Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  He paused in the doorway; it looked like he was deciding whether to speak. Shaking his head, Deke finally said, “Prez, Melanie is...well, fuck...she’s ours. You get that?” Slate nodded at him; he understood that possessive streak when it came to people the club wanted to protect. Deke gave him a chin lift, and then walked back out into the main room.

  Slate took another swig from his beer, draining it and setting it on the corner of the desk. He was thinking about Ruby...Melanie. She’d awoken something in him he thought had faded. He found himself wanting to protect her, but he knew she might need protection from him more than anything. Or maybe he was too late to protect her, if what Deke said was right.

  He licked his bottom lip, tipping his head back and remembering her mouth, her lips parted and full. His cock stirred as he thought about taking her mouth, owning her, possessing her. He imagined how her kisses would taste, wanting to sink his fingers into her hair as he held her mouth to his.

  God, he was hard now, and he hadn’t even gotten to the rest of her. He wanted her, but he wanted her safe more than anything. He’d talk to her, see how things shook out. Looking up, he saw Tug and Chase walking through the main room. He adjusted himself in his jeans. Fuck him, he’d greet them later. They’d be back here in a minute; he still hadn’t eaten and now he had a fucking hard-on.

  He walked into the kitchen area, looking around for Ruby, and saw her squatting inside one of the coolers. It looked like she was inventorying food and supplies on the bottom shelf. “Ruby, did Myron get you set up for funds yet?” he asked her, making her jump. His eyes snagged on how her pants were molded to her ass and thighs. “I told him you needed to get provisions, and he’s going to get you a card, but if he can’t get that in the next hour, he’ll give you cash.”

  She was looking anywhere but at him, and that was pissing him off again. “Ruby,” he said, his voice low. He stopped there, simply holding her name in his mouth.

  She turned her head, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and responded quietly, “No, I haven’t talked to him yet.”

  “You got a list together, baby?” he asked, taking a step closer to her and squatting down behind her. She took in a quick breath as his thighs came down on either side of her ass, the insides of his legs touching her. Moving to go down on one knee, she edged away from him, and he caught a hint of vanilla and something flowery.

  Slate’s smile lifted one corner of his mouth as he took in a deep breath, scenting her again. He raised a hand, trailing fingertips down her back to just above the waistband of her jeans. “Well, do you?” he asked, gliding his fingers back up to her shoulder blades.

  “Do I what?” she asked breathily, moving forward again, out of reach.

  “Do you have a list together yet, Ruby? Are you ready to head out shopping?” he asked, giving her the gist of his question.

  “Oh, no, not yet...not a full list. I don’t want to spend money we don’t have to, so I’m trying to get an inventory done. I’ve got a menu ready, so I know what we need.” She spoke fast, moving sideways and further away from him, still looking down.

  “Buy what you need for the menu, and we’ll sort the rest out later,” he laughed, “unless you are making gourmet shit that costs a truckload. If it’s basic stuff, then it won’t hurt to have extras.” He shifted to one knee, mimicking her pose and turning to face her, and asked, “Have you ever been to the Chicago clubhouse?”

  Shaking her head, she tucked her chin down and started working on her fucking inventory again. “Then you’ve never met our cook. He is a crazy man, that Road Runner. He’s a Cordon Bleu chef, and he makes all kinds of crazy shit sometimes.” He grinned. “So if he was here, I’d worry, because some of his shit costs like crazy. Who in the MC would know if the rice was flavored with saffron, for fuck’s sake? But to him, it matters, so we put up with him. He works at a hotel in Chicago, and he’s always trying new recipes on the brothers, and then pissing and moaning, because the only ‘critique’ he gets is either ‘it’s fucking good’ or ‘it tastes like shit’.” Slate laughed.

  Watching the side of her face, he saw her lips curving up into a smile, and responded to that. “I know, funny...right? We have some women there with special status, Mica and Jess; they’re kind of like you. They are probably his best hope at improving his trade. Fucking Road Runner, he’s a hoot.” Her sudden stillness hadn’t been lost on him; when he spoke about Mica and Jess, she’d frozen in place.

