Always (Wesson Rebel M.C. Series)

by Colt, Shyla

  Dallas steps forward with his arm around Cora and tosses in the first hand full of dirt.

  The thud on the coffin makes me flinch. I’m not ready to say goodbye. Despite the tiny child throwing a tantrum inside, I step forward and play my part. Because in this life, that’s what you do. Place one foot in front of the other, moving forever forward no matter what’s thrown in your way. I step back and the roar of engines revving fill my ears. So many people have shown up. Bikes line the lanes all the way to the entrance of the cemetery. Dad was a harsh asshole, but always fair and loyal. It’s a combination people don’t forget.

  The crowd drifts away, leaving the four of us to say our final goodbyes. How do you do that? Walk away from the only parent you’ve ever known? I feel like my chest has been cracked open and my hearts pummeled. I want to linger, but I know we have to make one last ride and nothing I do will bring him back. I take a shaky breath and prepare myself to branch out, to walk away with dignity and pride.

  Wesson strong. I hear my father’s voice in my head and it almost makes me smile. There’s a little bit of him in Dallas and I, so maybe he won’t ever be totally gone. I glance over at Dallas and my jaw drops. His face is pale and his entire body is shaking. Cora’s holding him around the waist like she thinks he’ll fall apart. Maybe he will. I’ve never seen him so out of it. I meet Rowan’s concerned gaze, unsure how to proceed. Dallas isn’t the type to like a lot of fuss and I don’t want to put him on blast.

  “Can you guys give us a few minutes?” Cora whispers.

  “Sure, Baby Girl. Take all the time you need,” Ro answers, tugging at my hand. She leads me away from the grave and I hear a choked noise escape from my brother’s throat. Unable to watch him break, I turn my head away and join the group of bikers lined up for one last ride.

  Present

  Something simply fractured inside him that day and it never mended. Dad’s death remained an oozing wound that no one could get to start healing. He’d unloaded on Cora in front of everyone two days ago. There was a time it would’ve reduced her to tears, but not now. They’d gone at it in an ugly display that’d been broken up by Reaper and Brain. This morning he’d walked in, relinquished his title and went nomad.

  I witnessed it with my own eyes and I still can’t help but think, I’m going to wake up from this nightmare any minute. He’d done many stupid things in his life, but leaving Cora like this with Houdini sniffing around her? I want to find out what the story is. Another thing to add to my list of shit to take care of. I close my eyes and place my arm over my face, wishing for sleep.

  Blood Stream

  Cora

  It’s quiet, too quiet. My baby boy is asleep and I’m sitting on the couch, avoiding the empty bedroom. It still smells like him, leather, musk and cologne. My chest cavity aches and my stomach rolls. I’m pretending I’m a rock, but the truth is my soul is crying out for its other half. Anyone would tell you I’ve loved Dallas my whole life, but right now, I think maybe I actually hate him. How could he do this to us? His son won’t buy the lame, he’s on a trip excuse forever. Plus, I have no clue when or if he’s coming back.

  The television screen gets wavy and I blink. Don’t you cry over him Cora Curtis. You’re fucking stronger than that. I clench my teeth. I’ve been through far worse than this. I know it logically, but that does nothing to take away the pain. The man I’ve always counted on, up and left without so much as a decent explanation.

  I can’t be here, Cora. His words haunt me.

  When did being with me, with his family become an option? I rock back and forth, holding in the dam of emotions. If I let myself sink back into that hole again, I may never get out. I’ve spent a year clawing my way back to the world of the living. I won’t return to that ghostly plane of half life. There was a time when the sun rose and set in Dallas’ face. He could do no wrong in my eyes. It was a silly, stupid, blissful time. Then, he made the worst mistake of our lives and everything changed in the blink of an eye.

  Past

  “Dallas, please don’t go on this run,” I whisper, shifting my weight as he rubs my belly. Two more months to go and we’ll be welcoming baby boy number one into the Wesson fold. True to his word that day in the back of the club, he’d gotten me pregnant.

  “What’s wrong, you feel okay?” He narrows his eyes and looks me up and down.

