Bones (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 10)

by MariaLisa deMora

  ***

  “There are many things to discuss, Mason.” Bones leaned his head back, letting his eyes sag closed. “Did you want to finish going over anything tonight?” They’d spent the past five hours making and fielding calls, activating the network the clubs had in the southwest. That was after they made a video call to Raul Estavez.

  “Naw,” Mason said, his voice gone jagged with fatigue. “Opie’s on his way west, and Slate’ll be here by the morning. You should go home to Ester. Time enough tomorrow to deal with everything, and there’s no benefit to us rehearsing what we’ll say once he gets here.”

  “Slate is invested in the girl.” Bones swallowed bile, remembering the stories he’d heard about her rescue as a child. “He has many questions.”

  “Watcher and him were the ones who brought her back from Mexico. Safe to say they bonded. Slate even took Ruby to meet her before he married his woman. So, yeah, I’d say he’s invested.” Mason’s voice sounded muffled, and Bones looked to see he sat in the chair with chin tipped down, the big man’s hand roughly massaging the back of his neck. “This entire thing is fucked, man. Entirely fucked. Diamond’s Deacon’s kid. Deacon’s in deep with Morgan, and has been for years. That shit happening because Morgan ain’t dead like everyone thought. And now you say Chismoso’s wanting fucking redemption. Fuck, man. You believe him?”

  “I want to. Badly. It would mean much could work in our favor if Diamante is poised to implode.” Bones shook his head. “I do not know if I can believe. But I want to. Time will tell, Mason. As ever, time will tell.”

  Silence closed in around the two men in the room, friends for decades, unpatched brothers for nearly as long, patched together for a space of months. As it has been nearly since the beginning of our path together, we are forged in fire.

  Mason’s head lifted and he looked around the room, Bones’ gaze tracking where he paused, seeing pictures on the walls of past members. This was Mason’s private memorial to fallen friends and brothers. The club had a more public one on the wall at Jackson’s, but this was Mason’s office. No matter whose ass was in the seat behind the desk, it would always be Mason’s office.

  “I needa get Watch up there, man.” Tipping his head to indicate a space directly in front of where he sat, Mason’s face twisted in pain, and Bones was reminded again it had been such a short span of time since they lost Watcher. A short stretch of days, and one where none of them really had time to grieve.

  “Agreed. Rituals are important. They give us closure and allow us to move on.” Bones paused, careful with his next words. “Wait. Let us find Carmela.” Mason’s gaze swung to him, and he read the question. “We will find her, Mason. She yet lives, or they would have trotted her death out as a tactic. Perhaps Diamond balks because he has known her so very long. Perhaps it is their plan, and he is merely following through.” Bones shook his head. “Whatever it is, I believe she lives. Wait to put Watcher on the wall until the daughter of his heart is safe.”

  Mason’s chin lifted slightly, jaw tight with the force of his clenched teeth as he nodded sharply, once only, but no more was needed.

  “And now, I should go home as you say, to Ester.” He couldn’t help it, when he said her name his voice softened, tone becoming reverent.

  “Good you got that to go to, Bones. Glad for ya, man.” Mason had noted the tone and didn’t hesitate in sharing it pleased him. “I got an old lady to call, check on my boy and our bun.”

  Pushing to his feet, Bones asked, “You do not know the sex of your baby?” He was surprised Mason, who liked to control everything he could, didn’t have this in hand. “I would have expected you to demand the information.”

  “Willa doesn’t wanna know. Wants it to be a surprise.” Mason’s face softened, the corners of his mouth curling slightly. “Said childbirth is the best reveal in the world. Like Christmas morning, coming down the stairs to find out what Santa left behind.” He shook his head. “She’s kooky, and I dig that about her. Gonna give her this one, man. Give her anything she needs.”

  “As you always have.” Bones tipped his chin up as he reached for the door. “You are good at that, you know?”

  “Good at what?” Mason flattened his palms on the desk and pushed to his feet, muscles in his arms bulging at the effort.

  Bones shook his head. “Giving people what they need.”

