Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  He had to tell Mason, and that would break him. If he lost his family, he didn’t know what he’d do, and this was an offence that could...should, yeah...should get his rocker cut the fuck off. He’d been in such a rush to taste her last night he hadn’t considered things, like what the club would say. At least he hadn’t fucked her; he’d stopped short of that.

  Feeling the trailer move, he assumed she was up finally. He still had no idea what to say to her. He couldn’t let her believe this would lead to anything, but he didn’t want to make her embarrassed at what had happened. It had been beautiful, but he had to be clear this was a one-time thing, not something that could repeat. Turning to face the living quarters door as it pushed open, he tried to keep his face impassive.

  She stepped out of the trailer and smiled politely at him, reaching over to pet the horse. “Did you eat yet?” she asked. He felt his mouth drop open, but couldn’t form words. She blushed deeply, the color moving swiftly up her neck and into her cheeks when she realized what she’d said and clarified, “Breakfast, I meant. Did you eat breakfast yet?” She tucked her chin down and turned, walking quickly away from the trailer, calling over her shoulder, “Gonna see what the stands have ready; I’m hungry.”

  Shaking himself, Slate called, “Essa, you okay?”

  She turned around, considering him for a second, and then she stalked back towards him, “Yes, I’m okay, thanks for asking. So...let’s get this out of the way now, okay?” She came to a stop in front of him, and put her hands on her hips. “Slate, that was real sweet last night, but I have to focus on my competition this season, so it’s not gonna happen again.” She lightly shrugged in an attempt to be casual. “In fact, if we could agree to not say anything to Mica about what happened, I’d appreciate it. I don’t want her to worry about me getting into trouble with the first hot guy I see. Now, I’m hungry. I’m going to get food. Do you want anything?”

  She turned on her heel and walked away from him, heading to the fairgrounds. Slate walked fast, catching up to her with his long strides. He waited until he was beside her to answer, “I could eat,” he said, pausing for a beat and watching her stumble a little, “breakfast.”

  His phone rang near lunchtime, and he felt the blood leave his face when he saw the caller ID come through—Mason was calling. Slate and Essa were sitting in the shade beside the trailer, having a comfortable conversation as they watched the other contestants working their horses.

  He answered the phone with, “Yeah,” and heard Mason ask, “Slate, got a report for me, brother? Was it quiet last night after I left with Mica?”

  Slate responded, “It was good—quiet, but good.” Fuck him, he had just lied to his Prez, his brother, his family...the only family he’d ever really had. He closed his eyes, feeling sick to his stomach. Mason was talking, but Slate couldn’t hear him through the roaring in his own ears, and he asked, “What was that, Prez? I didn’t catch it.”

  Mason laughed low, and repeated himself, “Slate, I think you should stick with her, travel for a couple of weeks with her. We still don’t know where Nelms is. Steve’s looking, but he hasn’t found anything yet.” God no, no, no...he thought, shaking his head. He listened to Mason continue, “I’ve reached out to MCs along the route, and they are watching and will be a resource if needed.” Fuck, he couldn’t do this.

  Keeping his eyes closed, Slate warned Mason, “Not sure I’m the right one for this, Prez. I got something to tell you.” He felt Essa land a hard kick to the side of his leg, and opened his eyes to see her shaking her head frantically at him, her wide eyes in her white face silently willing him to not say anything else.

  Mason barked out a clipped, “What?” and Slate closed his eyes again before continuing.

  “Last night, I messed up, Prez, with Essa.”

  He heard a heavy, disappointed sigh on the line, then just one word, “Bad?”

  “Enough,” Slate responded in kind, knowing Mason would get what he was saying.

  There was a ringing silence on the line for the longest time, then Mason asked, “Not telling Mica then?”

  Slate gritted his teeth and took in a sharp breath; Mason wasn’t asking for his colors, and that was fucking amazing given his transgression. “Not if I can help it.”

  Mason spoke again, using the familiar club address intentionally, making sure that Slate knew the full extent of his responsibilities, “Brother, if you don’t go, if we send someone else, she’ll know something is up. You better get it the fuck under control and fucking keep it that way.”