  “Yes. I mean—physically I’m fine. I just have this feeling.” I shake my head.

  “I know you don’t like it when I’m gone right now, but I need to take care of business. I’m going to be out of commission for awhile soon enough.”

  “I know.” I glance down at the floor. I don’t ask for much. I know the life as well as he does. But everything in me is protesting his departure.

  “Look, I’ll make it up to you when I get back. Next week, we can do whatever you want. Hell, I’ll even suffer through a trip to the mall or some frou-frou ass restaurant.” He bends down to catch my gaze. “Nicely dressed.”

  The thought of him in slacks and a button up it makes my lady parts tingle. I grin, picturing him dressed like that. Weight lifting and runs keep his body tight and his reflexes fast. “You do clean up well.”

  “There’s my girl,” he whispers, running his thumb across my chin. “I’ll make it quick.”

  I take a deep breath and wrestle my hormone laden concerns down. “I’ll be here.”

  “Good. I don’t think I like you in the house alone right now.”

  I roll my eyes. “We live like five minutes from the club. If anything happens, someone will get to me. You know the first baby doesn’t come fast.”

  “Baby Girl, this is my kid, he’s going to do everything early and on his own schedule.”

  “Oh Jesus, two yous? What the hell was I thinking?” I snicker at the image of a caramel skinned miniature of Dallas.

  “That you love me and my dick feels good.” He leans down and nuzzles my neck.

  “Shut up.” I cover his mouth with my hand.

  He laughs. “You going to let me marry you before this baby comes?”

  His voice sounds husky and my panties grow wet. I want to agree to whatever he says, but this is a nonnegotiable request. “No, afterward when I’m not round and swollen. Besides, you knew the rules, Rebel. No cut, no ring until Daddy gives you permission to make me your old lady. You and your super sperm jumped the gun. Now, I’m not saying shit till I’m no longer round and swollen.”

  He grunts. “Don’t like it. Thought the asshole would yield.”

  “Don’t let him hear you call him that, and you’d best be happy he hasn’t nailed your balls to the wall yet,” I say pointing at him.

  My dad was not too thrilled with news of the impending birth. But he dealt. With his fists.

  I still cringe, remembering the black eyes and bruises Dallas wore for a couple of weeks.

  “True enough. Be good babies. Daddy’s off to take care of business.” He leans in and kisses me until I’m ready to rub up against him like a cat in heat. We come up for air and he steps back, trailing his fingers down my belly. Then, he walks away.

  With the slam of the front door followed quickly by the roar of bikes—Dallas is gone.

  I survey the space and perk up when my gaze lands on my dad playing pool with some of the prospects. As VP, he’s spent most of my life busy handling other people’s shit, but I never felt neglected. I had the club, old ladies, Danny, Dallas and Rowan for company. Eager to get someone on one, I make my way over to the back room, cursing my limited movement. All the weight went straight to my boobs and belly. I thought it would turn Dallas off, but it did the reverse. The man turned into a sex fiend with cave men tendencies. It did a girl’s ego good, but damn…was I tired these days, on top of the baby boy in my belly. “Hey, Daddy.”

  My dad looks up and smiles. “Well shit, look who surfaced in a sunshine mood.”

  I roll my eyes. “Dad, you carry around something the size of a watermelon, let it dance all over your insides and tell me
how you feel.”

  Rufus chuckles. “Take over for me, Prophet. I’m going to spend time with my kid.” He hands his stick to the short, dark haired man with a short beard. His blue grey eyes are shifty, but sharp and he has a tendency to drink a bit too much on occasion. Blessed with a sixth sense of things, he quickly earned the name Prophet. He’d been here going on a year. I like him, he provides a certain sense of humor, the club needs to take the edge off and he follows directions to the letter.

  “Sure thing, Reaper,” Prophet says.

