Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Emily, they are paying for everything. Room, board, tuition, and books—it is all covered. You got a free ride to A&M. Oh. My. God. You are a freakin’ AGGIE now! Aaahhh, Go Aggies! Bleed maroon!” Mica yelled and started boogying around, jerking her body back and forth in an enthusiastic, but uncoordinated dance that Emily joined happily until they were both so out of breath they couldn’t laugh any more.

  Picking her head up out of the grass, where they had fallen down exhausted, Mica looked at the colt standing patiently and said, “I have to finish rubbing down this bad boy before Governor gets too stiff. Want to help me?” She knew Emily loved helping with the chores around the ranch.

  They crawled through the fence, and Mica untied and handed the cotton lead rope to Emily, pointing her towards the cement pad near the barn, where they bathed the horses as needed. “Take him over there and hold him; he’s stupid about being tied up next to the barn yet. I’ll put this stuff up and come right back out.” Emily walked the colt to the gate and opened it, passing through the gap with him and leaving it wide for Mica to come behind.

  Grabbing the saddle, blanket, and burlap bag in her arms, Mica felt the tiredness of her muscles after the long day. She snugged her burden into her hip so she could turn and secure the gate behind her. Shifting it again to a more comfortable position, she carried the tack into the barn, pushing the sliding tack room door sideways with her hip. She reached out, finding the saddletree by feel in the dim room, not bothering to pull the string attached to the light that hung from the ceiling.

  Hearing the door slide shut behind her and snick as it locked, she yelled, “Funny, Em. You got me. Eeek, oh, eeek. Oh, no, I am so afraid.” Waiting a moment, she heard a leather scuff of footsteps walking away, and saw a retreating shadow blocking out the light filtering through the cracks between the wallboards. “Em, not funny. Unlock the door and let me out.”

  The air was split with a scream that was cut brutally short, and Mica heard hoof beats moving away into the distance at a hard run. “Em, what’s happening? Let me out!” she yelled through the door. Another scream ripped through the barn, and she heard that leather scuff walking in the sawdust back towards the tack room.

  There was something that obstructed the light with a shaft of darkness as it moved. That darkness was accompanied by a little wheezing noise, and the sound of sawdust being scattered to either side. “Emily Danielle Schneider, you open this door right this minute,” Mica was really getting mad now, because she didn’t know what was happening, but had a sick feeling in her gut.

  There was a loud thump against the tack room door, hard enough to make Mica scream briefly as she watched dust shake down the doorframe from the tremor. Scratching noises sounded against the wood of the door, and there was another hard thump, followed by a smaller one and the sound of ripping fabric.

  Mica was too afraid to yell again; she was almost certain this was not a game Emily was playing with her. Softly, she called, “Em, are you there?” and in response, there was another heavy thump against the door that drew a shriek from her. The thump was accompanied this time by a sound that Mica recognized with a violent shiver of terror. Such a small, nearly inaudible sound for a gigantic dump truck load of fright, but even being small, it was a horrible, horrible sound that Mica had heard often over the past three years…the sound of a zipper being lowered.

  Mica started pounding on the door with her open hands and fists, screaming as loud as she could, and scratching frantically against the immovable surface. There were no words in the noise, just raw emotions, anger, and distress. She knew what had to be happening on the other side of the door, seeing it in her mind’s eye. She grabbed a pitchfork and attacked the wood, scraping and prying at the edges of the sliding door, trying to open it so she could help her best friend. “No, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO! Not her. Not her. NO! NO! NO, Daddy! Not her. Not Emily, please no.”

  A rhythmic bumping from the outside of the door mocked her efforts, punctuated with strangled crying. Hands and forearms raw, Mica left bloody prints everywhere she touched. Scrambling deeper into the room, her head was scanning left and right to find something, anything she could use to open the door. She picked up an empty saddletree and swung it at the door as if it was a baseball bat, smashing the wooden frame to splinters, but not making a dent in the door.

