Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Slate stepped away slowly, giving her back her space. “Mica, Tug and I were here that night, too. Mason was here. Tucker wasn’t the only one. We all saw you.” He rubbed his hands over the back of his neck. “Hell, you were practically rubbing your titties all over me when you were putting Band-Aids on half my face. You can’t be upset at just Tucker for that.” He shook his head. “You didn’t even realize you didn’t have panties on until the next day. What the fuck? We were not focused on your pussy, or your titties, or your ass. We were all focused on minimizing the damage, and keeping you safe.”

  Her shoulders were jerking up and down, and he thought she was crying, but couldn’t be sure. Slate reached out, laid a hand on her back, flat, and still between her shoulder blades, trying to let her know she wasn’t alone. “Fuck, if you wanted someone gone for seeing you all naked, why not me? I’m a fucking asshole more often than not, and I know it. Shit, Tucker is a boy, hardly fearsome.”

  She spun back around towards him, and he saw the tear tracks down her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked fiercely pissed off. “Because he touches me, okay? He keeps touching me every time he’s here—on the arm, pulling my hair off my neck, on my back,” she hissed the words out. “Every time he is around me, he finds a way to touch me, and I hate it. It’s like, because he saw me naked, he thinks he has a right, and I hate it. It’s nothing blatantly sexual, not really harassing…but he puts his hands on me every time, and I hate it.”

  By the time she finished spitting the words out, he had grabbed her arm and pulled her into a tight hug, like he’d seen Mason do many times. He knew at these times she needed a physical closeness with someone she trusted. Since she hadn’t reacted as if his touch a second ago had threatened her, Slate hoped he could be that trusted person for her right now.

  Stroking her hair soothingly, he shushed her. He let her know she’d been heard, and that it was going to be okay. “He won’t be back here ever, Mica. I got this; I promise you. Shhhh, princess, it won’t happen. I got you. You are a fucking treasure, and I won’t let it happen. I got this for you.”

  Slate felt her relaxing into him, even though her shoulders still moved with quiet sobs. He thought for a minute, and then spoke, “Digger is due here soon. Want me to call him off for a little while?” She shook her head. Still speaking softly, he assured her, “That’s okay; he’s a good guy. Do you want to go wash your face, princess? I’ll order pizza and call Dig real quick to pick up some more beer. We’ll watch some fucking reality show and laugh our asses off, yeah?” He leaned his upper body in an arch backwards, holding her around the waist and looking down at her face.

  She laughed and took a step back, putting distance between them. Her face scrunched and she reached out to trail a finger down his bare chest, tracing the tears she had left there. Taking a shaky breath, she whispered, “You are a great guy, Slate. A wonderful friend. Thank you.” Walking away towards her bedroom, she shouted over her shoulder, “Oh, yeah, I think one of the dancing shows is on tonight, so good call.”

  Grumbling, “Fuck me…dancing,” he pulled out his phone and dialed, stepping over and looking to make sure she was all the way down the hallway. “Dig, bring beer.” He waited for an acknowledgement, and then hung up. Dialing again, he left a message. “Tucker, relieved of duty tonight, talk tomorrow.”

  Hanging up, he took a deep breath and called another number. “Prez, we needa call a meeting. We got a fucking serious problem in the club, man. Gonna cut a rocker I ‘spect.” After listening to the growling tones on the other end of the line, he replied, “I’m at Mica’s place. I can come over after Dig gets here, but I need to stay here for now, Prez.” He heard his response and answered, “Yeah, okay, tomorrow is soon enough. I’ll take care of what I need to tonight, and you can let me know the time and place. I got this, Mason.”

  Hanging up on that call, he stepped back over to see if Mica was on her way back up the hallway, and then dialed a final time. “Roach, brother, need you to take a shift tonight, soon as you can. Replacing Tucker, I have other plans for him. Duck’s on a run; he won’t be back for a couple weeks. Need you, brother.”

  47 -

  Dancing shows

  Several hours later, Mica seemed centered and comfortable again. She had been back in the kitchen by the time Digger got there with the beer, chatting with Slate. She took it from him and put it in the refrigerator, taking out four cans and leaving them sitting on the cabinet.

