The statement stung. Nearly more than having Estavez crawling up his ass, Watcher hated what the war with the Machos had done to the makeup of the Soldiers membership. I understand it’s best to know the kind of balls a man has before things get hot, he thought, but still. Every member they lost, every patch voluntarily dropped into a sponsor’s hands meant loss. Lost time, working with and teaching through the prospect period onwards. Even worse was the lost knowledge when the member leaving was of longer term. Losses in the ranks were hard enough to take, and Watcher thanked God all his officers were lifers, because he didn’t know what he’d do if one of his inner circle hiked out.
“Not a dig, Prez,” Spider said, his response telling Watcher he had visibly reacted. “Fuck no. We all know every goddamned reason given over the past couple of years were bullshit.” They weren’t all, but he knew what Spider was getting at and nodded. Several of the defections had been because Watcher held the line on trafficking. Not every man knew the full breadth of Juanita’s story, and he damned well didn’t want them to, but he couldn’t…wouldn’t allow his Soldiers to be part of guarding flesh property or escorting groups of illegals brought into the country for any reason. But, especially not with the expectation they’d be making their living on their backs. So he carved the rule in stone without explanation and refused to back down. This meant some men saw the cash walking through the desert as enough of a reason to leave the club.
“I know. And you’re right. Want and fear has weeded out the men who didn’t understand what it meant to wear a Soldiers patch on their back.” Watcher looked around the circle, nodding slowly. “What we have here though? Trust and love and respect. Each of us”—he shot a glance at Spider—“even when we’re bein’ dicks, have our brothers’ backs. This”—he swept his arms out to the sides, looking at each man in turn—“is our brotherhood.” Pointing to Pops, he said, “Old guard, Pops is an original in a lotta ways, and we respect it. All of it. We turn to him for wisdom.” He paused a breath and smirked. “Even me. And that makes us stronger than 90 percent of the clubs who call themselves one-percenters.” Jabbing a stiffened finger at the diamond sewn to the front of his vest, he said, “We are Southern Soldiers, we are proud one-percenters, and we are the strongest motherfuckers around.”
A chorus of “hell yeah” and “fucking right” came from all sides and he grinned. “Don’t mean we don’t want the kid. I’d sure like to see Ice Man take up a place on our line. So if you think you can influence him”—he glanced at Opie—“then you should. Now, we’re about to get into business in Mexico. Because sittin’ here, I’ve come to a decision.” Pushing to his feet, he watched the wave of stillness settle over his men. They were all staring up at him, waiting. “Keep it close. Need to know only.” He took a breath because once done, this wasn’t something he could retreat from. “Two days. Estavez has two days. My brothers, Sunday we cross the bridge.”
***
“Papi.” Her voice rich and ragged, Juanita called out to him as he thrust deep, the heat and slide of flesh pulling a groan from him. He watched as her neck arched back, pushing her head into the pillow and she cried out again, this time wordless and vibrating with pleasure. Urgency pulled at him, but he kept the pace slow, bottoming out and grinding in with each stroke, stretching time for her. She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair and holding his head steady, staring into his eyes as she came.
In minutes, he followed her over the mountain, feeling the familiar electricity shooting up his spine as every muscle in his body stiffened. “Mine,” he ground out the word, ass clenching and driving him deep, deeper. Watcher and his brothers had talked far into the night, feeding the bonfire and drinking, telling stories to shouted laughter. It was hours before he followed her inside, waking her as he crawled at last into their bed, and she had eagerly met every caress.
“God, baby,” he muttered into her neck, slipping his arms underneath her shoulders and holding her tightly. “Love you so much.” He stayed planted, feeling the final pulsing of his orgasm leaving him, loving how Juanita quivered underneath him, coming down from her own mountain, sliding back into her body. A breath later, he realized the quivering wasn’t her recovering from making love, but tears. “Hey, hey. Honey, are you okay?” He pushed up, trying to get a look at her but she avoided his gaze, shoving her face against his chest. “’Nita.” He gave her a squeeze. “What is it, honey?”
