Going Down Easy: A Rebel Wayfarers MC & Incoherent MC Crossover Novel

by MariaLisa deMora

  “You know I did.”

  “It matter how young or old you were?” He pressed his thumb against his brow, pushing hard. “It matter she was way the fuck outta your league?”

  “No, it didn’t. I saw her, and I would have followed her to the ends of the earth.”

  “But you didn’t have to. You saw her, followed her home like a goddamned stalker, and then set about makin’ her yours. But she lived here, you lived here. She worked here, and so did you. All the hard stuff was taken care of. You didn’t have to bend over backwards to make time for her, didn’t have to align time zones or any shit like that.” He scoffed, hoping to drive home his point. “Sheila made it easy on you, wrapping her life up in yours without any argument, because she saw that, too.”

  “Yes, but still there were things to work out. It wasn’t all buttons and balloons, jefe.”

  “Silly trots her happy ass to Fort Wayne a minimum five hours one way, doin’ that every other weekend. Ten hours round trip, if the traffic gods are shining on her. She organizes her schedule to give herself those days, even though she could make a lot of fuckin’ flash if she worked Friday nights and Saturdays. She’s done that without complaining, done it in a way that you and the shop get what you need of her, meanin’ time standin’ at her chair with someone’s ass in it, and she can still give herself to her man in the way he needs her, too.” Mason paused a beat, but Ernie didn’t have anything to say. “Her man, he does the same. No discussion, no askin’ permission, just movin’ things around so he can give his girl what she needs from him. Time, and time, and time. That’s all they ask of the other. He trots his happy ass to Chicago at least once a month, doin’ that when he only gets bits of her time, but they’re all the more precious for that. And you’re moving her to New Orleans and fuckin’ that up for the both of them.” He made an angry sound far back in his throat. “Because you need her so you can keep a shop open. You’re willing to ask her to throw away what she’s got here, because she dotes on you and you asked, and she’ll do it. She’d open a vein and bleed for you, you asked it. So she’ll do it. She’ll go. It’ll kill her, probably. Definitely kill her man. Inconvenience you short term because you’ll have to run your goddamned shop by yourself up there, but what’s that matter? You’ll have gotten what you need, right? Fuck, Ernie. I used to like you.”

  He disconnected, not giving his old friend time to respond, too angry to handle any more self-serving excuses.

  “Gonna have to find a way.”

  He looked up at the wall of images, gaze tracking from frame to frame, taking in the faces, places, the essence of brotherhood that seeped from all of them.

  “Got to find a way.”

  One Day

  Jock

  “Fuck.” He slung the wrench into the toolbox and stalked to the sink to run cool water over his bleeding knuckles, the water slowly turning from red to pink, then back to clear.

  “Need stitches?” Gunny’s question drifted over from where he sat next to his own bike.

  At least the man hadn’t felt the need to jump up and mother Jock. Sharon’s pregnancy had him acting like a hen, fluffing his feathers around his chicks to keep them safe, those chicks not just his kids, but his brothers, too. Last night Jock had caught him opening beers for a group standing at the bar in the clubhouse, saving their fingers from the roughened edges of the lids.

  “Nah, I’ll just wrap it up. It’ll be fine.” He scoffed. “What’s one more scar.” Water off, he dabbed at the rough-edged wound with his greasy rag. White flashed deep inside, and he winced. “Well, maybe.”

  Without standing, Gunny bellowed, “Red,” over his shoulder towards the office.

  A moment later, the door clicked open and Jock heard, “Jesus fucking Christ on a goddamned stick. What the fuck you need, Gunny?”

  “Jock needs stitches.” Gunny waved his hands over his head. “I’m greasy.”

  “And I’m busy,” Red retorted.

  Jesus, they’re worse than ever. “Fuck you, assholes. I can take myself to see the doc.” He flipped them both off, grimacing as the movement set up a pounding throb in his finger. “Dammit.”

  “I will take him.” Soft, sultry and slow, Silly’s voice washed over him, bringing such a sublime sense of relief it first stroked over him like velvet, then struck deep with pain that had nothing to do with his finger.