  Roach had gotten there not long after, pulling up on the cement pad Mason had poured as soon as the ground had thawed, so they had a stable place to park their bikes. The pizza arrived at the same time, so Roach paid for it standing in the yard, and then carried it inside.

  Mica had squealed and hugged his neck, burying her face into the side of his thick, bushy beard and tugging the leather skullcap off his head. “I never get to see you anymore, Roach. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  He peeled her off him and patted his belly, saying simply, “I heard there was pizza.” She laughed, and petted his beard for another minute, drawing a big, white grin from him.

  Mica then turned to Digger and laid a hand over his bulging bicep. He was one of the few guys in the club who really worked out, and he showed it all over. Slate wasn’t jealous; he knew that while Digger was defined and sculpted in ways that women found irresistible, he had a glaring flaw. Slate thought it was hilarious that ripped and chiseled Dig was painfully shy around women.

  Digger tucked his chin into his chest, saying a quiet, “Hey,” to Mica. Then, he folded in on himself, seeming to make his six-and-a-half-foot tall frame much smaller as she ran a hand up under his shirt to rub across his six-pack abs, making him giggle like a fucking girl. She knew he was ticklish, and tortured him like this frequently.

  Sitting on the living room floor a little while later, leaning back against the couch right in front of where Mica sat cross-legged, Slate was balancing his second plate of pizza on his chest. He growled when Mica shifted around, jostling him. Then, as he looked up, he saw movement outside, a form walking past the bay window towards the back of the house.

  He quickly set the plate on the floor, saying softly, “Roach, take her,” as he rolled to his feet and hit the remote for the lights, turning them all out at once. He heard Roach grab Mica and head to the hallway, waiting with her there to see what would happen.

  Hustling to the kitchen door, Slate was standing beside it when a hand started hammering against the doorframe. Jerking the door open, he reached out and grabbed the arm that went with the hand, and yanked it hard into the house, slamming the door closed behind the person. Using hands, knees, and his hips, he immobilized the body against the wall, tensely telling Digger, “Lights.” He blinked into the brightness, and stepped back quickly as he realized it was a girl he had pinned in front of him.

  The minute he relaxed, she exploded into motion, turning quickly and trying to sweep his feet out from under him. He knocked away two fast hits, grabbing her arm again on the third one, not wanting to hurt her by mistake if she happened to connect. “What the hell?” he muttered, snatching and immobilizing her other hand too.

  Dark brown eyes glared at him from a tanned and beautiful face. For a moment, he could see the thoughts running through her brain furiously, and then her mouth opened, yelling loudly, “Michaela Trenton Scott, are you here? It’s Essa!” Slate abruptly released her hands, moving quickly, but attentively to block the girl as Mica tried to run into the room.

  Digger also stepped between her and the girl, saying in his deep voice, “Princess, hold,” and putting his hands out to catch Mica before she made it past him. The girl had turned her dirty look on Digger, and then her eyes widened as Roach barreled into the room too.

  Mica was pushing Digger’s hands away absently, a wide, welcoming smile on her face for the girl. “Essa, oh, my gawd. What are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you get here?”

  Slate made a hand motion, and Digger and Roach both
backed up a step, letting Mica have a clear path to the girl. She couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, and was a little taller than Mica, but lean in a way that spoke of constant physical activity, something Slate hadn’t seen in a long while. She was dressed in blue jeans, a black tank top, a jean jacket, and cowboy boots. Her dark hair brushed the top of her shoulders, and her eyes were sparkling now as she hugged Mica’s neck as hard as she could.

  Slate shook himself. “Mica?” He needed to know what this meant, and as he waited for her response, he made another hand motion, twirling a finger at the guys. They went out the door, heading in opposite directions to take predetermined routes around the house, checking for things out of order.

  Mica stepped back from the girl, keeping one arm slung around her neck and grinning. “Slate, this is my little cousin, Essa.” Pointing to Slate, she said to the girl, “Essa, this is Slate. Don’t worry; he’s not as tough as he tries to look,” and she grinned at him.

