Gunny (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 5)

by MariaLisa deMora

A memory of his father filled his mind and he let the thoughts roll without guidance, seeking recollections from the past. He had been about seven, which would put the timing about a year before his mother came home for the final time, the last few months he had her before she was gone again. During all the years she was missing from their day-to-day, mostly his daddy had turned hard and brittle, toughened to the point his shell was as impregnable as a turtle’s, but this was a memory of soft.

  “You turn it this way,” Daddy said, demonstrating with the willow stick in his hands as Davy watched intently. “Then you whittle the top of the whistle off flat, like this. ‘Cause when we put the bark back on, you gotta give the air somewhere to go or it ain’t gonna work.” His hands deftly worked with the knife, the edge of the blade plucking and trimming, notching and cutting the soft wood, forming something out of nothing in front of Davy’s eyes.

  “Now, we put the bark back on.” His daddy matched actions to words, lining up the sheath of bark they had removed earlier with the end of the whistle and gently twisting it back and forth to seat it in place. “Gotta get it just right. Can’t force it, or you’ll split the bark, so you work it easy to get it back in place.” His big hands, the deep creases of his knuckles and palms seamed with the dark beauty he chased underneath the mountain, lifted the whistle to his mouth. “Then you do the easiest thing in the world.” He pursed his lips and blew into the end of the willow branch, creating a soft, melodic, monotone whistle. He varied the force of the air, and the sound danced up and down the scale, like lightning scattering all throughout a thunderhead poised at the top of their mountain. He paused and looked down at his son with a soft smile. “You breathe and it lives.”

  Mason shook the memories from him, twisting in the chair to look down at the desktop. He knew Gunny had hold of something in what he had presented earlier, because from what he could see, all signs were indeed pointing back to Provo and Deacon. Shaking his head, he softly said, “Can’t force it.” Thoughts of Willa flooded his mind, and he leaned back deep into the chair. He had taken her to Slate’s wedding, had wooed her since with soft words and smooth touches, phone calls and day trips on his bike. He had been patient with her for a while now, waiting for the right time. He would see her today at Jase and DeeDee’s, show her what it meant to be his when they were around people who were also his. Nodding, he stood, agreeing with his long-dead father on something at last. “Can’t force it. But I sure as fuck can coax it along.”

  ***

  Gunny felt Sharon tremble and glared at Hoss. “Hold on a second, brother,” he snarled, bending to put his mouth next to Sharon’s ear. “Baby, let’s go to the kitchen for a minute.” He knew DeeDee was in there, and he also knew as soon as she saw Sharon, she would pull her close. Her girls were hers, and this included his woman. Sure enough, his hold on her was quickly preempted, and she was put to work making food for the crowd gathering to help with move-in day at Jase and DeeDee’s new place. It took a fuckton of fuel to keep a bunch of big men going, and he saw dozens of sandwiches in progress on the countertops behind the women.

  He stalked out of the kitchen followed by Mason, managed to ditch the man by peeling him off on a piece of furniture that needed to be taken upstairs, and then went hunting Hoss. There was still no love between the two men. For as long as Gunny had known him, they rubbed each other the wrong way, but this—his behavior today—might be just about the final straw.

  “What the fuck were you thinking, bringing up something like that in front of Sharon?” He leaned in close and gritted his teeth. “Did you conveniently forget she was taken and held not long ago? In time still best counted as hours, not days? That she was taken from my bed in the middle of the night? Or, maybe you forgot she had to watch me wipe her ex from the face of this earth, and then be held, bound, and blindfolded until Diamante decided to cut us loose? My woman is dealing with shit you can’t fathom, brother. Leave her the fuck out of any conversations you want to have about people missing and just shut the fuck up.”

  Straightening, he was surprised at the look of remorse on Hoss’ face, feeling somewhat mollified when he heard a quiet, “Fuck, man. I’m sorry. Was a shit move on my part. Soon as I saw her face, I realized the audience. I wanted to get your take on what I’m thinking. I value your opinion, brother.”

