A Kiss to Keep You (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 14)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Work with me, Nat,” he muttered, shoving the key into the lock and twisting, then pushing the door with his foot. He dropped the groceries to the floor just inside the entrance, then maneuvered her towards the couch. “Couple more feet, hon.” Brute sat, and Natty did what she’d always done when he was close, ever since she was old enough to crawl, and that was climb into his lap like a kitten. She snuggled in, nestling into his hold, secure in the knowledge that he would never turn her away, never hurt her, never make her feel less than protected. He was her safe port in any storm, always would be.

  “Give it to me, honey. Give it all to me,” Brute crooned into Natty’s ear, her body jolting with the force of her sobs. His hand soothed up and down her back, gently providing solid confirmation she was supported, was loved, wouldn’t be left out there alone where her terror lay in wait. “Give it to me, baby girl. Give it. You can’t hold all this, Natty girl, give it.”

  “It hurts, Pappa Ricky.” That name from her, something she hadn’t called him in years, nearly broke his control and his heart in one stroke. Her behavior, her reactions, every nuance of this visit had each fine hair lifting on his body, prickles of anticipated rage sweeping over him. A flash flood of fear.

  “What hurts, baby girl? Give it to me.” His persistent plea worked, or she had gotten to a place in her pain where she could turn it into words, passing it out like IOU cards at an early holiday party.

  “I hurt,” she amended her statement. Every muscle in his body seized when she continued, in a voice soft as velvet, as jagged as rotten ice in a mountain stream, all smooth and easy on the surface and broken-toothed danger underneath, “He hurt me.”

  ***

  Hearing her stumble through her pained recitation of events, he refused to leave even when the ER doctor flat ordered him. The doc’s commanding presence and Aussie accent were not intimidating to Brute. He looked straight at the man and told him, “I ain’t fucking leaving her alone.”

  A quick, shuttered glance at Natty gave the doc the same story; she didn’t want Brute to go. Looked like she’d come unstuck if he did, face already gone white at the threat. He and the doc embarked on a two-minute stare down, broken only when a nurse came into the room. Without turning his head, the doc spoke a code number that sent the nurse scurrying.

  Nearly three hours later, Brute held Natty upright with an arm around her waist as the nurse gave out final instructions. From the corner of his eye, Brute watched as the doc walked their way. He stopped in front of Brute and Natty, held out a hand, and when she tentatively reached out, he cradled hers between both of his. “You’ll come good out of this, promise. She’ll be apples in the end.”

  He turned to Brute and eyed him up and down, clinically assessing his injuries. “You’ve healed well, but you’re ignoring the therapy, mate. Makes the scars mad as a cut snake. Whatever cream you’re on to using now, stop. It’s bodgy as hell.” He released Natty’s hand, dug in his back pants pocket for his wallet, and pulled out a card. “I got a practice. Come see me, right?”

  Taking the card without saying a word, Brute had turned Natty towards the doors, intent on heading to his truck in the parking garage when the doctor spoke from behind him. “I see you lot in here often.” Twisting his neck, Brute looked back at him. “I’m Bulldog.” Brute stared at him because that didn’t make sense. Why the fuck would this doc have a road name? “I served with bikies overseas. Fixed up my fair share.” Bulldog smiled. “Some men you know. Gunny, while we were over there.” Spoken with a head jerk, that got Brute’s full attention because this was a solid connection worth exploring. Bulldog continued, drawing the circle nearly closed. “And Bear, over here.” Brute turned more fully, Natty sagging against him as they shifted back to face the doc. “Delivered your man’s boy not long ago.”

  What the hell? The thought ran through Brute’s mind, and he knew he was gaping now.

  “His blood’s worth bottling, that Mason. He’s a good’un, liked what I’ve seen of him. Heaps.” Bulldog pointed at the card Brute still held, loosely gripped in his fingers. “I’m only on the helping side, here. You’re right to be holding back, but you can use friends, I reckon. We all can, yeah?” Bulldog took a step backwards, making a shooing motion with one hand. “Take your girlie home, it’ll come good. We’ll see ya.” He tipped his head in farewell and Brute found himself returning the gesture.

