Hoss (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 7)

by MariaLisa deMora

  His mind was running in hundred-mile-an-hour circles, angrily tripping back and forth over the paralyzing knowledge that she hadn’t been safe. She had taken a job he didn’t know about because he was away, stuck in fucking Chicago for two weeks, dealing with Diamante fallout there, standing alongside Mason. He had rolled into the garage about twenty minutes before Fury made the call tonight, had been in the process of writing up the service his bike needed, when his phone rang. Fucking lucky his truck was still there and he could jump in and go.

  He had already known about the shooting in Murphy’s Law, the first texts from folks buzzing in about fifteen minutes earlier. He also knew Lalo and Chismoso were in town, because the Rebels had been following and tracking them for the past two months. Keeping an eye on them ever since shit went down with Bones and Watcher, since Mason absorbed their Chicago pain in the form of two other clubs, leaving the Skeptics and Southern Soldiers to deal with their own Diamante problems.

  And they definitely had shit to deal with, because the Diamante members formerly from Las Cruces and Chicago were now homeless, wandering the highways and byways of the central and eastern US, each group looking for a home to land on. That was why Fury’s move to the Fort with his chapter hadn’t pulled any red flags with the national Diamante officers. It was blessed by their leadership because it appeared to move at least one chapter of their club back into Rebel territory, while freeing up Kentucky for displaced members and chapters. Bold moves, they thought. He snorted, thinking, They don’t have any idea what kind of shit is coming.

  The door shut behind Hope and still he watched, expecting to see lights come on, but the apartment stayed dark. She had looked exhausted, dark smudges underneath her eyes, so he suspected she had gone straight to bed. He hoped.

  Her bed, where he had laid, her head on his shoulder, cheek against his skin. That hair drifting over his body and stirring him in ways that had him stiffening now at the mere memory. “Fuck,” he muttered, shifting into reverse and twisting to look behind him as he backed out of the parking spot. He had to get back to the clubhouse. His brothers would hold his snitch indefinitely, but the longer the banger was out of circulation, the more likely it was someone would note his absence and question him about it.

  As he drove, his mind continued to turn over the events from tonight. Seeing her cradled in Fury’s lap again, draped across his legs—that shit had taken him straight up to a level of angry he didn’t even know he owned. Then, when her name burst out of him, she twisted and got free, leaving Fury without a second look as she ran to him. She had called his name and then run to him like he was the only thing she could think about, like she needed him, needed him to hold her.

  Arms around her, he had pressed her close, embracing her tightly. Touching her calmed him, and his voice had been steady as he questioned Fury. His anger had flared again with the knowledge that she had put herself into danger, trying to deal with everything on her own. It wasn’t until she said she had already been working there for two weeks that he remembered he hadn’t set anything up for her. He had seen her at the clubhouse and talked to Slate, but then he got called out to Chicago, rolling up there with forty brothers. Leaving without setting anything up. Of course, she was going to fucking take care of things; it was all she had known until he tried to help.

  He punched hard, his hand thudding off the steering wheel. “Fuck,” he hissed, “how the hell can she trust you if you can’t keep track of shit?” Her working at the Diamante bar tonight meant she might be on radar for people like Lalo and Chismoso. People he had tried like hell to keep her away from, keep her safe. He had to find out what his snitch had to say, and then he could head back, use the key Mercy gave him, and slip into bed with his Hope. Then tomorrow, they would have a chat.

  ***

  “Obliged you called last night,” Hoss said, gaze locked with the red-haired man seated across the table from him. “But I gotta say, I’m not sure why you called this morning.” He hadn’t been to bed yet, and knowing his lack of sleep was making him irritable, he tried to tamp that shit down so he didn’t fuck up this deal with Fury on top of all the other shit rolling around.

  “Wanted to see which way the wind was blowing.” Fury lifted his cup of coffee. “I told Dale she won’t be back. He was pissed off, because he said she’s a far better waitress and bartender than anyone else we’ve had working in the bar since I bought it for the chapter. She was helping in the office, too, straightening out invoices and orders, getting things into a bookkeeping software she was teaching him to use. He’s gonna miss her.”

