Mason eyed the man for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You showed respect, coming up here like this. Coulda demanded I make the trip down, and I’d a been happy to do that thing. Shows respect, though, and I gave it back—” He gestured towards the man’s vest. “—because you’re sittin’ here wearin’ your colors at my war table. Damn few folks can say they’ve done that.” He leaned back, elbow over the back of his chair, arm swinging freely, showing his comfort level with every gesture. Other palm out, he asked, “That really what brought you here? Something we could have discussed over a secure line?” He shook his head, and Gunny watched as the visitors all tensed up, on guard in a way that was unmistakable. “No, I believe you got some significant troubles of your own, and you think to marry our causes.” Sighing, Mason tipped his head to the side. “Outriders and Diamante, you got your helping of misery with the rolling patches through your plot. So much more than me coming in to clean up my own shit, regardless of the location. And Sparks,”—he shook his head—“you know that’s exactly what I did. You didn’t have anything to deal with that one because my boys did the cleanup right.”
Gunny watched the man’s expression change, moving away from disdain to something else before a grin lit his face. “Damn, Mason. I heard you were a hardass, but fuck, man.” He shook his head. “From what Retro told me, I expected a little give.”
“Oh, I got plenty of give in me, for friends.” Mason shifted in his seat, elbows on the table now, thick forearms propped on the edge. “That what we are now, Sparks? We friends?”
Nodding slowly, Sparks turned his neck, sweeping the face of every man in the room. “Yeah. I see only friends at this table—” He paused for a moment, then tipped his head to the side as he considered Mason before finishing with, “—brother.”
Mason didn’t move a muscle, sat still and quiet as he kept his gaze on the man. Then with a dark chuckle, he leaned forwards, reaching out to grip Sparks’ hand. “Brother.” He returned the word, and Gunny took a breath in relief.
That turned the tide, and forty minutes went by with a rapid exchange of stories and information. This was the kind of detail that Mason’s Rebels needed to plan their next steps against the Diamante and Outriders, and every man had something to offer, illustrating to the Florida club that Mason knew what strengths he needed to bring to the table.
A knock had Slate on the move. He unlocked the door, stepping into the opening to block the line of sight of whoever had interrupted the meeting. A moment passed, and Gunny heard him swear. Then Slate turned to face him. “Slinky’s got some trouble, brother.”
Slinky’s was a club-owned strip joint north of town, and Gunny was head of security for that location as well as a few others in the vicinity. If there was trouble his team couldn’t handle, then he was the one on call for dealing with whatever, or whoever it was. “On it,” he muttered, tipping his head to Mason and getting a chin lift in response on his way to the door. A handful of breaths later, he was through the main room and on his bike, rolling north to see what kind of problems had found a roost.
Chapter 2
Sharon
Humming softly, Sharon stood at the kitchen sink, arms buried to the wrists in hot water as she deftly washed their lunch dishes. A delicious smell filled the kitchen, and she sniffed appreciatively. With a club meeting going on, she knew it was highly likely Gunny would be late for supper, so earlier she’d put a roast in the oven. Glancing over, she saw there were about thirty minutes left on the timer. Just enough time for a tiny nap, she thought, flinging water droplets from her fingers into the draining sink.
“Come on, Rocky,” she called quietly, knowing the terrier would hear her. As she turned towards the door, she heard the tapping of his nails on the tile floor as he got up from the bed in the corner. Tank the Smaller was sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, keeping watch on the lower half of his domain and she grinned to see him so comfortable and quiet. Since Gunny had brought Tank the Larger home, the beagle had settled down in ways she hadn’t expected. “It’s like you grew up overnight, Tankers.” Bending, she groaned and had to flex her legs to get down and run her fingers over his head. “You could meet me halfway,” she complained with a laugh, straightening and pressing a hand to her side, absently rubbing away a sharp ache that had been coming and going for the past few hours.