  My dad the bad ass, I have no illusions about why he’s named after the deliverer of death. He didn’t get patched in as VP for his looks, or the fact that he was born into the Rebels. There’s a coldness in him that makes me glad he’s a later in life parent. I was an accident, but my dad wanted me instantly. I didn’t blame my mother for not hacking it. What started out as a walk on the wild side turned into a lifetime commitment for her. I think she would’ve taken me with her during her exodus if dad had allowed it, but bikers are deadly serious about their family. I talk to her every couple of months and see her about as much. She’s happy, remarried to some banker with three kids. I love my siblings, but I keep the contact light and casual. I don’t want them sucked into the black hole that is the MC lifestyle.

  Rufus wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You hungry?”

  “Dad, these days…I’m always hungry.”

  He barks a laugh. “Just like your Momma, but nicer. Man, that chick was a crying, cussing, fussing mess by the time you came into the world two weeks late.”

  Warmth unfurls inside me. He doesn’t walk down memory lane often. “It’s hard to picture her that way.”

  “Hah, don’t let that prim and proper façade fool you. She’s got a dark and gritty side.”

  I see the fondness in his eyes and I’m grateful once more, that I was conceived in love and my mother wasn’t some club whore.

  We walk into the kitchen area and dad nudges me toward the table. “Take a load off, Baby Girl.”

  Nodding, I sit and watch him make one of his tri-meat sandwiches. While they normally make me wrinkle my nose up in disgust, the baby inside me is straight carnivore and loves them.

  “How are things? Do I need to put my boot in Dallas’ ass yet?”

  I laugh. “Not yet, but ask me again, tomorrow.”

  He shakes his head. “You two were always linked. It’s never what I wanted. Dallas is a hard man with a heavy weight on his shoulders. From the minute he came out, he’s been groomed and conditioned to take the crown when the time is right. But you always looked at him with dew in those big ole brown eyes. I stopped trying to intervene after awhile.” His voice is gruff.

  I can see his eyes are soft and full of an emotion I can’t place. The sentimental nature of my father’s conversation shocks me. “Everything okay, Dad?” My minds balks at the thought of what he might be about to tell me. Is he sick?

  “Be quiet woman. I’m trying to say something.”

  I clamp my mouth shut and lean forward over the mid-size faded wood table.

  “I’m ready to give my consent to you being patched in as Dallas’ Old Lady.”

  My mouth drops wide open.

  “You’re grown and the two of you are going to be linked forever by that little rider in your belly. Now, by no means am I surrendering. I’ll split his hard head wide open if he does wrong by you. But your life is to be lived. Figures, you’d take after your old man and not your mother. Wesson is in your blood.”

  I scramble up from the table and run over to wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze tight. He smells like leather and aftershave. I relish the shelter of his arms. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  A pop goes off in the courtyard and I freeze. I know the sound of gunfire when I hear it.

  “Go to the bathroom in my room, get the shot gun and stay there till someone comes for you.”

  “Dad—”

  “No arguments, girl!” He pulls away and shoves me toward the door.

  My stomach twists into knots. I run to my dad’s room and lock the door behind me. I can hear more gunfire. I place one hand on my belly to reassure my unborn child and begin to go through the steps drilled into my head from the time I was old enough. You didn’t want to be taken by another MC. That shit didn’t scar, it broke you down for life—if you survived it. I shudder and move to the closet to arm myself. I place two .45’s in the back of my waist band and grab the shotgun. Loading the shells, I cock it.

  Outside the room, it sounds like a warzone.

  In here, I have no way of knowing who is winning. Prepped to go down fighting, I curse my luck. My phone is outside on the kitchen table. I grip the shotgun tight, knowing at the very least, a prospect has made a call to other members and the boys are on their way. Images of what could be happening make my stomach sour. I slam the door down on the gruesome visions. Panic gets you killed. I can hear yelling and the sound of bodies meeting the walls.

  Boom.

  I jump as a door to a room close by is kicked open. Placing the butt of the shotgun against my shoulder, I put my finger on the trigger. My body tenses as they get closer to my location. More shots are let off. The skin on my belly stretches tight. A wave of pain hits my abdomen. Forcing back the worry, I grit my teeth.

  A heavy boot hits my door. Wood splinters and the door swings open.