  “Now, what the fuck was so important about Willa?” He put his shoulders to the wall next to Hoss, scanning the room automatically, the urges to identify danger less now than a year ago, but still present. He found it somewhat odd this most recent episode hadn’t triggered a stronger response in him, but over the past days, he had decided to accept the lack of panic as a gift. Fist raised.

  “I think she’s gone. Eddie was asking about her yesterday, so I had a prospect take a quick run. Her apartment is buttoned up tight.” Hoss shook his head. “Want to tell Mason, but I don’t have anything concrete to say. Woman might be on a trip for her job, or might have gone downstate to visit her folks. Or she might be gone, which is what my gut tells me, but I don’t have anything in hand to support that.”

  “Then don’t say anything. Let the man soak up today. It isn’t often he gets to simply be with us without some kind of fucking politics getting in the way. Drama is a fucking killjoy, and maybe the bitch will show up before he has to leave. Give it a few, brother.” He nodded, and then felt a twist in his gut. “Which prospect did you use?”

  “Hurley.” Hoss nodded. “He’s turning out pretty good. Steady and sharp, boy does as told without making a stir. He’s about nine months into it, but I like him so far.”

  Gunny sighed. “He’s fucking young.”

  “Yeah, they’re all fucking young, but the desire is in his gut. Can’t deny his want-to, and he applies himself.” Hoss shrugged. “He’s good to have around for Chase, too.”

  Chase, Mason’s seventeen-year-old son, had been sent to Fort Wayne with Tug months ago, and depending on the day, was either staying at the clubhouse, or in Tug’s apartment. Mason had made Tug responsible for his boy, and Tug took the charge seriously. The boy wanted to patch into the club in the worst way, but Mason had decreed he would have to wait another year. “Yeah, probably good for him to see what kinda hell prospects catch from us. Fuck, we all know if he does decide to patch in, he’s going to get the worst of anyone, because ain’t any one of us gonna want to be seen playing favorites. Most of the brothers will sway too far the other way, I bet.”

  Hoss lifted his chin in agreement. “You know you’re right. He’s been playing guitar with Slate’s little brother and Bear some. You heard him yet?”

  “Nope, but DeeDee was talking about how good he was the other day. Benny’s been a good influence on him, appearances to the contrary.” He laughed, because Slate’s brother had wound up in Fort Wayne through a series of bad decisions his brother rescued him from. It was funny to think of him being a positive influence, but he was about a year sober now.

  “Boys say the bar’s packed when they’re on the ticket. People must be finding something they like.” Hoss shifted, and then asked, “Hey, man, you want a beer?”

  Surprised by this offer, a sarcastic rejection was on his tongue, but he held it, saying instead, “Sure do. You know where they’re keeping the cooler?”

  “Backyard, next to the big-ass grill Jase bought.” Hoss laughed. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  ***

  Sharon had hung out in the kitchen with DeeDee for a while, helping with sandwiches and drinks. If she was honest, it was more hiding out than hanging out. When Rebel members would come in, she screened her face behind the curtains of her hair, watching them out of the corner of her eye. It seemed like she spent the past few days trying to hide from herself, too. Trying to forget what had happened.

  They had been back to the house a couple of times and everything looked normal, but she found herself anxiously looking around corners. There was new carpeting in Gunny’s bedroom, and the holes in the walls were gone, patched and painted out of existenc
e. But, she couldn’t forget what had happened in that room. Even though she hadn’t said anything to Gunny yet, through the stench of the paint fumes, she thought she could still smell the thick, hot, copper scent of blood. It smelled like fear to her, and caused a feeling that caught at her heart in her chest, reminding her of the moments she thought Gunny was hurt…or worse. They were staying at the clubhouse still, hadn’t yet been cleared to go home for good, which was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, she didn’t have to face those fears quite yet, but it also meant they were living in the clubhouse, where all the members hung out.

