Mason nodded. “Okay, got it. Sounds under control.” Narrowing his eyes, he ordered, “Now tell me about trouble in the club.”
Slate blew out a long breath, telling Mason the gist of what Mica had related last night about Tucker. He saw Mason’s grey eyes turn steely and hard, watching as the muscles in his jaw tightened and started working as he clenched his teeth together. “Tucker put hands on her? Before or after we patched the fucker in?”
Slate frowned. “Both, I believe, Prez.”
“Think anyone saw?” Mason asked. “Because if they did, and didn’t tell, we’ll rip more than one rocker off a fucking patch’s cut.”
“Naw, Prez, this will be a he-said-she-said if I’ve ever seen one.” Slate worried a little about that part of it. “I believe Mica though; I pushed her until I got a real reaction, and I know what I saw was truth.”
Folding his arms across his broad chest, Mason shrugged. “Then there’s only one question: Do we stop with the rocker?” and he turned and walked towards Mica’s house.
48 -
On the road
Essa sat in her cousin’s kitchen, looking at the men who filled the space—the three from last night, and then a new one, who seemed to ooze control issues all over the place. She mentally fanned herself. She couldn’t understand how Mica could manage to stay sane with all these nummy-looking men walking around bare-chested.
Not that she was complaining…or looking…no-siree-bob, she hadn’t noticed the expanse of taut stomach muscles, and bulging biceps, and wide chests, and hot bodies standing or sitting around. Nope. Wooo, it was hot in here.
Still dressed in the clothes from yesterday, she was sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar. Nursing a mug of coffee, she was going back over her conversation with her cousin last night. Staring into her half-full mug, Essa wondered how much shit was about to fall on her head if she decided to tell Mica why she was really here. Her mug was plucked from her hand, and fresh coffee was added before it was slammed back down on the countertop in front of her.
Looking up from underneath her eyebrows at the man in front of her, she felt a shiver of fear at the strained, angry look on his face. This was the new guy; she was pretty sure he hadn’t been here last night. She wasn’t sure what she had done wrong other than show up, but it had clearly pissed him off, and he did not look like someone to mess around with.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted and hung her head. God, she could have sewn her own mouth shut. She hated when she fell back into supplicating patterns like that.
“What the fuck for?” came the calm question as he leaned his arms on the countertop, folding his hands around his own mug of coffee.
She shook her head, verging on a tearful disaster. “I don’t know, but you look really mad. At me. So, it seemed a good idea to apologize now before I do anything else wrong.”
Roach, the man with the beard, was standing in the archway leading to the living room. He hooted with laughter at that, and she looked up with tears in her eyes to see the angry man look even more angry—if that was at all possible. Really angry.
Mica walked in, took one look at her, and picked her way with ease between the men and over towards Essa. Speaking to Really Angry Man, she asked, “Mason, what did you do?”
“I poured her some fucking coffee, babe, swear to God,” he said, pushing away from the counter and turning back to the stove, muttering, “What the fuck?” Mica reached out and tapped his shoulder with her closed fist, and he rocked himself sideways like she was a heavyweight champ, making everyone laugh.
Essa looked at her cousin, drinking in the sight of her after so long. For years, she and Molly had met up with Mica at rodeos and fairgrounds across the south. It was only for a couple days each time, and they never knew when she’d show up. Never long enough for the girls.
Essa had always looked up to her cousin, and that’s why when the envelope came with the address, it seemed like a godsend. She had to come here as fast as she could. Then she chickened out last night and didn’t tell her the whole truth. She wasn’t sure how Mica would respond to the troubles she came to talk about.
Looking around the room, Mica asked, “Did everyone eat yet? Essa and I have to get going soon if we’re going to make the signup cutoff time in Urbana.” The brown-haired wrestling guy walked out the door, saying, “I’ll go load the gelding, get the rig ready to go.”
Essa yelled after him, “Breezy, his name is Breezy,” and heard him laugh.
“Which one is that guy again?” Essa asked.
