Hoss (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 7)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Hoss shook his head. Things in the Rebel family were always complicated, but over the past year, life had twisted in strange and unusual ways. Mason was their national president, and DeeDee was Mason’s cousin. Jase had a sister named Sharon. Jase and DeeDee were together, and Sharon worked at Slinky’s, as did Mercy. A Rebel named Gunny had fallen in love with Sharon, binding the Spencer family even more tightly to the club. Round and round the wheels go, he thought.

  The abuse he referred to was a bad beating Mercy took at the hands of a rogue member. It had required weeks for her to heal enough to go back to work, and the club had taken care of her during that time. Fucking Birdy, Hoss thought, looking down at the grass along the edge of the patio, the bright green now tattered, ground into the dirt, individual blades bruised from the men who carelessly strode over them.

  “Why?” Jase asked idly, flipping another row of burgers.

  “No reason.” Hoss hurried to fill the gap, waiting for Mason to call him on the little lie. He didn’t want this first club event in Jase and DeeDee’s new home to be marred by any sense of regret or remorse on DeeDee’s part. He knew how serious she took her role at Slinky’s and she would be devastated if one of her ‘girls’ had been compelled to leave because she felt unwelcome. “Deke’s piled up on your couch sleepin’ some shit off, man. Heads up, he is one ugly hangover. Might want to start coffee strong and early tomorrow.”

  Jase laughed and lifted his head, frowning when he saw Mason’s face. Zeroing back in on the topic, he asked Mason, “Did she feel like DeeDee didn’t want her to come? She’s here; I gave her a hotdog not an hour ago.” He started looking around the backyard, and Hoss snorted at the repeat of the scene with Mason.

  “She left a little bit ago.” Hoss shifted the leather of his cut on his shoulders and asked, “Why we talking about pussy when we need to discuss Bingo?” As one, their heads all swung to look at the old man. He was speaking to a group of members, his arms sweeping in grand gestures, and in a moment, they all heard the laughter accompanying the end of whatever story he was relating. “He gonna keep staying here, Captain?” He used Jase’s club name deliberately, ensuring both sets of ears understood this conversation had definitely turned to club business.

  Standing straight, Jase looked him in the eye and said, “He’s my brother, welcome here for as long as is needed…whatever is needed. He and the kids, they’re family.”

  He reached out and cuffed Jase’s shoulder fondly. “That’s what I like to fucking hear, brother.” Yawning, he said, “I think I’m gonna make some of that coffee I was talking about. Beer’s good, but damn this sun is warm. I need some wakeup sauce.”

  Without waiting for a response, Hoss turned to walk inside, finding his way around in the kitchen and starting a pot of coffee. Leaning a hip against the counter, he pulled out his phone and tapped a quick message, pressed send, and then waited. Before the coffee was ready, he had received the response he wanted. Mercy had gotten home safely, and from the picture was seated on her couch, secure behind a closed and locked door. The smile on her face in the image was as sad and strained as each forced expression he had seen from her for weeks.

  “Fucking Birdy,” he muttered, pulling down a mug and filling it with the hot liquid.

  Tripping and not falling

  “How much longer, Mom?” Sammy asked, gaze directed out the window, avidly watching as she passed a slower moving tractor-trailer on her right.

  “About twenty miles less than the last time you asked, baby.” She reached up and paused her audio book, pulling the earbud from her ear. This book was about some gorgeous town in Nevada, where all the men were hotter than hot and all the women were stupid, but everyone got a happily ever after in the end. She snorted at the direction her thoughts had gone. My life sure isn’t a fairytale. “Next town is Indianapolis, which is the biggest city in the state. After that, it’s about two hours on to Fort Wayne. Did you see the last sign for Indy?”

  “Fifteen miles,” he said absently. She watched in the mirror as he turned his whole body to angle his head and look up at the truck driver, his arm pumping furiously. “Got him,” he crowed as the driver briefly blew his air horn, tooting at the small boy. Sammy waved in thanks and twisted back in his seat, looking forward and pointing. “There’s another truck right up there, Mom.”

