Hiding in Plain Sight

by Hornbuckle, J. A.

  I saw Trey sink into the other couch as I moved around the room, setting it to rights, with the brown-eyed biker watching me the entire time. I didn't know what to think of this guy. He wore the same vest as Brand had worn last night, the vest I'd wadded up and thrown, still splattered with the blood from his cut lip, into the corner of the laundry room. Which made Trey a badass. But outside of his language, he wasn't acting like what I thought one would act like.

  After getting the room as wiped down as I could, I leaned on the back of the couch where Trey sat, his eyes now on Brand.

  "Can I ask you something?" I started and saw the other man nod. "Why are you here?"

  "Heard Zip say our boy was gonna be corrected. Then overheard who was gonna be doing the correcting." He shrugged before turning his face to mine. "Came to see the outcome."

  "You know the people that did this?" I cried, throwing a hand towards the beautiful man that had been beaten to a bloody pulp.

  "Yes," was the reply that came back without hesitation.

  "Do you know why they did it?" I asked again, feeling my heartbeat kick back up.

  "Yes," I heard again.

  I stared into Trey's eyes almost afraid to ask my next question. I swallowed deeply and looked at my husband, my Brand, feeling a pang inside. "Does he?"

  "Yes."

  My eyes prickled, and I felt a huge lump forming in my throat and wondered why I felt the need to cry. Standing, I went to the dining room table and grabbed the back of one of the dining room chairs, my back to the room. To the asshole who'd told me that both he and Brand knew exactly who'd done the damage and why.

  One lone tear escaped my rapidly blinking eyes.

  "Can you tell me?" I asked without turning around.

  "Not my story to tell, pretty girl," I heard from behind me, closer than where he'd been sitting on the couch.

  "I have a name. You can call me Reese or Mrs. Jovanovic, if you prefer," I announced roughly.

  "I'll remember that," and found Trey was next to me, pulling out the wooden chair and sitting down. "Actually, I wanted to remind him no matter how he feels, he needs to be at the bar-be-que day after tomorrow. Since you're with him now, you're gonna have to attend as well."

  "He's not in any shape to go anywhere," I said, slipping in a chair one down from where our guest sat. "Not for a few days, anyway."

  "Yeah, I get that," he sighed and glanced down at the tabletop. "But he still has to be there, Reese. It's important that he shows. Important that the club can see him up on his feet after getting…," his voice paused. "After what happened last night."

  I glanced over at the couch at my man. What had I done by hitching myself to a biker? Did I go from the fat of the frying pan into the fire in my desperation to get away from Louie? My lower lip started feeling bruised from all the tugging I was doing on it.

  "I need to call Brand's brother," I stated, pushing myself to my feet.

  "If you've got the keys I'll put the motorcycle in the garage," Trey offered as he stood. "You might want to let his sister know he's okay."

  I jerked. Sister? Brand hadn't mentioned a sister. "Yeah, I'll do that."

  Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I called Atin and explained as much as I knew and then asked about a sister.

  "I think that was his excuse to be away from the Hellions," Atin said, his sigh clear in our connection. "Do not worry, our Reese. Just play along for the moment and stay in touch."

  "Uhm, Atin?" I could hear he was getting ready to end the call, but I had more to talk about. "I need a favor."

  *.*.*.*.*

  Brand hurt in places he didn't even know had nerves.

  The boys had worked him over good and the only thing he was grateful for is was that they'd deliberately avoided his crotch when they were beating him. He'd known better than to fight back and had used his hands by instinct to protect his face. Until So Cal had caught his kidney while Patch had landed a hard punch to his stomach. The force of both, hitting at the same time, had snapped his head back, and Mile's fist landed on his eye instead of his jaw.

  He'd gone down twice and each time, they'd dragged him back up to continue what they started. By the third time, they left him alone and had gone back into the clubhouse.

  Zip, that old crusty motherfucker, had watched the entire scene without saying a word. Just puffed on that goddamn cigar that Brand had never seen him without. When the boys had moved away, the older man had leaned down.