  Their pups—his pups, she reminded herself—were staying with PBJ, one of the club members he was friendly with, and she found she seriously missed playing with them. Mostly, she simply hated being around so many people all the time. Before, when she worked, she had his quiet and calming house to go back to when she was done, when her set was over. Now, the clubhouse was a beehive of activity, and there were entire families who had moved into those walls for safety. Deke was one thing, because he had introduced himself to her as Gunny’s friend, but the other members were more difficult to categorize. Except for Mason, who, even if she was still trying to figure him out, she knew Gunny loved like he loved Deke, which made her trust him.

  Another member walked into the kitchen and she dropped her head again. All these men wearing black leather reminded her of the ones who had taken them, who had hit her, had hurt Gunny—

  A hand closed on her arm and she desperately tried to shove away, drawing in a frightened breath, jerking at the iron hold on her wrist, pulling and twisting to get free. “Shhhhh, sweetheart,” she heard as arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her back, the familiar voice cutting through her panic.

  She was nearly sobbing as she turned in his arms, throwing her arms around his neck. “Ace,” she said, hearing the tears thick in her own voice. “God, I’m glad it’s you.”

  He answered an indistinct question from the doorway leading outside then steered her towards the interior door, pushing her before him without a word, ignoring her protests. She glanced around the living room, glad to see they were alone. She had time for only a quick yelp as he pushed down on her shoulders, seating her on the floor in front of the couch. She ducked her head when he swung a leg over the top of her, settling onto the sofa behind her. “What are you—“ He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed, his thumbs rotating into the tense muscles there. “God,” she moaned, and he laughed.

  “Don’t let Gunny hear you making those noises, sis. You’re my sister, but he forgets sometimes,” he teased, using the heel of his hand to work the muscles just underneath her shoulder blade. “You’re tense, sweetheart.”

  “Well, yeah, who wouldn’t be, with a house full of bikers?” she shot back and felt his hands slow, and then continue the firm massage. Shit, these are his friends too, not only Gunny’s. I need to remember that, she thought. “You are all scary, scary dudes.” Trying to play off her earlier statement, she twisted her neck to glance back and laughed, but then lost her smile and tucked her chin down at the look on his face.

  “DeeDee said you were going to ask her a question earlier, but got interrupted. What did you need, Sharon?” His tone was even, but the hurt she had seen hovered in the background of his voice.

  What she had been going to ask DeeDee was not something she wanted to say to her brother. For one, he wasn’t an old lady, with the responsibilities carried by being in a relationship with a club member. From what she had seen and heard, first at the dinner party at Bear and Eddie’s place, and then at the clubhouse these past days, her riding on the back of Gunny’s bike put her in a position she hadn’t expected. The association with him warranting her respect she hadn’t earned. Jase might understand; he was always big on making your own way. But, she knew he wouldn’t have any idea about protocol for telling a man he was—

  She slammed the door on the thought, twisting the lock firmly. Instead, she chose to address a different question that had pressed in on her all day. “Does it seem weird that these people are nice to me?”

  His hands paused again, and then his fingers found a knot and rubbed hard at it until it eased, before moving on, seeking the next tight muscle. In a quiet voice, he asked, “Weird how? And nice how?”

  “You know. Like today, people have been kind to me. They don’t even know me, so why would they be nice? Why would they go out of their way to try and talk to me?” She knew she wasn’t articulating this very well, but maybe he would get it. She hoped he would understand without digging, and then be able to help her map her path in this group of people. “DeeDee I get, because she’s awesome, and loves you, and is the best boss ever. But, everyone else? I just don’t understand.”

  “You belong to Gunny, and these men are his brothers. I’m his brother, sweetheart. That means you belong to us, too. You’re surrounded by family here, Sharon. They want to get to know you, to show respect to Gunny through their interactions with you. Family to him, and you. And, their women are his family too, just as much as you are mine. More, maybe, because they don’t keep secrets.” Ouch, that hurt, but it was an earned dig, and she had to own the sting. She hadn’t been honest with him for a long time, ever since the day she found out he was going to Russia to play hockey and asked her if she would be okay. She had looked him full in the face and lied that day, telling him she was excited for his opportunity and, of course, she was going to be okay.

