Gunny (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 5)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Well, I thought was kinda important to acknowledge the truth.” She paused, twisting the glass between her palms. Wait a beat. One

  more… “See, here’s the thing, Deke. All the women see him and they jealous he’s mine.” Head down, she grinned at the bar top, waiting. Give it a second…

  He threw back his head and laughed hard, reaching up to wipe at his eyes with the back of one hand. After a minute, he quieted and sighed, then repeated, “Anthajelous,” before winding down to silence. With another humor-filled sigh, he shook his head, asking her, “So why are you here, Sharon?” He stashed the juice in the ice bucket then walked around the bar and sat two stools down from her. She had a questioning look on her face when she studied the space between them, and he laughed again. “You know what your old man will do if he comes in to find me snuggled up next to you. I like my face arranged as it is,” he said, and she grinned.

  “Okay,” she said then paused. “All seriousness now, because I have questions, Deke. You told me to call you if either me or Gunny needed you, and I think he needs you. I have questions about things that came before me, but I’m not trying to jack with your friendship. I don’t want you to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable talking about. That’s the first rule. Because you’re his friend, not mine.” At a noise from him, she paused again.

  “Sharon, I’d like to think we are friends,” he said with a frown, tilting his head to look at her.

  “Okay, maybe we’re friends. But…you’re his friend and brother, and this is me trying to respect that relationship. But something’s wrong, Deke.” She let him see her worry, knowing he would understand. “He’s been having nightmares. Bad ones. Awful ones. Or, at least he was. Now, I don’t know for sure, but from how he looks, I think he still is.”

  “Why don’t you know if he’s still dreaming?” He turned away and looked at the bar top and she winced, glad he wasn’t looking at her, because this was hard to admit.

  She whispered, “He’s not sleeping with me anymore. The first night, the first dream, I thought he was awake, but he wasn’t. When I touched him, he reacted and then woke up because of that reaction, and I think he scared himself.” She rushed to reassure him, “He didn’t hurt me, nothing at all like that, but he…reacted to my touch.” Swallowing hard, she continued, “It took a few days, a few more dreams, but he stopped sleeping with me. And now, I don’t know if he’s even sleeping at all. He’s always out in the garage, working on the bikes. I found him dozing, sitting upright on his stool out there the other morning. I think he was at it all night long. But, his dreams, Deke, they are scary…were scary. Whatever…just plain scary.”

  “Scary how?” She caught his gaze in the mirror over the bar and held it. He needed to understand how strained and on edge his friend was, and she didn’t think Gunny would be the one to tell him. She knew now this was why Deke had come to her before, why other members had extended the same offer, to come talk to them if Gunny needed them.

  “He talks in his sleep when he’s dreaming. When it’s a bad dream. Then, when it’s terrible bad, he yells and makes the pups growl. That’s where we were…before he stopped coming to bed.” Licking her lips nervously, she decided to go for broke and asked, “Who’s Kincade?”

  His head came up with a jerk and he quickly twisted to look at her. “Where’d you hear that name, babe?”

  “From Gunny. He talks to Kincade in his sleep. Yells at him, too. Tells him to eff-off a lot.” She tried to laugh and failed. She repeated the question, his reaction reinforcing her feeling this was important. “Who’s Kincade?”

  “Dude was in the Marines with Gunny. I think they went through basic on Parris Island together. They were close, good friends. He was tight with the whole team, but he and Kincade were more like brothers. Kincade was team lead on their last mission.” He watched her when he said this and she felt herself flinch, and then she slowly nodded. She knew Gunny was the only one who came back alive from that mission, the one where he had been shot, the one that took his friends.

  “What’s he say? When he talks to Kincade, what does he say?” The anxiety in his voice wasn’t forced; it was there plain as day. What she was telling him, what she had shared, had his attention, because like she thought, it wasn’t good. His worry for his friend validated her own feelings, and she felt her hands begin to shake, wrapping them tightly around the condensation-covered glass in front of her.