  "You gonna live?" the raspy voice had asked.

  Brand hadn't been able to speak but lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

  "You gonna take off again without getting permission?" came the second question.

  Brand's answer was another hand lift. He didn't know how long he laid there on the concrete or how much time it took to straddle his bike. He did know that even going at such a slow speed, he still felt every bump, dip and uneven portion of the road. And he remembered thinking that he hadn't want to go home. Hadn't wanted Reese to see him hurt and in so much pain.

  But his new wife handled it well. Had taken care of him, had carried out Atin's instructions in order to assess his condition, and then do what she could to make him feel better. Her hands had been gentle, and she cooed to him more than once as she worked. Telling him she knew it hurt but whatever she was doing would make it better.

  He shouldn't have been surprised at either her ministrations or her words, but he was. In Brand's mind, how easily she'd slipped into a caretaker role let him know she'd done this before or had it done to her. Or both. Which had told him about what she and her mother had gone through more than her words ever could.

  Left to his own devices, he heard her talking with Trey, but he couldn't catch what they were saying. Trey. Why had he shown up this morning? And why, for fuck's sake, had Reese gone ballistic when the biker had begun to feed him the pain meds?

  Brand kept his eye closed and drifted. He heard the jangle of keys and the front door open and close then the sound of her low voice speaking though he couldn't make sense of what she was saying.

  He must have fallen asleep again because he started awake at the feel of her hand on his forehead.

  "Hey, baby," she called softly. "Atin says we need to get you to move. You've been laying in one position for twelve hours. He also said we need to get you to the bathroom to see if there's blood in your pee."

  Yeah, he knew the drill and that would've been exactly what he would've advised if the roles had been reversed. But the fucking thought of moving any part of his body made him cringe.

  "Trey gone?" he asked, almost not recognizing the sound of his own voice. Though his mouth still hurt, he felt like he was enunciating better than when he'd first come home.

  "Yeah. Do you need some help sitting up?"

  "No," he answered, although he wasn't exactly sure and wouldn't know until he tried.

  Their short trip to the downstairs bathroom seemed to take forever. Between the stops and starts of his shuffling steps, trying to hold himself steady against whatever piece of furniture was available, their progress was slower than slow.

  "Do you need help with this?" she asked as she moved her shoulder from underneath his arm to give him enough room to enter.

  He shook his head and got another wave of dizziness for his effort. Holding onto the vanity, Brand wedged himself between the sink and toilet before hooking a thumb in the waistband of his sleep pants. He turned his head and saw his draga turn her back to the room to give him privacy to do what he needed to do. That small courtesy made him grin although the action caused a small flash of pain to his still swollen mouth.

  "Don't flush it though," she warned from the doorway. "Atin says we've got to check it out when you're finished."

  He was washing his hands and gingerly washing his face before he heard her speak again.

  "Good, only ribbons of blood. Atin said ribbons were good but if it was any more than that, we needed to get to the hospital." She came to stand next to him after
she flushed and tilted her head until it rested against his arm. Their eyes caught in the mirror before his gaze went to his face. Fuck! He was a mess and almost unrecognizable between the swelling and new bruises that were a deep, dark purple.

  "Does it hurt as bad as it looks?" he heard her naturally sultry voice ask as she rubbed her cheek on his shoulder.

  "No." He reached for the towel and felt a sharp pang in his cracked ribs. He lifted the arm she'd been pressing against and looped it around her. She held herself steady with one hand on his back and one on the vanity as he tried to pull her against him. "Hold me," he instructed.

  "I don't want to hurt you, baby." He saw her chin raise up to his face.

  "Miss feeling you next to me." Which was the longest sentence he'd been able to say since the beat down. Her hand on his back slowly moved and he felt her unhurriedly begin to caress his bare skin.

  "I miss it too," he thought she'd murmured before she spoke in a louder voice. "Let's get you back. Or do you want to go upstairs? Do your healing in bed, maybe?"