  Home and settled, he got Natty to bed, hoping the pills would help her doze while he took care of business. He would ease things for her, make it better so she didn’t have to break the news, just reassure the ones who loved her that she’d be okay. He tapped a corner of his phone against his forehead a moment, using the shocks of pain to center his thoughts before dialing to deliver news no parent should ever hear.

  “No, brother, I don’t know why she didn’t come home.” This was to Dylan, part of the three-way call Brute was on, the other participant being Dylan’s wife. “Doc said she’s okay physically. They did all the bloodwork needed, talked her through what she needs to watch for.” Standing in the hallway, he sucked in a breath, staring through the door at the blanket-bundled form on his guest bed.

  “I’ve got a couple of friends who’ve been through this,” he said, and he did, the little band of Rebels in the Fort had gathered their fair share of people damaged by the world, including two women he knew who had been raped. He’d already placed a call to Slate’s old lady, Ruby, setting up an introduction for the morning. Ruby would take one look at Natty and shift directly into protective mother-hen mode. And he knew, once she had this chick under her wing, it wouldn’t be an hour before their girl had a huddle of women with her, every one of them good as gold and ready to throw down on her behalf. “She’s gonna talk to one of them tomorrow. Then see a counselor in the afternoon.”

  He drew breath in, deep and slow, because next up was talking around the edges of the dangerous bits. He knew what he was going to do, had already started the process by placing that call, too. If Natty was his little girl by blood, not just—what a farce, she could never be “just” anything to me—his goddaughter, he would be raging at the news. He was raging, just inside, holding it together so Dylan could vent his out, as he had before getting Natty’s mother on the phone, promising retribution to the stupid-as-fuck man who had violated their little girl.

  What Brute planned to do wasn’t something he could talk about, because he’d involved his brothers. No way would he risk them feeling any blowback from this. My shit won’t seep, he promised himself, and then shared part of the truth with Dylan. “She doesn’t know the guy’s name.” At least it wasn’t someone she trusted—a small solace sure, but something.

  “Only saw his face in shadow.” Meant she couldn’t identify him to the cops who came to the ER, but Brute had picked away at what she did know until he thought there was enough.

  “Cops got what they could, which wasn’t much.” Not a lie, but Dylan didn’t need to know he gleaned much more of a harvest than the boys in blue. “She’s afraid, now. Scared out of her mind. Scared she’ll see him.”

  The small campus she attended wasn’t hard to navigate, but deafening dread thundered in her head. From her words, he knew it tore at her thoughts that her attacker could be anyone. In her mind, he became everyone. Was in every place. The possibility of turning any corner to find him there was what drove her to her car. Even away from campus, she couldn’t shake the fear. As Brute had listened, she’d talked a bit about her trip. Miles and miles rolling under her wheels, each set of headlights to hit her rearview intimidating. He could see how that possibility had pierced her, and with tissues clutched in her fingers, even cradled safely in his lap she still wept as she talked about it.

  “Dylan. Man.” A breath. “Brother, she wants to stay here for a bit.” He eased this out, waiting for the shouted denial but Dylan surprised him.

  “We’ll call the school, see what we can do to get her classes taken care of.” Silence for a moment, then a soft, “You’re gonn
a go careful, yeah?”

  “Yes.” He made this single word as solid and confident as he could, envisioning a wall of bricks holding back the world from his girl. “She’s safe with me, Dylan.”

  “She should have been safe at school,” his friend’s voice was rough, ragged, and Brute could envision the man standing across the room from his wife, tore up about what happened, but holding it together for her and Natty.

  “Shoulda. Wasn’t,” Brute said slowly, making sure Dylan heard him. Heard what he couldn’t say. “She is here.”

  Call over, the disconnect severed the threads that held Brute to be reasonable. He thumbed his phone again, eyes never leaving the unmoving blankets. What he saw was different. He saw, as if they were still there, the scene from inside the exam room in the ER.

