Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  There was no fighting; they’d dropped him within seconds, holding a cloth over his mouth and nose. Ruby struggled in the grip of one big guy; they could see she was screaming, her mouth open wide. Another figure walked into frame and kicked Slate in the head; Ruby sagged in the big man’s grip, still screaming. The figure moved towards her, reaching out one hand to cup her face and she stilled; they saw her knees buckle.

  Turning around, heedless of the camera, the figure walked out of range of the camera as the big guy dragged Ruby along. One look at the face was all Slate needed to identify the motherfucker. It wasn’t Manzino, as much as he’d rather it be. The man who took Ruby was Demon, President of the Devil’s Sins, and Ruby’s personal nightmare.

  ***

  He’d always been good at putting puzzles together, whether it was a job, run, or business. Slate’s gift was bringing the right people to the table to pull off whatever was being planned. He needed to tap into that talent, stir that skill, and right now, it was like his brain was frozen. He couldn’t think of anything except how Ruby had collapsed when Demon touched her face.

  He knew he needed to pull it together. This was no different from dozens of other plans he’d laid over the past years. If he could simply get an outline going in his head, he could figure it out. Ruby’d screamed and fought when they took him down; she’d tried to get to him. He had to find her. Had to...

  Staring at the floor between his boots, Slate sat on the edge of his desk with the door open so he could hear the comings and goings in the main room. He’d come in here to plug in his phone, not wanting to risk it going dead. She could be calling him soon, any time now.

  One of the prospects had turned on music; Slate heard Just Save Me from Like A Storm, which was one of Ruby’s favorite songs. One night last week, she’d told him it was her song for him; as he’d thrust into her, she whispered between moans into his ear that it was because he’d saved her.

  “Fuck me,” he breathed, “pull your shit together, man. You got this.” He called out to the main room, “Hoss, to me, man.”

  His brother strode into his office. “Yeah, Prez?”

  “You call Mason yet?” he questioned, and swore again when Hoss shook his head. “All right, how many brothers do we have available in the Fort?” He was making quick lists in his head.

  “We have over fifty, Slate,” Hoss told him. “Did you put the chapter in lockdown? We got families coming in?” He needed to know, so he could plan on the clubhouse’s defense if needed.

  “Yeah, you called that back at the garage.” Hoss looked at him quizzically.

  “Okay. Get DeeDee in here if she’s not already on the way, man. I’m gonna make some calls. I want to talk to you, Bear, Gypsy, Tequila, and Deke in five minutes.” Slate ran his hands through his hair, leaving it standing up in all directions.

  Hitting a number on his phone, he waited for the call to connect, cutting off Mason’s greeting harshly. “Prez, Ruby’s been taken. I’m going to war with Devil’s Sins. Motherfucker took her from my side, man. She was at my fucking side and wasn’t safe from him. I’m leaving Hoss here and taking twenty men. I think I know where they are; Bingo told me Sins had a clubhouse here in town. We’ll go there first, looks most promising.”

  Listening to Mason’s crude response to the news, and relieved he gave full support of whatever it took to get Ruby back, Slate’s muscles unknotted a little bit. In response to Mason’s offer to come down, Slate said, “Nah, Prez, I got this. If he’s in the Fort, I got this. If he’s in the UP, I’ll need you where you are. Someone will update you every couple hours; I’ll see to that.”

  They hung up after Mason told him, “I know this is shit, Slate, but you didn’t find her only to lose her. She’s your fucking always, man...not happening.”

  Walking out into the main room, Slate shook his head at the offer of a beer; he wanted his mind clear for this. The men he’d asked for were waiting for him, and he strode over to where they stood. “Devil’s Sins had a clubhouse down on Wayne a few years ago. We’re going down and taking it. I’ve got Mason’s approval—any force necessary to get Ruby back. Fucking war, man. He’s calling the national president for the Sins now, but since that’s the same fucker who took Ruby, we don’t hold out any hope he’ll be reasonable,” he laid out the beginning of his plan.