  “Mostly gibberish, but sometimes I can make out words or sentences. Lots of eff you’s and arguing about who has the right to be responsible for what happened, or what’s happening in the dream. Deke, I’m scared for him, but him not coming to me…that’s terrifying. It’s the first time since he found me that we’ve slept apart.” Tipping down her chin, she stared at the bar, gathering her courage. “Why do you think he doesn’t want…me?” Those words hurt so badly to say she covered her mouth with one hand, holding in a sob.

  “Little one, I don’t think it’s that. Have you tried talking to him?” She nodded. He leaned over, reaching out and smoothing his palm up and down her arm, soothing her. “Babe, you gotta try again.”

  18 - Never leaving you

  Standing with her forehead against the wall, she waited for her music to begin. It killed her to think this might be one of the last times she’d dance here. She liked the club, liked the vibe DeeDee brought to everything, but if things worked out with what her dance instructors suggested, she wouldn’t be able to stay on here, at least not taking the number of sets she danced now.

  She had begun taking lessons again weeks before, mostly because she missed the structure of the time spent in the studio, but also because she loved learning and growing. She liked the feeling of being better when she walked out of the teacher’s presence than she had been going in, and both of the instructors she engaged were encouraging her to look towards another stage, much as Jase had. There was a cattle call coming up for a local theater company, and she decided this morning, even with the upcoming change in her life, she would be throwing her hat in that particular ring. It was time to fly.

  Tinkling notes of a piano sounded, followed by a fast, rhythmic drumbeat, and she reached out, pushing open the door. Head high, she sashayed around the stage, timing the music to hold and pause at the end so she could look across the room to where she knew he would be standing, where he always was when she danced.

  Lifting one corner of her mouth in a small smile, she slowly removed one shoe, sliding the sole of her bare foot up the inside of her leg and straightening it behind her, bending her knee in a deep plié. Bringing that foot back to the ground, she performed the same movements with the other leg, turning to transition to a tour jeté, and winding up with her back against the pole.

  I love you, she thought as she climbed the pole, feeling safe, because Gunny was here watching over her as he had done every day since she walked through these doors. Even before she loved him, he watched her. Was watching her still.

  I will always love you, she called in her mind. The music swelled and she twisted through a complex series of movements choreographed to look effortless, but Gunny knew how much it took out of her, how hard it was to make it look so easy. Like her whole life, she tried for years to make things look natural, even while dying on the inside. For him, she could do this one more time. A hundred times. A thousand, if that was what it took to make him look at her with desire again. I will never leave you, she promised.

  She spun around the pole, seeing the upturned faces, hands twitching in laps or mouths open in silent need. Looking back to Gunny, she locked gazes with him, willing him to see how much she wanted him. I’m afraid, she thought, arching backwards into a spiral down towards the stage. I'm scared of being without you, of losing you. Don’t pull away.

  I need you, she cried, collapsing to the floor at the end of the routine. When she stood, breathing hard, he remained impassively against the wall, unmoved by her dance, by her unspoken pleas. If one dance didn’t do it, she was willing
to go again and again, dance until her feet bled for him, until he knew how much he meant to her. I’m not going to leave you, she promised again, looking at him.

  Lifting her chin, she forced down the tears and moved around the stage, accepting money from strangers in exchange for a few seconds of her undivided attention. Like DeeDee loves Ace, I love him— Her thoughts were interrupted by a rough hand grabbing her arm, pulling her towards the edge of the stage. Shocked by the unexpected touch, she ripped her gaze up to see an unfamiliar face, suit coat-clad shoulders, tie tugged loose. A businessman out for an evening’s thrill. In the next second, a rumbling snarl sounded from across the room and she jerked frantically at where the man held her captive, trying desperately to get away before Gunny—

  ***

  “Get your goddamned fucking hands off her, you asshole,” he roared, heaving the table over on top of the man who had grabbed Sharon’s arm. A scream cut short and he twisted to see Sharon backed up against the pole, one hand across her mouth. She turned and ran from the stage, and he looked back down at the man on the floor, cowering with a spreading stain of piss on the front of his slacks. “You were going to tip her, right?” Chest tight with fear and rage, he asked this in a forced, steady tone, holding out a hand for the twenty the man still clutched. “That’s why you put your fucking hands on her, right? I’ll pass it along to her with your thanks.” He reached down, plucking the money from the man’s suddenly slack fingers, and turned to stride backstage to find Sharon and make sure she was okay.

