Gunny (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 5)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Gunshots first. You were still on the bed. Guy tackled me and I rolled him off onto the floor, but I wouldn’t have risked shooting if I hadn’t been one-hundred percent certain where you were. You weren’t in my line of sight, never in danger of crossfire.” He said this so confidently she could do nothing more than nod.

  It took her a minute, letting what he said sink in, and then she shook her head. “Well…of course, because everyone thinks of the risk of crossfire in their bedroom,” she scoffed. “I was in the freakin’ room. They woke us up with a shot, honey. And my ears are still ringing, those gunshots were so loud.”

  “Yeah, they used a flashbang for entry, but I was awake a few seconds before they came through the door. So I had a chance to prepare,” he said, cupping her ass with his hands. He scooted her closer to the edge of the chair and knelt in front of her, rising on his knees as he wedged his way between her thighs. From this position, he looked down at her face and she stared up at him. “But you’re right; you were in the room, babe. I couldn’t keep you safe.”

  “Pffffttt. Crazy ninjas wearin’ balacuntwaffles on their faces? Who could have anticipated that?” The weak and trembling smile on her face faded when he didn’t respond in kind. “Seriously, Gunny. It was scary, but it’s over. Right? It’s over?”

  “Yeah, babe. After my talk with Fury, I think it’s over,” he said and lifted her, letting her wrap her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bed. After he had arranged them on top of the covers to his liking, he told her, “Keep going.”

  “Well…you were there, you know. I was naked in your bed.” Heat swept over her at the thought of those men seeing her vulnerable like that, but she kept her head up, refusing to be ashamed. “You dressed me, kept me calm. Then they put you in a room and I could hear you yelling all the way down the hallway to the room they put me in.” She smoothed the fabric of his tee over the hard, tense muscles of his chest, and then wanted to feel his skin under her hand so pulled it out of the waistband of his pants, flattening her palm on his stomach. “Wait, there was the van. Then the room. See? Confusing.” He didn’t say anything, only made another noise she took to be agreement, so she kept going.

  “You weren’t with me, but when you were yelling, you sounded so mad, but not scared, and that helped me keep it together.” She sighed. “One of the men wasn’t so bad; at least, he didn’t seem like the rest of them. Got me a bottle of water and pressed it into my hands, made sure I knew it wasn’t already opened.” She paused. “I mean…like I’d worry about being roofied after being freakin’ jacked from your bedroom.” She scoffed. “He yelled at one of the other men for talking ugly. I think he was the one who picked me up off the floor, after…” She paused and swallowed, feeling her lips turning down at the corners. Taking a shuddering breath, she blew it out softly, and then shaking her head, said quietly, “It scared me when you freaked out. Really scared me, because I didn’t know…but you were so…I’ve never heard you like that. All I knew was suddenly I was on the floor, couldn’t figure out what had happened, how I got there, at least until you were yelling about them hitting me. Then my face hurt, but you were still yelling.” She moved her hand, tracing the trail of thick hair leading from his belly into his pants, and grinned when he grumbled and reached down to move her hand. She frowned when she saw the bruising on his wrist, gently touching the dark discoloration with one fingertip, wondering, How did he get those bruises?

  “Yeah,” he said with more than a thread of steel and anger in his voice. “Motherfucker hit you, because you were afraid. Fury, he must have been the guy who gave you the water, took care of him. Fury’s also the one who cut the zips from your wrists.” He trailed a hand down her arm, wrapping his fingers gently around her wrist and drawing her hand to his mouth for a soft kiss. “I could hear the fear in your voice, baby.” Pressing her palm on his chest, he covered her hand with his and she could feel the pounding of his heart, at odds with his gentle voice as he said, “I couldn’t get to you, wanted…needed. So fucking strong, Sharon. Watched you pull it together, watched you believe it would be okay. You are so fucking strong.”

  He stopped talking and she didn’t fill the void, so they laid there in the dark and stillness of the room above the clubhouse. His breathing slowed, and she wondered if he were falling asleep, knowing she was so wired it would be hours before she could relax enough to drop off. Without thinking, she quietly asked him, “Did I ever tell you what I’d do when he’d beat me?”