Stepping over him, she started up the stairs, each step seeming to take more effort. Jesus, woman. Halfway up the flight, she paused and bent over slightly, puffing out quick pants of air. “Kitten, honey, can you take up just a tiny bit less space in Mommy’s tummy?” Pushing herself to start up the stairs again, she made it to the top step when the pang in her side returned, this time sharp enough to make her wince. Fingers pressing and rubbing on the area did nothing to ease the pain, and she felt lightheaded. Twisting in place, she put her butt on the top step, feet on another and hands to the floor behind her, leaned back, trying to stretch out what she expected was a complaining ligament.
The pain didn’t ease, and she tipped her head back, going down on her elbows when it intensified instead. “Crap.” She muttered, staring at the ceiling. Blinking fast, she stayed in that position, forcing away the stinging tears, finally pulling in a deeper breath as the band of iron started to ease.
“Crap. So tired now.” If I lay down here, I’ll never get back on my feet. Turning her head, she saw the larger of the two Tanks standing next to Cadence’s door, looking at her with his intelligent eyes. “Hey, buddy.” He blinked. “Cade sleeping?” At the girl’s name, his massive head swung to the side so he could see into her bedroom, then back to Sharon. “Must be, or you’d be in that crib with her.” He hadn’t stopped any of the behaviors they’d seen that first day, and she loved how he wanted to be close to her baby girl.
Sharon struggled to get up, gripping the edge of the step to pull herself upright. She felt wet between her legs at the same time the pain returned with a rush, running her to ground with nowhere to hide. Sharon groaned, stuck in a bent over position, staring down at the growing red stain on her leggings. An iron force clamping across her back and swollen belly didn’t give her any room to breathe, and by the time it eased, the edges of her vision wavered. “Eff,” she whispered, tentatively reaching down to touch, fingertips coming back covered in blood.
She considered her options for a moment, trying to block the panic from rising in her throat. Something’s wrong. From where she sat at the top of the stairs, it was about thirty feet to their bedroom. She couldn’t remember if the house phone was in the cradle next to the bed, because she and Gunny had the habit of leaving it wherever they were when they hung up on a call. Her other option was down, and it was twenty-eight stair treads to the floor, then another twenty feet to the kitchen where she could see her cell phone lying on the countertop. As if to mock her it rang, buzzing loudly against the tile.
Another cramp threatened, and she leaned back on her elbows again, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad. She was wrong, and when it eased after what seemed an eternity, her hairline was wet with sweat. She looked to the side, surprised to see the big dog right there. “Hey, Tank.” He moved closer, snuffling her face, hot breath and wet tongue swiping across her cheek. “Yuck,” she complained softly, not really minding. Closer yet, and he leaned in, putting his chin on her shoulder, sniffing under the fall of hair at her back. The pain returned, and she groaned, lifting an arm to circle his neck, holding tight while he pressed close.
“Tank, I need a phone.” The contraction had eased, and she pushed herself away from the top of the stairs, working her way on her ass towards the bedroom. Cadence picked that moment to wake from her nap, chortling and babbling away and Sharon watched in wonder when Tank turned with only a single look over his shoulder at her as he moved towards where Cadence was in her crib.
She felt weak, struggling to move a few inches at a time and she grumbled, vowing, “Soon as Kitten is out of me, I’m going to start dancing again.” Tank appeared at the edge
s of her vision and Sharon startled, even more surprised when he stayed beside her even when Cade’s babbling turned into yelling, and then screaming, his attention focused on Sharon instead of the child. “I can’t do the stairs. Can’t.” She was frozen in place by another contraction, arm again looped around Tank’s neck to hold herself up.
It eased, finally, and she got her palms to the floor, scooting backwards, ignoring the swath of red left on the floor. Cadence’s screams grew louder, and Tank shifted, glancing back and forth between Sharon and her room. “Go to our girl, Tank. Good boy.” He disappeared again, and Sharon dropped her chin to her chest as another pain hit. Using the swell to mask the pain of moving, she shoved hard with her feet, trying to gain another few inches and felt another wash of fluid. She stared down at the ring of red spreading out from underneath her for a moment before shoving with her feet again, sliding nearly a foot from the force of her push.
