fuck said anything about rent? It’s our baby shower gift to you two.” Truck laughed, bending double for a moment. “Oh, Jesus, you should see your face, brother. Trust me, this is more for me than for you. My woman’s got a hankering to mother your old lady, and when she’s happy, I get a hella lot more ass. So really, this is you doin’ me a favor.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.” He darted a glance at Myrt to see her in an embrace with Vanna, the older woman shooting him a grin over her shoulder. “How can I say no? I’m not gonna cockblock a brother.”

  “Who’s the first to patch over?” Gunny strode up and stood next to Truck. “Where’s your president patch?”

  “Right here.” Blackie dangled a piece of fabric from his fingers, passing it off to Bane. “Got a pin, too.” A moment later, the new, stiff president label was above his nameplate, granting him an official position within the club. “Charter’s here.” Blackie passed over a roll of papers. Bane glanced at them, then stuck them inside his vest, making a show of buttoning the pocket to keep them safe. “Gonna have to wait on the new rockers. Rushed them, and expressed, but they couldn’t be here by today. No reason to wait. We can cut off your bottom later, and then you’ll have some sewing to do.”