She gave a hiccupping sob which had him on the move, slipping out of her body and to the side, gathering her into his arms. Turning to his back, he arranged her against him, head on his shoulder, giving her room to hide her face if she wanted. “Honey, tell me what’s wrong.” A head shake, not surprising, but frustrating all the same. “Juanita, I love you. Honey.” Crooning in her ear, he stroked her back, slowly, hand moving up and down soothingly. “Take your time.”
Moments passed, and Watcher kept stroking. Not pushing her, treating himself to the softness of her skin, over and over. Silent but for her occasional sob, the longer he held her, the more her muscles relaxed, letting her sag against him. He took her weight willingly, hoping she knew after all this time he’d take anything for her, from her. They didn’t talk about it, but he’d thought she was long past the shit from Mexico, so maybe this was something else. Finally, she moved slightly, rolling her head so she could press her lips to his chest, those actions releasing his voice again. “Honey, tell me.”
Low and slow came the words. “One day you will want more.” So softly he nearly missed the sound, she whispered, “Te amo, mi corazón.”
I was wrong. This was Mexico. Watcher tightened his arms around her. “God, I wish I could make you believe, honey.” No longer a constant companion, but when her fear reared its ugly head in the past, it still brutalized her. Hate seeing her like this. “Wish you could see what I see.” He had a thought, and rolled, taking her with him to the edge of the bed. Standing, he scooped her up and carried her in his arms to the mirror on the front of the bathroom door. Chin to the top of her head, he stood with eyes closed for a minute, breathing her in, immersing himself in the woman he loved. Shampoo, citrus, a hint of musk from the sex. “Everything I want, right here in my arms. Look at you, honey.” Lifting his head, he did as he told her to do, staring at their forms in the dim light.
“My life, my love.” Dipping his chin, Watcher brushed his lips against her temple. This is so damned important. I have to get it right. Every time, do it until I’m old and gray, glad for the chance to tell her. “Look, Juanita. Look at us.” I love you, honey. Believe me, baby. “Look at how we fit. Look at this, honey. Just look.” The intensity in his voice brought her head up, and he caught her gaze in the mirror. “Don’t look at me, baby. Just look.” He shifted, letting her legs drift down, feet to the floor in front of him. Wrapping his arms around her, he bent over her shoulder, lips to her cheek. Whispering, he told her again, “Look at us.”
Minutes ticked by as they stood there. Minutes where Watcher wasn’t sure what the outcome would be. Juanita’s doubts weren’t rational and in the bright light of day, she knew it, but the demons she still bore had dug in deep. He worked every day to help peel back the layers of her uncertainty, to give her a safe place to feel any emotion and push past it. Another minute slid by before she relaxed minutely in his arms. Lips to the side of her head, he pressed a kiss to her skin. “God, I love you, Juanita. You are everything I need. You are all I need. I got everything I wanted, and then you gave me more. Gave me Bella. Made my world even richer. You will always be what I need.” Another squeeze, and she sighed.
“Watcher.” When she said his name, he turned her and crooked a finger under her chin, lifting her lips to meet his in a soft, slow, deep kiss. She leaned her forehead against his chest, murmuring, “I see. Thank you.” Arms around his neck, she gave a hop when he lifted, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I see. Mi amor.”
Back to their bed, he settled her next to him again. “Tell me what you saw, honey.”
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Her arm across his stomach tightened, and she lifted her chin to look up into his face. “Love.” Her voice was hesitant, soft, and he waited, knowing she had more to say. “But you…we wanted more babies.” It caught at his chest, a fishhook stuck deep, pulling free but leaving damage behind which could fester. He couldn’t deny her statement; it was true. Both had wanted more children, especially after holding a sweet baby Bella. “I cannot give you that.”
“Not your fault, honey.” He cradled her head to his chest, letting the pain sweep through him. Estavez had stolen so much from Juanita. Motherfucker needs to pay. And pay. And pay. “We’re blessed. I’m blessed. You and Bella in my life? Definitely blessed.”