  He stiffened under her hand, and when she replayed her words in her head, she could have bitten her own tongue off. He killed Derek for me tonight, took that on himself, and now I never have to worry about him. Not another single moment of fear, she thought. Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head, feeling his arms tighten around her. His voice raw with emotion, he said, “Babe, he’s not going to hurt you ever again.”

  “I know.” She said this quickly, but until that moment, she hadn’t remembered. She was so focused on what was happening right now that she somehow had forgotten he was dead. She saw his body, fallen gracelessly, one leg twisted under his torso, wide, white eyes staring up at the ceiling, motionless until he shifted his gaze to stare at Gunny. The flat, cold voice coming from Gunny, tone belied by the fury and pain in his face when she found his eyes in the mirror. Killing Derek took something from him. She knew that. But, she had likewise seen the breath Gunny took after that horrific sound filled the room, and she knew the grisly death also gave him something.

  “I know he’s dead.” Taking a deep breath, she repeated slightly differently, “He’s dead, I know.” Another breath, echoed by Gunny’s chest rising and falling. Softly, she continued, “But, I’m kinda like you; things stick with me. He can’t hurt me now, but I remember what it was like. I don’t remember every blow, or even every time he…there were too many. But I do remember the fear and emotion, the taste of the panic and terror in my mouth when I knew it was coming. That fear would get so big it pushed me out, so after a while, I found I had a room in my head.”

  He made a noise and she paused, but when he didn’t say anything, she continued, “I made a room in my head only I could lock. Then, when he’d start, I’d visualize myself rushing inside, crashing the door closed behind me, and see my hands twisting the lock. Then I would stay there until it was safe to come back out.

  “You sounded so angry at what was going on, what had happened. I knew you’d figure things out. I didn’t need my room, Gunny.” She pulled his tee up farther, nuzzling his hot, smooth skin and resting her cheek on his bare chest. She teased herself with small, feather-light kisses, and darted her tongue out to lick at his nipple. “Then you got quiet and they walked me up the hall. I heard you call me baby, and you sounded so afraid. I couldn’t see you, but you seemed so scared. That was the most frightening thing—you sounding scared.”

  “You hold that power, babe,” he said softly, his hand cupping the back of her head and holding her tightly. “My life…you are my life, Sharon. My obsession, my love. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do. My Rose of Sharon. Mine.”

  “I feel the same way, Gunny.” She picked her head up, pushing back against his hold, and he gave her the space she wordlessly demanded. She slid over to rest on his chest and propped her chin on her crossed wrists. “I love you so hard. I do, honey. I love you.” She sucked in a breath, lifting her head in panic at a memory. “The pups?”

  “Pups are okay. And, I love you right back, babe. Love and need you. You can be afraid, just not of me. I’ll always do my best to keep you safe, Sharon. My Rose of Sharon.” He soothed her, his hands stroking across her skin over and over as she rested her cheek on her hands, feeling the powerful swell and dip of each breath he took in. He moved, slipping his hands up her arms to grip her biceps, effortlessly pulling her up so he could kiss her.

  Relaxing into him, opening for his kiss, she gave him all the horror, fear, and pain, feeling him take it in and return that energy back
to her as confidence and love. After a minute, she pulled back, staring into his eyes. “So what happens now?”

  He rolled them, moving to lie beside her, reaching with one hand to cup her face. “Now you let me love on you, babe,” he said, before leaning in to kiss her again.

  ***

  “Diamante out of Lexington called, brother. Got a message downstairs for you.” When those muffled words came through the wood of the hallway door, Gunny woke fully, carefully shifting Sharon off his chest and nestling her onto the pillow, pulling up the blanket to cover her bare shoulder.

  “On my way,” he called quietly, listening as the sound of leather soles hitting the floor echoed and diminished, the footsteps moving away from his door. Twelve hours since their release. Twenty-four since they were taken. Forty-eight since he gave Mason his gift and ate dinner at Bear’s house. As he rolled out of the bed, he looked down at Sharon quietly sleeping, her hands tucked underneath her cheek. He reached out and threaded his fingers through her hair, pushing it back off her face so the bruising was clearly visible. Fist raised, Sharon falling sideways to her knees, mouth open in an unheard scream.