  “Ruby, I know how you wound up here. I’m sorry about the pain; I know about losing people you’re close to, like you did Lockee. What you did—I think it was a good thing, sticking with DeeDee. Takes a decent person to put themselves aside like that, and think about someone else who’s hurting.” He shifted, sitting back on his ass and leaning against the inside of the cooler door.

  “All the brothers here, they look at you and see a little sister, someone who’s grown up in the club, someone they’d fucking kill to protect, and someone who’s earned their loyalty. I get that. I do. I understand on many levels that this is your family. It’s my family too, and I’m not here to fuck that up for you. I’m not here to downgrade your status. In fact, I’d like to solidify your place in the club, as much as that’s possible. I appreciate you taking on the organization of shit like you have today, and I hope I didn’t piss you off, but putting you in charge of the non-old ladies makes life easier for me,” he explained with a shrug.

  She cut her eyes over to him again, silently. “You don’t talk much, do you, Ruby?” he mused.

  She shook her head again. He sat there, staring at her. They stayed like that for several long minutes until she finally shook her hair out of her face and looked over at him. Speaking softly, she said, “I don’t mind organizing things. It’s easy, and I already know who’s good at what, so assigning jobs is easy too. Since I live here, I want to pull my weight—I’ve always wanted to—and I’ve always helped where I could. I’ve helped with driving cages and stuff in the past, but this feels good. It feels like it’s a ‘job,’ you know?” She paused, moistening her lips with the tip of her pink tongue. He greedily watched it sweep across her bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say to you,” she whispered.

  “Just say what you want, baby,” he whispered back. God, he fucking loved her voice.

  “Status...” she started, and stopped to swallow, “…my status is...I don’t have any. I know the guys, my guys...I know our Fort Wayne members won’t hurt me, but when there’s a party, I stay in my room. It scares me sometimes, what happens in a clubhouse…what people are capable of.”

  Pausing in silence for a few minutes, she lowered her gaze, then said, “All these new members and the out-of-town members, they scare me, too. This job scares me, because I am nothing. I know how club business works, and if I’m going to do it...this job you gave me…I can’t stay in my room like I normally would. I have to get out and make sure stuff gets done, and done right.

  “We want a good reflection on the club, because it matters. That scares me—having to come out like that—because I am nothing; I don’t have status. I’m not protected, because I’m not family. I’m not part of it…the club I mean. I’m not with anyone. I know if it weren’t for DeeDee, I couldn’t even stay here. I wouldn’t have a home, couldn’t live with my family.”

  Slate waited patiently, he wanted to be sure she was through talking. “Baby, you finished?” he asked softly. She nodded, keeping her gaze on the floor between his feet. “Okay,” stretching out his legs, crossing them at the ankle, he said firmly, “look at me, Ruby.”

  He waited again, giving her time to lift her eyes to meet his. Smiling gently at her, he told her, “You can have status now. You choose between two things, and I’ll explain the differences to you, but both give you rank. One, you can choose to be our Princess. That puts you off-limits to all Rebel members, regardless of chapter affiliation. It puts you off-limits to members of other clubs, support or not. It’s an official position, and carries weight.
It puts you under guard, though, because a Princess is precious. We’ll fucking invade your life,” he grinned, “but you will be respected by members, old ladies, club mammas...everyone. So that’s the first option…Princess. We could even get you your own cut, if you like to ride. Do you like to ride?” he asked curiously.

  She grinned and nodded, her face brightening with happiness. “Winger taught Lockee and me how to ride, and I have a Sportster that Gypsy and Gunny helped me rebuild.” She tucked her chin and dropped her eyes. “I like to wrench.”

  His heart stretched a little at that smile on her face; in a bare moment, she’d gone from pretty to stunning. “Well, alrighty,” he laughed, “that sounds good, baby. God, I love a woman who’s not afraid of a little grease. I’d love to take a run with you one day soon.” He watched as that fragile edge came back into her downcast eyes and frowned; he didn’t like it.