  Slate opened his eyes and saw Essa looking at him with tears welling in her beautiful eyes, slowly shaking her head back and forth as her mouth and face tightened in sadness. “I got this, Prez. I won’t fuck up again,” Slate was reassuring all three of them with that statement. “It won’t happen again.”

  As fast as he hung up the phone, Essa’s sense of betrayal and sadness turned into anger, and she yelled loudly at him, “I cannot believe you did that. You are such an asshole.”

  He expected more from her, and so he waited for a second before he responded. He needed to explain, and wanted to be sure she was listening, “Are you finished? It was Mason, and he doesn’t want to say anything; he won’t say anything, but he’s my Brother, the president of my club, and I have to respect that. He has to know when I fuck up, when he can’t depend on me, but no one will tell Mica unless you do. I promise. Sorry, little girl, it seems you are stuck with me for a while. I’ll be traveling with you for a couple of weeks.” He shook his head, stood, and took a long step away from the trailer, thinking this would be a long ass trip.

  ***

  Fourteen long days later, Slate smiled grimly as he remembered that prophetic thought. It had indeed been a long couple of weeks, long and hard in a myriad of ways. Essa quickly got over her anger about him still traveling with her, and she determined that in order to run him off, torture was her best weapon.

  Every single night they spent in the trailer, he took the floor, lying on top of the blankets as he had that first night. But unlike that night, he didn’t tease conversation out of her, because she was otherwise occupied. He would hear the shifting of her clothing against the sheets, and then that soft gasp when her fingers first found her clit.

  Every night, he had to listen to her touch herself while she was only a few inches away from him. He would hear her breathing change and quicken as she moved towards her climax, feeling the trailer shift slightly as her legs stirred restlessly against the mattress. Her soft panting as she rode the wave back down, and then he would hear Essa’s husky voice taunt, “Sweet dreams, Slate,” making sure he knew exactly what she was doing.

  Several nights, they stopped at a hotel and he paid for a room. He would escort her to the room, and then return to the trailer, claiming the bunk for the night. That first night, he hadn’t counted on how the pillows and mattress would smell of her, the soft, sweet scent from her shampoo, and the musky scent of her sex on the sheets. He had not slept well that night...not at all.

  She found every opportunity to torture him, even in simple things, like when he used the hotel bathroom for a shower. There were a number of times he’d exited the bathroom to see her in the middle of the bed, sitting cross-legged in a tight, little tank top and sheer panties. She would simply sit and grin at him, knowing it aroused him to see her so nearly unclothed, her shoulders and arms bare, her legs and hips spread open for inspection, barely covered.

  He’d finally gotten wise and now confiscated both room keycards before showering. That lack of access kept her somewhat at bay, and gave him a few minutes of peaceful solitude. He shook his head, at least until she figured out a new way to play with him. He spent half of every day painfully hard, and the other half, he was angry with frustration. Mason called regularly to get updates, but had shown continued trust in Slate by not questioning his behavior again. When Essa brushed past him in the trailer, or pushed between him and the gelding, he held onto that trust in his mind, tr
ying to do the honorable thing. She was often amused by his restraint, and would grin at him in a way that told him she knew how close to the edge she could bring him.

  Carrying a bucket of water back to the trailer, he thought about last night and something that’d happened. He’d woken in the middle of the night to a light playing slowly over the ceiling, shining up from the mattress. He heard Essa’s soft voice whispering under her breath, and when he listened closely, it sounded like names and numbers.

  The light paused and held on a picture of a beautiful young girl with long, dark hair caught in a side braid. It showed her mounted on top of a gigantic sorrel; the horse was so big that the saddle on his back almost looked like a toy. Slate thought the girl pictured riding it seemed much too small to control such an animal.

  The camera had caught them as they rounded a barrel, frozen in time as the horse turned back hard on his hocks. Both sets of eyes were already looking ahead, completely focused on the next obstacle. Essa whispered, “Michaela Trenton Scott, The Governor, 1997, winning junior nationals in Vegas,” and Slate realized she was naming the people and horses in the pictures.