  “She’s good at everything she turns her hand to. Doesn’t matter what it is; she’s good at it. She works hard, pitches in, figures things out, and makes herself indispensable,” Hoss said with a nod. “That’s part of the problem, because you combine that attitude with her kind of sweet? The boys all see how she is and want a little for themselves. I’ve had a hell of a time keeping her safe.”

  Nodding in response, Fury leaned back in the booth, casually putting one elbow across the back of the seat, stretching out his arm. “You definitely got plans for this one? I heard you weren’t a guy to put tail on your bike. You looking to change that?”

  “Still working things out, but yeah, leaning hard that direction. Hell, man, you’ve seen her, talked to her. You gonna try to tell me if I wasn’t in the way you wouldn’t be headed there yourself? And that’s with you only seeing one side of her. You ain’t even seen how she is with her boy, yet. Add some breadth and depth onto your image of her and you’d be flat gone like me,” Hoss said, then startled, because he had admitted something to this man he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet.

  With a snort, he said, “She hasn’t been in town but a few weeks, and even with the short time I’ve known her, if it wasn’t for the shit we’re wading through, I’m real sure I’d have sorted things by now.”

  “Yeah, I guessed from the accent she hadn’t been here long. And, you’re dead on, man. I can see why you’re keeping her close. There’s something about her that makes a man want to put things right for her, want to do for her, no matter what she needs. Didn’t know she had a son, man, but you’re right about that, too. The thought of her with a kid? Jesus, that just makes the idea of her even sweeter.” Fury smiled tightly, looking down at his cup.

  “Last night, she ran to you like you held safety in your hands. She couldn’t get close enough to you there for a minute.” Fury’s smile faded and he cut his gaze up to Hoss, his voice low as he asked, “You gonna be able to continue keeping her safe?”

  “Yes,” he answered immediately and saw a bit of the tension leave Fury’s shoulders. “Soon as we get everything sorted out between your Diamante and Rebels, I’ll be able to move forward, figure things out with her. Motivates me on your behalf, ya dig?” Fury’s teeth flashed in a brief smile, and then he nodded.

  Hoss said, “That doesn’t mean we’ve an easy road. As things stand right now, the Rebels have absorbed a lot of clubs in a short time and we are still sorting shit in Chicago. Means Mason’s dragging his heels a bit at taking in your chapter. It helps you moved them up here, but,” he paused, looking at Fury carefully, “you were also a part of Gunny and his woman being snatched up, disappeared. I’ve heard your side, and I know them showing up at your compound wasn’t fronted to you beforehand, but I need to get you and Mason into a room so everyone’s clear on how things were, and how they stand now.”

  “Any time, Hoss. You, Gunny, Mason, and me, I think between the four of us we can settle everything that’s needed. With Lalo sniffin’ around, I’d like to say sooner rather than later, but the timeline is up to your president.” He finished his coffee and looked around the diner. “You own this place, too?”

  “Yeah, this is ours.” Hoss threaded his fingers around his cup as he glanced around, his mind for a moment on events that transpired in this diner only weeks ago, witnessed from the sidewalk across the street. A barrel flash and the man’s body slumping over in
the seat. Gunny standing and walking out. He shook his head, clearing away the memories. “She starts here tomorrow. Mornings, so she’ll only be dealing with the farm crowd.”

  Fury laughed aloud, tipping his chin up as the sounds of his amusement rang through the room. “Perfect, man.”

  ***

  The bell over the door rang and Hope looked up, a ready smile on her face. Out of all the jobs she had worked over the last couple of months, this had to be the best one. Working at this diner evoked warm thoughts of Mac, back in Birmingham, and his struggles to convince her to accept help, to let him feed her. Cleaning and washing dishes had been their compromise and some of her fondest memories of her pregnancy with Sammy were surrounded by the steam- and scent-filled kitchen of his restaurant.

