Mica was listening to Molly talk, broad smile in place, her head leaned against Daniel’s shoulder, her ever-classic look as out of place as her comfort in this rough biker’s bar should be. J.J.’s wheelchair positioned at the end of the table, Molly perched on the end of the bench, near his knees.
The other occupant of the booth surprised him, and he frowned slightly when he recognized Fury, a former Diamante officer who had folded his chapter into the Rebels in Fort Wayne.
Turning to face Mason, he said, “You called me back for business. I’m only here for a few hours, brother, and I’m exhausted. Been up way too fucking long at this point. We need to talk now, before I pass out.”
“This is the business,” Mason said cryptically, laying a hand on his shoulder, and steering him towards the booth.
He held up a hand in greeting as they approached the group and wasn’t surprised when Mica climbed to her feet to hug him. They had known each other for decades, and from her perspective, he was ever a welcome sight, reminding her of the best parts of home and growing up on the circuit. With a grin at Molly, he reached out and shook first J.J. and then Daniel’s hands before he rocked back on his heels, dipping his thumbs into the corners of his back pockets, giving Fury a nod.
Mason stood beside him through that, then snorted, telling an again-seated Mica, “Scoot yer ass over, woman.” He slid in next to her and Duck waited for Molly to stand before he slid in on her side, moving down to give her ample room. This put him side-by-side with Fury and he grumbled, “Coulda moved to a fuckin’ table, boss.”
“Ten minutes,” Mason said and Duck nodded. He could give him ten minutes. The conversation turned from hockey to trucking, to Mica’s business, back to trucking, then over to a start-up catering business Molly was working in conjunction with Road Runner, another Rebel member, this one a highly trained chef.
Duck had wondered about Mason’s ‘ten minutes’ comment, but sure enough, within that timeframe, Red walked in with two boys in tow. It looked as if the older Rebel had been on babysitting duty this afternoon. The success of that duty was clear, as both Molly’s son, Tomas, and Mica’s son, Jon, were covered head-to-toe with dirt, smiles shining out of their filthy faces, sweat-stained circles around their eyes showing where goggles had been.
“What in the world, Red?” Mica called. “Did you boys leave any dirt outside?” She scooted Mason out of the booth and stood, inspecting her son a little closer, swiping at the grime with a dampened thumb.
“We wode a dirt bwike,” Jon reported happily, submitting to his mother’s attempts to clean him up without complaint. “Unka Wed said we was bwadwassas.” He grinned broadly, tipping his head to look around his mom to his dad. “Unka Wed said we was Webels. I fwell down. A wot.”
Duck laughed as Mica’s head angled up, her unsmiling features focused on Red who stood with his hands palm-up in front of him, his grin as wide and bright as Jon’s. “Now, Princess. You know the boys were safe with me.”
“Not fussin’ about the dirt bike, Red,” she said. “Fussin’ about the language, and you know it.” He laughed again, reaching out with one hand to ruffle Jon’s hair, earning himself a tipped-back boy head and an upside-down grin.
Molly laughed, swinging her son into J.J.’s lap, ignoring the dirt that smeared onto their clothing. “Tomas, did you ride a motorcycle?”
“Nawp, was a itty dirt bike, Mom.” A year older than Jon, he tried to sound bored with the activity, but looking at his face, it had obviously been exciting, even at the advanced age of four years old.
Daniel stood, reaching back into the booth to gather Mica’s purse. “Time to take these baby Rebels home, I suspect.” Turning, he glanced at Duck and Fury, gave them a nod and then his gaze landed on Mason. With a grin he said, “Bikes.” He chuckled. “Boys and their toys. See ya around, old man.”
With a snort, Mason nodded. “Chase wants a bike in the worst way. I’ve staved it off so far with the truck, but it’s comin’, I think.” Chase was his son, just turned seventeen and nearly ready to leave home for college…or a musical career, depending on the boy’s mood of the day.