  A voice broke through the sounds coming from her throat and chest, a young man’s carefree voice, sounding like he was just entering the dark barn from the bright, sunlit outside, where bad things didn’t happen. “Mica, did you let this colt go? He was running—” Trailing off to silence, Mike’s speech failed him as he evidently took in the scene in front of him. “You motherfucking animal!” This was in a yell that increased in volume as it moved towards the door on running footsteps, a shaft of darkness once again moving through the light that came between the wall boards.

  A thud against the door again, Mica noted it shook down more dust from the doorframe, wondering absently how much more dust there could be. That thud was followed by a meaty smack that sounded nearly like the noise a kill gun made in the slaughterhouse. More meaty smacks and thuds came, but nearer to the door was a louder crying, no longer sounding smothered. Mica started pounding on the door again, screaming to know what was happening, yelling questions about who was there, still leaving bloody smears across the width of the door.

  The door opened abruptly, and Mike was standing there breathing hard and crying, pulling in great whoops of air and pushing them back out with difficulty. Blood was splattered across his face and shirt, his feet were straddling a bundle of cloth laying in the sawdust, and the knuckles of his hands were split and bleeding. Mica watched as a drop of blood slid down one of his fingers and onto the cloth. She looked closer at the bundle and realized it was a dark blue sundress, torn down the back and discarded like used trash.

  Drawing in one ragged breath after another, the siblings looked at each other for a second. Shaking herself from her daze, she looked around, not seeing her friend. “Where’s Emily?” she screamed at Mike. “Where is she?” His head swiveled, and he lifted a bleeding hand to point to the stall behind him. “Go get her, Mica. It’s bad.” He would know if it was bad, after all; he had helped Mica enough times to recognize it.

  With jerky steps, Mica moved out of the tack room that had become both a prison and torture chamber, jumping to the side and screaming when she saw the figure slumped in the sawdust beside the door. His pants were around his ankles, and his limp member laying on his thigh was smeared with shiny fluid and blood. She only recognized her father by his clothing, because his face was a ruined mess. His nose was badly swollen, and he breathed through blood in his mouth, air bubbling in the thick fluid trailing out of the corner of his mouth and down his neck. She noted curiously that he was missing a front tooth.

  Turning her back on him, this private monster who was subdued for the moment, she saw her friend huddled against the back wall of the stall. Emily was crouching with her knees to her chest, cradling her head in her arms. She was rocking back and forth, naked.

  Mica looked over at Mike. “Go grab one of my shirts and some soft shorts, and get me a wet washrag and an ice pack.” She turned and went back into the tack room, opened the cabinet nearest the door, and pulled out a jar of clear liquid. “Go,” she yelled at him, pointing towards the house, and he went, running like the devil was after him.

  Picking up the handset of the rotary phone in the tack room, Mica consulted the yellowed paper stapled into the wall next to it. She dialed the sheriff’s office first, asked for two ambulances, and hung up. Next, dialing her best friend’s number from memory, she told Emily’s mother she needed to come to the barn right now, but not to bring her daddy. Hanging up the phone again, Mica turned around, squared her shoulders, and carried the jar of moonshine to her friend. She knew from experience that it only numbed the pain for a while, but she also knew that sometimes you had to take what you could get.

  Waking from her recurring
nightmare—which was always more reality than anything, since she was never able to change the final outcome—Mica rolled onto her back covered with sweat and shaking. Swiping the back of her hand across her eyes, she found the pain of that long ago spring day was still as cutting as it had been the day it happened, even though she was lying in her bed in Chicago more than a decade later.

  Thinking back again, she recognized that because of that day, everything had changed. Mike had left town after the trial, and he didn’t come home for nearly three years. Then, when he did come home, he was deeply altered. Her father had accepted a deal for his confession, which sounded more like an accusation about risqué dressing when it was read aloud in court.