  She’d been due in yesterday but texted late in the day that she had to stay the night in Chicago. Her message had been detailed and explained all the reasons why, but all he’d been able to focus on was the sinking feeling that she was beginning to pull away.

  Silly had accepted Ernesto’s offer, of course. She’d said there’d been lots of intense discussion around his vision, ensuring hers would line up, and then it was done. Paperwork filed to get her licensing secured in Louisiana, paperwork to get her on the books as a manager, paperwork to break her lease. Jock had gone to her as often as she’d allow, but she hadn’t been lying—it was busy and time-consuming.

  The takeover date was set for two weeks from yesterday. He planned to drive down with her, not liking the idea of Silly taking that trip on her own, which she’d found hilariously sweet, if the amount of time her mouth had been on him was anything to measure. They’d have the trip down, and he was planning on stretching their journey out for three days, maybe four. He’d be in her new space with her for a week, helping with the move-in and settling, taking evenings to explore her new neighborhood.

  Then he’d leave her behind, climb on a bike he was bringing back for a brother, and watch her dwindle to a speck in his rearview.

  So now, he took a moment to absorb that soft and pain that came from hearing her voice, and when he turned, he did it with a practiced smile at the ready, beating back the hopelessness that seemed closer every day. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” She reached past him to the work surface and yanked a handful of paper towels off the roll, then plucked the greasy rag out of his fingers, grimacing. “Don’t you know anything about rudimentary first aid? The last thing you do is introduce more chance of infection to an open wound.” Shaking her head, she cradled his hand on the nest of white paper, bending her head to look at the injury. “He’ll live,” she announced flatly, and Gunny chuckled.

  “Gimme,” Jock whispered, because the moment she’d gotten up in his space, the scent of her had hit him, that damned spicy musk she favored, because his girl was anything but vanilla. Just the smell of her made his mouth water, and he knew she saw his checked desire when her breath caught on a gasp. He urged her, “Kiss me, baby.”

  Silly rolled up to her toes, and he bent deep so their mouths met in a slow slide of wet and hot. “Mmmm. I missed you.” Her murmur was for his ears only, her lips still traveling along his jaw. “Let’s get this seen to, and you can take me home.”

  What he’d called home for nearly as long as he’d been in Fort Wayne was a bedroom in Domino’s house. He and his brother had made it work, even after Silly inserted herself into his life, but at times, privacy was hard to come by there. This weekend was one of those times, as Domino’s extended family was in town and no fewer than seven nieces and nephews had declared their uncle’s house prime sleepover territory.

  “Better idea,” he muttered, nuzzling into the bend of her neck. “Got us a suite for the weekend.” He hadn’t stayed there last night, no matter it’d been paid for. When she’d had to cancel at the last minute, Jock had ensured his dog would be cared for, thrown a leg over his bike, and ridden through the moonlight to a lake over in Ohio. Gunny had a cabin Jock had been to a couple of times, and he’d gone there and planted his ass in Sharon’s porch swing, then watched the ripples in the water glint and shine as wind danced across the surface of the lake. He’d stayed there until time to come into the garage, that frustration and exhaustion probably part cause of his carelessness with the torque wrench. “My bag’s already there. Gimme a minute and I’ll pull the bike in, leave it locked up in here for the weekend.”<
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  “Will you be able to ride with stitches in that finger?” Silly pulled back and stared up at him, her fingers still cupped around his hand. He nodded, not sure where she was going with this. Quiet but no less intense for that, she said, “Then we’ll come back here after the hospital, leave my car, and I’ll ride with you.”

  She was no stranger to his bike. From the first night she’d spent in his bed, every time they were together, weather permitting—which in Indiana was chancy eight months out of the year—they’d take at least one ride, her wrapped around him in a way he was more than fond of. He knew she enjoyed it, not to the extent he did, where it’d become necessary for his sanity, but she’d made it clear she liked snuggling up against his back, tits pressed tight, hands roaming as she wished as long as she didn’t distract too much.

  Before the move had surfaced on the horizon, he’d been pacing himself, wanting to take her temperature before he asked her to wear a vest for him. His close brothers had razzed him, told him she needed a Property Of patch, and he’d come around to their way of thinking. Then things changed.