  Now, in the light of day, he stepped into the living quarters, and looked up and around until he found the picture of Mica. He smiled at how young and determined she looked in that picture, but he could see hints of the woman she would become too. This picture was taken before Nelms had tainted her life, before he took so much from her.

  Slate’s smile faded away, thinking about his conversation with Mason earlier. Mason had growled, “Steve got a lock, Slate; we got a fucking lock on the bastard. His stock company is contracted for the Texarkana Rodeo, just like we hoped. There’s no chatter about him on the grid, and strangely, no chatter about you on the circuit. Nothing to warn him off, so we think he’s going to show, brother.”

  “Fuck me,” he’d said softly, “you really think he’s coming here, Prez? It’s a small rodeo, smaller than the last three have been for sure. He can’t hide here, man; it’s pretty wide open, and all the contestants know Essa. I hope the fuck he does; I’m ready to hit my own bed, man. This fucking babysitting is tiresome. I’ll be ready. I am ready.”

  This was the last event before Essa headed back home for a couple weeks, just outside Longview, Texas. They’d pull out in the morning, he’d see her safely back to her parents’ place, and then hop a plane home. Home, sweet fucking home.

  Sighing heavily, Slate looked back up at the picture of Mica one more time, and had turned to step out of the trailer when he heard Essa’s voice on the other side of the wall. “Molly, I’m telling you—you can do this, sis.” Her voice slid a half-octave up. “No, you can’t tell Mom and Dad, not yet.” Molly was Mica’s little sister; he wondered what the fuck was going on with her.

  He heard Essa sigh, and then heard her slide along the metal as she leaned her back against the trailer. “It’s only been five weeks; how can you even know for sure? Molly, hold tight. You can do this; I know you can. You are one of the strongest women I know, and once I tell Mica, she can help us.” There was a pause, but he couldn’t make out any words from the other end. “No, I didn’t get a chance; she has like an army of bikers that hover around her all the time. I’m going to call her tonight, and I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  She must’ve shifted and pushed herself upright, because he felt the trailer rock a little. “Nelms hasn’t been at any of the events yet, but I’m looking for him to show here. Molly, I swear to God—I’ll kill him if I see him.” Her voice had dropped, the tone terse and heavily accented in her vehemence as she talked over Molly’s voice, which had risen to a shriek Slate could nearly make out through the phone. “I will too goddamn well kill him. He can’t get away with this.” Essa was silent, and he heard her footsteps move alongside the trailer, so he stepped out just as she rounded the vehicle.

  Startled, she looked up at him. “Hey, I’m gonna warm up for practice.” Slate was still mulling over what he had overheard, and tried to figure out where Essa fit into everything. Clearly, something had happened to Molly, and the Rebels had inadvertently gotten in the way of what Essa had intended to tell Mica. Just as clearly, it was Nelms at the root of the problem, as he’d been for so long.

  He looked at Essa, reading her lying intent in her face, and he thought it was time to pull back the veil a little. “Little girl,” he held on those words for a bare second, waiting for her to focus fully on him, “if I find Nelms first, you won’t have to do a fucking thing.” She paled, and must have realized he overheard her conversation. Slate watched the war written on her face as she decided how to proceed with him, with trust or lies. He knew which he preferred, but wanted it to be her decision, so he waited silently and patiently.

  “He’s going to be here,” she clipped. “I feel it.”

  Slate nodded proudly at her, knowing she’d made a conscious decision to trust him. “Good girl. Yes, he’s contracted to bring the bulls in tonight. I have reinforcements on the way, because I believe he’s going to show too, but before I let you get on Breezy,” he padded slowly towards her, “I want you to tell me what he did to Mica’s sister. No, not want, I need you to tell me.” He reached out, wrapping his hand gently around her arm above her elbow, urging her towards the living quarters of the trailer. This was the first time he’d touched her in days, and the heat of their contact seared him. He ground out through his gritted teeth, “You’re going to sit on your ass until I’m convinced I know everything you do.”

  She struggled and squirmed for a minute in an effort to break his hold, and then, when she couldn’t, she walked alongside him with a peevish attitude, asking, “Do you always get what you want, Slate?”