  Standing tucked in next to Mica, the girl leaned back and looked up at Slate’s face with a little wave. “Mr. Slate, pleased to meet you.” He groaned because that was twice in one day that a pretty girl had called him ‘mister’, and he knew Mica wouldn’t miss it.

  She grinned. “Just Slate, Essa; he’s…just, Slate. So tell me, what are you doing here? Have you had supper?”

  Roach and Digger came back in from outside, Roach making an ‘okay’ sign with his fingers and thumb. “Just a truck and horse trailer, no one in either, unless you count the pissed off nag.” Slate watched the girl bristle at that; she clearly wanted to defend something, but it seemed she might be intimidated, at least a little bit, and didn’t say anything. Slate flexed, thinking maybe it was by all the bare skin that surrounded her; he and Digger were both shirtless, their ink on full display.

  “I could eat,” she said slowly, looking from Mica to each of the men in turn.

  “Essa is my cousin, guys.” She pointed at them in turn. “You already know this is Slate, and these men are Digger and Roach. These are my friends, hun. We have pizza and soda; Digger, can you grab a plate? And Roach, see what kind of pop we have.” Slate noted with amusement that her accent was surfacing again, which was funny, because while she sounded like an entirely different person sometimes, no matter which one she was, she was always bossy.

  Slate followed a couple steps behind as she pulled Essa into the living room by the hand. “Okay, Essa, I have three questions before you sit your butt down. Do Aunt Janet and Uncle Rob know where you are?”

  Essa shrugged at Mica, saying, “Not really.” He watched Mica’s mouth thin; uh-oh—she was getting pissed.

  “Two—how long has that horse been trailered?”

  At this, Essa ducked her head in chagrin, admitting, “About four hours too long.” She was biting on her lip, waiting for the third question, and Mica was now really glaring at her.

  “Three—why are you here?”

  At that question, the girl burst into tears, going from zero to sixty too fast for anyone to predict, and any intelligible words were lost under the crying and sobbing she was doing. Her tears tore at Slate, unsettling him. He frowned at the two women and ran both hands through his hair. Mica looked at Slate as she wrapped her arms around Essa. “Can you make sure the truck and trailer are parked safely in a way that allows me to tie the horse to the side of it away from the road?” She paused, then asked him, “Did that even make sense, Slate?”

  He nodded, turning to walk outside and saying over his shoulder, “I’ll move the rig and unload the horse, and I’ll make sure he has water, a little feed, and see if there’s a blanket for him.” Fuck, he was not thinking when he was anxious like this. Feeling her eyes boring into his back as he grabbed his leather jacket off the rack by the door, he shook his head. It didn’t matter if she could figure out he had grown up around horses, not one fucking bit, because that had been his old life, not this one.

  By the time Slate got back into the house, Mica and Essa were holed up in the guest bedroom, and he guessed they were going to be in there a while. Grabbing another beer, he joined the guys in the living room, and he laughed when he saw they were still watching the dancing reality show. Roach looked over. “Cousin from Texas?”

  Slate nodded. “Seems that way.”

  Digger looked up. “That little girl nearly popped you one, Slate.” Grinning now, he added, “That woulda been something to see.” Roach chortled, and they all turned to watch the next couple dance across the screen.

  Mica came out by herself a couple hours later; closing the door carefully in a way that Slate knew meant the girl was sleeping now. He stood and pointed towards the kitchen, because both Roach and Digger had gone to sleep too. With the TV off, if he and Mica talked in here, they’d wake the men up.

  “She okay?” he asked, and Mica shrugged in response, shaking her head. He nodded, thinking hard. “She has a nice gelding; come outside and see.” Handing Mica her jacket, he opened the door, bringing a flashlight with them. He thought she was surprised and somewhat impressed when she saw the job he’d done with the rig and the horse.

  The dappled gray horse was dozing, tied securely to the side of the trailer that was away from the road and any traffic. He’d used a couple of snap clips to secure a rubber bucket of water to the side of the trailer. A little while ago, he had come back out and put up the bucket he’d used for the oats—no reason to give a horse anything they could use to hurt themselves with. The blanket was keeping the chill off, and the horse was so relaxed he had one back foot cocked up, resting.