  “Okay, Silly.” If she needed a ride on his bike this weekend to clear her head, or just because, a half a dozen stitches in his finger wouldn’t stop him from giving that to her.

  ***

  Silly

  She glanced over to where Jock leaned against the inside of the passenger door of her car. Eyes closed, head back, he looked like he could be sleeping, if she ignored the lines of tension in his face.

  “Hurting much?” She kept her voice level, quiet in case he was asleep, even if she didn’t think it possible. He’d sliced the hell out of his finger, deep into the muscles just above the knuckle and down over the bend. The paper towels she’d wrapped around it were soaking through, pink, red, and maroon slowly discoloring the surface.

  “Not too.” His voice wasn’t clipped, but the strain was obvious to her. “I didn’t expect you for a couple of hours.”

  “I was training one of the other artists how to order supplies and other things. Turned out she’s used the software before, so it went fast.” She slowed and stopped at a red light. “I didn’t find you at Domino’s, so I took a chance you were at the garage.”

  “Looking for me, huh?” Glancing at him, she saw his expression had shifted into a smile, the barest curve of his lips, but it was real. More real than the fake one he’d turned on her back at the garage, and she reached over to trail her fingers down his thigh. “For you, Silly, I’ll always make myself easy to find.”

  “Obliged.” Her wry, single-word response drew a chuckle from him, and she focused on traffic until they were pulling into the hospital. “I’ll drop you at the ER.” She twisted the wheel, startled when his injured hand landed on her thigh.

  He pressed it deep, and she glanced to see him shaking his head. “Just park. It’s my finger, not my legs.” She rolled her eyes but did as directed, not surprised when he was out of the car before her. Silly fell into step beside him, amused as ever that he slowed his paces to match her shorter legs. Just one more way he shows how he cares. They angled across the parking lot towards the broad sliding doors. He muttered under his breath, his voice more a growl than anything, “Fuckin’ hate hospitals.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Spend enough time in a place where they goddamned well torture you and see how you like it.” She stepped up onto the sidewalk and stopped, turning back to see he was frozen at the curb. “The smell’s the worst. Fuckin’ worst, and I hate it all, but that’s the worst. Puke and piss, bleach, and so much goddamned despair, you could milk it and make a meal out of the pain.” His tone was flat, and his eyes were unfocused, dim in a way she recognized. “Don’t matter where I am, I smell it and I know what’s in store for me.”

  “Not today.” She took a step towards him and leaned in, palm to his chest. “Not today, Jock. I promise you, I’ll make sure you only have sweet things to smell, and I can’t take the pain, but I can make sure you don’t fall into it. If that’s what you’re worried about.” The way his heart thundered underneath her touch said she had it right. “Not today. And if you want to go, I’ll hit up a pharmacy and get what I need to sort you out. I’d like to know for certain you didn’t fuck up a tendon or something, because that’d impact how you earn your living. You need your hands, just like I need mine.” She looped an arm around his neck, pulling him near. “But if you want to go, we’ll go, no questions asked.”

  His gaze flicked from the building behind her to her face, then back, still distant. They stood like that for a minute, two, three. He took a deep breath and bent his neck, burrowing deep, lips to her skin. Soft fluttering, then the gentle wet glide of his tongue, and she wrapped both arms around his shoulders as his good hand slid up her back, fingers buried in her hair.

  “I’m good.” Said against her throat, the quiet words still made her shiver, the brush of his mouth pleasure and pain. Pleasure because she loved it, loved having him touch her like that, and pain because their time was running out, the looming move casting its thick, suffocating shadow on everything they did together. “I’m good, Silly. You make me that way.”

  “No, Jock. You do the work, you get the praise. You’re making yourself better, every day.” Silly twisted her neck and rolled to her toes, steadying herself on his shoulders. Mouth to the hinge of his jaw, just by his ear, she whispered, “And watching you put in that work, seeing the shine in your eyes as you take back everything you need to be you, makes me so glad to know you. Just to experience, even at a remove, the beauty of you taking back the promise you hold inside, I’m proud to be right here with you.”