After Isabella had been born, they both wanted more, as fast as they could manage. Two years later, after having no luck, Watcher had gone to the doc, sure the fault lay with him, hoping a new wardrobe selection would free things. Two months after that, he took Juanita to a doctor where they found an infection suffered while enslaved made their Bella a miracle indeed. The doc didn’t rule out another pregnancy because they’d proven they could beat the odds, even if they weren’t known odds at the time. But he didn’t offer them much hope.
“Can we be enough, Watcher?” Gentle and quiet, her question rose from the darkness, and he knew this was her deepest fear. That he would find her wanting, withdrawing his love and turning away from what she might forever see as damaged goods.
“You already are, honey.” Lips to the top of her head, he pressed a soft kiss in her hair. “I can’t imagine life without you. You and our Bella, and my brothers to have my back. Everything I need, honey. Always gonna be the same answer. You can ask the question a thousand different ways, and the answer won’t change. Every day, you give me everything I need.”
What’s in your heart
Rolling to his feet in a smooth motion, Watcher crouched in place, taking shelter behind the rusting hulk of a car as he scanned the street. Echoes of gunfire still rolled through the air as he swept his gaze left, then right. Evaluating the scene, he took in the condition and position of each of his men and saw the tail end of a convertible as it carried the gunman away. Two down, Diamond and Opie, but both were moving in the dirt. Andy was down, too, a wide streak of dark discoloring his jeans. Watcher heard footsteps pounding away, retreating up a nearby track between the ramshackle houses. He studied the street again. No visible threat.
Knowing his Soldiers would have his back, he stood upright and stalked back into the hovel behind him. It was the residence of one sick fuck bastard who would know whose finger had been on the trigger today, and who would also know two additional things. Important things. One, where the money was for their missing shipment. Two—and this was arguably the most critical information, especially after this action in the street—where Watcher would find Estavez.
Groaning, the fat man in the room lay on his side; arms, legs, and chest strapped tightly to a wooden chair, toppled to the floor during his questioning. His face was bloody, already swelling, and mixed in the blood on the floor were portions of two teeth. “Motherfucker’s gonna talk now.” Watcher heard and turned to see Devil had come inside with him. Reaching down, Watcher gripped the arms of the chair and wrenched at it, rage helping him right the furniture with the mass of the man still attached. Once all four legs were back on the floor, he pulled his fist back, surprised when a hand on his elbow stayed the strike. Devil pushed his face close and hissed, “My turn.”
Ten minutes later the man was back on the ground, this time not moving. Still breathing, but staying that way was definitely not a long-term thing. “Nothing,” Devil gritted the word, pulling back his foot and launching a hard kick at the fat man, burying half his boot into the soft, flabby stomach. “Fat man didn’t sing, boss.” Unexpected motion from across the room caught Watcher’s attention, and he was already headed in that direction when he saw Andy on his way inside.
“Watcher, got a dude hit out here,” Andy called, and Watcher made a decision. Up to now, he hadn’t been thinking of Andy as a brother, more of a potential acquisition, looking for a place where the guy would fit in the club. After today though, a day where Andy had willingly come along on what Watcher had been clear was expected to be a rough run, and then stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them facing fire? After he took a bullet for the club? Watcher owed him respect and would give it, endorsing the man in even unspoken ways.
“Saw you patching him up, Ice Man, thanks,” Watcher said without stopping, continuing to stalk across the room. He saw the movement again, a small form darting backwards, but there was no escape from discovery. He reached through a doorway. Woman? He wondered at the slightness of the figure, and then feeling how thin the arm was, revised his estimate down to child. Then Watcher rewrote his thoughts again as he pulled her into the light, seeing a brand on her collarbone which turned his stomach. Slave.
She reached up to adjust her shirt, pulling and tugging it to try and hide her shame. Oh darlin’, Watcher thought, we’ll get you out of here. In a whisper, her voice jagged with fear and pain, she begged, “No me hagas. Por favor, señor. Por favor. El me va a matar. Por favor no. El lo hara. Por favor.” She gestured to the man on the floor, breaths bubbling out through the blood in his mouth. “Mi tío me dio a este hombre. Mi dueño.” Her hand gripped his wrist with a fierce strength belying her frail stature, words pleading, “Por favor. Por favor, señor.”