  “We need twenty members. Hoss, you aren’t going, man. You are second, and need to stay here, just in case. Tequila, Bear, and Gypsy, I need you to pick six members each, get them armed and ready to ride in ten minutes. Serious as fuck, man, I’m out the gate in ten fucking minutes, and it’s taking everything I have to wait that long. You don’t know the history between this motherfucker and Ruby, but every minute she’s in his control is sixty seconds too fucking long.”

  “Pick your men, and assign them front or back for the entry. Gunny’s my pick; he’ll be on point from the back. She’s probably in the basement, which is accessed through the backyard, as well as through the house. Make your list, give it to Myron. He’s going to text building layout and the address to everyone.” He looked from face to face, making sure they all understood what was going down.

  “Hoss, call Gasman and bring him up to speed. You need to call Mason in two hours; tell him what you know at the time. Rinse, repeat, Brother, as long as it takes. Deke, I need you to call your brother, man; warn LEO to stay the fuck out of my way.” His face turned grim. “I can guaran-damn-tee you there will be casualties today, Rebels. Pick your men wisely; let’s not leave babies fatherless if we can help it.”

  Stepping back from the group, he yelled across the room, “Goose, come here.” Turning to walk back into his office, he waited for Goose to enter and shut the door. “Check me, man. Make sure I’m not putting anyone at risk; my fucking head hurts like shit, and I’m still trying to sick up.”

  While Goose checked him over, Slate kept talking. “The motherfucker who took Ruby had her for six months a few years ago. He beat her bad, raped her over and over, and poured something down her throat that made her miscarry a baby. I want you with us, but hanging back. Only after we go in and find her do you breach a fucking door, but I need you there, man.”

  He watched Goose’s hands pause as they moved over his head, and then saw them start to shake as the full import of what he’d said sunk in. “Not a fucker here knows this except me, and now you. That’s as Ruby wants it, but she’s going to need all of us, man. You are the only one I trust her with if he’s been at her again.” Slate tipped his head down in response to pressure on the back of his head.

  “The stitches I put in are holding fine, and you don’t really show any signs of a concussion except the nausea. I think you are as o-fucking-kay as you are going to be right now, Prez.” Goose paused a second, then said, “I’ll pack a bag to take on my bike. She have clothes in your room?” Slate nodded, and Goose left the room at a run.

  Outside, sitting astride his bike at the edge of the compound driveway, Slate looked at his phone to see the time. It was nearly eight minutes after he told them to roll, and there were more than twenty men sitting alongside and behind him. His brothers were ready to ride with him, no matter what the outcome. Lifting his hand and motioning, he roared into the street, headed towards where he hoped and prayed Ruby was.

  They pulled into the parking lot of a store located a half-block from the house, idling as softly as possible when there were this many powerful bikes in one place. Standing in a circle of his brothers, Slate looked around, noting each face.

  “You should all have the house layout. We think she’s probably in the basement. Gunny, you are my pick for point to go into the basement from the backyard. I’ll be inside in the back, and will go down the stairs there. We run this to the end of the line, brothers. If she’s in there, then no one in that building is innocent.” He saw a couple of the men pale at that.

  “This is Rebel business. Ruby is Rebel, was claimed months ago as our property. Now, she’s my old lady, and these motherfuckers took h
er from my side. For me, this is personal. Fuck, for all of us, this is personal, because we are Rebels. Rebel Wayfarers forever,” he said, and heard the echoes from around him, “forever Rebels.”

  Running up the alley behind the houses, Slate followed Gunny; half-bent over in a crouch, they took advantage of what cover was available. He heard soft footfalls behind him, and saw shadows moving up the street that ran parallel. This was near a historic district, and some of the houses looked old and well kept. If the owners looked outside, they’d get a shock at nearly twenty-five badass bikers in leather and denim traveling at a soundless dead run.

  Gunny pulled up and indicated they were at the right address. Slate verified and nodded at him. He texted Bear they were going in, and they swarmed through the backyard, half of the men going towards what looked like barn doors mounted in cement against the house, and half heading towards the screened-in entryway porch.