  He glanced across the room towards the door, catching sight of himself in the mirror. Hazel stare intense, he was looking over Sharon’s shoulder, hand caught up in her hair. He was angry at the mark of her injury, at the proof he hadn’t kept her safe, and the rage that still filled him was evident on his face.

  She had given herself to him last night, letting him take what he needed from her body, from the knowledge she was alive and safe, with him. He’d eaten her until she came on his mouth, hands stroking and touching, fingerfucking her hard and fast. Using his tongue and the edge of his teeth to pull her over the cliff, catching her before she hit the bottom and bringing her back up again, feeling her clench around his fingers, hearing her breathlessly call his name. Safe.

  Knee nudging her legs apart, he’d settled between her thighs and used his fingers to spread her open, angling the head of his cock and sinking inside, not giving the first goddamn he was bare. Now, standing here beside her, he remembered thinking one word while he slid into her, that single syllable beating at his brain. Mine.

  The reflection of his face had changed with these memories, hard lines softening. He had needed his hands on her, and once seated deep inside, rolled them, and pulled her onto his chest. On his back, levering his heels into the mattress, rocking up into her again and again, he’d felt her move against him as his hands stroked her back and sides where she lay draped over him. Palm cupping a breast, his other hand sliding into her hair, he’d tugged her head to bring her mouth down on his, and fucked her deep, sweet and gentle until she came again, trying to infuse his love for her into every movement. Then he rolled her to her back and moved over her, keeping his torso lifted by planting a forearm in the bed. Precious. Loved.

  Hand between them, hips working his cock in and out of her pussy, he thrummed her clit with his thumb, eyes focused on her face, their gazes locked as they gave each other what they needed. Chin down, he remembered watching her come, following her a second later, their eyes never leaving the other. The passionate intensity of the experience something that would remain etched on his mind. So fucking strong. So beautiful.

  Cleaned up and snuggled into his side, about ten minutes later she had fallen asleep with a smile curling the corners of her mouth. Not a flinch or whimper marred her sleep; from what he could tell, it was deep, and dreamless. Mine.

  For him, most of the night had been spent unsleeping. He kept twisting the events around in his head, tracing the facts back and forth, trying to find the kink in the stream.

  Now, getting ready to go down and see what kind of fucking message Diamante had left for him, he found his mind wouldn’t leave things alone, continuing to tease along the edges to find the pattern.

  Elkins hooked up with Diamante. Sorting through the bag Deke brought him last night, he pulled a clean tee over his head, tugging it down his chest, and absently smoothing it across his stomach. Diamante hooked up with Shinedown. Digging in his boots, he pulled out the dirty socks and tossed them across the room, pulling a clean pair from the bag. His brain still rolling things around as he balanced on first one foot and then the other to pull them on. Shinedown belonging to Shooter.

  Stepping into his jeans, he drew them up his thighs and palmed himself, tucking his cock into a comfortable position in the fabric. His mind kept working, pushing and pulling at the pieces to try to find an identifiable shape. Shooter is Judge’s old man. Sliding sock feet into his boots, feeling the little thud as his heels seated firmly in the worn leather. Judge taking Eddie back to the Outriders.

  He picked up his cut, slipping his arms through the holes, settling it comfortably across his shoulders. Shooter has always played long games; he’s proud of his plots and plans. Judge…what about Judge? Where is he? Then there’s the Outriders. Shooter. I’m back to Shooter. He paused, staring at himself in the mirror again. Outriders. Something he uncovered recently about that club pecked at his brain…about how Shooter took it over from his old man. What happened when he took it over, same time as Mason reworked the Rebels?

  He was turning towards the door when the connection hit him, and he bolted from the room, turning back only to pull the door closed with exaggerated care, locking it from inside with one last glance at Sharon. She slept on, her demons purged in their conversation last night, at least some of them. He knew there would be more, from what was done to her, as well as from what he had done, but they had made a substantial start last night, and now she knew she could bring anything to him and he would take it all.

