Gunny's Pups: #10.25 (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 5

  Gunny’s Pups

  Rebel Wayfarers MC

  #10.25

  MariaLisa deMora

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Copyright © 2017 MariaLisa deMora

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  First Published 2017

  ISBN 13: 978-1-9467380-3-5

  DEDICATION

  There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief. ~ Aeschylus

  For my gorgeous and goofy Ratty, Beetle. It’s true, when we’re owned by a dog, we become better people.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Gunny, it’s to listen when he’s demanding to be heard. From the beginning of his journey with us when he attempted to take over Jase’s story, earning his own book through sheer persistence, to his on-screen parts in books like Secret Santa and Bones. And now to this story, Gunny’s Pups.

  I think one of my favorite things about Lane Robinson as a character—other than how noisy he can be when he wants something—is the growth our Gunny has shown.

  Here’s hoping he has a few more good stories in him. I kinda like where he takes us.

  Woofully yours,

  ~ML

  Gunny’s Pups

  Chapter 1

  Gunny

  “Sharon.” Gunny bellowed his old lady’s name up the stairs. Where the fuck has she gone? “Gotta get my ass in gear and out the goddamned door. Need my fuckin’ kiss. Get your ass down here.”

  “Coming.” The single word was soft and sweet, and the sound of her voice had his cock at half-mast in a moment, thinking of how she’d called out this morning as he rode her hard. Gunny, I’m coming. Muffled into the pillow, he’d still heard her, had known it wouldn’t be long once one of her shoulders dipped to the mattress. Then he’d felt the heat from her touch against his slapping sack as she’d worked her clit, the combination of his slamming thrusts and her clever fingers pushing her over the edge.

  “Fuck.” Tipping his head back and closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to will his erection away. “Don’t have time for this.” The moment those words hit the air, his eyes popped open and then he was taking the stairs two at a time on his way back up to where Sharon was. “Fuckin’ liar. Always have time to play with my woman.”

  Forty-five minutes later, as he made his way slowly back down the stairs, he reached behind him so he could cup Sharon’s ass. Her head rested on his shoulder blade, legs wrapped as far around his waist as they’d go, arms twined around his neck. “Love you, big guy.” Her languorous murmur was soft but sweet, and when he squeezed her cheeks, she giggled. He heard that and felt it, the shaking of her body echoing through his chest.

  “Love you, too, baby.” Backing up to the couch, he released his hold, letting her slide down to stand on the cushions. “I seriously gotta get goin’ now. PBJ’s gonna be waiting on my ass as it is.”

  “Did he give you any idea what he wanted?” She tugged at his arm, pulling him around so he faced her. From her position on the couch, she was still shorter than him, so he swooped down the few inches to capture her mouth with his. Silenced by his kiss, her question went unanswered as he slanted his head and touched his lips to hers softly.

  “Gotta go. Call me if you need me or if Cade needs anything.” Quick clicking noises came from the kitchen, and he glanced in that direction to see one of their dogs trotting through the door. Squinting slightly, he thought the dog’s head looked odd, then as the beagle came closer, he realized the trash can lid was stuck around its neck. Shit. “Baby, thinkin’ you might wanna check the kitchen. Tank’s been in the trash again.”

  “Not my Tank. He’s a good dog.” Loyal to a fault, Sharon defended the clearly guilty culprit, then peered around Gunny and got a look at the canine. “Is that green on his face? Green, smushy…avocado?” She sighed, giving up on the pretense that Tank wasn’t the world’s worse sneak. “Bad dog.” While Rocky, the rat terrier, could pick goodies out of the tall garbage pail without making a mess or leaving any evidence, Tank was true to his name, always bulldozing over obstacles like trash cans. Gunny knew Sharon would find a mess when she went into the kitchen and decided it wasn’t the time to answer her earlier question, given what he knew about PBJ’s ask.