  “Yep, see it.” She shook her head. He was a good traveler and had managed to keep himself amused for most of the drive. She glanced down at the gas gauge again, wrinkling her nose. Mentally, she riffled through her wallet, counting the remaining bills. Enough to fill the car up another time, with probably forty bucks left over, plus the two hundred she had tucked back for emergencies. She had known she wouldn’t have a lot of wiggle room for the expenses of this trip—move, her brain supplied—but she hadn’t expected to cut things quite so fine. Thank God, her boss had made her last paycheck right, and even been willing to give it to her in cash, so she wouldn’t have to watch it be whittled away by those darn fees.

  Glancing at him again, she watched as he focused on the truck, trying to catch the driver’s gaze in the semi’s mirrors. Looking forward, she saw the truck driver had noted them, but he wasn’t looking at Sammy, he was looking at her. Distracted—surely he wouldn’t do it on purpose, she thought—his truck and the big trailer with DRT in black letters began drifting over into her lane until he moved it back with a jerk. Once he saw she had noted his attention, he licked his lips elaborately and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  Staring straight ahead, she ignored him as best she could, reinserting her earbud and starting her audio book again. If only real life were like her favorite stories, where good-looking alpha men would swoop in and save you without asking for anything except hot sex in return. The sex was only if you were willing, of course, and they always took care of you first. She scoffed at her fantasy and then from his stillness realized Sammy hadn’t done his normal toot-request movements, so she looked at him quizzically. “Sam, did you see the truck?”

  “Yes.” That was all he said, but now his arms were crossed tightly over his chest.

  “No horn? He didn’t see you?” She stuck her bottom lip out in sympathy.

  “I didn’t like him.” He turned his head to look out the window. As she continued to watch him for another moment, she saw movement behind the car; the truck had sped up, the driver pulling over into her lane and rapidly catching up to them.

  “Crap,” she muttered, turning on her blinker and moving into the other lane, slipping between two other trucks. “Why didn’t you like him?” she asked, keeping watch on the truck now pulling even with the semi behind her.

  “He looked at you weird. I didn’t like him.” He shrugged, keeping his gaze out the window.

  “Well, duh. I’m kinda dorky lookin’. He was probably amazed at the geekdom sitting behind the wheel.” She smiled, because her goofy tone had pulled a grin to his face. Focusing on driving, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her gas light blink on then off, and then on as she stared down at it, burning a steady amber. “Double crap,” she whispered, peering around the big truck in front of her to find they were nearly at an exit that had signs indicating gas stations.

  “Need to make a pit stop, bud. Gotta get some go-juice for the buggy,” she said, flipping on her blinker and moving over for the exit. She was sitting at the bottom of the ramp, waiting for the light to change and trying to decide which gas station to choose, when the car lurched forward with a crunching sound, her head hitting the side window hard. If felt like something had—

  “Mom, he hit us! He hit our car!” Sam yelled, twisting in his seat to look back.

  Eyes fixed to the rearview mirror, she saw it was the DRT truck. He had evidently come off the exit after she had and smashed into the back of her car. He was currently backing up to move out of the roadway, but she could clearly see the driver, sunglasses and low-tugged hat hiding the top half of his face. “It’s okay; let me just pull over. I’ll check it out. It was sca
rcely a bump, baby.” She took a breath, trying to calm herself. “Stay in the car, baby. Okay?” Contrary to her verbal coolness, inside she was shaking with anger. He had. The jackhole had hit her car and, given his behavior back on the highway, she immediately wondered if it was intentional.

  She pulled to the shoulder and climbed out of the car, with a final firm reminder to Sammy to stay put. Hope was dismayed when she rounded the back corner and saw crumpled metal and broken plastic, which was all that remained of her trunk lid and one tail light. Even though it looked bad, she knew the car was only lightly damaged, still drivable.

  Looking up at the truck again, she shivered, filled with a sudden, intense desire to not have a conversation with this trucker on the side of an off-ramp, out of sight from the nearest business. She jumped back into the car, rolled down her window a couple of inches, and waited, locking the doors as an afterthought. After maneuvering the semi to the side, he exited the truck and was sauntering up the shoulder towards her car. She called out the window, “I’m going to pull over to the gas station; you can follow me over there to give me your insurance information.”

