Gunny (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 5)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Her hand tangled in the covers as she was trying to bring it out from underneath, her movements made difficult by the sedative Goose had given her. When he got her free, she reached up trustingly, lovingly, touching his face, and he held his breath as she pressed her palm against his cheek, saying simply, “Thank you.” Closing her eyes again, she snuggled against his chest, pulling her hand down to tuck it beneath her head. Barely audible, she murmured, “Ace and Gunny. Safe.”

  9 - Sleep, baby

  Gunny laid on his back next to Sharon, still in the guest bedroom of DeeDee’s condo. He had only turned loose of her twice through the night, once to relieve himself in the adjoining bathroom, and once to get the pain pills Goose had left for her. Even though he told Jase he needed to sleep, it was just to get the asshat out of the room. He knew the fucker was his girl’s brother, but it chapped his ass to see him touching her, even as gentle as he was. He nearly growled at the man a couple of times, and then decided running him out was the best thing for both of them. With as out of control as he was feeling, it was the safest thing, for Jase.

  Sharon twisted in his arms several times through the night, trying to wake from dreams that threatened to pull her into darkness. Each time, he put his lips next to her ear and sang her back to sweet, drawing her out of the nightmares and back with him, easing her down into calm, restful sleep with his voice. Something he had wished for himself many times through his life.

  From what she said in the office at the club, he knew she had been running for a while, the constant fear of exposure and discovery weighing her down every day. Looking over her shoulder no matter how safe the refuge, watching for her demons to appear in the flesh. So even without the injuries sustained from the beating, he knew she had to be exhausted to the bone, needing the solace of a deep, sound sleep. Naked, having discarded his jeans for comfort sometime during the night, he twisted in the bed, rolling up onto one hip, maintaining the full-body contact he had with the girl. Stroking a hand up her arm, gently touching her, fingertips barely brushing her skin, he watched as they raised a wave of goose bumps in their wake, and then soothed them with a pass of his palm.

  She shuddered and jerked in fear again, tilting her head to look up at him, eyes slowly focusing on his face, and her body gradually relaxed. Through the hours, each time she had done this, she recognized him as someone safe—sometimes remembering his name right away, and sometimes not—but always knowing she was safe with him. Even with his battered face, she hadn’t been afraid of him, not even once. This time, she knew him, saying his name with something like surprise in her tone, “Gunny.”

  He nodded, taking a deep breath to push down the lust and heat caused by hearing his name roll off her tongue. “Sleep, babe. I got you.” He shifted, sliding his arm out from under her head, but he froze when she jerked, her eyes going wide with terror, fingers clutching at the sheet.

  “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave,” she panted in quick, tiny bursts of sound, panicked. “Don’t leave me. You’ll leave me. Don’t. Need you. He’ll get me. Don’t. Don’t leave. Don’t go—”

  “Shhhh,” he interrupted, speaking over the top of her words, halting the pain-filled flow. “No, babe. I’m not leaving, merely trying to make you more comfortable. Shhhh. But, now that you’re up, we need to hit the head. Time to check how things are,” he spoke calmly, and she seemed to take comfort in his low, rumbling tone, her hand lifting uncertainly to touch his face.

  “Not leaving?” she asked in a small voice, and he shook his head, hating having been the cause of her fear. He shivered when she touched him, surprised once again at the strength of the connection between them.

  “Not leaving,” he tried to reassure her, and then said, “Come here, babe.” He reached to turn her over slowly, pausing for a moment when she scrunched up her face in pain. “Keep going, baby. Just a little more. On your back, all the way over,” he urged, sliding his arms under her knees and shoulders, leaving the twisted sheet behind to rise from the bed with her naked in his arms.

  Walking to the bathroom, he toed the door open and carried her in, seating her on the toilet. Kneeling next to her, he wrapped his arms around her and waited, steadying and letting her lean into him while she cleaned up. “It hurts, Gunny,” she whimpered, whispering.

  “I know, baby,” he whispered back, “but there’s less blood every time you piss, which is good. We’ll get you healed up in no time, back on your feet. In the meantime, I got you, babe. Won’t let you go.” His voice deepened, “Not leaving you.”