  Gunny stared down at Sharon, taking in again the beauty that smiled up at him. Hair flowed down her back in sleek sheets, her bright eyes curving with the grin that stretched her full lips wide. “Love you, babe.” Pressing his palm against her belly, he gently stroked the swell that protected their second daughter. “Fuck, but I love you.”

  Now her eyes were bright for a different reason, and she sniffed when she scolded him, “Don’t be sweet to me. You know how I am these days.” She’d become more sentimental the closer they got to the date, which was only a couple of months away. “You make me cry, you need to make me come again to make up for it.” Shaking her head, she sniffed again. “And while we’d both enjoy that, you’re already late.”

  Leaning in, he kissed the tip of her nose, then stepped back. “Wouldn’t wanna have to make you come again.” His fake grousing made her smile, her broad grin matching his. “See you in a bit, baby. Call me, yeah?”

  “Yes, sir.” Snapping a salute, she stepped off the cushions and to the floor. “Who’s a bad boy,” was directed to a thoroughly garbage-rumpled Tank who’d thrown himself in front of the couch and had a nearly-matching expression on his face, tongue lolling out in his doggy grin. She was still reprimanding the dog as Gunny closed the door leading into the garage, cutting off her voice in midscold.

  ***

  Lifting a fist, Gunny turned the doorknob with one hand while he pounded on the door with the other, walking in and announcing himself in the same movement. “PBJ, where ya at, brother?” A wordless call barely audible over the cacophony of barking from deep in the building gave him a direction, and he allowed the door to swing shut, darkness enveloping him.

  The address hadn’t been one Gunny knew, and from the outside, the house didn’t look remarkable. A sprawling single-story ranch, it had several outbuildings and one large pole barn out back.

  Inside, it was a nightmare. Dark doorways leading into shadowed rooms, dim hallways that went five strides and turned deeper into the house. A hundred enemies could be hiding within ten feet of him, and he wouldn’t see them. Not until they were close enough to touch, close enough to strike. Close enough to kill.

  Back pressed against the wall nearest the door, Gunny stood and fought the same demons that had chased him for so many years. Fought and won, as he did more often these days.

  Sharon, he thought, letting his eyes close so he could better remember the scent and feel of his woman. Body in front of him, little spoon curved into the crook of his legs, the slow, smooth way they shifted and moved together, cock buried deep inside her, pulling out to the tip before smoothly rocking forwards again.

  Her hands on his face, drawing his mouth up to hers
as she rode him fast and hard, her weight no burden at all. Him thrusting up into her even as she was dropping her ass against his thighs until the sound of their flesh slapping together echoed in the room.

  Hair matted with sweat, eyes fixed on their tiny daughter, her exhausted face radiant with love and a determined satisfaction at giving him something they’d both wanted so badly. Sharon. He let the knowledge that she loved him seep into his bones until he could move again.

  Licking his lips, surprised at how dry they were, Gunny opened his eyes to see Deke and PBJ standing across the room. From the wary expressions on their faces, he knew his struggle had been apparent, which would be one of the reasons they were over there and no closer. “Hey,” he grunted, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension from his muscles. “Got a beer?”

  “Pope wear a funny hat?” PBJ grinned before he turned and walked up one of the hallways leading off the room. A living room, Gunny realized. Large and made for a big family, it had to be half the length of the house. To his right was a wall of windows, papered over now, blue painters tape securing the newsprint in the opening, protecting glass and woodwork from whatever would be slapped on the walls.

  “You good, brother?” Deke’s quiet question wasn’t a surprise. He knew how deep the scars dug into Gunny’s soul, and seemed to have a knack for popping up at the moments he was most needed. “Bad?”

  “Not too. Just a…momentary lapse.” Gunny wiped at his sweaty face with the crook of one elbow. “I’m good. You know what PBJ needs us for?” Pushing off the wall, he went to follow PBJ, stopping when Deke’s hand gripped his bicep. “Brother, I’m good.”

  “Sharon okay?” Deke shook his head, stopping Gunny’s response. “Of course she’s okay, or you’d be there and not here, but…are you okay with…fuck, man. You cool with having two little ones?”