  He made a choked sound and his arm tightened around her. They stood there for a long time, a quiet oasis of stillness on a busy sidewalk, in front of a busy hospital, and Silly knew walking through those doors would break this moment, so she held on just as tight, needing this with him.

  “I’m ready,” he murmured. He gave her a squeeze and she returned it, settling back on her heels as she studied his face. His eyes had lost that glazed look, were alert, and he stared at her in a way she knew he was taking her in. She nodded, stepped to the side, and curled her hand around his good one, letting him lead the way.

  ***

  Slate

  “Where’s Jock?” He looked around the garage, scanning every visible face. “Gunny, man, where’s he at? I got something for him.”

  Gunny grunted from where he stood in front of the low sink, then glanced at Slate over his shoulder. “Silly showed, took him in to get his hand looked at. Man fucked it up.” He tipped his chin towards Jock’s work station, the bay tidy, but a splattering of dark red beside the bike lift. “Fucked it up. What do you need?”

  “I talked to a friend, found out a little bit about that neighborhood Silly’s movin’ to in Louisiana.” He stopped talking when Gunny straightened, then grabbed a rag and turned around slowly. “Wanted to go over a couple of things with him. She’s down, means she’s down for the weekend. I’ll catch him Monday.”

  “What’d you find out?” Gunny’s jaw jutted out, and his lips were thin, pressed tightly together. “Anything wrong with where she’s gonna lay her head, brother?”

  “Couple of interesting things, is all. Nothin’ bad, brother. We wouldn’t let Silly get stuck in a place that wasn’t safe. Not even temporarily.” He looked at Gunny for a long minute, considered his next question, considered it again, and still asked it. “If Sharon wasn’t happy being away from Vanna, wanted to move down, or if Kitt needed her to be there and not here, what would you do?”

  Gunny’s immediate answer was “Give my woman what she needed.” No hesitation, no question in his mind, just straight-from-his-gut honesty. “However that happened, she’d be happy. She ate shit for too goddamned long for me to give her a moment where she’s not happy. I’d give her whatever the fuck she needed, man. Just like you would Ruby.”

  Slate nodded slowly, deliberating his next question. From the determi
ned jut of Gunny’s jaw, he decided the man would be more pissed if he didn’t ask. “You think we’re going to lose Jock?”

  “Can’t lose the brotherhood forged in fire.” Slate sighed, but Gunny wasn’t done. “Don’t matter where he hangs his hat, he’ll always be my brother.”

  “You think he knows that?” Gunny’s head shake was as slow as Slate’s nod had been. “Yeah, me either. You think we can convince him before they take that road trip?” That earned him a quiet blink, then a brief shake. “Yeah, me either.”

  ***

  Jock

  “Jesus.” He stared at his hand in disbelief. “Doc, you know I ain’t gonna leave that shit there, right?”

  His middle finger was cocooned in a mix of gauze, cotton, and tape so wide it forced his other fingers down and away, leaving him flying a big white bird all the time.

  Muffled laughter made him glance towards where Silly perched on the foot of his bed. Close enough if he leaned forwards, he could catch a hint of her scent, but far enough away to show her belief in his strength, even if it didn’t feel like he’d been strong today. Shoes abandoned, she’d folded her legs under herself, graceful as ever, and watched the process of him getting his ass first reamed out by a doc who happened to be more than friends with the club, then cleaned up, stitched up, and now wrapped up. Stitching he could handle, short, sharp flashes of pain followed by a slow dragging burn as the fibers slid through his flesh, but—as a complete surprise—the cleaning process that came before hadn’t been at all comfortable, especially when he wouldn’t let them deaden the wound before working on it. It wasn’t about being macho, but if they’d done a nerve block at the elbow like they’d talked about, his arm would have been in a sling for hours, and not able to give Silly that ride.

  So Jock had gritted his teeth, let Silly hold his other hand, and talked about inconsequential things while someone pressed a blistering hot poker of fire deep into his finger. The one time he’d glanced over, it didn’t make sense, because the pretty little nurse had his finger angled over a pan and was aiming a gentle stream of water at the gash. Then she’d picked up tweezers and he’d flicked his gaze back up at Silly.