  She was already rolling up the window when he bent down, placed his mouth near the opening, and asked, “Hey there, honey. Are you and the little man okay?”

  She nodded, pointing at the station, and saw a look of something she didn’t like pass across his face. Frustration? Evil? Ill intent? Her heartbeat doubled in response and she slammed the car into gear, spitting gravel from under the tires as she pulled onto the service road. She had nearly made it to the gas station when she glanced in the mirror in time to see the truck idle across the road. It gained speed as it pulled back out onto the highway, leaving shattered pieces of red and white plastic scattered across the road. Just perfect.

  After five hours in a tiny, very local repair shop, the trunk lid replaced and light fixed, they were ready to roll again. So what if her car now looked like a skunk with a white trunk on the black vehicle? It would keep their stuff dry and safe.

  She looked down at her phone again, trying to decide and then, in a rush, dialed the number she had. The only number she ever had for Mercy. She had tried looking it up online, but it simply said unlisted. The only thing she knew was the listing was for Fort Wayne, which is why they were headed there now. What if she doesn’t even live there anymore? The thought passed through her head quickly, but she shut it out with a panicked push, mentally slamming a door against the possibility.

  A man answered, and she hesitantly asked, “Is Mercy there?”

  There was a laugh she could only have described as dark and angry, and the man said, “Fucking bitch making us her answering service now? I’ll play along, baby. No, I’m sorry. Mercy is unable to come to the fucking phone. Can I take a motherfucking message?”

  She had drawn in a shocked breath when he first answered, and the longer he talked, the less good she felt about this trip—move—even as her mouth moved to answer him. “Can you tell her Hope called? I’m her sister. I’m on my way to visit and wanted to let her know I was on my way.”

  “Hope, huh?” His voice deepened, developing a raspy quality that made her shiver. “You as pretty as you sound, baby?”

  She didn’t know how to respond, so after a moment, she asked, “Can you…will you tell her?”

  He had lost the pleasant tone, his voice sneering when he said, “Fucking tell her yourself, bitch. I ain’t schleppin’ for the whore. She’s working Slinky’s tonight. You can find her there.” And with that, he hung up.

  Before she could second-guess her decision, she looked up the name of the business he had given her, mapping the address while calling across the shop to where Sammy was chatting with the mechanic. “Gotta go, bud. Tell the nice man thank you.”

  ***

  “Thank you,” Sam said politely, backing up so he could watch the man. Sure enough, he got an ugly look on his face as soon as Mom turned for the door, his eyes duckwalking up across her bottom. Hearing the door slide shut behind her, he leaned forward, got the man’s attention, and then hissed, “That’s my mom.”

  Turning to follow her, he heard the man say, “Good for you, little man. We gotta protect the ones we love. Good job.”

  Sam lifted a hand like he did in practice to let Coach know he heard him, and walked out the door.

  Our complicated story

  “Mercy,” Tequila called from the bar, and Hoss turned to look at him, wondering what he needed. She walked over and took the phone from him, putting it to her ear slowly, eyes squeezed tightly closed. They all knew it was a call that lured her to where Birdy had been waiting, one of the reasons why she much preferred to text now, instead of talking on the phone.

  Her head jerked back, then she nodded and quietly said, “Thanks.”

  She handed the phone back, turned, and walked to the door leading to the back of the club, and he saw her shoulders slump miserably as she went out of sight. Frowning, he moved to the bar and asked, “What was that about?”

  “Dunno. Deke said he had a message for her.” Tequila laughed. “Ten guesses what he wanted, and the first nine don’t count.”

  “Man, I wish that brother would get his head out of his fucking ass. He needs to wise up and take care of shit.” Hoss shook his head, glancing back at the stage before he walked to the office, going inside and closing the door.