  “They feed it right back to me, man. It’s a good cycle. I’m always the winner in that scenario.” As Bones lifted a hand and walked through the door, Mason told him, “See you in the morning.”

  ***

  Bones stood next to the bed, slowly stripping off his clothes, careful to keep his belt from clanking on the floor. Ester was sleeping, and he didn’t want to wake her. Standing for a moment, shirt balled up in his hands, he gazed at her, amazed to have this waiting for him at home. Partially turned away, her face was visible only in profile, but her beauty was blazing for anyone to see. Not anyone, he thought, dropping the shirt to the floor. This is only for my eyes.

  He ran a hand over the skin on his chest, fingers lingering on a section of ink, knowing by memory what was written on his personal canvas. Tracing across the tattoo with the pad of his thumb, this was a ritual of his own he had conducted for months now, since rising from the artist’s table with her inked over his heart.

  Climbing into bed beside her, he waited and was not disappointed. As was Ester’s way, when she accepted something, there was no looking back, no swaying from the path set. She’d determined his house was where she would be, and his bed was where she slept, and he was who she slept beside. Now, when he crawled in behind her, instead of waking in a panic, she sighed in her sleep and sought him out, her ass snuggling backwards into the curve of his hips, slotting into place as if their bodies were made for each other.

  Bones got into bed, and still sleeping, Ester’s neck lifted and bent, creating room for his arm to slide underneath her head. Deep breath in, and then she released it, blowing out all tension and relaxing into him. Eyes drifting closed, he nuzzled her neck, breathing deep of the scent of this woman who fate had brought him. A woman perfect for me, he thought, one palm drifting up and across her hip, arm wrapping around her torso so he could cup her opposite shoulder, feeling her soft breasts pressed against his forearm as he tugged her tight against his chest. My reason to love.

  Most precious

  Ester

  The gunshot woke me. Sucked up from the depths of sleep and thrust into the waking world in a nanosecond. Shouting and yelling, feet pounded down and up the staircase. I sat upright in bed, a space I occupied alone, glaring numerals from the nightstand red with the information it was just past three in the morning.

  Slipping from the bed, I stepped into my pants crumpled on the floor, spreading my toes inside my shoes. Ears opened as wide as possible, listening and listening, hearing only the shouting coming to an end, leaving the rushing of blood quiet in my ears. Shirt over the shirt, sweater over that. A deep wine color which looked black in the bleak moonlight gliding down from the skylight. A dark moon tonight.

  A sound from the back of the closet, and even before Bones called my name, I was headed that direction, pulled there by his unannounced presence. I didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions. I took his hand and followed him down the winding steps I never knew existed. The door closing behind us leaving the space in utter darkness, but his feet were sure, steps never hesitating and I matched as best I could, holding on. The stairs ended, and I followed him, coordinating action to suggestion when he instructed, “A low doorway, Ester. Mind your head.” Arm up in front of my face, I minded my head, ducking through, the harshness of his whisper frightening me as much as the unexpected use of firearms in his home.

  “Wait here,” preceded the unclasping of his hand from around mine, and I waited. Only a few pounding heartbeats, but they stretched like putty when left alone in the space, with only my breathing for company. Then he was back.

  “Come.” His hand unerringly foun
d mine, and we moved forwards again, more slowly this time. Time moves differently in the dark, surging forwards at moments, and dragging at others. This was a surging, and it seemed only breaths later he stopped again, the action telegraphed by his hand to mine, signaling my feet to stop moving. “I have friends on the other side of this door, Ester. You will be safe.” He hesitated, and I wasn’t certain why, then he told me, “You have nothing to fear,” which of course said he very much expected me to be afraid.

  Pushing my shoulders back, I stood straight and waited. A metallic sound, that of a ring clicking on a doorknob, then a backwards 7 of light that grew quickly to a rectangle, that conversion something I’d never noticed before, never considered how moonlight shaped itself to the opening afforded it, how malleable the rays could be.