  Natty lay on her back on a narrow bed, head turned so she could keep Brute in view. Minute twitches of muscle in her face and neck hinted at her discomfort as the doc worked, murmuring to the nurse about this thing or that procedure.

  Natty’s hands fisted in the thin gown at her sides, he’d already seen the half-moon craters gouged in her palms from before. A metallic click sounded, and a second later, she jumped in place. Her face scrunched up, tears welling in her eyes at what the man at the foot of the table was doing. A moment later it was over, and the doc stood from the stool, avoiding the sheet spread on the floor, and gently patted her leg. “I’m going to step out, Natalie. The nurse will just be a moment more.” His voice was compassionate when he said, “We need to get photos.” He cut his gaze to Brute, then back to the girl on the table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  A tear broke free, trailing across the bridge of her nose and down her cheek, then another. Brute reached out, cupping her face in his hands, gaze locked with hers. Willing her to be strong, to be okay, to get through this. More tears flowed, and he swept them from her face with his thumbs. “Natty.” He heard his own voice, unrecognizable with the cargo of anguish it carried.

  “We’re on it, brother.” Gunny’s voice shook him free of the memories.

  “Need you to come to me.” This would be hard for Gunny to see, hard for him to hear, with his woman’s history. She was the other one Brute knew who had survived years of abuse. He needed Gunny here, wanted to know how to handle someone you loved when this happened. The relationship might be different, but he figured people were the same.

  “On my way.” That was all he had got before the call ended, cutting off all background noise. He thumbed the phone again, looking down at the device as he did so. A moment later, he had another voice, this one from farther west, his gateway to whoever this marked fucker was.

  “Chief,” he began, and then got a surprise because he expected to have to introduce himself, but that was not the case. Without uttering another word, he got what he needed.

  “Brute. Already got the call, friend.” The voice reflected the owner, steady and confident. Chief was president of a Utah club, friendly with the Rebels, and the closest to where Natty had been attending college. “We got a description, but I’m glad you called. I have a couple of questions. Got the time?”

  For Natty, he’d make the time, always. “Yeah,” he answered, then waited.

  “Day and time, that’ll help narrow down who was there and who wasn’t. We have a couple of connections down Salt Lake way, headed them up towards Ogden already.” Ogden was the campus location. “They’re in the wind, but I want to have everything we can when they check in next. Walk me through it. Make me see it, Brute. Don’t hold back, the smallest thing can be the key.”

  Chief had been FBI once, a lifetime ago, and while he had lost faith in the government who’d employed him, he had not lost the skills. Brute spent the next twenty minutes talking, feet pacing a path through his kitchen to the patio, back to the kitchen. Voice low, not wanting Natty to hear, he worked through everything he knew, which was a fuckton more than the cops did. The blues who showed up to the ER didn’t listen, didn’t hear, even when things were laid out, because they weren’t empowered the way an outlaw was. Their hearing was honed to pitches that lined up with their capabilities. Brute heard the wind bending around the corner, saw the chances not taken.

  A bike in the lot roared and cut off, engine dying as he disconnected that call on promises of frequent updates. He beat Gunny to the door, opening and leaving it swinging behind him. A quick glance showed Natty still asleep, granted the surcease of peace for a time, at least.

  ***

  “You need to absent yourself, Brute.” Speaking softly, Ruby stared straight into his face. The tiny redhead wasn’t afraid of anyone, and proved it often, as she did now. “Natalie and I will be all right.” As Ruby said this, she turned her head, smiling at the girl seated on the couch beside her. Natty’s eyes didn’t see the smile, didn’t lift from where they focused on a point just past her knees. She had been like this most of the morning, withdrawn and quiet since getting off a tearful call with her parents. “In fact, I often go to the group session she’s scheduled for.” Twisting her head, she winked at Brute. “I’ll just haul her happy butt along with me when I go today.”

