Gunny (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 5)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “—a couple years ago,” he continued. “I found this at an auction. They didn’t know what they had, and I sure as fuck didn’t tell them.” Laughter sounded in the room, but he kept his eyes on Mason’s face. “Way I see it, there is no one else this bike could belong to, no one it matches up to like it does you. Because, like our president, like Mason, it is one of a kind, fast and dangerous. Fuck, brothers, my Rose of Sharon tells me Mason is hot as hell. Now, I can’t vouch for that shit, ‘cause my dick likes pussy, but I know this bike is fucking hot, because I get a hard-on every damn time I look at it.” Louder laughter rang out, and Mason tucked his thumbs into his front pockets, frowning.

  “This is my gift to you, Prez. Like you have with every man in this room, you’ve saved my life. This is the smallest of things compared to that.” He turned and gathered the silk covering in his hands, dragging it over and off the bike, tossing it to one side, where a prospect caught it.

  A deafening silence fell over the room, broken only by a single set of footsteps and a harshly indrawn breath. He hadn’t turned from the bike, still admiring the lines and artistry of the powerful-looking machine. “Brother,” Mason whispered softly. “This is a Vincent. A Vincent Black Shadow. Nine ninety-eight cc, it came off the line doing a hundred and a quarter, seventy better than anything else in the day. Hunter S. Thompson named it a death machine.”

  “Yeap,” Gunny said proudly, looking from the bike to Mason’s awe-struck face. He nodded slowly. “Handmade in 1948 in England, it was hell to find parts at first, but in the end, everything came together like I wanted. We’re back to original as much as a sixty-six-year-old bike can be. Bitch can run too, man. Listen to this.” He moved to adjust the choke, toggling the kill switch and reached down, flipping out the lever then jumped up, smoothly kicking the bike to life. He looked back at Mason as he rolled the throttle, the powerful rack and ring of the pipes echoing in the closed-in space. At a nod, he killed the engine and stepped around the front wheel, still watching Mason’s face as he faced him across the bike.

  “I can’t, man. This is…it’s too much, Gunny. Holy fucking…Jesus, it’s a beautiful bike, but I know what it’s worth, man.” Mason’s eyes never left the bike, jealously tracing the lines with his gaze, possessive hands reaching out involuntarily to rest on the handlebar and seat.

  Gunny frowned at Mason’s words, tilting his head as he carefully composed his response. “Brother. Mason, my life ain’t worth much, I know, but you saved it, Prez. With the club, giving me all this…you and Deke, but this…this is for you.” He shrugged. “I built the bike for you. You don’t want it, we’ll auction it, and the money can go to the beer fund.”

  That startled a barking laugh from Mason. “That’d be a fuckton of beer, brother. And your life, the lives of every man in this room, each man wearing my patch…you know you are all worth everything to me.”

  Mason looked away from the bike for the first time, taking in the expression Gunny knew he had on his face. It had to be a combination of hope Mason could understand the worth of the gift he had first given Gunny, paired with disappointment that his friend would consider rejecting the bike. “Every patch is worth my life,” Mason said and bowed his head for a moment. When he lifted it, he swallowed, looking at Gunny again with a firm nod. “My thanks, brother. It’s a fucking beast. I’m proud to ride it, man.” Reaching out a hand, he gripped Gunny’s forearm, holding for a moment as their arms stretched across the bike. Tilting his head, he asked, “Quarter mill?”

  Gunny waggled the fingers of his other hand, grinning. “Give or take fifty large.”

  ***

  Mason scanned the room, looking at the pride on every man’s face. His gaze caught on Jase, seeing the moment when his thoughts stuttered at what Gunny and Mason had just said. Jase stood still for a second and then turned to Slate, and Mason heard him quietly ask, “Dollars?”

  Laughing, Slate nodded, gaze still on the motorcycle parked in the middle of the clubhouse’s main room. “We’re a profitable club,” he overheard Slate joke, reaching over and picking something up off the bar. “Gunny’s a focused dude. When he said the auction didn’t know what they had on the lot, he’s probably underselling their ignorance. That’s an ultra-rare bike; collectors are going to be beating Mason’s door down if word gets out what he’s got.” Looking at the patch in his hand, he glanced over at Jase. “Haven’t talked to you much lately, since you’re so busy with Myron and shit. How’s Sharon? She still dancing?” Shaking his head, he lowered his voice, asking, “You still okay with her being with Gunny, man?”