  She draped one arm around his neck as he carried her back to bed. Propping her in his lap, he shook a pill from the envelope and put it in her mouth, lifting a bottle of water to her lips, murmuring encouragement and praise in an unceasing stream of words and endearments. Tucking her into bed, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’m stepping out for a minute, baby, but you aren’t alone. Never be alone again. I’m right here, all right?”

  Her gaze warily tracked him as he walked across the room, so he left the bathroom door open, letting her keep him in view. “I’m right here,” he called, hearing her noise of assent.

  Walking back towards the bed, he saw she had struggled up onto one elbow, straining to hold her head upright so she could see him. “Babe,” he scolded, sliding into bed behind her. There was no missing the sigh, the tension released when he slipped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. “I got you,” he murmured into her ear.

  Laying his head on the pillow behind hers, he pressed his lips to the skin right behind her ear, picking up where he left off earlier, choosing a low-pitched Chet Faker song, I’m Into You. Seamlessly shifting between humming and singing the lyrics softly, he held her as she dropped back into a healing sleep.

  Hearing the doorknob move a few hours later, he opened his eyes to see DeeDee looking around the doorframe. Go the fuck away, he thought. She clearly didn’t have mindreading talents, because instead of going away, she walked into the room, seating herself on a corner of the bed.

  Whispering, she asked, “How’s she doing?”

  He stared at her, scowling but not answering. Go away.

  “Gunny, you don’t scare me,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. Goddammit, she rolled her eyes. No fucking respect. Trust, but no respect. He snorted. I’ll take it, I guess. Woman matters to me more than she knows. Guess I’ll have to overlook the eye roll.

  “Better hope you don’t fucking wake her up,” he gritted out in a barely audible voice, and bugged his eyes at DeeDee when Sharon shifted against him, her breath becoming uneven.

  “You want food, Mr. Big Time Bad Guy?” She whisper-laughed, grinning and looking over at the supplies stacked on the nightstand. “I’ll bring in another couple bottles of water. You want me to make you something to eat?”

  He gave her a single shake of his head, watching until she left the room, shutting the door behind her. Closing his eyes, he nestled his cheek against the top of Sharon’s head, shifting his legs and feeling her ass push back against him. Lips to her ear again, he sang Faker’s haunting melody, voicing the hypnotic words to the song, her sleep deepening as she relaxed trustingly into him. He laughed silently. If she only knew how hard it was for me to be still, only using my voice to caress her.

  The next few days passed in much the same fashion. Her brother and DeeDee wandered in and out, and Goose stopped by and pronounced himself pleased with her progress. Word finally came from Deke that Elkins was enjoying club hospitality, awaiting the pleasure of Gunny’s presence in one of the holding rooms at the clubhouse. He knew he would have to deal with the fucking scumbag eventually, but fuck him if he would worry about Elkins yet. Motherfucker could drink his own piss and starve in that small, cold room, as far as he was concerned.

  Sharon’s alertness increased, but he was thankful her level of comfort with him remained much as it had been from the beginning. He had watched her since she started working for DeeDee, but the first time he let himself touch her was esc
orting her into that office, hand on her arm, then her back, and finally having her in his arms. Now, he couldn’t let her go.

  ***

  Safe. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, that was the one word that continued to resonate in her mind. Rising from the muddled confusion caused by the pain pills, she gradually became aware of her surroundings, but without fear, because safe was the first thought that filled her awareness.

  Even before the strong arms registered, before she felt the hand palming her breast or the hard planes of a man’s muscular chest at her back, she thought safe. She believed safe. Then the memories crashed in—opening her door to find Derek standing there, the feel of his hand crushing her throat as he choked her, seeing his other hand fly up into view with a short baton clenched in his fist.

  She jerked, and then came a man’s deep voice, tenderly saying, “Shhhh, babe. I got you.”