  Slate and Tequila were side-by-side in the hallway when they heard the first gunshots from the basement. They rounded the corner into what looked like a huge farmhouse kitchen, seeing a narrow door in a nearby hallway. There were two men in the kitchen, and they seemed frozen with indecision. Slate took care of that for them, clocking them in the head with the butt of his gun as he ran past, making sure they were unconscious when they hit the floor.

  The door slammed open, and a big man stepped up from the basement stairs. He looked startled to see them in the house, and his running momentum had him half turned around before Tequila could grab him. He slammed Tequila against the wall, but Pinto got behind him, whipping his pistol against the side of the man’s head until he slumped against the bottom of the wall near the doorway.

  Another gunshot from the basement had Slate moving down the stairs as fast as he could go, his eyes sweeping the open, unfinished, empty room. He recognized Bear’s voice upstairs roaring at someone, and heard running feet on the floorboards over his head.

  There was blood on the floor in the next room in the basement, and Slate caught himself on the doorframe as he took in the scene. Two men were motionless on the floor, and Gunny had his handgun pointed at a man kneeling in the center of the room. Ruby was bound to a bare metal bedframe in the corner. She was naked, and wasn’t moving.

  Tug was next to the bed fiddling with something, swearing and jerking his hands back before reaching forward again. He looked up at Slate, yelling, “Don’t touch her; the bed is hot. Give me a second, Prez. Don’t touch her.”

  He took a shaky step towards her, and then another, and was at her side in two more strides. He heard Tug, but didn’t understand. “Prez, give me a minute, fuck. Hold, man. Hold.” Reaching out his hand, there was a sharp spark between Slate’s fingertips and her face as Tug yelled, “Got it.”

  Cupping her chilled face in his palm, he couldn’t feel her breath on his skin. Pulling out his knife, he sliced through the leather that bound her to the bed, hollering, “Get Goose! Someone get Goose.” Slate pulled her body into his lap; she draped over his legs and arms loosely, her joints bending in ways they shouldn’t.

  Goose was there a moment later, pulling her from his arms. “Give her to me, Slate. Let me help her, man.” He positioned her on the floor and quickly checked her, then started pressing on her chest. “Slate, call a bus. Tug, count for me. Somebody find a blanket; we need something to cover her,” Goose barked as Slate sagged to his knees next to Ruby on the floor.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” he heard over the phone, then gave them the address and nothing else before ending the call. “Hoss,” he started as his next call connected, “we have her, but she’s bad.” He terminated that call, too, still watching Goose work with Ruby.

  He heard Tequila and Bear yelling upstairs; there were two more gunshots, and then silence from the house above them. His eyes were focused on Goose, who was counting along with Tug. Turning his head, he looked into the face of the man Gunny had at the end of his barrel, and saw it was Rabid. The man had once been a brother, a Rebel, and he was in the same room as his Ruby.

  Tug called, “Gunny, secure the motherfucker. Get a blanket.” Slate kept staring at Rabid for a minute, clenching his teeth. Deliberately turning back to Ruby, he leaned down and put his lips next to her ear, whispering, “Come back to me, baby. Come home, Ruby. Love me, baby? Love me enough? Come back; I want you here with me. Love you, sweetness. My lover, my life, you are my breath. I’m here, baby. Right here, see me?”

  He heard a noise, and saw a blanket settle over her belly and legs. Turning his head, he saw the car battery sitting on the table near the bed, and realized what had happened to Ruby...what they had done. He reached out his hand and cupped her cheek; it was cold to the touch, and he jerked back. “Goose?” he snapped, asking his question without any more words.

  “It was constant current, body-wide, and she’s dry. We have to get her heart to beat normally; it’s all over the place right now, Prez,” Goose gasped out between compressions. “You keep talking to her, man. Keep her engaged; she’s in there. I know she is. She’s still here, brother.” Slate nodded, reached out again, and touched her face unflinchingly. Lowering his face to hers again, he whispered in her ear.

  There was a commotion upstairs, and he realized he’d been hearing sirens getting closer. There was a clatter of feet, and two men in EMT uniforms came into view, stopping beside one of the men on the floor. Slate stood with a shout that got them moving, “Get the fuck in here. Help her.”