  Zane, the farmer who had just walked in the door, was one of her regulars, and she felt the smile already on her face broaden in greeting. Waving a hand to indicate he should seat himself, she watched as he went to his normal table. He tossed down the paper he brought with him, and cupped both big hands around the condiments and jelly on the table to shift them about four inches to the left. Then he sat in the chair and lined the paper up with the edge of the table and, without looking, reached to shift the chair beside him backwards a few inches, out of range of the swing of his elbow. His ritual, conducted every morning at the same time, the movements in the same order. Predictable. Dependable.

  Grabbing the coffee pot and a glass of iced water, she walked over as he turned over the mug. "Hey, Zane," she said, pouring him coffee. "Want your usual?"

  "Hey back atcha, darlin'," he drawled. "Yep, same old, same old. Where's my boy this morning?" Sammy often came with her. Niko, the diner’s owner, had two boys about the same age, and the three kids spent hours in the upstairs apartment, watching cartoons and playing with toys.

  “He stayed home with Aunt Mercy today, spouted off something about her offer of a movie and candy being more attractive than a day at work with his mom.” She laughed and turned, seeing Zane’s normal companions coming in. Consistent. Reliable.

  By the end of her shift, she was tired, but like most days, happy. Things were finally going well here in Fort Wayne, and she was comfortable and content. The only area of contention for her was the hurt she sometimes saw cross Mercy’s face when one of the men from the club would make a comment about her…past activities.

  It had taken nearly three bottles of wine, and Sammy going to bed early, but Hope had finally learned from Mercy exactly how she had first become associated with the club. Mercy’s voice had shuddered through the tearful explanations of how she had gone about things, her words carrying true regret and Hope listened as her sister talked about how embarrassed she now was at her actions and choices.

  She knew all the things Mercy felt made her unlovable, and loved her anyway. The only thing her sister didn’t confess were her feelings for Deke, even if they weren’t exactly a secret. Those two had been on again, off again since a week after Hope moved in with her. When they were on, according to Mercy, it was hotter than hot, but Hope had seen the tears when they were off, because neither Mercy nor Deke were happy apart.

  Hope rolled up the apron with her tips inside and shoved it down into her purse, digging in her bag for her keys as she yelled goodbye to the staff and customers she knew. Climbing into her car, she glanced into the backseat, shaking her head as she marveled at the change a bare couple of months could make. From homeless and sleeping with her son in their car, to sharing an apartment with her amazing sister, working a steady job. Life was good.

  Beautiful

  The diner’s night manager called Hope in last night when one of the other servers went home sick, and she wound up working more than half of the drunk rush and then all of her more normal, laid-back morning one. Thankfully, one of their neighbors, Willa Shipman, had been available to stay with Sammy in the apartment until Mercy got home from her set at Slinky’s, which meant she hadn’t been required to wake him and haul him out to a sitter. Now, headed home, she was exhausted and ready to fall into bed for a nap before getting up to run errands with Sammy in tow.

  Drained from the not-quite double shift worked on her feet, she nearly didn’t notice Hoss waiting in the apartment parking lot, seated on his bike with his feet on the pegs, leaning against the backrest with arms crossed casually over his chest. Her gaze passed right by him when she backed into her accustomed spot, her eyes returning to him only when he moved, pushing his sunglasses up to the top of his head.

  Hoss dismounted the bike as she got out of the car, reaching back inside to grab her dirty apron and small bag. From the corner of her eye, she watched him closely, trying to decide what he wanted. This was the first time she had seen him since he dropped her off after the fight at Murphy’s Law, and it all seemed incredibly awkward to her. He walked up one angle of the sidewalk, meeting her at the end of the short cement pad leading to the apartment door. “Mornin’,” he said, his voice sounding as raw and tired as she felt.

  “Hey, Hoss,” she responded quietly, continuing towards the door without fully looking at him. “Mercy’s home, but I doubt she’s up.” She sighed as she tried to fit the key into the lock. So tired her hands were trembling, it took her three attempts to push it home, the tip of the key chattering around the slot for a moment, then just as it fit into place, a large, warm hand covered and steadied hers. She gasped at the touch and tried to jerk away, but Hoss held her hand in place. He assisted her in turning the key, and then plucked the ring from her hands and the door, turning the knob with his other hand and pushing the door open.