  While bed sounded good, Brand wanted to be close to her. "Where will you be, my Reese?"

  "Wherever you are, my Brand," she said back and the beauty of her smile caught on his heart.

  "What was with the pills and Trey?" he asked her as she walked him back to the sofa.

  "I think Atin has a problem with trusting outsiders." He felt her shrug as she spoke, her face taking on a sheepish look. "And I might've overreacted a bit."

  Brand knew better than to chuckle in order to protect both his ribs and his lacerated lip. But he tucked the memory inside in order to tease both his wife and his brother about later.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  "The speed limit is forty," Brand advised.

  "I know that!" I was driving the Tundra as we made our way to the HMC compound for the bar-b-que Trey had demanded we attend. I was making an appearance under protest.

  "Then why are you only going," I felt him lean over the console. "Twenty-five."

  "Because the damn road is bumpy and your ribs are still bad," I yelled in answer. But that wasn't the only reason I wasn't driving faster. The combination of his ribs, my fear of being in the middle of a biker club as well as driving what amounted to a tank, in my opinion, had me completely on edge.

  I felt his hand slide beneath my hair and gently capture the back of my neck. His thumb moved on the piece of sensitive skin just below my ear, and my thoughts took a different direction.

  "I am healing, draga," he advised, his tone sliding into the sexy range. "And you are a very good driver."

  "Thank you." His words, along with that slow stroking thumb, helped bring my shoulders down from my ears as I calmed. "So, is there anything I should know before we hit this Shindig Rooskie?"

  I glanced at him when I heard his soft chuckle.

  "Shindig Rooskie? I do not know this phrase."

  "A fiesta, a party, a blow-out that is wilder than anything you can imagine. Shindig Rooskie," I clarified reluctantly, turning my eyes back to the road. The swelling had gone down and the bruises had already started to turn a shade of green that matched his eyes. Even with the fading rainbow on his face, my man was still hot.

  "The club has a bar-be-que once a month where every available member attends with their families," he explained. "It is a chance for the club to blow off some steam."

  "Families? You mean like with kids and stuff?" For whatever reason, I never thought of people with kids when I imagined a motorcycle club.

  His hand on my neck shifted my hair to lay over my farthest shoulder. "I love your neck, my beauty."

  I glanced at him again to see what had caused him to change the course of our conversation. His eyes were trained on the passenger side mirror. My eyes moved to the rearview one and I saw the blue sedan which had streaked by us earlier going the opposite direction, flip a u-turn and start back towards us.

  "Do you think it's them?" I asked, all remnants of my calm shredding at the sight of that car. That damn car.

  "Here," Brand said, handing me a pair of dark sunglasses. "Put these on quickly."

  I shoved the huge, heavy frames on and settled them on my nose as my legs started to shake. "How much further, baby?"

  "At the next street, turn left and the compound will be a half-block down on our right," he advised, reaching and turning the rearview mirror so he could see out the back window without having to twist.

  "I'd forgotten about them," I mumbled, making the turn he'd requested. "With everything else, Louie and his ass-clowns completely slipped my mind."

  "We will be safe once we're behind the gates," I heard Brand say as he removed his hand from my neck. "Once through, follow the driveway and park behind the furthest building."

  I was opening the passenger door when he picked up the conversation from before.

  "I do not know what the women will talk about but just be yourself," he started, unhitching his seatbelt and beginning to shift himself towards me. "And remember, you are under no obligation to discuss anything with them you do not want them to know."

  My head tilted as I worked to decipher what he was trying to say.

  "What is between Jovanovics stays between Jovanovics." He was watching my face as he spoke, obviously looking for some kind of reaction.

  I shrugged and nodded before I grabbed his forearms, intent on getting him out of the truck with as little pain as possible. Though, it was clear he had a different idea when his hand went around my waist and pulled me between his spread thighs. His face was inches from mine as he stopped and searched my eyes before capturing my mouth in a deep, searing kiss. The kind of kiss we hadn't shared since he'd been beaten. It was a devastating in its thoroughness, causing my body to ignite as soon as his tongue hit mine. It had been too long since we'd played and everything within me was screaming for the release I knew only he and his special way of pleasuring could provide.