  Emily, oh, God, Emily, who bravely walked through the small town with her head high throughout the ordeal, had suffered heartache, insults, and gossip constantly. Thank God, A&M had waived her admission requirements for one year, extending the scholarship due to “hardship”—what a joke that word was; this had been so much more than a hardship. Emily did great at the college when she was finally recovered enough to attend, and graduated with honors four years later. Mica was in Chicago by then, but flew down for the big event.

  And Mica? She had done what was required. She testified against her father, bringing her own hell into the courtroom so everyone in town would know what a monster he was. Day after day, she looked at her scars on display in huge pictures, blown up so the jury could see every detail. That was the real reason he had taken the deal; he hated the tangible evidence of what he saw as her betrayal on display for everyone to see.

  Up to that point, Mica had always done what others expected of her, but now, some days, she could still see the tack room door clear in her mind. She could see it as clear as if she was standing in front of it. It was covered in blood and gore from her frantic attempts to escape, and she regretted not fighting back. When she saw that door in her head, she had a deep and painful regret that she had not fought back sooner.

  Her hands shaking, she reached out and picked up her cellphone. She cradled it to her face as she dialed a number she knew by heart. She knew it was early, too early, but she couldn’t stand the silence in her house or her head any longer. Taking a breath, she responded to the answering voice. “Hey, are you awake yet? Can I come over? I had a bad dream and don’t want to be alone right now.”

  His gruff voice came through the phone. “Isn’t Daniel with you?”

  Her voice hiccupped, “No, Daniel isn’t here.”

  There was a pause, and then the low voice responded, “Oh, babe, I’ll be right there.”

  ***

  Sitting at his desk in the pre-dawn hours, Daniel Rupert was surprised to hear the distinctive sound of stilettos striding up the hallway towards his office. He was trying to catch up on paperwork in preparation for the upcoming game series in Milwaukee. He knew he would be unable to concentrate on anything other than his game and team once they hit the bus on the way up there.

  Looking up in annoyance as his door opened without a knock, the expression on his face morphed into distaste when he realized it was his ex-wife, Amy, who was walking into his office. Knowing that it might rattle her if he failed to appreciate her body or clothes, Daniel focused only on her face as she moved across the open space between them, stalking closer to him with each rapid step.

  Sure enough, the petite brunette frowned at him and looked down at her dress, but he wasn’t falling for that gambit and kept his gaze steadily on her face. “Amy, to what do I owe this visit?” he asked. “I won’t call it a pleasure, since we both know that’s not the case.”

  Her lips turned down in a pouting sulk, but Amy quickly caught onto his mood and dropped the sultry act. “Daniel, why didn’t you tell me our team was going to Milwaukee?” He heard her turn of phrase and nodded to himself as he realized what was happening. Someone was getting attention and it wasn’t Amy, so she planned to exert herself to try and garner a portion of the spotlight for herself.

  “Amy, it’s not ‘our’ team. It’s mine. If you remember, the franchise was specifically excluded from the divorce settlement. So, again, it’s not ‘our’ team; it is mine.” He sighed irritably at her. He hoped this would be enough to quell her assertions, but knowing Amy as well as he did, he wasn’t going to hold his breath yet.

  Turning her pout on again, she said, “Oh, okay, it’s ‘your’ team, but it is hockey, Daniel, and you love the game. Don’t you want someone there to cheer for you? A puck bunny doesn’t have the same panache as a wife or girlfriend.” He was under no delusions, and he knew she was angling for a box so she could mingle with the other wealthy patrons. She liked seeing the celebrities and others who attended the game that she had often termed, ‘at best, an organized bromance of violence’.

  He was ready for her this time though, as he had never been before. Standing with an image of Mica held tight in his mind, he brought up his most gleeful grin. “Amy, sorry to disappoint you, but I have a date for the games. I also have a date for after the games, and, yes, I have a date for between the games…so I won’t have to torture you with the violence of hockey.“

  25 -

  Mica and Mason

  She saw him before she heard him, in the early morning hours. He moved quietly through her house, having let himself in with the key she had pressed into his hand on the day she came home from the hospital. Lying in the middle of the mattress, Mica had her head pillowed on one arm, her face shiny with tears. She was holding her other arm wrapped tightly around her middle, trying to clamp down the hurt inside.