  His fingers found a particularly sore spot and she hissed, trying to move away, but with a hand on her shoulder, he pulled her back into the pressure and eventual relief. “So, tell me again; in this current scenario, why wouldn’t they be nice to you?”

  “I’m only some chick who works in the strip joint—” she started her response, but stopped abruptly when his hands tightened painfully on her shoulders.

  “You’re so much more than that, Sharon,” he whispered, his mouth near her ear. “You’re beautiful and strong, so fucking strong. Talented, because, baby sister, I’ve seen you dance, and you belong in front of people. Yours is an art that needs an audience. Maybe not the one you have right now, but I see you on stage somewhere. You’re poised and intelligent, and you have so much fucking love in your heart. So much to give, and giving that love makes you happy. I think only you could have found a man like Gunny and fallen in love with him.” His hands cupped her shoulders and he shook her lightly. “Wake the fuck up, sis. You are not just some chick. You’re so much more than what you believe.”

  He pressed his lips to the side of her head, and there was a deep rumble from across the room. She knew what she would see when she lifted her tear-filled eyes. He was padding across the room towards them, his gaze fixed on her face. Squatting down in front of her, Gunny reached out and replaced Jase’s hands on her shoulders with his own, frowning over her head at her brother. “You fucking made her cry, brother,” he said in an accusing tone, sliding his hands up the column of her neck. Wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, he cupped her jaw and lifted her face to his, softly kissing her lips. “You okay, babe?”

  She nodded, leaning her forehead against his, eyes open and staring at him. My family. “I am now.”

  ***

  “Fuck.” He gritted the word into the phone from between clenched teeth, already moving and grabbing his cut. “I’m in the wind, brother. I can be there in ten.”

  Sharon made an inquisitive noise from the bed and he paused, looking down at her. At least when she was taken, he had been beside her. For good or bad, he would have known what happened to her as it happened. If what he just heard were true, then Prez wouldn’t have the same solace. “Sleep, baby. I’ll be back soon as I can.” She mumbled again, and he pulled the door of their clubhouse room closed, locking it behind him, moving to the stairs with long strides.

  In the main room, he found Slate and Tug, knowing from the easy look on their faces that what he held would be news. Un-fucking-welcome news. Fuck, he thought. Nothing to do
but rip the fucking bandage off. This would be hard for Slate to hear, because of what had happened to Ruby, but they had to be there for Prez.

  “Mason called,” he said, barely getting two words out before Slate’s phone lit up. Turning to Tug, he continued, “He thinks Willa’s gone. Said shit’s not right at her place. He wants some brothers to come give it a look-see, figure things out. Hoss had the same thought yesterday, ran Hurley out there. No joy. So we know her place has been buttoned up at least that long.”

  From Slate’s conversation, it was clear Mason had called and was filling him in on the few known details he had already gone over with Gunny. The three men shared a glance, and Gunny asked, “Lockdown?” At Slate’s nod, he pulled his phone out and tapped a group message then called a prospect over and instructed him they were about to be descended upon by members and their families. Slate pulled out his wallet, flipping the chain out of the way. He balanced the phone on his shoulder, talking to Myron now, getting him to cast his talented, electronic net. He pulled several bills out and pressed them into the prospect’s hand, muttering, “Groceries. Get a cage; Ruby will text you a list.”

  Off the phone, Slate looked at Gunny, and then turned to Tug. “Organize shit, Tugboat. Get my woman and babies here, brother.” Without another word, the two men walked outside and slung legs over their bikes, kicking them to life and rolling off the lot within five minutes of Mason’s first call.

  15 - Utah

  “Clear,” he called, pitching his voice to carry, moving from room to room inside the small building. There was nothing of note in the rooms he was set to check, and he came back to the central area. Seeing several men clustered near a door, he walked over, standing next to Watcher. He had come to like the president of the New Mexico Southern Soldiers in the past few hours, having finally met him when their planes landed in Provo. The group of Rebels hadn’t been ahead of him by much, so the wait wasn’t overly long, but you could nearly see Mason’s skin crawling, because they had to stand around for thirty minutes as he deplaned.