“You can’t wait in the lot. Come inside.” Mercy dropped her hand and turned, walking back to the doorway, pulling to a stop in front of the man with her hands on her hips. He was shaking his head, and she seemed perplexed when he didn’t step aside. “Hoss, they can wait in the office.”
“Think for a minute, honey. He’s a tad bit underage, and, although you seem comfortable with her, I don’t know your chickie. ATC would not look kindly to findin’ him even on the premises, but they would definitely highly frown on findin’ him inside the walls, and you know all that. No one in there can afford to lose their liquor license or pay fines.” He shook his head. “They wait in their car.”
When he spoke, his soft drawl sounded so familiar and welcome, the sound sending a warm feeling through her as it curled into the air around her, and Hope was surprised to find herself smiling to hear it. In her confusion, she glanced down at Sammy again and pitched her voice to carry when she said, “It’s really okay, Mercy. Sammy and me, we can wait out here. It’s no problem at all.” Mercy had called the big man a name, but she had missed it. When he laughed, Hope looked up, and her question must have been evident on her face, because he responded.
“You were pretty much laughin’ at me, weren’t you? I wondered why, and now I know. We’re a matched set of southern transplants, ain’t we?” He was smiling at her, and she couldn’t help but return the expression, liking how his warm smile spread to his eyes.
“For a moment there, you sounded like home,” she said quietly, reaching out to ruffle Sammy’s hair. He ducked his head out from under her hand, still staring at the man. “Take your time, Mercy. We’ll be fine out here.”
The man said, “Yeah, you will be. I’m gonna be waiting out here with you. Go on inside, Mercy. DeeDee ain’t here, so you’ll have to talk to Tequila, but it shouldn’t be a problem. I got this, sweetie. Don’t worry about a thing.”
She watched as her sister—my sister—went up on her toes to gently kiss the big man’s cheek. Turning to glance at her and Sammy, still standing in the lights of the parking lot, Mercy instructed, “Don’t go anywhere.”
The door closed and she realized Sammy hadn’t said a thing since they first exited the car. Squatting down beside him, she asked, “You okay, bud? We’ll wait right here for Aunt Mercy.”
“Why didn’t I know about her, Mom?” He asked the question quietly, his chin tucked tightly to his chest, gaze fixed on the pavement. “How could you have a big sister you never met?”
“It’s a long story, Sam.” She sighed, resting one knee on the hard asphalt covering the parking lot.
“You’ve said that the entire trip, but never told me anything. You never tell me anything, Mom. I’m not a little kid.” It sounded like he was struggling with tears, and she reached out, wrapping her arms around him and tugging him close, holding him tight, even when he halfheartedly tried to pull away. “I’m not.”
“I know, bud. But it’s complicated.” She shook him. “It’s a complicated story. Like a banana split.”
As she had intended, he snorted softly and then giggled as he asked her, “Why is it like a banana split?”
“Because the story runs cold and hot, like ice cream and hot fudge. It’s a little sweet and sticky, like strawberries, and can give you a headache if you try to understand it all at once, like utter frozen goodness.” Pulling back, she looked him in the face, using one palm to smooth his hair back from his temples. “Love you, bud.”
“Love you too, Mom,” he said, snuggling in for a real hug for a minute. Then, laughing loudly, he said, “You made a joke.”
“Nuh-uh, I never joke,” she said, squeezing him tight.
“Yeah-huh, you said it was utter frozen goodness. Ice cream is made from milk. Cow’s milk. Udder frozen goodness? You crack me up, Mom.” He giggled again, his bright child’s voice lighting up every corner inside her. This was worth everything, being able to hold him, to love him…to hear him point out her terrible, unintentional pun. She grinned and kissed the top of his head, and he sighed and relaxed into her for a moment then stiffened and pulled away when a noise came from right behind her.