Mica smiled and answered quietly, “Andrew, but he likes to be called Slate.”
Really Angry Man dropped a pan on top of the stove and turned around to wrap his hand around Mica’s arm. “Babe,” he said softly, “what the fuck?”
Essa decided she’d had enough of the tension and anxiety in the room and dropped her mug into the sink. “Grabbing my stuff from the bedroom and I’m ready to roll, cuz.”
“Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.” Mica looked at Really Angry Man with an annoyed expression of her own, and Essa scooted from the room. These people were nuts. Shaking her head at her own confusion, she threw the few things she’d left out back into her bag and grabbed her hat.
Walking back through the kitchen, the hat was snagged from her hand by Slate, who was already back inside the house. He asked her, “Where are you going with that?”
“It’s my hat; I’m taking it to my truck,” she replied, puzzled as she looked up at him.
“It’s black,” he said.
She stood there for a minute, thinking he would say something else, but nope, that was it, just ‘it’s black’ and then nothing. “Yes. It is black. Black goes with my outfits,” she said slowly. Was this guy stupid? He shook his head, handing her the hat back without speaking.
After securing the horse and rig, Slate drove her and Mica to the event in Urbana. Setting up and registering, they waited for her events to begin. Mica was rubbing the horse’s neck absently, looking around the fairgrounds, while Slate stared at her intently. Essa wondered what was going on; there was too much silence to stand. “So, are you guys involved, like…dating?” she asked finally, looking between the two of them.
Laughing, Mica looked at Essa as Slate’s head whipped around. “No,” they said in unison. Mica continued, “Slate has been tasked with watching me by Mason, who thinks I can’t take care of myself.”
Essa nodded. “So, you are with Mason, or as I call him, Really Angry Guy?”
Mica’s head rocked back and she let out a loud sigh. “No, Mason and I aren’t together.” She continued, “He’s a very good friend.” She snorted. “Really Angry Guy?” she asked and laughed.
Essa pressed, “So…the tall, blushing one? Or the bearded one?” and Mica turned red, while Slate laughed loudly.
“No, none of them, Essa, not Mason, not Slate, not Digger, and not Roach. Why this interest in who I might or might not be dating?”
“Mica, there were four really HOT men in your house this morning, example: this guy,” she replied, pointing at Slate and shaking her head as she watched him go off into shouts of laughter again. “Four REALLY hot men, with muscles like Greek gods… and you are telling me that not a single one of them is your boyfriend?”
Mica shook her head again. “Not any one of them.”
Holding her palms up quizzically, Essa pouted out her bottom lip. “Cuz,” she said sadly, “I’m sorry. How did you get friend-zoned like that?”
Mica glared at her and then glowered at Slate, who was still howling with laughter, and then glared at Essa again, her mouth opening and closing without making a sound. After a moment, she stated, “I’m walking the fairground,” and Essa watched as Slate stood up and followed her, still holding his side and laughing. She couldn’t seem to take a step without him shadowing her, and Essa’s smile faded as she realized it was probably due to Ray Nelms, who was also the architect of the problem she was trying to fix.
Mica walked away from h
er, tears in her eyes. She seemed to cry a lot lately. She’d wanted to tell Essa about Daniel, but with things as strained between them as they were now, she didn’t know if there’d even be a relationship to go back to when everything was finally over. If it ever ended. Slate walked beside her, cutting his eyes over. He started to speak several times, but didn’t get beyond opening and closing his mouth. “Just spit it out, Slate,” she snapped at him.
“I still don’t know why you didn’t just tell him, princess. He’s a big boy; he could deal,” he muttered. “Fuck me,” he shook his head, “I hate seeing you like this.”
Stopping short, she put her hands on her hips. “So you’re an expert on relationships now?”
“No, but I’m a fucking man. I know how we think,” he shot back.
Blinking her eyes against the stinging tears, she started walking again, and then jumped when her phone buzzed in her back pocket. Pulling it out, she looked at the display for a moment, and then pressed a button, declining the call and putting the phone back in her pocket.