  The door opened fully and Bones stepped through, silhouetted for a moment as if he were a retreating black figure, then he was drawing me through, and I saw he was right to warn me I would be afraid. Fifteen men stood in a narrow alley, the doorway through which we exited at the rear of the nook carved between four-story buildings, narrowing overhead so it felt the walls bulged inwards, near to touching at the top. Suffocating. Darkness behind me, not a fearful thing, since disappearing into shadows was a talent I’d long perfected. Darkness held little fear, but there had been people in Bones’ home, guns discharging loudly, men’s voices lifted in pain and anger and that, those things, were most fearsome.

  The men blocking my advance were terrifying. Faces hidden behind fabric and beards, each obstacle masking my chance at divining their expressions. I felt my shoulders curving inwards, hiding my meager charms, lumpy fabric of the sweater clumping in unattractive prayers. Bones whirled, facing me, giving these men his back and in that instant of movement, I became at ease. Still, I had to know, needed to hear his words spoken plain, clear as the sign on a coffee cart, so everything was known, small to large, weak to strong, no haggling needed. “You trust them.”

  “With my most precious possession.”

  One man stepped up behind him, tall and broad, tattoos on his throat marking a celebratory moment in his life. Proudly carried there so people would question, ask, give him an opportunity to dispense the information. He reached out a hand, lifting his arm past Bones’ shoulder, the tattoos on his knuckles telling me FREE. Bones didn’t move, didn’t flinch, and his words, while spoken for the man, were directed at me. “She is fragile, Road. Easily frightened. I beg you, keep her safe. She is my life.”

  “With my own, brother,” the man told him, and Bones lifted my hand, fingertips to his lips, the barest caress against my skin, then he pressed my hand into the stranger’s, and that man spoke to me, “Ester, come with me.”

  Bones laughed without much humor, his soft voice sounding deep as the Great Lake when I finished the phrase, and I knew he remembered our first meeting as clearly as I did, when he echoed the words, “If you want to live.”

  Gone to war

  Bones

  Bones bent double over his knees, ass to the seat, elbows to his thighs as he scrubbed hard against his face with both hands. Exhaustion had become a persistent companion over the past two days, and he fought to push past it, trying to find clarity in his mind. “When do we leave?” Rupert was again donating the use of his jet for the Rebels, and they finally had what seemed like a solid target. “Raul on his way?”

  No answer was forthcoming, so he angled his neck, lifting his head to look at the man seated in the couch opposite. Slate sat, body relaxed, but his face was tense, muscles in his neck and jaw tight, eyes focused on a point somewhere over Bones’ shoulder. His eyes might be open, but Bones knew his sight was turned inwards, again analyzing the stills they’d pulled from the video, Carmela’s face blown up larger than life. A raw grief and terror mixed with anger clear on her expression.

  “Think he told her about Watcher?”

  Not the question Bones expected, but he answered it as truthfully as he could. “I do not know.”

  “I hope not. Hope she’s not got that in her head at least.” Gaze still fixed on a distant point, Slate asked, “You met Diamond, right?”

  “I have met him, many times.” Bones bent, grabbed a bottle of water he’d placed between his feet when he took his seat earlier, opened it and drank, unaware until that moment how thirsty he was. “I have met all of the former Soldiers.” Former because even with the upheaval, Mason and Opie had pushed through with the patch exchange. Done the day after Watcher’s death, when all the Southern Soldier members were at the Otey compound. “No time like the present,” Mason had said, and Bones had agreed. A good message to send to members reeling in the wake of Watcher’s death, the only president many of them had known.

  Slate coughed shallowly, and Bones bent to grab a second bottle of water, tossing it across, seeing Slate catch it without even looking at it. He cracked the seal and lifted it, drinking as greedily as Bones had. “Fuck me. You ever think he had that in him?”

  “Killing his brothers? Kidnapping his president’s near-daughter? No, I would not have expected it from him.” Bones heard a noise and turned, seeing Gunny coming through the doorway that led to the front room of this safe house. Since his home had been breached, the assailants a local gang known to follow the almighty greenback more than any dogma, the Rebels had gone into full lockdown mode. Family and lovers taken to the compound in Wisconsin, or dispersed to other clubhouses and chapters across the United States. Close chapters had also hit lockdown, and would remain that way until the situation was resolved. “Gunny,” he said by way of greeting, not liking the look on the man’s face.