  At that stupid, senseless question, Gunny finally found it inside himself to laugh, chuckling aloud at the expression Deke wore. “Yeah, I’m good. More than good. Can’t wait for Cade’s little sister to be sleepin’ down the hall. Kitten brings us full circle, man. It’s all good.” Hoping Deke understood the emphasis, he knew his friend got it when his grip tightened on a squeeze and then fell away.

  Before Sharon, the lasting effects from Gunny’s time serving in the military overseas had nearly overwhelmed him on a daily basis. Episodes would drive him to the forest for weeks at a time, in a useless effort to escape.

  Post-traumatic stress disorder was so much more than an acronym to him, and Deke knew more than most the stress Gunny had lived with for years. Since finding Sharon, Gunny’s entire world had changed in so many ways. Not the least was him moving her into his house, a sanctuary that only a few had seen before she’d instigated the first barbecue thrown in their backyard. Heavily pregnant with Cadence, their first daughter, Sharon invited everyone she knew mattered to him, and they had shown up with platters of food and baby gifts in hand.

  So many memories with her, he thought, following Deke to the back of the house, frowning at the growing level of sound as they got closer to the source of the barking.

  “Fuck.” The exclamation was pulled from him as he looked around the large room off the kitchen. Row upon row of crates and cages, nearly all of them filled with dogs. The smell was overwhelming, so many of the animals had been left contained too long, forced to urinate or defecate in their living space, some of them multiple times. “Fucking hell, PBJ, what kind of bullshit is this?” Angry on behalf of the helpless dogs, Gunny swung to look at his friend’s face, some of that emotion falling away as he saw a matching rage exposed on PBJ’s face.

  “Bitch ran off.” Gunny shook his head, not understanding the statement. “Gal I was fucking,” PBJ elaborated. “This was her deal, she told me she was dog sitting for people.” He swept his arms out to the side, indicating the cages and animals. “Fuckin’ dog sitting, and I didn’t question her. She’s run off, got herself sideways with a goddamned dealer, so she bailed and hit the road. Bitch called me this morning to ask me to come over and,” he scoffed, the sound rough and angry, deep in his chest, “let the dogs out.”

  Deke spoke up, “We’d just gotten here, Gunny. Had no idea what we’d be walking into. Backyard is worse, man. She hasn’t picked up shit in weeks, maybe months. Some of the cages aren’t big enough for the dogs, man. We gotta do something.”

  “Pound?” Gunny made the obvious recommendation. “They can try to match pups to owners from her paperwork, right?”

  “Ain’t found paperwork on anything except a couple of the dogs. Ain’t sayin’ there aren’t folders in some drawer, but we call the pound, and then we gotta explain how we got here.” PBJ shook his head, disgust clear on his face. “I was fuckin’ her, man. I feel responsible.” He would. PBJ was a respected breeder and the source of both of Gunny’s pups. “I wanna make this right.”

  Gunny studied the room for a minute. “Gotta be forty dogs, man. Where you gonna find homes for alla them?” He walked to a cabinet and picked up a lightweight slip leash, threading the fabric of the lead through the ring, making a loose noose. “Gonna start walkin’ ‘em.”

  He pointed a thick finger at PBJ. “You think. I’ll do the grunt work. Deke.” He glanced across the room to where Deke was making the same motions. “Sounds like we’re keeping this local. Wanna call the clubhouse, get some prospects out here to clean up the shit?”

  With a grin, Deke nodded, pulling his phone from a pocket. “Good job for Hurley, man.”

  Gunny shook his head. “You needa stop ridin’ that boy. He’s a keeper.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Deke agreed, laughing. “He’s stepped up and done everything we’ve asked. No demand too big, no chore too shitty. He makes it through this, I’ll know it more.”

  ***

  “Jesus, man. I’m beat.” Gunny leaned his elbows on the countertop that separated the kitchen from the rest of the huge room that spanned the back side of the house. “We’ve done a fuck of a lot today.” He cataloged the few crates still in the room, only six out of forty-five. Thirty-nine dogs had gone home with Rebel Wayfarers members and friends today, and while he couldn’t be certain they were all long-term homes, they were at least clean and loving ones.