Goodbyes done, Mica, Molly, and J.J. all headed for the exit, but Daniel hovered at the end of the table, gaze fixed on Mason. “How’s Hoss doing?” Duck tipped his chin down, not wanting to look at Mason’s face, but as he shifted, he realized Fury had gone absolutely still next to him, frozen in place. From the corner of his eye, Duck saw a profound pain wash over the man’s features, heard him take in a shallow, unsteady breath as Mason said, “Doin’ about as well as you’d expect, glad as fuck he got his boy back like he did, whole and safe. But he’s still holdin’ onto fear it happened that easy.”
Hoss, veep of the Fort Wayne chapter, was living with a woman who had brought her son into his life. Hope and Sammy. Two months earlier, the boy’s daddy had kidnapped him, and it had been a hard and frightening two days before Hoss and Hope got him back.
“Give him my best,” Daniel said and waited for Mason’s nod. “See ya around.” With a hand lifted in farewell, he turned and walked to his wife, wrapping his arm around her and their son, escorting his family out the door.
Twisting his neck, Fury reached up a hand, smoothing the long strands of his trademark red hair back from his face. He looked up at Mason, then over at Duck and said, “Business here, or private room?”
***
Mason watched Duck’s face as Fury spoke. Smooth and still, his features were expressionless, hiding everything. This was one of the smartest men he knew, able to look at a problem and suss it out without any fucking clues other than what was in front of him. Duck was important to him in many ways, only one of which was a key member of the club. According to Watcher, the man had a woman in Lamesa, a serious someone he hadn’t shared knowledge about with Mason, even when he asked for permission to head out of town for a few days. Those few days had turned into weeks, still with no end in sight if his comment earlier about heading right back out was true.
He needed to get a read on Duck about the girl and how things sat with Watcher’s boys. Not something to be talked about over the phone, or even via video chat, he had wanted the man in his house and in front of his face when he asked the questions, determined to talk it through until things were answered to his satisfaction. Not that he would ever worry about Duck’s loyalty, but there were a lot of clubs out west who were not friendly to the Rebels and every nuance of his insight would be valuable.
“Here is good,” he said smoothly and Fury nodded.
Turning back to Duck, Mason decided to get the hardest questions out there on the table. “Watcher called,” he said, and then paused. With a sigh, he said, “Told me you weren’t covered, brother. Said it chilled his bones to see you without your colors, man. Wanna talk me through the situation he found you inside? Tell me how he handled himself? Man called, pissed as hell, until I talked it through with him. I need your take on it, brother.”
Fury, having heard only the parts about the woman, jerked back in the seat next to Duck, physically reacting to the words, twisting his torso to look at Duck, eyebrows raised.
Duck snorted a laugh and Mason tensed, knowing the tension in his stance would be a clear response to what some would count a deadly insult. “Prez. Brother. Watcher was cool. He got we didn’t know he had a charter in town. His boys were cool, too.”
Mason frowned and shook his head. “No, he fucking was not.”
“Yeah, he was, Prez. I told you I’d be wearing on the plane, but once I hit the ground, I’d pack them away. Respect, man. We vetted my visit with him and he didn’t raise any questions. We did not vet my visit with other local clubs. I saw him, stopped and paid my respects. Met some of his men, put faces to names with some we’ve dealt with long distance. There is no shit that’s going to come back to roost on my brothers, my club. He was cool, totally.”
Duck shook his head, reading into the silence this was serious and Mason watched the muscles in his forearms and hands bulge,
fisted balls at the end of his arms. “I would not fucking disrespect him that way, Mason. Soldiers are allies, a club we depend on when in need. To fuck with them is to fuck with our club, which is not something I would do.” He thumped his chest with one of those balled fists, grinding out the words, “Rebel Wayfarers forever,” and Mason and Fury both repeated the answering phrase, the words ringing out as if they sat in church with a half-hundred brothers, “Rebels forever.”
“Hand to my patch, Prez. It wasn’t until I realized it was the Southern Soldiers who held the town that I knew I’d be cool with my vest on. I didn’t go to Lamesa for club business, so for what I needed to take care of, I did not need the push or sway of the club. But knowing Watch’s men were in town, I slipped my cut back on and been wearing it ever since.”