  Goose turned her over to one of the men, who put his hands on Ruby’s chest. Slate winced at him touching her, but put his mouth back down by her head, continuing to whisper to her, “I’m here, baby. I love you. Come back to me, lover. Come home, baby. Ruby, I need you. Come back, come home.”

  The second man affixed sticky patches to her ribs and chest, then they moved back, telling Slate, “Move back for a second, clear.” Ruby’s body moved slightly on the floor, but Slate didn’t pay attention to that; he watched avidly as her mouth moved, lips opening in a cough. “Thank fuck,” he whispered.

  Both EMTs swooped down on her, rattling off medical terms and using various pieces of equipment they’d brought with them in a toolbox. One of them looked up at Goose. “We need the gurney,” he told him, and Goose stood, turning to go to the doors opening into the backyard, asking as he went, “Bus in front?” and receiving an affirmative response.

  Slate levered himself to his feet and looked over at Gunny and Tug. “Get shit tidied, Brothers. Did we find the one who started this?”

  They nodded at him, Tug telling him, “That one is on the main floor, Prez. I’m on it; stay with Ruby.” Tug turned, calling orders as he ran upstairs. Within a couple of minutes, the men who had been unconscious on the floor were gone, taken into the backyard and carted off in a van brought for this purpose.

  Deke came downstairs, took a look inside the room, and his face tightened as he took a step backward, yelling, “They had her on that bedframe, man? They fucking electrocuted her? What was the fucking point?” At that, one of the EMTs turned and looked, and his face tensed. He grabbed the mic on his shoulder, telling dispatch or the hospital they had an electrocution victim incoming, rattling off a bunch of numbers and acronyms.

  “What hospital?” Slate asked, hearing the response, “St. Joe’s,” and he nodded. Dialing, he said softly, “Taking her to St. Joe’s. You’ve got some packages coming, brother. Box those leftovers up for me, and keep them.” He hung up, sliding the phone into his pocket.

  They transferred her to the gurney Goose brought in; he’d moved the bus to the back alley to make it easier to get her out of the house. Slate looked around. “Deke, with me, man. Tequila, call PBJ; have him come to the hospital. Take the rest of the brothers home. This shit could fracture the club…fucking Rabid. Goddammit.”

  ***

  Hours later, Slate was sitting on the edge of Ruby’s bed. She was exhausted from the tests and medication, and he hoped she’d be able to rest for a while. She’d been co
nfused when he was finally allowed to see her, unsure of what was going on. Totally focused on watching her face as she slept, he was startled when he heard Mason’s voice from behind him. “She’s going to be okay, Slate. You got her, man. You got her back.”

  Turning to look behind him, Slate stood, stepped towards Mason, and pulled him close in a one-armed embrace. “I didn’t know you were coming, but it’s good to see you, brother,” he ground out through sudden, harsh tears. “We won’t know for a few days if everything is okay, but they said the swelling in her brain is nearly gone. Now they’re waiting to see if there’s organ damage.”

  He shook his head. “This shit is so fucked up. I feel useless, Mason. I can’t do anything to help her.” He wiped at his eyes with the backs of his hands. “They stole her from my side, man. She was by my fucking side, and I couldn’t keep her safe. It was touch and go too. She nearly died in that basement, because I couldn’t keep her safe. She wasn’t fucking breathing for the longest time; Goose saved her life.” He swept his arm towards her. “Look at her, Mason; look at where she is...what she’s gone through. This shit is because of me, because of us. It hurts so fucking bad, man. How can I do this?”

  Mason looked at him for a long minute, then reaching out one hand to grip his bicep, he asked, “How can you not, brother?”

  They stood in silence watching Ruby for several minutes, then Mason stirred. “I’m not staying, just needed to stop in on my way to the clubhouse to see for myself how she’s doing. I’m taking care of these fuckers tonight, Slate. You stay here and be with your lady. Our brothers and I have this under control, and we will handle things as needed. The hard shit’s here, man; I don’t envy your path,” Mason pulled him close again, whispering in his ear, “but she is fucking worth it. Like Mica would say—she’s your always, man. You are one lucky motherfucker; not all of us find ours.”