Twisting to look, she instinctively pushed Sammy behind her to position herself between him and whatever the new threat was. She saw the big man had moved beside them and was looking over the top of her head into the darkness. She heard a rumble, and over the rapidly growing noise, she heard him say, “Why don’t y’all go and get inside the car, sweetheart.” He glanced down at her and frowned when she didn’t move right away, the tone in his voice harsher when he told her again, “Hope, get your boy and get into the car. Now.”
Reaching out, she picked up Sam and stood, hurrying to the car. She struggled for a moment, fumbling with the keys, then opened the door and pushed behind the wheel, telling Sam, “Climb over, bud. Get on the floor. Like when we sleep, okay?” Without a word, her son obeyed, reaching up to pull the blanket from the top of the boxes down and over himself, hiding his form from casual view. “Get all tucked in, baby. Stay there; you know the drill.” She pulled the door shut and locked it, inserting her keys in the ignition in case she needed to start the car in a hurry.
She watched as the big man stood in front of her car, feet spread wide, arms folded across his chest. With a start, she realized that just as she had done a moment ago with Sammy, he had put himself between them and whatever was approaching. Between her and danger, it felt like. His back was to her, and she had a moment to appreciate just how big he was, broad through the shoulders; she could see his bare biceps bulging as he shifted slightly from foot to foot, waiting. The leather vest he wore over his sleeveless shirt had an emblem on it, and several pieces of fabric with words. Patches with sayings like Rebel Wayfarers. The emblem itself was a frightening looking skull, grinning around something held in its teeth.
A group of motorcycles pulled into the parking lot and she cautiously eyed the men who parked and dismounted the bikes. They were all dressed similar to her self-appointed protector, and he greeted them in a friendly manner. Then he put a restraining hand on the chest of one rider who approached closer than the others, speaking quietly to him. The rider said something in return then leaned over and pounded on the hood of her car with one closed fist. He seemed to be barely in control of himself, his eyes showing whites all around the dark irises. Not quite as big as the man who had spoken so kindly to her, he was still big…and seriously scary. She jerked a little with each hard hit on the metal, feeling her shoulders pulling in tightly. “It’s okay, Sammy,” she whispered, not even sure if he could hear her, but needing to say the words. Reassuring herself. “It's all right, baby.”
The big man pushed him back, and she heard him say in an angry tone, “Brother, knock it the fuck off. That’s Mercy’s sister, man. She’s got a kid in the car.”
“Pussy works, who fucking cares?” the other man told him, eyes glaring at her through the windshield. His attitude was callused and arrogant, and he kinda pissed her off with his crude language, even as he scared the pants off of her. “Lookie there at the honeypot. You are just as pretty as you sounded on the phone. Come on out here. Let’s play, pretty baby.”
“Deke, knock it the fuck off.” The command in the man’s voice was unmistakable, and Deke reacted, immediately backing up and moving away, holding his hands up in surrender. She watched their interaction intently and shuddered, because she thought without the big man here, things might be ending in a very different way. Her fingers had wrapped themselves so tightly around the steering wheel that the tips were tingling and she shook out first one hand and then the other absently, focus still on the two men standing in front of her car.
“I’ll go nail my usual piece of ass, Hoss. No problem, you want to throw some kind of claim or patch on the bitch, you go straight on ahead. Ain’t no skin off my ass, brother. I got no problem.” Deke turned and nodded at the rest of the men, who had stood by silently during the entire exchange. Together, they all walked inside, and it see
med only a moment later when she saw the door open slightly, a small figure slipping through the opening.
“Everything okay?” Mercy asked Hoss as she walked over. Could that honestly be his name? Hope wondered, shaking her head.
“Deke bein’ a dickhead. Ain’t nothin’ new about his level of asshatness,” Hoss said. He turned and looked through the glass at Hope. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, knowing her voice would be quavering and fractured, exposing her fear.
He stared at her for a second then shook his head. “Nope, you ain’t. I can see that. It’s all right, honey. I had you. He’s harmless most of the time. Just had a burr on his ass tonight.” He smiled and for a moment, she felt…lighter. She smiled back and he grinned more broadly. “Now that’s a pretty sight to see. I’d deal with dickheads any day of the week to pull that kinda smile outta you. We’ll make sure you’re okay. You take care, and I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” He took a step backwards and lifted one hand in farewell, holding it until she matched his motion, waving goodbye. Then he turned and strode to the building, pulling the door open forcefully as he went inside.