  “Second option,” his voice deepened, “which I happen to like a lot better, but it’s up to you,” he caught her eyes with his again, “is I’d like you in my bed, Ruby. I’d like you on the back of my bike. I’ve never wanted to have an old lady before, but that’s all I can think about since I saw you. I don’t know if we’d even be a good match, but goddamn...you are all I can see. Full fucking disclosure...I left a girl in Chicago when I came here, because she didn’t know what she wanted, but that’s not something that would cause problems. She wasn’t my old lady, not even fucking close. She showed up at the club bar, but I hadn’t seen her in months, and she…disappointed me.” He paused, watching closely, and he saw her pale.

  Slate leaned his head back against the door; he was pretty sure he knew what she was going to pick, and it didn’t make him happy. “Ruby, you can’t be both, baby. You’ll either be Princess, and untouchable—even by me,” he told her. It wasn’t the complete truth; even though Mica was their Princess in Chicago, Mason had hooked up with her; he’d loved her. If Slate wanted her, he could have her. He just wanted to see what Ruby would choose though, wanted to see if she felt what he did whenever he was around her. He wanted her to choose him. “Or you can be my old lady, and have greater status with my patch on your back. How things are right now aren’t working…for all the reasons you listed. You aren’t safe in the clubhouse if you don’t have rank, and baby, you don’t have any right now. You are dead-fucking-right about that.” He took a breath. “So which is it, Ruby? Which path will you choose? Or do you even want to remain here? Maybe I read you wrong, and you’d rather lean away from the club entirely?”

  She shook her head quickly at that. “I don’t want to leave, Prez. This is my family,” she said simply, “and this is my home.”

  “So, I’m ‘Prez’ now, huh?” He laughed a little bitterly, then asked insistently, “Which path, baby?”

  “What would be my job as Princess?” she asked.

  “Is that your pick then?” God, he was frustrated, frowning at her; he could already see her sliding away.

  She nodded, whispering, “Yes.”

  “The job is the same until it changes,” he said curtly, standing and looking down at the top of her head. She’d fucking turned him down flat. “I’ll call Chicago and make it official, and then I’ll announce it in church tonight to the members. I won’t lie. I wish like hell you’d picked differently—no fucking bones about that—but as Princess, you are precious and un-fucking-touchable,” he repeated.

  He took a deep breath in, saying harshly, all the soft gone from his voice, “You will take two prospects to the store with you. I want you gone within the hour so you can make sure to be back in plenty of time for supper to get made.” He turned and walked out without another word, leaving the door ajar behind him, and Ruby sitting on the floor.

  ***

  “You sure you want it to go down this way, Chase?” Slate asked, stepping out of range of another swing. He took two steps to the side, and kicked the kid’s feet out from under him. Chase fell flat on his back, gasping for breath. “Seriously, kid, you want it this bad?” Slate asked again, standing now with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “What the hell, Slate? Yes, I want to learn how to fight, motherfucker,” Chase huffed, rolling to his hands and knees, climbing slowly to his feet. “Get me a teacher, man. I’m tired of Dad telling me no, and I fucking want to prospect in as soon as I’m eighteen. I have to be able to hold my own; I know that. Being who my dad is, it’s more important than anything.” He imitated Mason’s voice, “’Remember, no dead weight’. I’ve heard that a thousand times.” He brushed sweat-wet hair out of his face.

  “Here’s my read, kiddo; take it for what it’s worth. You’re too impatient; you need to wait for openings, not try to always create them. You lack accuracy; your swings are wild, with no real target. You think about only one thing at a time, instead of planning for the sequence of events. You are weak; you’ll break your wrists if you do happen to connect the way you hit. You don’t protect yourself at all; it’s hard to take care of shit if you can’t keep fists from your body or face. You lack stamina; it’s like you’ve done nothing hard your whole life, and you are young, lacking weight, reach, and height,” Slate drawled, watching the kid’s face for anger or some other emotion, and seeing only attentiveness.

  He continued, pleased at reading willingness instead of defensiveness in Chase’s stance, “So here’s the flip side of all that. You are young, and can be trained. You lack stamina, but that can be built. You don’t protect yourself, because you’ve never had to. You are weak, but that’s easier to fix than stamina. You think about one isolated movement at a time, but once you see the flow of the sequence, you’ll understand how to combine efforts to better effectiveness. You lack accuracy, but practice can fix that. The only real problem I see is your impatience, but if we focus on the rest, then patience will come.”