  “No doubt.” Deke walked towards the counter and bent over. Gunny heard a liquid swishing sound, and then Deke came up with a dripping can of beer in each hand. “We got a few left to deal with, though.”

  “Yeah.” Gunny let his gaze sweep the crates. Six dogs, each offering a unique challenge that meant not just any owner would do for them. “Vet’s picking up three of ‘em, right?”

  Deke nodded, popped the top on his beer. He lifted it to his mouth and took several long swallows. “Shepherd’s got dysplasia, bad. If he can’t be made comfortable, vet’ll put him down. Maltese has an eye infection. Treatin’ that, and then he’ll try to place him.” The veterinarian was a friend of PBJ’s, and willing to look the other way at how these dogs had been acquired, having been briefed on the full situation. “Dalmatian might be blind. Vet’ll decide what to do with her.”

  Gunny looked down, opening his own beer. “Hate that shit, man.” He shook his head. “Coulda been worse, I guess.” The sheer number of dogs that had been in the house would have overwhelmed the county facilities, and they weren’t anywhere near a no-kill shelter. Most of the animals would have been considered unadoptable and given the barest amount of time to sit in a row and watch people pass them by. Many people adopted puppies, for obvious training reasons. With a puppy, you didn’t have any bad habits to fix. With an adult dog, you might get a winner or a nightmare. He shook his head again. “Outta forty-five dogs, only three in question. Not the worst odds. Leaves us three to place, though.”

  He lifted the can, letting the nearly warm liquid wash away the dryness in his throat. Having to look at the crates had been running the edge of his nerves all day, bringing up harsh memories of an endless ride across a foreign desert, cooped up in the back of a truck, covered with
a tarp. As helpless in his own way as these dogs had been, carried to a place where he had no friends. All control stripped away, subject to the temperament of the man driving the truck. Thank God he’d been friendly and had helped Gunny get back to Camp Chesty in short order.

  “Sucks to be left behind.” The bitch who’d run off had honestly been dog sitting, because every animal looked and behaved like a pet, but they’d only found a few bits of info on a bare handful of dogs. That meant that any of the dogs that had family out there were probably forever lost to the ones who had entrusted their pups to the bitch. Racked up a debt she couldn’t fix and then bailed. “Abandoned.” Like he’d been, behind enemy lines, his entire patrol killed in a firefight they had no hope of winning, ambushed from behind as they worked their way to the extraction point.

  Gunny rolled his shoulders, feeling the hard tenseness of his muscles in response to the memories. Doesn’t do any good to get worked up like this, he reminded himself. His phone buzzed, clattering on the counter in front of him, laid there after his last text exchange with Sharon. Just checking in. He smiled. All good, big guy.

  Be home soon, he responded, and then grinned wider at the string of smiling face emojis that were her response.

  “I’m gonna take the Great Dane,” Deke said suddenly. “Mercy agreed, fuckin’ finally. She was scared Graham is gonna be afraid of him, but I talked her around.” Mercy was Deke’s woman, and Graham, their young son. “PBJ’s takin’ the Swissie, said he’s got a line on a rescue organization that’ll be all over the beast as soon as he can get word to them.” If PBJ was taking the Swiss mountain dog, that left only one final problem pup.

  Gunny turned his gaze to where the enormous lump lay in the shadows of a large crate. Standing almost three feet tall at the shoulder, the Mastiff had to weigh upwards of 150 pounds. Intelligent eyes had studied Gunny earlier as he approached the crate with a leash in hand. He’d looked from the tiny leash to the massive dog with a laugh that had the dog perking up his ears. The pooch had walked like a prince on the lead before politely waiting while Gunny got the door open and then paced patiently outside until he found a section of yard that was appealing. He hadn’t balked at returning to the crate, either, which was in contrast to how many of the dogs had reacted to having their moments of freedom curtailed.