  Mason stepped into the bedroom, clad only in tight jeans with the top button undone, padding barefoot across the floor towards her. Looking up at him through her wet and clumping lashes, there were no second thoughts about her decision to call him. She needed his strong, steadying presence tonight in whatever capacity he was willing to give her.

  Aware that she was dressed in her normal pajama outfit, a thin t-shirt and panties, Mica hesitated for a second, thinking whether to throw back the covers to invite him in. She needed to be held, but she knew Mason had once harbored hopes of a relationship between them. Is this wrong? She asked herself, Am I using him and abusing his friendship, or giving him what we both want?

  Mason ignored her hesitation and took the decision out of her hands, literally, as he pulled the covers down slightly. Standing beside her bed, he took a condom out of his back pocket before he unbuttoned his jeans the rest of the way. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband, he skimmed them down his thighs. He let them fall to the floor, leaving him standing nude in the ambient light from the hallway. He had come over so quickly; the jeans were the only clothing he had bothered to put on. His erection stood out from his pelvis, thick and long, perfectly in proportion to the rest of his physique.

  Mica allowed her eyes to trail over him languidly, picking out the whirls and lines of the tattoo that covered one shoulder and pectoral in dark ink, trailing down his side, and then curving across his hip towards his sex. On his other collarbone was a tattooed symbol; she thought it was a stylized bear claw, but she couldn’t see it clearly enough to make it out.

  On that same side, she knew there was another tattoo was script lettering that read, We accept the love we believe we deserve. Both his arms had their share of ink, with tribal bands around his biceps, and the flowing artwork of a phoenix up one forearm. Looking at him from where she was on the bed, she tugged the covers back further in clear invitation.

  Mason took a deep breath, his muscles playing smoothly beneath his skin. There were shifting shadows crossing his face and chest that hid his reaction to her open offer. Unwrapping her arm from around herself, she held up her hand in entreaty, and he grasped it like a lifeline. He carefully curled his large hand around her much smaller one, folding and covering it in the warmth of his strong fingers.

  Using their joined hands as a guide, he settled one knee on the mattress, and she felt it sink beneath him as it took his weight, shifting as he move
d into the opening she had given him. In another moment, he was sliding underneath the covers and into her bed, slipping the condom beneath a pillow.

  Her eyes holding steadily on his face, she looked searchingly at his features. His straight aquiline nose bisected his face, which was framed by strong cheekbones, and held together with a broad, strong jaw. His cheeks and chin were covered with a sexy, scruffy beard. She knew this morning tryst meant things might change in ways that no one could foresee, and she tried to memorize everything about him, so she could hold it inside her forever.

  Her heart leaped in her chest when he settled into the pillow next to her, still holding onto her hand on top of the covers. He reached his other hand out below the covers, touching her side and then smoothing his way upwards. Carefully caressing the arm bent beneath her head and trailing his fingertips up to her face, he cupped her cheek and wiped the remaining moisture of her tears away with his thumb.

  She felt the chill still on his skin from his trip to her house, but shivered from more than that reason. Anticipation was curling in her belly; Mason was so handsome, and he was here with her. He slowly pulled her shirt up and over her head, tossing it towards the end of the bed. He did this without watching to see where it landed; he seemed to only have eyes for her. Slowly rubbing his broad thumb across her lips, she watched as his breath caught when she boldly licked across the callused tip and then smiled at him.

  “Mica,” he said, and paused. She watched as his eyes closed, and his face twisted in near pain as he swallowed hard and struggled to speak. “Babe.” His beautiful gray eyes fluttered open, and she was startled to see them well with tears, but oh, God, they were dark with a deep desire too. “Do you really want this, babe?” He was giving her an out, and she knew he would honor it.