  Mason focused to hear the answer over the growing swirl of noise in the room, because this was a question he had wanted to ask, too. But even before Slate was finished speaking, Jase was nodding. “Hell yeah, I’m okay with it. He’s good for her. Man is solid, and she seems…I dunno, she seems to be something he needs, too. It’s funny how he is with her, hauling her around and keeping her close.” He shrugged. “She’s still dancing. DeeDee said the nights she’s on the ticket, Slinky’s is packed, but she noticed Sharon is careful to keep a distance from the men. Gunny seems okay with it, which honestly surprised me at first. When I asked him about it, he explained he’s the only one she goes home with. Shit, Slate, as long as he’s okay with it, what the hell am I going to say?”

  Slate nodded. “If he says he’s good, then he is. It’s amazing what finding the right partner can do for a man.” Lifting his voice, he yelled, “Bear, come here, brother.”

  As the dark-haired man walked over, Mason smiled at the good-natured arguing going on between various members about the bike, nuances of its construction, and questions to Gunny regarding provenance of the replacement parts. He walked over to join the little group and, greeting Bear, he listened as Slate first asked a couple of questions about some bike orders in the queue, then about any lingering issues from the injuries Bear took in California. Finally, Slate got down to what Mason felt was probably the whole reason for the conversation. He shook his head as his brother said, “Bear, give Eddie a call and have her let Willa know Mason’s here for a couple of nights.”

  Bear grinned at his friends and pulled his phone from his pocket, pressing a button and putting it to his ear. “Dial home,” he said and waited a second. “My heart, do me a favor, would ya? Let Willa know Mason is in town? Yeah, he’s at the clubhouse right now. Yeap, I’m looking at him. Uh huh, I think he’s here for a couple of nights.” He paused. “Sure, I can ask—” He paused again. “Baby, you don’t have to do—” He smiled at her interruption, then said, “Okay, sweetheart, I’ll see what I can do. Love you, Eddie.” His face lit up when she apparently returned the sentiment, and he tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Y’all are all coming to dinner tonight at eight. Bring Ruby and DeeDee. If you see Tug, tell him and make sure he knows he’ll need to bring Mom. Prez, you don’t get to tell her no, okay? Eddie’s on a mission, it seems.”

  Mason ran his tongue across the inside of his teeth, then said, “Invite Gunny and Sharon, too.”

  Bear shrugged and nodded. “Okay, the more, the merrier,” he said, pulling his phone out and walking away as he typed a text to Eddie.

  He watched as Slate slung an arm around Jase’s shoulders, drawing him towards the larger group of Rebels still standing next to the bike. Glancing over his shoulder at Mason, he said, “Prez, let’s take that bitch out for a run, man.” Lifting his head, Slate shouted, “Rebels ride, motherfuckers.”

  They watched as Mason carefully maneuvered the bike out of the building. In the parking lot, he straddled the seat and waited for the brothers scrambling to mount their bikes, as he familiarized himself with the feel of the controls and adjusted the mirrors, giving everyone a chance to ready their rides. He glanced over at Jase, where he sat on his bike, and frowned, calling him and Slate forward with a tip of his head. They walked their bikes up on either side of him, and he asked Jase, “Why ain’t you riding Winger’s scoot, man?” He had bought the motorcycle Bear made
Winger, unwilling to see the customized bike go to a stranger in a charity auction, because to him, one of those men unlucky enough to never get to meet the man, it had been DeeDee’s bike.

  Jase shook his head, patting the tank of the bobber he rode. “Road’s bike works for me when I’m solo. I’ll grab the Rebel when I pick up DeeDee to go to dinner.”

  “The Rebel?” Mason asked, and Jase nodded.

  “It’s patched in, man. Patch is painted right on the tank; that bike is a true Rebel.” He grinned and shrugged, settling his cut more comfortably.