So focused was she on moving she hadn’t realized Tank had gone away until he was back, nudging her with his wide nose. “It’s okay, baby,” she tried to reassure him, hoping to reassure herself, too. He nudged her again, and this time dropped something into her lap. “No playing, honey. I need to get to the phone.”
Looking down she expected to see an enormous rubber duckie, his favorite toy, instead seeing the familiar rectangular shape of the house phone. She looked at him and if she hadn’t hurt so badly, would have laughed, the wrinkles in his forehead were so deep and pronounced they looked like chocolate valleys. “Good boy,” she whispered, lifting the phone with one hand while propping herself up with the other. Thumb to the numbers, she dialed 911 and waited only a moment before the reassuring voice of the emergency operator came on the line.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
Cadence screamed, and Tank barked once, then turned towards her room. The familiar sound of moving furniture sounded, then Cade quietened, and Sharon heard the creak of the crib as the big dog climbed in with his girl.
“Nine-one-one, can you tell me the nature of your emergency?”
Startled by the operator’s repeat of the request, Sharon found her voice stolen by another contraction that she could only groan through. A minute, then another handful of seconds passed without it easing and she felt another gush of fluid between her legs, looking down to see this was clearer, red tinged as the amniotic fluid washed out of her in a wave. “I’m in labor. Something’s wrong,” she finally gritted out, and those words started the process of getting help on the way.
By the time the ambulance got there, Sharon was past any niceties and glad beyond words when she saw Goose’s face hovering above hers. “Cadence,” she gasped, cradling her belly. “The dog won’t let anyone else get to Cade.” She reached up, gripping his arm with all her might. “Call Gunny.”
“I got it, honey,” he reassured her and disappeared, another face popping into view, this of his partner Webber. She heard a thump and a growl, then Goose muttered something, and she was trying to focus on what was happening down the hallway while still attending to the questions Webber had for her about the contractions and bleeding.
“No, I don’t know how far.” She shook her head. “I had six days before my doctor was willing to induce, but I walked a lot today. I didn’t want to do the meds. I’m so tired, Webby.” Movement down the hall and she watched as Goose walked out of Cadence’s bedroom with her in his arms, Tank the Larger pacing at his side, head angled up as he kept his eyes on his tiny charge. Relieved that Cadence was in safe hands, Sharon sagged backwards, barely getting to the floor before everything went dark.
***
Gunny
“Jesus, DeeDee,” he complained, leaning back into the cushions of the couch in her office. “Why would you let that motherfucker back in here?” His callout had been to handle a customer who had barricaded himself in the women’s dressing room. “And I’m still not sure why the service couldn’t have handled it.” When there was a meeting like tonight, Gunny had arranged with a local security firm to provide coverage at the businesses. The same one the Tridents used for their hockey games, and he’d never had an issue with them before.
“That was my call,” DeeDee told him calmly. “When Brent locked the door, I wasn’t sure all the girls were out. I knew he had a gun or thought he had one, anyway.” Her voice turned disgusted. “Why do toy guns look so much like real ones?”
“Well, in your defense, he’d painted over the orange muzzle inset. Man’s got a death wish or something.” He sighed, rolling his neck. “I’m gonna head back to the clubhouse, see if there’s anything left for me to do there.” Pushing off the couch, he stood and stretched. “Man is slippery as a fuckin’ eel,” he muttered, feeling the pull of muscles he’d had to use to contain the offender.
Seated on his bike in the parking lot, he reached into his vest for his phone and came up empty, only then remembering he’d left the clubhouse in such a hurry he hadn’t retrieved his phone from the locked box. “Fuck.” He adjusted the choke and kicked the bike to life, sitting for a minute to let it warm up. Movement from the side surprised him, and his gun had already cleared the holster in the back waistband of his jeans before he got fully turned to face the threat.
DeeDee stood there, hands out to fend off a bullet she’d never see coming and Gunny winced to see how pale her face was. He killed the bike and heeled down the kickstand, standing up as he spoke over her babbled words, “Fuck, DeeDee. I didn’t see you coming. Shit, honey, I’m sorry.”