  Distracted, she stumbled as she stepped over the threshold, and before she could react to correct her misstep, she found herself moving backwards through the air, landing with a soft oof of exhalation. Hoss had wrapped one strong arm around her, pulling her back against his chest, the hard muscles of his forearm pressing tightly against her breasts. “I got you,” he muttered in her ear before his arm tightened slightly and then released, settling her feet gently on the floor.

  “Thanks,” she said a little timidly, not only because she would likely have gone to her knees if he hadn’t been there, but also because his touch always left her a little breathless. Put it behind you, she thought, mentally reminding herself that even Hoss had told her to push the feelings he aroused in her aside.

  Glancing around the apartment, she didn’t see anyone. No Sammy and no Mercy, which meant they were probably both still sleeping. “You need me to wake Mercy, Hoss?” Trying for casual, she asked, “What did you need her for?” Looking over her shoulder at him, she stumbled again and he reached out, cupping one hand under her elbow.

  “Sweetheart, I’m here for you, not Mercy.” His statement didn’t make sense, because that would imply…what, exactly? He then confused her further by asking, “What time does Sammy usually roll outta bed?”

  She stood and looked at him for a moment, thinking her exhaustion had to be why everything he did or said was bewildering today. Shaking her head, she muttered, “As late as he can manage, most of the time, unless we’re going to DeeDee’s so he can play with Jonny.” Moving farther into the apartment, she dropped her bag on the kitchen counter, turning to squint up at him. “Why? What did you mean you’re here for me? Did I screw up again?”

  She was so tired her eyes were blinking slower and slower, but even with her blurry vision, she saw the smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and she felt the heat of his palm cupping her cheek and closed her eyes, relishing his touch. Nuzzling into it before she could think to pull away, she heard an intake of breath, and then she was swinging through the air, suspended in his arms.

  Startled, she opened her eyes to find his only inches away, staring into her face. “I can see you’re dead on your feet, baby. Let’s get you to bed, and you can get a nap in before you have to be up and doing things. I’ll be here if Sammy wakes up.” She must have made a noise, because he paused for a moment, then continued, “
I’m gonna be right here, sweetheart.”

  It seemed within moments she was seated on the edge of her bed and he was on one knee in front of her, slipping her shoes off and placing them near the wall. He slid his hands up her calves then paused, one palm on the inside of each knee. “Hope.” His voice was hoarse when he said, “I’m going to step out and let you get ready for bed.”

  She shook her head, and whispered, “I need to get breakfast laid out for Sammy.”

  “I got it covered, baby,” he whispered back, and she slowly turned her head to see the blanket-covered lump that was her son. “Hope, honey, you’re falling asleep sitting here. Get ready and lie down. Get a nap in, baby.”

  Eyelids dipping closed again, she nodded and heard the door close behind him as he left the room. Chin down, she struggled out of her shirt and jeans then unfastened her bra and let it slip down her arms to the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  Jerking awake at his hissed, “Fuck,” she shook her head again, blinking up at him as he loomed over her. He leaned in close and she watched in fascination as a muscle jumped in his jaw. “Hope,” he whispered, the tone of his voice soft as the sound of an owl’s wing, and she blinked at him again, realizing she had dozed off between blinks. “Fuck. Beautiful,” she heard, and rolled as his hands dictated, her body loose and heavy as she was dragged deeper into sleep.

  She sighed and shifted, rolling her shoulders and stretching before sighing again and scrubbing her cheek on the pillow. Her lips curved into a smile because her pillow was firm and smelled good, smelled like Hoss. She brought up one hand and flattened it against the mattress, shoving it underneath the pillow, feeling heat instead of the expected coolness. Her other hand curved over the pillow in front of her face, and she stretched again, covering her mouth with her palm when she yawned hugely. She rolled slightly, reaching her arm over her head, startled when her hand encountered something that wasn’t the headboard. A hard hand fit itself around hers, and she realized her head was in Hoss’ lap when he laughed softly, saying, “Mornin’, baby.”