  I fire and turn away from the frame. A scream fills the air. A body hits the ground with a loud thud. One down. The gunpowder burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water. One more shot and I’ll need to pump again, to refill the chamber. One more blast after that and I’ll switch to the .45’s. I have my plan laid out and I repeat it over and over in my head.

  “Son of a bitch!” a masculine voice shouts.

  “I got plenty more where that came from assholes! Best to move on!” I scream.

  “Get in there and get that bitch,” a snarly voice commands.

  I back up to the wall and slide down, controlling my breathing to keep my position safe.

  A round of bullets comes through the open door, filling the space I’d been standing in and lighting up the darkness. Two men bound in.

  I take the first one out at the knees, pump and shoot the other in the chest. My ears ring, but my hands are steady. I toss down the shotgun and pull the .45’s from my waist band. Cocking them with the ease of a woman raised to know how to handle herself, I duck back to the side.

  The sounds of motorcycles roaring up send the people in the hallway running. Feet pound on the pavement and something inside me rises up from the ashes of the woman I’d been just an hour before. The lust for revenge replaces the fear and grief. I give chase, firing down the hallway. For them to get back here to me, my men have to be hurt. That means my daddy was down. The sickening thwack of bullet ripping into flesh makes me grin. The door to the back is pushed open and they scramble to get onto their bikes as the Wesson men come in the front.

  “Cora!”

  I can hear their frantic yells, but I can’t speak or think over the murderous red haze and the buzz in my head. I continue to fire, hitting targets as they drive out of the complex. I take in the skull and cross bone insignia, Rolling Bones MC. They’ve wanted our territory for years, but had always been to pussy to do much about it. Now, they’ve gone and started a war.

  “Cora, Jesus Christ you did this?”

  Dallas’ voice pierces the veil and I blink as he pulls me in his arms. “You should’ve been here.”

  “I know, I know. I’m so fucking sorry.” The rest of his words bounce off the hardened shell that forms over me as I go blank.

  We lost, Crafty, Trigger and Gator that night, but my stubborn ass father clung to life. I was relieved to have him alive, but seeing him in a coma was torture. Every day he remained under, was another day he moved further away. I talked up a storm. I begged, pleaded and commanded. But he remained unmoved. Only the knowledge that I had a baby growing inside me depending on how well I took care of myself kep
t me from sinking into an endless black despair. While I knew this wasn’t Dallas’ fault, I resented him for not listening to me.

  If we’d had more men here that night, the Rolling Bones would’ve been handled. Ro and Danny acted as a buffer between us, and then Rufus Rule Wesson was born and things stopped being about us. For four months I was a zombie, and then Rowan and Danny went to college and Dallas put his foot down.

  Dallas opened the door to the house that was now ours alone and I stepped inside. The drive home had been an almost somber event. I felt excited for Danny and Rowan leaving for college, but I missed them already. The silence and lack of interference would force us to look at things we buried, instead of dealing with. I could feel Dallas’ eyes on me.

  Those penetrating jade green pieces could make a woman orgasm or a man tremble in fear.

  I wasn’t immune, but I could ignore with the best of them. I step away and walk into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I’m starving, so I’ll just get something going.” I hurry into the cheery yellow room to open and close cabinets.

  “Baby Girl.”

  “Yeah?” I refuse to turn around.

  “Look at me.”

  “Why? That’d be counterproductive to me prepping a meal,” I answer with false vibrato.

  “Cora.”

  I hear the anger in his voice. I know I’m pushing him to the edge, but I can’t stop. I reach up on the shelf and pull down a box of pasta.

  Dallas walks up behind me and presses my body against the counter. “It’s been enough time.”

  The words slice through me and I bow my head. “Now? You want to do this shit now, after I just said good bye to Rowan and Danny?” I ask, grasping at straws. I’m not ready for this confrontation.

  “Yes dammit! It’s been left long enough.” His breath is hot on the back of my neck.

  “For you, Dallas, for you.” I clutch the pasta box while focusing on the white counter top. We’d been dodging this moment for so long, it’d become second nature.