  Mason nodded and looked around at the more than thirty men sitting astride their bikes, waiting. He gave the prospect manning the gate a chin lift and received an acknowledging nod in return. Once the gate was open, he raised a hand in the air and got chills at the roaring of bike engines in response. Giving an overhead twirl with his finger, he led the group of his brothers out of the lot and onto the street. He rode point on their doubled line of bikes, as was his right, Slate and Gunny side-by-side right behind him.

  ***

  Swallowing hard, she sighed again. “I don’t know what I want. One minute, things are so hot between us I can’t breathe, and I want to eat you up…want you to make love to me until we’re both raw and screaming. Then, in the next minute, I’m scared and I want to run. I’ve been…I don’t know. Lost, maybe? Since I left home in Red Deer, I’ve been lost. Back then, I was so afraid of being ordinary, forgettable. Ace had done so much with his life even before he hit high school, and I was just me. Our other brothers were all athletes too; you could see the pride on Mom and Dad’s faces. And then there was me.”

  Sharon ducked her head, hair trailing down across her cheek, hiding much of her face from him. Softly, she said, “When I was with Derek, after things…got bad, I tried for so long to be invisible, wanted it, even, but the fear still waits, and it’s got big teeth. The fear can still overwhelm me, of being forgettable. But, you? You…oh, Gunny, you ground me, and sometimes it feels as if you’re the only thing holding me together. Like I’d fly apart if you weren’t here.”

  She looked up at him from where she was sitting on the floor, a dog curled in her lap. Whispering softly, she said, “There were so many people there tonight. Teachers, educated people, and then…there I was.” She shrugged, glanced up at him and back down, and she muttered something, but he couldn’t catch the words.

  They had barely returned home from the dinner at Eddie and Bear’s place, a chaotic gathering of friends and brothers, complete with kids running around. She had insisted on sewing his new patch on before they left, and he glanced down again to see it nestled there over his name. When they got the invite to dinner, she had been excited to meet some of the women. She chattered in his ear all the way over about how nice it would be to have friends in town, and he had frowned, realizing with a start how isolated she had been since moving in with him. Granted, he liked it that way, wanted her all to himself, but not if it made her unhappy. No matter how he preferred to live, above all he wanted her happy, loved to see her smiling.

  When they got to Bear’s house, she had half-hidden behind him at first, fingers twisting between his, her palm wet with nervous sweat. The greetings from everyone had seemed warm and heartfelt to him, but her tension hadn’t lessened, even when he pulled her into his lap. She had stiffened even more when he began openly caressing and touching her as they were sitting around before the meal. He wanted everyone to know she was his, and his hands on her hips and back were an open claim for anyone with eyes to see.

  He noticed Eddie wearing a new vest with familiar looking patches sewn to the back. Looking closer, he saw they said ‘Property of Bear,’ and he looked at the man with a smile.

  Not all the women wore vests, but enough of them, and he frowned. He decided he needed to get Sharon a set of rags so she would be publicly claimed in settings like this, or when she was around any of his brothers, with or without him by her side. She was his, and he wanted everyone to know. Bending down, he had nuzzled the side of her head, feeling her tense even more under his hands. “Baby,” he whispered, “this is our family.” She took a breath and nodded, looking over to where DeeDee sat comfortably on Jase’s knee, posture an unconscious mirror of their own.

  During dinner, she talked a little at first, but then had gradually grown quiet, listening more as her head turned back and forth at the verbal volleying of the long-time friends present at the table. Insider jokes and childhood stories were related with much laughter, but the only two people nearly as uncomfortable as he and Sharon were Mason and Willa.

  Since Sharon clearly wasn’t having a good time, he quietly suggested leaving as soon as the meal was done, and she accepted gratefully, silent on the ride home, pressed tightly against his back. Once inside, she sat on the floor, snuggling the pups, their wiggles and licks bringing a small smile back to her face. Where she still sat, taking comfort from their unconditional love.