  I wasn't the only one who groaned nor the only one clutching, trying to get as close as we could be with him still in the truck.

  He pulled away and lifted his head at the catcalls coming from behind me.

  "We will only stay as long as we need to, my Reese, yes?"

  I was more than good with that timetable. Just long enough to make an appearance but not long enough to tire him out.

  My body had plans for my husband that had nothing to do with other people or a cook-out. Plans that it wanted to happen just as soon as humanly possible.

  *.*.*.*.*

  Brand made his way to the group of men by the big smoking barrel of the club's homemade version of a grill and was handed a bottle of ice cold beer.

  "Brothers," he rumbled, lifting his chin as he chugged the brew. He was uncertain how he was to going to be greeted but knew he'd taken his punishment and still shown up, so all should be good.

  "Brand," he heard from a half-dozen voices.

  "There are hearts breaking all over town tonight," he heard one of the younger men, he thought it was Dare, announce. "Face lookin' like shit and bringin' a hot girl with him that nobody knows."

  "Shit," Pagan drawled. "At least now, maybe some of the rest of us can get us some."

  Brand tried to hide his smile by taking another long pull at the bottle in his hand. It was a standing joke with the men younger than himself that it took little to no effort to get himself a companion for the evening.

  "And she's a looker, ain't she?" Donny asked and every eye in the circle turned to ogle Brand's wife. Brand tried to see his little beauty through their eyes. The strange haircut and hair color made an exotic statement with the large earrings and heavy, smoky eye makeup. Her lilac t-shirt with stripes of sequins in the same color, showed just a shadow of cleavage beneath her jean jacket but when paired with the form fitting, well-worn jeans only showcased a body he'd prefer to have hidden under a burqa. The plat formed heels, making her legs look longer and shapelier somehow only completed the picture of a strong confident and beautiful biker's lady.

/>   With a jaundiced eye, Brand was wondering if they'd done their job a little too well in hiding her in plain sight. "We are married," he announced with little fanfare and a bit too loudly.

  All eyes came back to him, most of them incredulous.

  "When?"

  "Fuck!"

  "Jay-sus. The horn-dog is married?"

  "He's shittin' us, right?"

  Brand didn't say anything in reply and was surprised to find his bottle empty. "I thought it was customary for you Americans to offer congratulations to newlyweds," he drawled, looking around at the group who all held shocked expressions but to different degrees.

  "Oh, yeah. Congrats, man."

  "Best wishes, Dude."

  "Fuck, married?" Bishop broke ranks, still caught up in the thought of his mentor and the club's sexual icon being off the market. Jay bumped his shoulder and he sputtered, "Yeah. Congrats."

  "Need to talk to my boy," Trey announced. "Don't you fellas have someplace else to be?"

  "Supposed to work the grill," Silo mumbled.

  "Then you can stay. But the rest of you…" Trey's voice was as deep as thunder as he swept his eyes around the slowly dwindling circle. After the last of them left to join the ladies, Trey's eyes met Brand's, and he led them to one of the long tables on the other side of the grill. "How you doing?" he asked the taller man with a chin lift.

  "Better," Brand said. "Healing."

  "Who are the ass-hats in the navy sedan outside the gates?" Trey asked, reaching for a chip in one of the bags scattered across one of the picnic tables.

  Brand felt his stomach drop but knew he had to be as truthful as possible without giving away too much. "Milosevic's hirelings."

  It was almost too slight to miss, but Brand caught Trey's eyebrow movement before the question came. "For you or for her?"

  Brand thought quickly. How much did he need to tell? Then it occurred to him that what he'd assured her earlier was the truth. What was between them stayed between them. They'd been a part of one another since before they'd made it legal. "Does it matter?"