Time froze around him when what she was trying to say hit home. In one hand she clutched her jacket, and in the other a cell phone. He knew her mouth was still moving, still speaking, but he was stuck in a few seconds ago, hearing her say, “Sharon’s at the hospital. Something’s wrong.”
***
Gunny deftly controlled the sideways slide as he whipped his bike around the final turn in the hospital’s sweeping driveway. Hands clutched his belt on either side of his waist, and he slowed the smallest amount in deference to his passenger, but not much, knowing she could handle the ride. Skidding into a lined no-parking space near a light pole, he killed the bike and had it leaning on the kickstand in seconds, not waiting for DeeDee to dismount before he ran towards the ER entrance.
Glancing around, he was carried back in time more than a decade to the night he’d been called to the same hospital, meeting Ruby in the parking lot and consoling her about the death of Lockee and Winger, DeeDee’s daughter and husband. Known as Melanie at the time, she’d been like a second daughter to the couple, Lockee her best friend. That was before Slate found her and renamed her, claiming her as his old lady, then as his wife. Even at my worst, Melanie was never afraid of me. Like Sharon.
There had to be a hundred motorcycles parked in scattered groups across the wide parking lot, some with men and women standing nearby or leaning against the bike. Every face he could see had the same wide-eyed stare, expressions carefully blank. They were here for him, here to support him, but the only news they had was bad. Or old, he held tight to that thought as he strode through the doors.
Mason stood in the middle of the room, flanked by Deke and Goose. Gunny took one look at the men’s faces, then the blood on Goose’s uniform registered and the room swung wildly around him, loud buzzing sounded in his ears. A painful pressure on his knees made him understand he’d gone down, legs swept out from under him with the fear he’d lost Sharon. DeeDee was on her knees beside him, Mason squatting a couple of feet away. Gradually he heard Deke’s repeated words and swung his head to the side, seeing his best friend with one knee to the floor, hand hovering outstretched. “She’s okay. Sharon’s okay, Gunny. She’s okay. The baby’s okay.”
Staring at Deke through a haze of tears, Gunny croaked out his question, asking for confirmation that the worst hadn’t happened. “Sharon’s okay? Kitten? The baby’s okay, too?’
“Yeah, brother.” Gunny sucked in a hard breath at the affirmation, feeling Deke’s hand settle into place o
n the back of his neck. He pulled Gunny close as his head sunk down, chin resting on his chest while he tried to suck in enough air. Close to his ear, Deke spoke fast and low, imparting as much information as Gunny could take in. “It’s all good, man. Goose delivered Kitten in the ambulance, and Bulldog’s up with Sharon now. They’re both okay. Gonna be okay. Sharon’s good, and the baby’s good, too. Bulldog’s got her, and you know he does.” Bulldog was a biker-friendly doc who had worked on Gunny overseas before settling here in Fort Wayne, giving up his native Toowoomba for the US after being discharged from the Australian Army.
“Cade,” Gunny barked, head lifting suddenly. “Where’s my little girl?”
Goose laughed softly, and Gunny looked to see him pointing towards a corner of the waiting room. “Mercy’s got her. And that over there is the only wrinkle of the evening, apart from Sharon having to call emergency in the first place.” Gunny turned his head to see Deke’s woman, Mercy, bouncing a thank-God oblivious little Cadence on her knee, laughing down at the girl. Lying on the floor in front of the pair was a dark mountain, quiet and unmoving, head lifted alertly. Deke’s little boy’s head was resting on Tank’s splayed paws, and Gunny knew the dog was staring at him over the sleeping toddler. “Hospital has a rule about pets, but I convinced them he was a companion dog and I failed to grab his vest. He wouldn’t leave Cade’s side. I tried to shut the door at your house, and he just grabbed the knob and opened it right back up. Climbed up in the ambulance like he was tired of waiting on my ass.”
Gunny's Pups: #10.25 (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 3