  A couple of hours later, Hoss stood behind the bar, watching Mercy dance as he had done a hundred times before. He frowned. She seemed off tonight, her dancing suffering, because instead of focusing on the set, she kept looking over at the door. He glanced to where Gunny stood and noted he was watching her with a frown, too. Walking over, he leaned against the wall next to the big man.

  “What’s up with Mercy?” Gunny asked before he could, and he laughed.

  “Came over to ask you the same question. I don’t know what’s up, but she’s steadily eyeballing the door like it’s the only thing between her and a monster.”

  There was a noise outside, the slamming of a car door, and Gunny grunted, “Cage on the lot.” Hoss nodded and they listened again. Thirty seconds later, another car door slammed and he glanced up at the dancers, seeing Mercy’s gaze firmly trained on the outside entrance.

  “I’m going to take a peek and see exactly what kind of trouble she’s expecting,” Hoss said and walked over to the club’s entrance. Before he could touch the door, it swung open, light from inside the building spilling through the opening into the darkness of the parking lot and illuminating a young woman standing there, holding a boy by the hand. She glanced up at him and froze in place.

  Beautiful, her expression was fragile and haunted, and for the barest moment, he thought she looked familiar. Then she tore her eyes from him, peering around him and into the room, her gaze catching on Mercy, who was mid-pole in a spin. She still had most of her costume on, but the woman in the door clapped her hand over the child’s face, blood fleeing her features, which had frozen in an expression of loss so profound he nearly couldn’t breathe.

  Without a word, she turned on her heel in retreat. Even as he heard Mercy call out, “Hope, wait!” he felt an odd sense of melancholy that she was leaving and would not be part of his life. She was beautiful, sure enough, blonde curls flying untamed around her head and eyes blue enough to pierce straight through him. Not petite and not tall, she was just the right height with curves aplenty; a man could get lost for days exploring her. Just right, like the bear from that children’s story. She was all of that, but there was something deeper than the surface, something that immediately made him want to shelter her, keep her…make her life easier.

  He broke his stare from the woman and glanced over at Gunny, who shrugged, then Mercy was barreling past him, shoving him out of the way, having slowed only to slip on a robe over her skimpy costume. She stopped a few feet away from the woman and child and asked a question, too softly for him to catch her words.

  At a nod from the woman, Mercy stepped forward and wrappe
d her arms around them both. Seeing them side-by-side like that, pressed so close you couldn’t slip a breath between them, with a start, he realized why he had the feeling he knew her. She and Mercy looked similar. Even with the difference in coloration and hair, they were too alike to be anything other than sisters.

  ***

  “I’m so sorry.” Pulling back, Hope apologized softly, looking up at the big man standing in the doorway and then back to Mercy, trying to find a graceful way to retreat as quickly as possible. She stepped back, Sammy tucked firmly to her side, moving them farther away from her sister. This had been a mistake. Huge. Epic. Stupid. “The man on the phone mentioned this was your work, but I didn’t think it through. We’ll just—” Before she could finish the thought, the dark-haired woman—Mercy, my sister—was shaking her head vehemently back and forth.

  “No, don’t leave. Please. I can…give me a minute to talk to my boss. I can be ready to go in like five minutes.” She laid her hand hesitantly on Hope’s arm. “I got the message, but couldn’t believe it. I thought Deke was messing with me, so I didn’t dare...Hope, I’m overjoyed you’re here.” That touch meant everything, pulling her back from the immediate flight she had been headed towards. Because if Mercy still wanted to meet them after she crashed her place of work like this, then maybe the desire to know about their connection ran both ways.

  The door thumped shut, the noise startling Sam and he jerked under her hand. Glancing down at him, she saw he was staring at something and followed his gaze to the big man. That man was so solid, so there, standing and watching them with a tolerant and interested look in place on his face. She suspected once you knew him, once he let you in, he could make you feel safe by no more than being near him. His beard color matched his hair, and looked just as soft, dark and thick, the right consistency for running your fingers through. Still looking at the man, distracted by her unruly thoughts she softly told Mercy, “Okay.” Dragging her gaze away with some effort, she gestured towards their car and said, “We’ll just wait here.”