  He barked out loud laughter, surprising her. “Oh hell no, little girl, not by a long shot. Now start talkin’.”

  It was hours later when the bull trucks finally pulled in, but without Ray Nelms. He didn’t show, and his drivers said they were surprised, because he had intended to come to Texarkana. An Arkansas chapter of the Rebels had come out in force in response to Mason’s request for assistance, and Slate spent a bit of time talking to the president and members who’d come down from Little Rock.

  He arranged for food while he and the bikers discussed Nelms, making sure they were all on the same page with the intended outcome. Once they were all comfortable, he asked them to scout the drivers and locals who might know Nelms, in order to come up with a list of locations where he might be staying. He thanked the Little Rock members, gripping and shaking forearms with the group, feeling good about this chapter having their backs. He’d been surprised but pleased to see Bear riding with them. Between him and Bear, they’d have a positive report for Mason, and the local president knew it; he was proud of how his members had acquitted themselves.

  Slate pulled Essa into his side as they stood and watched the bikers pull out as quietly as their rumbling pipes would allow. He looked down at her, and lifted her chin with one finger. “You gotsta make a call, little girl. It’s time to talk to Mica.” She drew in a broken breath, and she buried her face into his chest with a sob. He lowered his cheek to the top of her head, wrapped his arms around her, and held her gently against himself.

  Speaking gently to her, he deliberately roused her protective feelings towards her cousins. “I know it’s hard, baby, but Molly needs her sister, and Mica has to know what happened, but she has to have some space to deal with her own shit before she dumps that on Molly by mistake. You are the only one who can help guide them through this.

  “Essa, I shit you not, talking to Mica like this—now, and telling her over the phone—it might seem cold, but it’s not. You don’t know the shit Nelms did to Mica, and that’s her tale to tell, not mine, but I guarantee she’s going to feel guilty for bringing this shit home. Her shit seeped out all over Molly, and that’s going to fucking eat at her. I know her, and I know her heart. Give her a day, and she’ll sort her own crap out, especially with Mason there to help her, and then she can help Molly with ever
ything else.”

  Standing there holding her, he called Mason, saying simply, “No Nelms, got the brothers looking in his hidey holes. If he’s here, we’ll find him, Prez.” Mason grumbled back at him, cursing Nelms and his ability to avoid them when they could’ve taken care of fucking business.

  He interrupted Mason, and heard his attention snap fully onto Slate as he grasped the importance, “Mason, I need you to go to Mica’s and be with her. She’s gonna get a fucked up call from Essa, and it’s bad news about Mica’s sis, Molly. Nelms is involved, and she’s gonna need you, Prez. She’s gonna need us all.”

  Mason growled underneath his breath, “On my fucking way, give me two minutes,” and the connection closed, leaving dead air in Slate’s ear.

  He pulled Essa gently into the sleeping quarters, settling her on the bed and sitting quietly behind her. He kept one hand on her neck, merely anchoring her with the touch and warmth of his hand. He pulled out his phone, dialing Mica and first making sure Mason had made it over to her house.

  Once he was reassured, he handed the phone to Essa, and listened as she launched into the bare bones of what had happened. She got the worst of it out into the open, so Mica could begin to understand, and Essa bravely stayed on the phone with her as the rollercoaster of emotions swept through her cousin. Nelms had drugged and raped Molly, and she was nearly six weeks pregnant with the result of that rape.

  Then, it was time to bring Molly onto the line, and Slate remained sitting on the bunk behind Essa. He was slowly caressing and rubbing the back of her neck as she sobbed on a three-way call with the two of them. She helped fill in the background she’d been able to dig up on Nelms, which wasn’t anything more than Slate had already known.

  Mica sounded devastated, and Slate was glad Mason was there with her. When Essa handed him back the phone, he put his arm around her tightly and scooped her across and into his lap. He settled her there, her legs draping across his thighs with his chin on top of her head as he felt her crying hard against his chest. She was wound tight and had wrapped her fingers around handfuls of his shirt, holding on with desperate strength. Lifting the phone to his ear, he grunted out, “Yeah?”