  He looked in the first place he could think of, but she wasn’t in the dressing room, and he felt an electric stab of panic. Scanning the room again, he turned back to the hallway and began a systematic search. But she wasn’t anywhere he could find, not the storeroom or the bathroom, and he stood stock still in the back hallway, listening and thinking. She couldn’t have left the club, because she had ridden with him today. He had a thought and flicked his earpiece, and suddenly her voice filled his hearing, granting him the ability to take a full breath for the first time since the bastard up front had tried to manhandle her. The sound jolted him into motion, and he quickly headed for the office.

  “—don’t know what to do.” What sounded like a sob echoed through his head, and he listened more carefully, his rapid steps slowing. “He won’t sleep with me, hasn’t for days. I love him so much. I need him to understand I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave him simply because he’s struggling, and he needs to know I’m not afraid of him. I love him. He might have scared himself, but he didn’t frighten me. But if he’s struggling like he is, then how do I tell him this, when he can’t even stand to touch me anymore? What if this is something that tips him farther?” She sniffed and he heard a mumble, realizing she had to be on the phone, knowing he would hear the full conversation otherwise.

  “Well, no. What am I supposed to ask him? Hey, Gunny? Do you remember how we used to hump like bunnies? You know, that fun thing we did together? So, what happened to that?” A trembling laugh and another pause. He wished he could hear the other person, wished he knew who she was spilling her fears to instead of him. Be honest, man, he thought. She’s not saying anything that isn’t true.

  “No, I was all set to ask DeeDee how she’d handle it, but then Slate and Ruby came in with the babies. I just don’t know what to do, Ma.” It was her mother on the phone. Jacque and Kenny Spencer, her parents, had come down for a visit not long ago, and she had talked to her mother for the first time in years. “How do I tell him?”

  Another pause, then he snorted with laughter, because he could almost hear her rolling her eyes. Picking up bad habits from DeeDee, he thought humorously, and then froze when the meaning behind her next words finally hit him. “Oh, stop it, I’m not being dramatic. We never talked about kids. I mean, what if it’s not what I think and instead of staying away because he’s afraid he’ll hurt me, he’s simply tired of me. If he doesn’t want me anymore, then what do I do? I would never put him in that position; we never even talked about the possibility. If he doesn’t want me, then why would he want this?”

  Staring straight ahead, he saw his hand come up and his knuckles rap on the solid wood of the door. Through his earpiece and through the door, he heard, “Sec, Ma. Yes?”

  “Babe,” he called, “you okay?”

  There was a hesitation, and then she said firmly, “Yeah, I’m good, Gunny.”

  Still on his side of the door, he leaned his forehead against it, once again finding himself hating that barrier between him and her. He wanted his hands on her, wanted to hear what she needed to tell him. Wanted to shout how much he loved her. Instead, he said, “Okay, babe. I’m here. I’m going to be right here when you are ready.”

  19 - Knotted ends

  “The man who found himself in my house, in my goddamned, fucking bedroom. Man who put his hands on my woman, taking her to a place she didn’t deserve to be. Man who crated my pups? That man don’t deserve to live, and I’m only here out of courtesy for who you were, and what you meant to Kincade.” Gunny hadn’t spoken until his ass was firmly in the chair across the table from Woolfe. He hadn’t trusted himself to touch the man, to speak to him without a firm barricade between them. “You draw attention from me and my brothers the way you have, and shit will rain down on you and yours, unless you give me enough of a reason to settle things another way.”

  “Kincade would be proud of you, Gunny.” That name from his mouth took him by surprise for a moment, and then it pulled him back to Parris and beyond, back to when he had been Gunnery Sergeant Lane Robinson. Woolfe took an easy breath, twisting slightly in his chair to lean his elbow across the seat next to him, relaxation written in every muscle of his body. Woolfe did not fear this meeting, did not fear him. Gunny’s gaze flashed around the diner, not seeing any clear backup stationed anywhere. “Nope, I came alone. Nobody here but me and you,” the man said, then flicked a hand towards the plate glass window, “and your shadows.”