  “Got something for you to look at, Bones. Myron thinks he found a clue. Wants you. Said you’ll have the key.” Turning abruptly, the big man twisted on his heel and walked back out.

  “That is my cue.” Bones lifted the bottle and drained it, crumpling the plastic in his fist.

  “Ain’t stayin’ here by my lonesome,” Slate said, standing and arching his back, stretching muscles tired from a combination of hours spent riding and another handful of hours bent over maps and information on the area where Carmela and Hurley had last been seen.

  In what Myron had referred to as the war room, Bones stepped to his side, knowing the man would be hard to distract. Once he dug his teeth into something, he often wouldn’t stop even to eat unless forced to by others. “What do you have, Myron?”

  “Take your shirt off.” Myron issued the order without turning to look, shuffling through a folder full of pictures and papers lying on the table in front of him. “Need to see something.”

  Tipping his head to one side, Bones glanced around the room, seeing no smiles on the faces of the men standing there. “All right, my friend.” He tossed the empty plastic bottle towards a trash can, not watching to see if it went in or not. Shrugging off his cut, his hands were already moving to his waist, lifting the hem of his shirt. “What do you need to see?”

  “Need to see Ester.” Every muscle in Bones’ body locked into place, and he stayed that way, frozen, waiting. Myron twisted to him, and Bones winced to see the exhaustion every man in the room felt had etched itself so deeply into the young man’s face. “Know you got her somewhere. Let me see.” Red-rimmed eyes bored into him, drilling deep, and the look was one Bones had seen before. “Need to see, Bones.”

  “I can show you that,” Bones murmured, seeing the wash of relief roll over Myron. He’d seen this before, too. Lifting his hand, Bones’ fingertips traced across the tattoo, turning his side towards Myron. Once positioned, he dropped his hand, revealing her to someone for the first time knowing they knew what it meant. “This is my Ester.”

  Myron leaned close, one hand half lifting, then falling to his side. Bones stared at him, seeing the man’s eyes darting back and forth, tracking the lines and elements of the tattoo, seeming to memorize it. He cut his eyes up to Bones’ face, then dropped them to the tattoo again. That one look shared much, telling Bones that Ester meant something to Myron. “Sh
e is important to you,” Bones murmured, and Myron nodded. “This will be important to my Ester, when the time is right.” Myron nodded again. “For now, tell me why you needed to see this.”

  Myron turned back to the table, lifted a photo and handed it over to Bones who stared at it. Anger flooded him, and he knew disbelief was evident in his tone when he demanded, “What the fuck is this?”

  Painted on the bricks of an alley wall, one he thought he recognized, was a stylized version of his tattoo. The tattoo custom drawn for him by a trusted artist, pulled together from listening to Bones’ words describing what was important to convey. Across the bottom of the image were stacked letters, color banding from the bottom to the top, all shades of blue and gray spelling out five words. She dies if you fail.

  Shoving it back towards Myron, he firmly shook his head and tried to deny the message, his mind racing. They can’t reach her. Road Runner has her safe. She’s my life.

  Myron stepped backwards, hand up in a warding gesture. “Look at it, brother.” The urgency in his eyes reflected in his tone, Myron hissed, “Look at it.”

  Bones held Myron’s gaze for a moment, then looked at the picture again. It was his tattoo, enlarged and changed, elongated. What seemed to be random Spanish phrases scattered around and across the defacing artwork, and he felt his skin itch, as if the words were painted there, too. Frowning, he read one set of words over and over, finally deciding he knew what they meant, and did not mean. “Liar. Thief of words. Gossiper. This was not intended for me.”

  He pulled in a deep breath. “The attack on my home was aimed at me. Each man was on a direct path to the bedroom where I have slept for years. I cannot believe Ester factors. If I had not heard the alert that the system had been breached, they would likely have succeeded in gaining entry. I would have been alone and naked, armed with only the two guns I keep close to hand. We have assumed Diamante.”