Mason frowned. He wanted to move the conversation forward, but there was still the question of the woman. With Duck gone, Mason had been working with Fury and Tater, a displaced chapter president now in Chicago. They were concentrating on business, trying to track down the name of a person Deacon had sent to Lalo for mentoring. Deacon was the former president of Mason’s first club, a brotherhood Mason had killed, much as Fury had his. He and Fury had more in common than most people knew at first glance, or even after prolonged study.
Lalo was now a gypsy member of the Diamantes, stripped of both his chapter and his office by war with the Southern Soldiers and the Rebels. The same club Fury had left in his dust. Mason knew Lalo and Fury had a long history of mutual hatred but did not yet know all the ins-and-outs of their relationship. He wanted that knowledge, needed it if he were going to trust Fury with any parts of his Rebels. Patience would bring him what was necessary, but with the way things were headed across the country, Mason wasn’t certain they’d bought enough time to be patient.
“So, no issues from their side? No disrespect?” It sounded like it was what Watcher had said at the end of their conversation, a misunderstanding. Still, he was glad to have brought Duck home. If he admitted it, he was relieved the man came without argument, given the length of time he had been gone, and his elusive responses about the woman.
“Not a chance, Prez. Club comes first, man. I wouldn’t have sat on anything like that. Woulda brought it back to you immediately, brother.” Duck’s voice rang with conviction.
Time to pressure him, see what the truth was behind his trip. Here we go.
“And your Brenda don’t hold any place in that line?” Mason’s unexpected question jarred Duck, seemed to take the wind out of the man’s sails, but then he straightened, looking Mason in the face. Fearless, not seeming to hide anything, this was what Mason expected from his men. My brothers. “A woman who’s met Soldiers standing on their lot, but I learned her fucking name from Watcher, not you? Pussy getting in the way of your thinking, Duck? She don’t hold point on that waving line?”
“Different conversation, boss. I need to talk to you about making some adjustments in my place within the club, but it’s not for today.” Fury made a noise and they both swung to glance at him, then back at each other and their gazes locked. “And, brother…Mason, you know how I feel about you, but you talk about her like that again and we will have a problem.” Fuck, Mason thought.
“That still don’t sound like club comes first, brother. Might want to wrap your mind around today being the right time.” Mason’s tone was cautionary, telling Duck without words his next comments needed to be better considered than his last.
Their gazes stayed locked and Mason felt the full force of Duck’s stare, his eyes darkening with passion or anger. After a long moment, Duck barked out, “Fuck. Okay, now it is. Let’s talk.” He sighed heavily and leaned back, lifting one hand, palm up, a supplicant’s gesture. “Brother. I’ve never hated a conversation more than this, never had dread for anything like I have these past hours. You know the club is my life, tied around my soul in a way it can’t be untangled without killing me, Prez. You know the club comes first for me. Always has, always will.
“But you, out of all men who wear our patch, know how family counts in the balance of our lives. Unbalanced we will fail and fall, every time. Brenda is a woman from my past, and I’ve unearthed some hard truths these past weeks, not the least of which is a ten-year-old boy.” Mason jolted, shocked, feeling an instant of anger and panic at the quiet declaration. Fear and wrath on his brother’s behalf, knowing what those words might mean. Ignoring his reaction, Duck forged on, “Elias, a son hidden from me by circumstances. Not deception, thank God, but it’s still a decade with the boy I’ll never get back.” He looked up at Mason, fear and sorrow on his features, tension in his pose as he leaned forward, forearms to the edge of the table.
This clearly was hard for him to say, pain-filled because the rawness was so new. “Elias is my blood, Brenda his mother, now my old lady. My heart is in West Texas, brother. It’s pounding, beating in my chest right now, but yearning west.”
Mason’s head tipped back involuntarily, chin raising in response because Duck was right. He did know about things like this. His own boy had been kept from him for twelve years. Chase was nearly a teenager before Mason ever laid eyes on him, that happy event orchestrated by none other than Watcher, a man he still knew without any doubt would always have his back. Now knowing Watcher was in Duck’s hometown at the same time this kind of fuckery happened, it all struck him somewhat strange.
Duck leaned back and kept talking, not realizing where Mason’s thoughts had gone. “I’m Rebel to the core, but with what I’ve found out about Ray and his shit, and then finding out about Eli…I’m torn. I was thinking…hadn’t really planned on asking you for some time. But it seems right, so I guess, since you called me back, here I am.”