  Looking outside, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see his brothers seated on their bikes across the street. Pipes backed up to the brick wall of the building, every face tilted his direction. Shouldn’t have been, but he was, which meant he wasn’t paying attention. Turning back to Woolfe, he asked, “Who?” This was the one question he wanted answered from this meeting, because he knew from his informant in Kentucky that the paper on Sharon hadn’t been the Lexington Diamante’s contract, nor was it Shooter’s. That left a hell of a lot of unknowns, and he didn’t fucking like unknowns.

  “Your man’s step-daddy,” Woolfe said, and then tapped a fingertip against the table, straightening to face him fully. “I don’t know who the girl is to him, but he wanted her. I got all kinds of shit for bringing you along; seems your reputation precedes you, and he would have much rather I ended you there, but you know how sentimental I can be.” He shrugged lightly, one corner of his mouth tipping up into a sardonic smile. “My one good deed, it seems.” Then he pretended to think, laying a finger alongside his nose. “No, two good deeds, I brought you the dung heap that was your woman’s ex-husband.” He pointed at Gunny. “That was fucking twisted, man. I get it; I’ve seen some of the videos he posted, but your method? Fucking twisted.”

  Here, Gunny stopped breathing, because he didn’t have the faintest idea what Woolfe was talking about. What fucking videos? he thought, but the man kept talking over the torrent of thoughts pouring through his mind. “And they are fucked up, so I get it. But you squashed him like a fucking bug, scraping him off the bottom of your shoe and walking away with the prize curved into the crook of your elbow. Righteous fucking Gunny, man. Kincade would be proud you protected her like you did.”

  “Makin’ sure I got this straight.” With some effort, Gunny brought his thoughts back to the present, dragging them away from the horrifying images of some fuckers getting off on the pain Elkins brought to Sharon on a regular basis for all the time she was with him. “You saw my name on your orders, and came into my house anyway.
You didn’t pick up the phone, make a courtesy call.” Woolfe made a noise and Gunny nodded. “Oh, I get it too, man. You knew you could only be successful with that shit in an ambush, so making a call to me would have made your job harder. But you fucking knew it was me, otherwise you wouldn’t have brought eight men for one woman and the stupid sap who shared her bed. Yet, still you came, bringing your fucking army, and you brought it to my house. My bedroom. My woman.” He gritted his teeth and took a breath before continuing. “You brought that fucking dung heap to the woman he had tortured for a long time, expecting…what, exactly?”

  “Wasn’t expecting anything, Gunny.” His tone was too bland. There was something here. His thoughts turned back to the night they entered the room, the muzzle flash of a gunshot.

  “Not everyone got a vest. Am I right?” Gunny saw the minute tightening of the skin around Woolfe’s eyes and knew he had found it. “Of the eight men, I took out four, the first ones into the room. Elkins was one of those. You knew first entrants would be targets, but you didn’t give them a vest. You saw the videos,” fucking shit, “before you came in…wanted me to be the one to do him. Because you couldn’t. Not without…” he stared at Woolfe for a minute, “…not without pissing off someone you didn’t want to piss off. My man’s step-daddy? You’re deep into that shit, aren’t you? What do they hold on you, man?”

  Now it was Gunny’s turn to sit back in his seat, lounging across the table from the man, projecting a look that was relaxed and loose. “It’s been a lotta years since I saw you last. Makes me wonder, man, exactly what changes life has brought your way. You got a wife?” Another flash of tightness, there and gone. “Kids?” The prod bought a flare of Woolfe’s nostrils, unable to contain his physical reaction to sudden fear. Manzino. “The Mexican club Mason and Slate had a hand in cleaning up, the old Machos had a corridor through Colorado.” Woolfe’s head jerked back and Gunny drew a quick breath of satisfaction at bringing things together. “Colorado. Because someone’s resurrecting those connections, aren’t they? My man’s step-daddy, you mean Mason, and you’re talking about Shooter’s old man. Utah.”