  He reached out, grabbed Chase’s wrist, and pulled him into a one-armed hug. “I’m not a good teacher, kid, but Deke knows someone with a good reputation. We’ll get you lined out with lessons, and how quickly you improve will be entirely in your hands.”

  Chase thumped him on the back. “Thanks, Slate, that’s awesome. When can I start?”

  “Probably by the end of the week. You’ll be living here in the clubhouse until I get a house, but I’ve no idea how long that will be. No driving—you’ll be with a patch brother when you leave the clubhouse. No arguments about that, motherfucker.” Slate grinned. “Once we get shit straight here, we’ll see about changing your driver status, but I want zero mouth out of you until then.”

  “You got it, Slate. No shit, no how, no way,” he swore. “What about school?”

  “We gotta go the homeschool route, and I’ve got that covered too. There’s a couple of women who live here in the clubhouse who’ve offered to help out.” He saw the look on Chase’s face. “Not whores, man, wipe that look off your fucking face. DeeDee’s old man died a few years ago, and she and her adopted daughter still live here and are willing to help your ass out. Ruby is our Princess, so respect, man. Don’t let me hear about any shit there, either.”

  “No way, Slate. I didn’t know you were talking about Ruby, she’d kick my ass before she let me disrespect her. I saw her take one of the prospects to town the other day for not clearing trash from the main room. She’s fierce when she wants to be,” Chase said seriously.

  Tug was leaning against the wall near the door and he straightened up, nodding his head at Slate. “Nice job, Prez. If you’re done playing nursemaid, Ruby assigned shithead here a permanent room, so I’ll get the kid set up downstairs, and remind him where showers, chow, and crappers are.”

  Slate watched them walk out of the gym, setting his shoulders before he followed them. In the main room, he sat down on a stool, accepting a beer from the prospect manning the bar. He looked around, seeing pleasing changes from Ruby’s efforts over the past few days. From what Chase said, it sounded like she had settled into her new role in the club just fine. Not my choice, he thought, but had to respect he
r for diving in like she had.

  Hoss sat down next to him. “Prez.” He nodded, agreeably.

  “Brother,” Slate greeted him back.

  “Great call on that bar; it’s perfect. The location is good, puts us deep downtown,” Hoss said. “I think the staff will stay too.”

  Slate grinned. “Myron’s the one who found it, but I’m glad it’s as advertised. That family is managing it now, but they won’t come with. Who do you see handling it day-to-day?”

  “I think Gypsy would do a good job. He’s originally Chicago, so he’s seen how the neutral places are supposed to work. He won’t have a fucking chip on his shoulder and be looking for a fight every time colors come through the door.” Hoss rubbed his arm restlessly.

  “Do you think the FW chapter will care he’s originally from Chicago?” Slate asked.

  Hoss shook his head. “Nah, he’s been here since the beginning, so he’s a FW founder. He’s got better status here than in Chicago by now.”

  “Sounds good. Did we make an offer on the property yet? I’d like to get this handled, get our people in there. You think Gypsy will need Myron or DeeDee to help for a bit, until he gets a handle on the business side?” Slate asked.

  “Nope, he’s got a Master’s in business. As long as Myron and DeeDee are available as needed, he’ll do okay. Offer tendered and accepted this morning, we set closing for two weeks out.” Hoss yawned. “It’s been a long fucking day, Prez. Any thoughts on lifting the lockdown yet?”

  Slate shook his head. “Play stays the same. Manzino is still in the wind; he’s not popped his head up yet. Until I hear about him showing up somewhere other than here, then our notion he’s around helps keep the club on their toes. Everything else is coming together, though. Slinky’s is in training mode, so within a couple weeks, we’ll be fully staffed there with clean girls.”

  “I’m worried about Down Range; any ideas on when we want to open that bitch back up? I get the chills when I think of PBJ having to deal with LEO every day.” Hoss shivered dramatically.