  Mica said, “Give me some light,” pointing towards the horse’s head and Slate shone the light indirectly on him. She read aloud from the nameplate bradded into the nylon halter, “Summer Breeze.”

  “What’s she doing here?” he asked. Mica rolled her shoulders, as if that one question was painful. “Princess, does this have anything to do with Nelms?” he asked warily. His chest clutched as she looked at him, nodding.

  He swept towards her, muscling her into the house as fast as possible, his eyes looking everywhere for danger. “The fuck was I thinking, taking you outside with only me out here?” he snarled at himself for the lapse. Mica didn’t argue; she moved with him into the house. She still didn’t argue when he moved her quickly away from the door and windows. “Talk, Mica,” he growled at her, “I need to know. Everything.”

  Rolling her neck, he heard her muscles creaking and realized she was holding herself together with sheer willpower. Slate shook his head and said, “Sit,” pointing at the floor between the sink and the kitchen island. Then he said, “Wait,” and went to grab pillows and blankets from the living room. Mica always had plenty now, since she never knew how many houseguests she’d have from night to night.

  Making a pallet with the bedding, he pointed at it and said again, “Sit.” Plopping down beside Mica, he leaned back against the sink cabinet, tilting his head back. “Start with Essa; who is she to you?”

  He heard the smile in her voice as Mica said, “Essa, or Esmeralda, is my cousin. She’s the daughter of my mother’s sister, and two years younger than my baby sister, Molly. They’ve grown up together, more like sisters than cousins.” That was said with a little sadness; it sounded like she was jealous or rueful about the younger girls’ relationship. Then Slate remembered why Molly had been placed with the aunt, and thought he understood.

  “Aunt Janet and Uncle Rob don’t know she’s here. They know she’s on the circuit, and she was supposed to be headed to a rodeo in Urbana. She kinda detoured to here.”

  Slate interrupted, “How did she know where ‘here’ was?”

  Mica rolled her neck again. “According to Essa, she got a letter a few weeks ago. All it had in it was a picture of this house, a picture of me, and an address. Molly got one too, but her age division had more events out west, so the girls decided Essa should investigate while up this way.”

  Mica slumped her body over, putting her head on a pillow. “The picture
s are some of the ones Ray had, so I think he must have sent them to the girls. I don’t know why yet, can’t figure it…but I am sure there’s something going on. It’s like something is just outside the range of hearing, you know?” She put her hand out, making a clutching movement. “I can almost grasp it, but it slithers away. She’s also got something else going on I need to figure out. She wouldn’t talk about it, but it’s there.”

  She yawned hugely, lying flat on her side and tucking her hands under the pillow. “I’ll go down to Urbana with her in the morning, make sure she’s solid, and then watch her compete. That will be fun, to be behind the scenes again. I miss it sometimes.” Pulling one hand out, she chewed on the side of her thumb. “Ray’s taken so much from me,” her voice hitched, “and I hate him, Slate. I really hate him.”

  Reaching out a hand, he smoothed her hair down her back, saying, “Andrew Jones.”

  She tilted her face to look up at him. “Huh? Who is Andrew Jones?”

  “Me,” Slate smiled at her, pausing a beat. “Sleep, princess, and tomorrow,” he waited for a nod from her to continue, “you go, I go. Remember?”

  After she fell asleep, Slate carried Mica to her bed. Returning to the kitchen to pick up the blankets and pillows, he put them up as if they hadn’t been camping out in the kitchen. Settling into the chair in the living room, he stayed up watching and listening for the rest of the night.

  In the morning, he was up taking care of the gelding when Mason rolled in, watching as he took in the strange vehicle set-up and the sight of Slate comfortably handling the horse. Greeting each other with a wrist-grasping handshake, Slate explained, “Rig belongs to Mica’s cousin, Essa; she’s eighteen. She and Mica’s sister, Molly, got letters with pictures and this address, so she came to see. We’re taking Essa to Urbana this morning, where she’s competing in a rodeo. Mica and I both think the letter and pics probably came from Nelms.”