  Gunny still wasn’t pleased with what he saw so far, and even less so with what he heard her saying. How could she ever think she’s forgettable? he wondered. He waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, he stepped over from where he was leaning against the wall and squatted down next to her. Reaching out, he picked Tank up out of her lap, ignoring the complaining sounds from the dog, and sat him on the floor. Then he slid his hands underneath her knees and around her back, standing and lifting her as she wound her arms around his neck.

  Walking into the bedroom, he put a knee to the bed, carefully crawling to the headboard and twisting to sit, pulling her into his lap. “Babe, you don’t know what you want?” It was a loaded question, and she would know it, because he was a big fan of knowing your own mind, a conversation they had more than once.

  She shifted, tucking herself against him, nestling her head beneath his chin. “Well, yeah, I do. Maybe it’s more about not being sure I deserve what I want.”

  “And if I want you?” He asked the question softly, nuzzling the side of her head.

  With a quiet sob, she said in a tear-filled voice, “I’m not sure you deserve just me. So much more, baby, you deserve so much more.”

  “Shhhh, Sharon. My Rose of Sharon, you hush that talk. What if I want you, baby? You make me happy. I want you, so can I have you? Do I deserve to have what makes me happy?” He pressed his lips against the side of her head, slowly stroking one hand against the edge of her jaw, cupping his hand around the column of her throat. “Can I?” He traced down her neck with his thumb, dragging it across her collarbone towards the curve of her shoulder. “Baby, can I have you?” He brought his hand across, the backs of his knuckles brushing against her nipples, and he watched as they hardened and pressed against the fabric of her shirt. He closed his hand over her breast, squeezing lightly as he rolled her nipple between finger and thumb.

  Her gasp was his only answer and he leaned down, capturing her mouth with his own, lips coaxing hers into responding, opening for him. He pressed his advantage, stroking into her mouth with his tongue, sliding between her lips and tasting her. Fucking addictive, he thought. Kissing her recklessly, the excitement and passion in their embrace increased his arousal and he groaned into her mouth, feeling his cock throb and jerk against the buttons of his pants.

  “If I want you, can I have you?” he asked again, his voice rough with passion, lips against hers, their foreheads nearly touching. “If I wanted to keep you for myself, could I? All mine?” He traced his nose along the length of her jaw, nuzzling her ear, dusting soft kisses along the way. “Because I want you, babe…wanna keep you,” he whispered, his fingers caressing and plumping her breast while he nipped with his teeth at her earlobe. His other hand slid down her back, slipping underneath her jeans to press between her ass cheeks, pulling her hard against him. She sighed at his touch, and he felt her hands moving restlessly up and down his arms, stroking his face, running over his scalp.

  “Wanna fuck you.” He kissed her. “Wanna keep you,” he repeated, nuzzling her che
ek and tightening his fingers around her ass. “Wanna have you. Mine.” He stroked into her mouth with his tongue, his fingers plucking at her nipple. “Wanna eat you.” His arms tightened, hands clenching where they gripped, the kiss deepening and renewing. “Eat you right up, baby. Can I?” he asked, and smiled against her lips at her affirmative response.

  “You’re mine, babe,” he said, releasing her and standing, divesting himself of his clothes, tossing them carelessly away from him. He turned back to her, found her still mostly dressed, and reached out, tugging at the button on her pants, sliding his fingers into the waistband and pulling them down, along with her panties. “Need to see you,” he whispered, removing her shirt and bra, settling her back onto the bed.

  “Have to taste you,” he breathed, lips on the inside of her knee as he worked his way between her legs. “You’re going to come hard, babe,” he said, nipping and gently biting at her pussy lips, tugging them into his mouth before separating them with the tip of his tongue.

  Slipping his hands up her legs, he draped them over his shoulders, seeing her toes curl into the sheet in anticipation. “Gunny?” She said his name like a question and he looked up her body, glowing in the limited moonlight cast through the windows.

  “Yeah, baby?” he said, twisting and twirling his tongue along her opening, shallowly dipping inside then moving up to circle her clit. He slid his hands along the backs of her thighs, cupping her pussy firmly with one hand. His middle finger slipped up to caress and flick her clit, and he ground the heel of his hand into her, feeling the wetness making her slippery.