  Safe. That was not Derek’s voice whispering to her. Not Derek’s lips so near her ear she could feel the puffs of air as he spoke. Red Rover, Red Rover, let Sharon come over, she thought childishly, then wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of her idea of safety. She thought she had gotten clear of Derek and his insanity, thought she was safe from his need to control every aspect of her and her life. Against all odds, there he had been, his punishing hands reaching out to shove her, forcing her to stumble backwards into the room she had rented for two weeks with the bright hope that her new job would work out.

  More memories flooded her, snapshotted moments of the hours he trapped her in that room. With his favorite toys. With his fists. With him. She knew from experience if she didn’t provoke him, he would leave her face unmarked. He didn’t like the questioning looks they received when he forgot himself and left visible evidence of his brutality.

  “I got you,” the man’s voice spoke again, and she jolted, startled, because she had become so lost in her memories she misplaced the knowledge she wasn’t alone, even with his heat wrapped around her.

  She felt a naked thigh between her legs, bristly hair scratching and rubbing at her skin. There was what seemed like an enormous erection pressing against her ass, and as soon as that presence registered, all thoughts of safety fled and she moved, fighting and twisting in an effort to get away. Her movements woke the pain which had tricked her, because it had been waiting oh-so patiently on the fringes of her consciousness, playing possum, as she herself had done so many times. Tensing and trying to use her muscles allowed it to roar in, freezing her in place and releasing a deep groan from her throat. The arms wrapped around her tightened, cradling her into his torso, holding her against him.

  She could feel individual areas of agony now, the last numbing vestiges of pain medication receding in the face of the misery flooding in, laying claim to her nerve endings. She wanted the numbness back, tried to hold onto it, but it was slippery, and shifted away, hiding from her.

  Olly olly oxen free!

  All across her chest and between her breasts hurt, as did her back. The back was easy to figure; her kidneys had frequently been the focused targets of his attention, because the reminders of discipline lasted so much longer there. For every day she pissed blood, she would remember the lesson an extra week or more. Mother may I? she thought, and a manic giggle escaped her lips, along with another moan of pain.

  “Baby, be still. I got you,” the voice said again, lips placing an open-mouthed kiss on the side of her head.

  Her sternum was not commonly an object of attention, but he had tortured her this way before, so she knew at some point during those terrible hours, Derek must have knelt on her upper body, using his weight to starve her of oxygen. When things first went bad, the early days of their deteriorating relationship, sometimes he would choke her until she passed out, but as things progressed, that could leave bruises on her neck and people wouldn’t pay as much for access to his…content. It was never about sex for Derek, power was his currency of choice and in the end, he had ruled over much of her existence. It had crept up on her, his need to control things, and she remembered wondering one day how it had become her life. They had gone from her thinking it was sweet that he ordered food for her, to her sitting shackled to the floor of a studio so fast it made her head spin to think of it even now.

  Nauseous, she remembered him chatting with his sick, online fuck-buddies during one session, and chortling with glee when he found a better solution for air deprivation. By kneeling on her, pressing her into the floor, he could transfer more and more of his mass to her torso, compressing her ribcage until she could no longer take in enough air to support consciousness…or life.

  But, I am alive. How? Part of her simply wanted to float, forgetting everything, but her traitorous thoughts kept trying to drag her mind into awareness. Just keep forgetting. Her body was shaking, vibrating. When she concentrated on the noises in the room, she realized it wasn’t her body trembling, but the one wrapped around her. The man was humming a song. She lay on her left side, with him curved around her, his left bicep under her head, elbow bent to bring his arm across her front, hand cupping her right shoulder, pinning her against his chest. His right arm crossed her waist, wrist curling up between her breasts, his hand covering one soft mound, his thumb idly caressing her nipple.

  He was a furnace, the welcome heat of his body pressing against her back working better than a heating pad to ease the pain behind her kidneys. His belly was tight against her lower back and ass, and his muscles clenched when she tipped her hips experimentally, testing the soreness of her muscles. The presence of his erection registered again, the humming abruptly cutting off as he thrust his cock up between the globes of her ass and held, his coarse pubic hair grinding into her skin, along with his pelvis, fingers stiffening around her breast, molding it to his palm. Her nipples tightened and peaked, and she shivered as, even with the pain threatening to swallow her whole, she discerned a clenching low in her body, the stirring of a craving she thought long lost.