With those words, he knew who she was, and it turned his stomach more. Estavez a blood relative, showing his stripes once again as he had with Juanita, family no barrier to his cruelty and greed. “Donde está tu tío?” Andy made a noise, and Watcher turned to see a shocked question on his face. The age of the girl and the circumstances in which they found her would be hard for the kid to witness, if he even understood what he was seeing. “Her uncle is the President of the Machos. He’ll want her back. I need to know how to get in contact with him.”
A fierce emotion swept across Andy’s face, and the doubt Watcher read there pissed him off. No way he’d be sharing Juanita’s story here. Maybe not ever with this dude, but for certain not while a girl in the same situation who may or may not speak English was listening. Fuck him, Watcher thought, he doesn’t know the road I’ve ridden. Aloud, he growled, “Unharmed, I’m not a fucking monster.” He glanced away, not wanting to see any more evidence Andy didn’t trust him. The dark blood still wetting the fabric of Andy’s jeans reminded Watcher he’d taken a bullet for the Soldiers today. Forcing respect into his tone, Watcher asked, “You okay, man? Looks like you were hit too.”
Eyes still on the girl, Andy muttered, “Yeah, through and through, muscle only. It’ll hurt like a bitch tomorrow.” Evaluating the wound with a long look, from his experience Watcher knew Andy had it right. He’d used a bandana to tie off some of the blood flow, giving the wound time to form a clot. Need to remind him to take the tourniquet off in a few, Watcher thought, turning back to the girl as she spoke, “I speak English.”
Thank you, Jesus. Her speaking English so well would make his life a hell of a lot easier. And I could use a dose of easy. “Thank fuck,” he said. “I need to talk to your uncle, little one. We have some shit to get straight before I can leave.”
The girl-child, because she wasn’t a woman, no matter what had been done to her body, nodded and brought out a phone. She dialed and got out one word, “Tio?” before Watcher took the phone away. He was out the back door and away before he trusted himself to speak, putting as much distance between the girl-child and this conversation as possible.
Instead of questions, silence was all he got when he lifted the phone to his ear. Estavez probably had already heard about the street showdown and shootout and been expecting this call. “Your man was loyal.”
“Give a man enough reasons and his loyalty will not waver.” Estavez’3 voice was oily, twisting into Watcher’s head, mixing with Juanita’s stories about her cousin. “I gave him…just enough.”
Rage washed over W
atcher and in an instant, he knew the fate of this girl was in his hands. Her entire future, his to mold. His role as profound as the one he played in Juanita’s life, from her first glance upwards out of the mud and muck and into his face. “Man’s dead.” He played his hand, not caring any longer about the response. Testing one last time, to see if Estavez was redeemable, he asked, “Your niece? What should I do with her?”
“Matters not to me. Fuck her if you want. Kill her if you don’t. But, please, don’t leave me a mess, yes?” Estavez’ tone never wavered, his indifference regarding her continued existence not an act. He really didn’t care about the girl. Sounding like he was musing over what to have on a menu, Estavez said, “If you do not kill Maria Luisa Carmela, I could find a use for her still.” His tone changed, becoming brusque when he changed course, telling Watcher, “No, you should kill her. It would not be worth the effort to collect her. You killed my man, go ahead and take care of Maria. To save time, if needed, they can be buried together.” Unable to speak, Watcher listened as Estavez continued, “Tell me if you will, how fares my lovely cousin? Is my Juanita well?”
With shaking hands, Watcher brought the phone down, resisting the urge to throw it to the ground, grind it to bits underfoot. Motherfucker doesn’t know what he bought with his play. Disconnecting the call, he stood still as a statue for a minute, then two. Breathing deeply, sucking in breath after breath, he tried to pull his rage back under control. Motherfucker, circled around in his head, thoughts tangling, superimposing Juanita’s face on the girl’s. His Bella’s face. Gotta get the girl safe. A noise had him turning and crouching in instinctive response, only straightening when he saw Devil exiting the structure. One look at his face must have told volumes because Devil growled low in his throat.
Watcher Page 18