  In the main room, he scanned the members seated around on the couches and chairs, looking for…there. Catching Mason’s eye, he tilted his head to the office door and got a chin lift in response, quietly making his way to the office to meet him there.

  “What’s up, brother?” Mason asked, closing the door as he came inside.

  “Utah.” He saw Mason scowl and shake his head, so he continued, “Justice Morgan, Shooter’s old man. He went missing in Utah, and as far as I could find out, no one ever located the body. Birdy comes to us from Utah, with a hatred of you that goes so deep the man is willing to die for a chance to take down your club. It’s the only thread I find, but it’s not small, boss. I kept tracking things back, but continued to get hung up on the Outriders. Sharon to Elkins, Elkins to Diamante, Diamante to Shooter through Shinedown. Then there’s Judge to Outriders, Outriders to Utah, Utah to Birdy. Make a call, Mason. Something’s sticky up there.”

  “Fuck. That’s thin, brother.” Mason shook his head, leaning one hip against the desk.

  “No thinner than the threads that took me to Shinedown. No thinner than the drug dealer’s sister being Chismoso’s aunt. And Chismoso being president of the Diamante’s Chicago chapter our good friend Bones has had nothing but trouble out of, and that same drug dealer’s sister—Manzino’s sister—is balling Birdy, who’s the exact motherfucker we’re discussing right the fuck now. Utah. There’s something here, Mason. It centers in Utah.” He nodded, dragging his palm across his scalp.

  Taking a deep breath, Mason looked at him with an expression he couldn’t identify, and then walked around the desk, sitting heavily in the chair there. “Utah,” he said flatly, and Gunny nodded again. Mason sighed, and then said, “Deacon is the missing piece, brother. He was trying to make some kind of deal with Shooter, back before we made our trip. Then, the last I knew, Deacon was headed up to Provo. Provo is where the Legends are based. And, fuck me running, but Provo is where Birdy came from. Utah.” He thrummed on the edge of the desk with his thumbs. “Less thin, looking at it from that direction, wouldn’t you say?”

  Pressing his lips together, Gunny frowned, looking down at the toes of his boots. He let his mind turn this information over, holding it up against what he already knew to find the fit. Deacon was Mason’s old president, upended from the club and tossed aside like trash when the Rebel Fie
nds became the Rebel Wayfarers. Shooter was a Fiend under Deacon’s reign, so there was a clear connection there. And the hate? Hell yeah, there would be a fuckton of hate for the Rebels and everything they stood for, because from where Deacon stood, he would believe the club had been stolen from him. He would hate Mason with every fiber of his being. “Provo,” he tried the word out, hearing it slip from his lips like a promise. Nodding, he said, “Lots less thin. We haven’t seen the last of Judge, Prez. I feel it in my bones.”

  “Yeah, I know. Boy’s got a hard-on for me. Was told he’s calling me ‘Club Killer’ for what we did to the Outriders. He’d have proudly murdered his own sister, but has the balls to label me a killer.”

  Still distracted, Gunny said, “Sororicide.”

  “Latin for killing one's sister,” Mason said in response, and Gunny froze.

  “Boss. Oh fuck, boss. Hoss told me Fury called, woke me, but I missed it. Then I got stuck in my head.” He shook his head. “I got a feeling, Prez. Fucking shit, man. Call Memphis. Call Bethany, man. Get your sister on the phone,” he said, watching as all the color fled from Mason’s face and he pulled out his phone with a curse.

  ***

  Mason scrubbed at his face with his palm, thinking, Goddamn it, I want a fucking cig. He looked up and out the window, seeing for a moment the spreading branches of the trees in the family holler in Kentucky, and not the skyline of downtown Fort Wayne. Bethany, he thought and shook his head. He hadn’t seen his baby sister in far too long, not since before Carrie Sosa came to Chicago and dropped off his boy, Chase, nearly two years ago. The person who answered the phone at Iron Indian Records, where she worked, said she was traveling, scouting a band, but he would pass along the word her brother wanted to hear her voice at the first opportunity.