  Abruptly standing, Ruby clapped her hands, the sound startling in the quiet apartment. Even that noise didn’t capture Natty’s attention, and Ruby grimaced. Hand on Brute’s arm, she guided him to the kitchen. In a low voice, she said, “I get what she’s doing. The talk with her folks this morning wore her down. Now she’s trying to find space to recharge, but how she’s doing that won’t work. She can’t find solace within, not right now. I know what she needs, Brute. Let me have her.”

  He was so tense her fingers could barely dent the skin of his biceps when she squeezed. “Trust me. Give me until after the group. Meet us there for her appointment. She’ll have to talk then. I know from experience this doc doesn’t let you slack off. That way you’ll be right there with her, ready to be her rock when someone expects the hardest things out of her. She can lean on you then, and you can do what’s needed. For the group, she can just observe. Stay totally quiet, unless she doesn’t want to be. But she needs to hear that there is healing after this kind of pain.”

  He stared at her for a minute, and she held his gaze. Steady and patient, just like she was with her kids. With two sets of twins, the oldest entering their toddling years, patience wasn’t just a virtue, it was a necessity. “She matters to me, Ruby.”

  “I know she does, honey. I can see that.” She reassured him, the words coming immediately on the heels of his statement. “She’s not fine right now, not in her head as she is, but she’ll be fine with me.” Serious eyes held his gaze. Ruby had never lied to him, and he didn’t expect she’d begin now, with something this important. Hesitantly, he nodded, and she squeezed his arm again. “We’ll get her through this, Brute.”

  Four hours later, he drove onto the parking lot for the clinic, angling the truck into a spot near the doors. He didn’t know how sore Natty still would be, three days later, but anything he could do to alleviate an ounce of it would be counted worth the effort. He checked his watch; five minutes until his appointment with Bulldog. Her counselor and the doc were in the same building, and that seemed too big a coincidence to ignore, so he’d made a call earlier in the day, lucky enough to set up something the same time as her group.

  He unfolded out of the truck, scanning the lot out of habit as he walked. A blonde head moving through the vehicles plucked at his attention, the too-familiar color and height of the woman ringing alarm bells. She was walking towards the building, too, making her way between the parked cars and trucks, weaving back and forth so it was at least another half a minute before he got a clear look at her face. When he did, his feet stopped moving, and he dropped his head immediately, tracking her still, but doing it without looking directly at her. Fuck. Bexley.

  A half a second from retracing his steps in escape, he heard someone call her name at the same time Natty called his. Fuck. Lifting his head, he saw Natty and Ruby, arm-in-arm beside the do
ors, Natty looking in his direction and Ruby looking across the lot. Fuck. Raising his hand, he turned his back to Bexley, shouting across to Natty, “Forgot something. See you after, yeah?” Jogging back to his truck, he folded into it, shoved the keys into the slot and twisted them, hearing the engine roar.

  When he looked up, the small cement landing in front of the doors was empty, and a scan of the lot showed no blonde heads, familiar or not. Only a few people, all women, scurrying towards the doors as if they were afraid to be seen. Shame camouflaged as urgency, tense muscles an internal protest line the women crossed each time they entered the building.

  On his phone, recent calls gave him easy access to the doc’s service, where he called to let them know he’d be a few minutes late. Then he sat in the truck until well after the group session was to begin, then waited for another five, just for good measure. The entire time his mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The look of the women walking in after Natty and Ruby, he had to think they were all there for the same thing. Counseling. But not just any kind of talking doc, this was rape counseling. The idea of what Natty endured enraged him, her body used in a way that took what should be a beautiful act bringing two people together and trashed the idea of intimacy.

  He knew Ruby’s story, and at the thought, the rage was there, too. She had been trapped in a windowless room for months, president of a rival club using her as the mood struck him. The only thing that kept any of the brothers sane was knowing that man was no longer sucking her air. Natty’s attacker was upright and breathing. “Not for long,” he muttered, heading up the stairs to the second floor where Bulldog’s offices were, even the knowledge that they were close to picking up the bastard scarcely soothing him.