  “Sharon, babe. I’ve been holding you for four goddamn days. Need you to keep your sweet fucking ass still.” This was a growled command, his chin pressing into her shoulder, the side of his face against her neck. “Baby, I’ve got you.”

  “Safe,” she whispered into the stillness following his words, amazed at the security she found in his arms, even with their positions. Sanctuary while vulnerable, naked, with proof of his arousal pressing against her. Safe.

  “Yeah, babe. You’re safe. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” He shifted on the bed, hands releasing their hold on her body, and he slid his arm from underneath her head, pulling it back so she rested on his forearm. Eyes still closed, she reached a hand up, cupping her fingers around his wrist, sliding until she could twine her fingers with his. Licking her lips, she twisted her head slightly, softly kissing the inside of his arm, exploring that almost-foreign feeling.

  “Fucking hell, baby. Hold the fuck still.” He was growling again, and she smiled, her lips moving against his skin as he tightened his arms around her once more. Safe.

  She dozed, and more memories inundated her.

  Derek pulling her purse out of her hands, taking the car keys and stripping money from her wallet. Questioning her, using his baton on her thighs, the crack of wood on flesh echoing loudly. He threw clothes at her, shouting at her to get dressed as he swept around the motel room, gathering her things, shoving them into bags and boxes. She shuddered with remembered pain when, with her mind’s eye, she watched his hands rising and falling on her body again, because she moved too slowly. Then he was pushing her into the camper on the back of his truck, the lock snapping noisily into place on the outside of the door.

  Wincing at a light blooming in front of her closed lids, she turned her face into the warm arm, for a moment able to relish the feel of a gentle hand slowly stroking up and down her side, hip to shoulder, again and again, before the vortex of memories pulled her back down.

  Derek dragging her from the camper with a hand in her hair, feeling the
sharp pain as her scalp tore, blood trailing lazily across her skin, watching as he flicked a thick hank of hair to the pavement, seeing the gobbet of flesh still attached to the roots. “You said you have money in your locker, so get the fuck in there and get it, bitch.” That voice was wholly Derek and she pulled in a harsh breath, holding it against the anticipation of pain as remembered blows landed on her back.

  Stepping into the club, she immediately saw Gunny standing against the wall, knew his eyes were on her. She always knew when he was in the room; it seemed as if the air were electrically charged whenever he was near her. Since she first walked into the place, he watched her, stared at her like he was the big bad wolf and he was ready to eat her right up. His grins were a little too toothy to be comfortably viewed, but his voice stroked her like a caress, always…a fierce desire for him lodging deep in her belly with every word he spoke. She knew she had to stay away from him, push down her interest…longing. Leaving the refuge of Vanna’s, striking out, this whole trip was about proving to herself she could make it on her own, not scratching an itch with a convenient and oh-so-attractive man.

  Turning her back on him, she was nearly to DeeDee’s office, nearly safe, when she sensed Derek’s presence at her back. She knew his hard hand was reaching out to grab her and she swung around quickly, terror bubbling in her already raw throat, ready to scream for help until she saw it wasn’t the monster at all, the outstretched arm belonging to Gunny. She saw a flash of pity cross his face as he looked at her, and couldn’t imagine what he was seeing, what she had to look like in her instant of panic. She schooled herself from crying years ago, knowing that particular response only served to enrage Derek further, but the look of disappointment on Gunny’s face effortlessly drew her tears to the surface now. Then he touched her, and the gentle way he held her made her feel…safe.

  Arguing her way into DeeDee’s office, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand talking about Derek with Gunny in the room, but he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t go away, and in despair, she was already resigning herself to the inevitable when he spoke up, demanding answers for the evidence he could see written on her skin. Not exactly certain how it happened, a few minutes later, she found herself lying on the couch, covered with a blanket. Then he burst back into the room, his long legs effortlessly eating the distance between them. He lifted her, holding her still and steady, the pain caused by his grip offset by the knowledge that he had her. She was safe.