“How many times is that today?” Slate asked, and she shook her head in response. “No, really. I wanna know. How many times has Daniel called today?”
“Four times,” she whispered, hardly loud enough to hear. Her phone dinged, indicating a voicemail was available.
“Will you even listen to it?” Slate thumped the side of her head with his fingers when she shook it negatively.
“Slate,” she yelled at him, “I can’t listen to them. I miss him so much…you have no idea. When I hear his voice, I lose it. I can’t do that with Essa showing up here like this, not until I figure out what’s going on with her.”
Mason came to pick up Mica that evening, and he and Slate agreed that someone needed to stay with Essa while she was out on the circuit. Over her protests, Slate was nominated and grudgingly agreed. Mica hugged her tightly before she left. “Slate will take care of you; this will make me feel better.”
Essa almost told her then what had happened to Molly, Mica’s little sister. It wasn’t something you could just blurt out, though. How do you tell someone horrifying news like this? You can’t exactly tell them, ‘Oh, by the way, your sister? Yeah, she got raped by an asshole and thinks she’s pregnant.’ Nope, not something to say without a lead in, she decided, and simply hugged her in return, then watched Mica and Mason drive away.
On the ride home, Mason reached across the truck and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Tired, Mica?”
She nodded, turning to look out the window, watching the streetlights flick past. She sighed. “I miss Daniel. He called again today, a few times.” She turned in the seat to face him. “Did you know I had to change the photo on his contact info in my phone? Jess told me she couldn’t stand that I cried every time he called, so she made me a picture that says, ‘On Hiatus’. He showed up at MishMash again today, and he didn’t believe her when she said that I was out. She let him in so she could prove to him I wasn’t there. She said he doesn’t look good, Mason. What am I doing to him?”
“What are you doing to you, babe?” he responded. “I wish you’d just fucking let me explain all this to him; it doesn’t feel right to keep a threat to his family hidden from him, Mica. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this, because it’s just fucking wrong.”
“No,” she said through the tears that started at Mason’s words, “it’s my problem, Mason. Once I solve it, then I can talk to Daniel.”
***
Mason answered the call from Slate. Since he’d been out on the road for a couple weeks with Essa, he was reporting in at every venue, but no Nelms yet. Without a greeting, Slate told him to go to Mica’s house. Her cousin, Essa, was going to call her with news about her little sister, and it involved Nelms. He growled underneath his breath, “On my fucking way, give me two minutes,” and hung up without another word.
Sitting beside Mica on her couch, he pulled her back into his side as they waited on the phone to ring. All he’d told her was Essa needed to talk to her, and he wanted to be here to find out what was going on.
When the phone finally rang, she jumped upright and then answered quickly. Privy to only one side of the conversation, he followed Mica’s responses, “Oh, God, when?” followed by silence, and another shaky question, “Is she okay? Essa, tell me.” She put her hand to her face, covering it. “Is she sure she’s pregnant?” Okay, now he had an inkling of what was going on, but how was Nelms involved?
Mica yelled suddenly, “No, you do not call them. This would break them, Essa. I think we need to go to the ranch. Molly is there; she’s gotta be afraid, and I want to let her know that nothing, nothing could make us love her any less.” He watched her nod as she listened to Essa’s response.
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” she said and paused for nearly a full minute before she said on a sob, “Molly? Oh, baby girl, I’m so sorry.” They’d evidently gotten on a three-way call, the two sisters and the cousin. He thought back to what Mica had said, and calculated in his head how long it would take Slate and Essa before they were home in Longview.
Taking out his phone, he called Digger. “Dig, I need two…no make it three tickets from O’Hare to Longview, Texas. Tomorrow, early as you can. Me, Mica, and Tug.” Waiting on confirmation, he watched Mica’s face as she reassured her sister that everything would be okay. “Yeah, sounds good. Tyler, Longview—either one works, Dig. Text me the details and call Tug; let him know we’re traveling.” He hung up with Digger, watching Mica’s face closely.