Duck sucked in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through pursed lips. “Fuck, this is hard.” His mouth twisted with sorrow and he slowly nodded before looking up at Mason, fingers curling in to his palms, fists pressed to the table, fighting his own emotions. “Prez, I’m here, formally asking permission to step away from where you’ve had me for years. It’s never been an official office, so unless you say so, I don’t expect I’ll need to speak up in church. You’ve needed me, and I’ve done everything asked. Every time.”
Duck dropped his eyes and Mason clenched his jaw tight, holding in his words with effort. This had to be Duck’s ask, and hard as it was, he had to give the man time to get to the end. “I found out some things about my family, about myself, Prez. I can’t sort my shit from way up here, and some of what I found might not be able to leave Lamesa.
His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “Boss, I don’t know when I can come back.” He shifted his weight, glancing up and then looking back down again. “Might be years.” Bringing his head up, he stared at Mason. Accepting the weight of that intent look, Mason locked eyes with this man who meant so much to him. Voice gaining strength, he went on, “Might cost me my patch, and I fully recognize that. So, here we fucking go. I need some time, boss. And, however you tell me I have to take it, I will. You drop me to nomad status, I’m good with that. I understand I can’t have the privileges of a chapter without supporting that chapter, and charter.”
He sucked in a breath, and gave words to the fear Mason could see dancing across his face. “You tell me gypsy is my only option, and you have to cut me…” His voice trailed off and he looked down at the table, then back up at Mason, his words ringing true and real, offering everything. “Then that’s the way it is. Love the club, you know that is fucking truth spoken. But, Mason…brother. Patch on my back don’t matter for what’s between us, brother. You’ll always be my president, my brother, my friend.”
“Fuck you.” Mason said this immediately, automatically, the words rolling easily off his tongue, granting some measure of peace to his brother at the instant rejection of the idea. And, as he spoke, he watched the fear and tension flee from Duck’s face, relief and surprise taking root. Fuck, he actually expected I’d cut him, Mason thought, intensely glad he had pushed to
bring his brother home for this. Duck’s fisted hands pushed flat on the table, corded muscles jerking under the skin of his arms. An ease spread through the man and Mason watched him gulp in breath after breath, deep and shuddering, chest expanding with each, wordlessly releasing the pent-up anxiety.
“Ain’t cuttin’ you, Duck. Nomad is an honor, and you fucking know it. Means we…means I trust you to hold the club close, even without folks to help you keep your footing. Nomad is a trust from me to you that you’ll do right, be right, no matter the pressures. Risky for you, because you fuck up out of territory, or even within it, you ain’t got anyone to cover your back. Nomad roaming sound like what you need? You got it. No question in my mind, I’ll keep you however I can have you, brother. Watcher won’t have a problem with it, but there’s more than just Soldiers in the west, Duck.”
With a nod, Duck got out, “I know, Prez. Same reason I was runnin’ anon before seeing Watch. Need to keep one eye in front, see what’s comin’ at ya, and one eye in back, see what’s sneaking up on your ass.”
“Yeah, well, for a couple weeks you’ll have a brother with you, so we’ll sort out negotiated visits. Take the sting out of their skin when they learn you’re in town. Lay the reality out for anyone wanting to know what Rebels are doing in West Texas.” Mason leaned back in his chair, even Fury didn’t know the play, and this secret knowledge made Mason grin. “You ain’t flyin’ back, Duck. Roll your iron, brother. You can make a fast trip of it, and then you’ll have your scoot there so you at least ain’t got shit in your head to deal with from being caged all the time.”
Duck stared at him, eyes narrowed. “Why’s it matter if I got my ride there? Won’t lie to you. There were a dozen times over the past week alone I wanted my fucking scoot like a son of a bitch. Not having it was like a toothache, throbbing and aching. Didn’t want to poke at it too hard, make it flare wide and hot ‘cause I know it tweaks me. Makes me a bear to live with sometimes. It’s a good idea, and I’m all for it. Hell, my Bee would probably appreciate not having that in her bed.”
Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) Page 18