Twisting to bend over the seat into the back, she wiped the tears from her face and then told Sam, “You can climb up and buckle in, baby. You did really well.”
Mercy leaned down and Hope lowered the window, taking the piece of paper offered. “Follow me, it’s not far. I wrote down the address for you, in case we get separated.” She reached out, cupping Hope’s chin in her palm. “I’m so glad you’re here, Hope. Let’s get home, and we’ll sort things out.”
***
Hoss stalked across the room to where Deke was leaning against the bar. Reaching out, he gripped the collar of the man’s tee where it showed over the top of his cut, twisting and pulling it tight around his hand, the fabric constricting around Deke’s throat and causing him to arch back. “Fucktard. What the hell were you playing at with Hope?”
“Shit, Hoss. Fuck. Let me the fuck go, man.” Deke struggled, moving from side to side, but Hoss persisted, taking a wrap in the tee’s collar with his fist. Choking and pulling him to his toes, Hoss bent him backwards a bit farther. Voice strained, Deke said, “She called the clubhouse, wanted me to take a message for the stupid bitch. Shit, man, get the fuck off me.” He slapped ineffectually over his head at Hoss’ hands, yelling, “Club whore, using the clubhouse as a fucking answering service. Pissed me off.”
“Mercy’s not a whore anymore.” Hoss shook his head, giving Deke a final hard shake. “She’s dancing and isn’t fucking brothers anymore. You would know if you fucking paid attention, man.”
“Once a whore, always a whore.” Deke shrugged, tugging his shirt back into place as Hoss released his hold. “What the fuck do I care?”
“Ain’t you got sisters, brother? I know I do, and that’s how I try and treat the girls, how I’d want my own sister treated.” Hoss shook his head and stepped back. “You got some kind of a stick up your ass where Mercy’s concerned, and you need to fix that shit, or it sure as hell is gonna come back around and bite you.”
Deke looked at him from the corner of one eye, and then glanced down at the bar. “Mercy left, then?”
Hoss nodded, flipping a hand at the bartender. “Delia, gimme a beer.” She indicated she heard him and he turned back to Deke. “Yeah, she went home.” He watched as Deke’s mouth twisted, lips pressed tightly together. “What’s goin’ on, man? Something’s eatin’ at you. Gonna share?”
Glancing around, Deke turned to face Hoss. “She say anything about anything?”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean? You mean about you? Did she say anything about you? Why, brother? What does she have to say that you would be worried about?” Hoss couldn’t figure out what was going on with the man. He was running hot and cold, swapping sides so fast it was nearly impossible to keep up with him.
“I just wondered if she had said anything. You know, about anything.” He shrugged and picked up his beer, taking a long pull from the bottle. “Like me, or like Birdy.”
Slowly shaking his head, Hoss said, “Nope. She didn’t say anything, not even when you called.” He stared at Deke for a minute. “She doesn't talk about Birdy, man. You know that.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have said what I did,” Deke muttered.
Narrowing his eyes, Hoss looked at the man, taking in the repentant look on his face. “What did you say to her on the phone?” He remembered the look on her face, the way she had flinched away from the handset. “Deke, brother. What did you say?”
“Just another thing for me to apologize to that gash for, man.” Rapping his knuckles on the bar, he drew Delia’s attention and, waving, ordered another beer. “Seems like I’m always apologizing to her.”
“Then stop bein’ a stupid, thickheaded fool,” Hoss said with a shake of his head, turning to prop his elbows on the bar.
With a snort, Deke nodded, accepting the condensation-beaded bottle from the bartender. Tipping it up, he took a long drink then said, “Like that’s gonna happen, brother.”
Proud of you
“How much farther, Mom?” Sam asked, and she glanced at him in the mirror, seeing him twisting familiarly in his seat.