A few words later, and she handed the phone to him. Slate was on the line, and Mason let him know the travel plans, then asked about Essa, who he could hear crying in the background. Slate responded in a low, pained voice that she was better now that she’d told Mica, and Mason knew that was probably the truth. Reaching out to Mica, Mason tugged at her shoulders trying to get her to relax into him, but she shrugged him away.
“Molly is pregnant.”
He waited, but she didn’t say anything else, so he said, “Yeah, I got that. Who’s the dad?”
Pulling in a shaky breath, she blew it out between pursed lips and turned her head towards him. “Ray Nelms is the father.” With that, she clenched her eyes shut tightly. “He drugged her, Mason. He raped my baby sister and now she’s pregnant with his child.”
“Babe, you’ll see her tomorrow. We’ll be in Texas just after lunchtime, and we’ll meet up with Slate and Essa.” He put his arms around her rigidly upright body, trying to comfort her. “You’ll see Molly soon, babe. Rest. I’ll wake you in a little bit; we need to pack.”
49 -
Fighting with Daddy
Mica thought to herself that some things stayed the same no matter what. The smell of northeast Texas was one of those things. It was a mix of the evergreen pine trees, livestock, and red dirt roads. Hard to describe, but impossible to forget.
Riding in the passenger seat of the truck Mason had rented, her elbow sat on the edge of the open window as she leaned her head against the doorpost. Looking out at the fields and forested areas they were passing, she smiled at the daffodils blooming in an empty field. She knew they had once surrounded a home, and if you dug alongside the clumps of flowers, you’d find the old foundation. Some things survived better than others; it seemed man-made things were the first to go when things were aging and decaying.
She’d seen huge swaths of color along the roadside, shining areas of beautiful blue where the bluebonnets were already blooming. Tucked among them were cornflowers, and the brilliant reds and pinks of Indian paintbrushes. Nestled back inside forested areas, protected from direct sunlight under the shade of the treetop canopy, she saw dogwood trees, their four-petal flowers a gleaming white touched with the barest blush of pink on their tips.
She thought to herself that the azaleas would be blooming in Tyler. She and her mother had visited many times to see those beautiful and colorful blooms made famous by the city’s Azalea Trails events. She turned to watch M
ason for a moment as he drove, shaking her head; he looked so serious and anxious. Turning a little more, she peered into the backseat at Slate and Essa. To her surprise, he was letting Essa hold his hand, but she was clasping so tightly it couldn’t be comfortable for Slate.
Mica shook her head, puzzled about the physical transformation in Slate. Instead of torn tank tops, or his previous favorite top of no shirt, he was dressed like a working hand in a clean but worn t-shirt, blue jeans that fit him well, and a pair of scuffed boots. Not a chain or piece of leather was present on his body, and she thought that had to be a miracle. Maybe this had been a good trip for him.
She turned back to Mason. “I want to call Daniel after I talk to Molly. He needs to know why I had to leave, Mason.” Looking back out the window, she continued, “He might hate me, but he needs to understand I had to try and keep him safe.”
Mason shifted in the seat, laying the wrist of his left arm on top of the wheel and reaching out to sweep her hair behind her ear with his other hand. “Probably better done in person, don’t you think, babe? When breaking a silence of six weeks, it’s hella lot harder to hang up on someone if they are standing right there.”
She shivered at his touch, and her shoulders raised a half-inch as she tensed. “I miss him,” she said simply, drawing in a breath and half-sobbing, “so much.”
“I know.” He touched her hair again softly, tracing his thumb gently along her cheekbone in a way that broke her heart.
Forgetting the audience in the backseat, she rounded on him. “Why do you do these things for me, Mason? What have I ever done to be worth you and your friendship? You have gone so far out of your way to make sure I am okay, and safe, and…happy, and that the people I care about are okay. And…God, I loved that night, being with you and making love…but…I don’t think I can be the person you need, and we both know that.”
Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 30