“Gotta go, bud?” Wrinkling her nose when he nodded, she asked, “You okay for another five?” Tucking his chin, he nodded again, and she said, “Okay. First thing, I’ll ask where the bathroom is, so you don’t have to find a houseplant.”
He didn’t grin as she expected, instead asking, “You think she’s got a dog? I’d like it if she had a dog.” He was looking out the window and didn’t see her shake her head. “Why were you scared back there, Mom?” Now his head swiveled, so he could see her eyes in the mirror.
Dangit, she thought, studiously looking at the road in front of her, keeping her eyes trained on the taillights of Mercy’s car. “I don’t know if she has a dog or any pets. Maybe where she lives won’t let her, like our place in Birmingham.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, his eyes locked on her face in the mirror. “You were really scared.”
“Maybe,” she echoed his word, and he made a face. “Yeah, a little. There were a bunch of men standing outside the car for a minute. The big guy sent them on their way, though. He seemed nice, yeah?” Actually, she thought, Hoss seemed more than nice. He is just so…comfortable. She shook her head, because he was about as opposite from Sammy’s father—sperm donor—as someone could be. I evidently don’t have a type. At that thought, she snorted at herself, because in order to have a type, you would need to have a sample size greater than one. In all the years since leaving home she had never met anyone who made her breath catch, who made her eyes involuntarily lock on them like the man tonight had. Made her want to take a chance again.
“Maybe,” he said again, and she grinned, repeating it back to him to draw a smile from him.
“Mooooom,” he complained, and then struggled to keep a straight face. “His name was weird.”
“Hoss,” she said, trying the fit of the sounds in her mouth, reminding herself to ask Mercy about his name. Hoss, Deke, Tequila—they were all odd names. She slowed when she saw Mercy’s blinker come on, and turned to follow her into the parking lot of what looked like a nice apartment complex. Slowly, she drove through the gate and up the winding drive, stopping behind Mercy when she parked. Rolling down her window, she looked at the space her sister indicated and nodded, maneuvering the car and deftly backing into it. One of the things you learned when living in your car was to always park in a way that facilitated a quick exit, and backing in was now second nature. “Here we are, bud. Grab your little bag and bring it in for tonight, okay?”
“Are we not staying then? We came all this way and we’re not staying?” He paused in releasing his seat belt buckle, and she twisted in the seat to look him in the face. This was one of those times where she needed to invoke their pact.
“No lies,” she said, and he stiffened. Those words meant thi
s suddenly was a serious conversation and she had his full focus. “I told you I don’t know her, and that means I don’t know how this is going to go. Not for sure. We might not want to stay here beyond a single night, or at all, bud. She might be okay, but the situation might not be. Right now, we’re in what you could call the feeling-things-out stage.” She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat, knowing if this didn’t work out, she didn’t have any idea what they would do. “I have a good feeling about this, but I didn’t call ahead, so she might not even have room for us. What if she has a big husband and fourteen kids?”
“Oh, okay,” he said quietly, grabbing his backpack and easing across the seat towards the door. “I really gotta go, Mom.”
“Alrighty, then.” She opened her door, looking across to see Mercy standing in the doorway of a downstairs apartment, the light silhouetting her to create a radiant glow around her frame. “I have a really good feeling about this, bud.”
***
Gunny cut his gaze over to Hoss, watching as he settled his shoulders against the wall. The announcer came on, sound system speakers crackling and the faint hiss of static bleeding through the air before she led the audience into the next set.
“What was that shit with Deke?” Hoss shrugged; he knew Gunny and Deke were tight, and the last thing he wanted to do tonight was get sideways with the man, especially when he had worked so hard to get on the right side of him. Gunny asked, “He fucking his head up about Mercy again?” The question startled him, and he glanced over with a slow nod. Gunny shook his head, tipping his chin down. “Don’t know why the dickhead won’t just admit he wants her on his bike.”
Hoss asked, “You thinking he’s looking for some patched ass?” That would surprise everybody in the club, he thought.
Hoss (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 7) Page 4
