Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) (19 page)

He stood there a minute, studying the boy. Eli had picked up on the name change without anything being said, never questioning, just adapting. He was good around the place, had worked hard alongside Duck on a variety of jobs, but his joy, the one thing he loved more than anything else was the horseflesh he had access to on the ranch. Every time the boy had half a chance, he was on General, saddled or bareback, and Duck had seen the boy stick to the younger horses like a burr, while still handling them like glass. No horse on the place had heard his voice raised in anger, and none of them avoided the boy. Consistent and persistent, he had a natural way of handling the horses that they responded to.

Glancing over at Gill, he caught the man’s eye and tipped his head towards Eli, receiving a sideways grin and nod in response.
Right on
, he thought.
Project horse.
This would give Eli something he would not only be good at, but where he could see and measure the results as he excelled. Something to master, but the whole process would require a great deal of compromise, lending itself to good life lessons.

“He is pretty,” Duck said, turning back to watch the colt as he stretched out his legs for two or three strides, mane flying and snapping in the wind. “Gonna need gentling. Gill said he’s not halter broke yet, so that’d be your place to start, Eli.”

The boy turned to face him, eyes nearly as wide as the colt’s were a minute ago. He seemed to be waiting for something, and when Duck didn’t say anything more, he shook himself, like he was trying to wake up, then breathed the disbelieving question, “What?”

“Gill’s got the final say, but I’m thinking this is a good chance for you to put leather to your learning.” He shrugged, watching Eli’s face as his bright and excited gaze flicked between Gill and him.

“You got good ideas, boss,” Gill said laconically and Eli’s face lit up in a grin as he turned to watch the colt again.

***

“Tellin’ you, Mason, she’s got a strut that won’t quit. Doesn’t surprise me he’s holed up with that fender bunny.” Watcher chuckled. “Brenda works for him, but you can tell she means a fuckuva lot more. Climbed down from the cab of the truck and, Jesus, you could tell at a glance from a hundred yards away she was pissed right the fuck off at him. Still made her way to where we were standing. Fear pouring off her in waves at the boys between her and her old man even as she rocked that strut. Respectful, not pushy. Ignorance of club was clear, though. ‘Reuben’ her call instead of Duck.”

Mason shook his head, cutting his gaze to where Fury sat on the couch in the office, listening to the conversation on speaker. He would give a little here, and then wait to see where the man took the knowledge. How he handled it would be telling in the long run. Mason told Watcher, “Duck asked for time, then called and asked for more. His family’s business is there in town, and he didn’t go home after his brother took a dirt nap, so it is entirely reasonable he needs time.” Watcher started to say something, and Mason talked over him, “I’ll pull him home for a couple of days, see where his head’s at.”

Angling his chin towards the door in a silent directive that got Fury on the move, Mason then reached out and picked up the handset, waiting until the door closed behind Fury to speak again. “Now, brother. Tell me the real reason you called me about my man.”

“Duck wasn’t wearing his colors.” Anger and an edge of suspicion trailed through his words, and Mason knew this right here was the trigger for the call today. “I sat on the info for a few days, thinking and stewing why you’d send a man my way without a call. Send him in without a patch.”

Watcher paused, and Mason waited, giving him ample time to say what he needed. Watcher growled, “Fucking anon, in my fucking town, walking towards me on my fucking lot at my fucking bar. Mason,”—he sucked in a breath—“I greeted him like a brother, no reserve. Found blank denim underneath my fist. Blind and empty, as if he owed no allegiance. Feels like I’m treading a fine line here, brother. You know that kind of shit looks disrespectful. Fuck, it
is
disrespectful. Makes men look at me, gives them something to gab about, takes their focus off what I need it to be, which is fucking
Diamante
. Wiping that goddamned club out of my territory. I don’t need my men thinking…fuck me, maybe even
believing
my strongest ally is looking to backstab me. Maybe think you’re the type to slide a man in under the radar until he’s found out. To be strong, you have to believe strong. That’s what I need right now. I need my men to believe strong.”

Silence bled into the airwaves lying between them for a few moments as Mason waited to see if Watcher was finished. Mason let it go on until the quiet was uncomfortable, then, his voice hard and rough, said, “You. Out of everyone in my life, you know what it means when I call you
brother
. I would not fuck you like that, Watch. No way. No how. You know how it is between us. Duck said West Texas. Digger said Midland. Fuck, man. I called and asked you if you carried a charter in Midland and you told me no. I did not know to ask Lamesa, but you could have volunteered that shit, knowing how close the two are. He was not anon as an insult, but rather out of respect. And you fucking know it, you know you do.

Without giving Watcher time to respond, he continued, “If you have shit in your house, brother, then you need to clean it out. Can’t nobody make that shit right but you, and it’s something else you fucking know. If a patch brother don’t trust you, don’t believe in you, then drop the motherfucker’s center. He don’t straighten his ass out, check himself, then you cut his fucking rockers. Wrecked himself. Let him go find a pussy outfit to ride at the back of instead of giving him a chance to start crap with you.

“Now, if my man…if Duck didn’t show you proper respect, then we can have a different conversation. But I know him, and Watch, dammit, you know him, and we both know he fucking did respect. Stopped as soon as he saw you, pulled in and pissed off his pussy so he could pay that respect. He’s a good man, been solid for years. One of my
most
trusted. You fucking know that, too.

“So here we have a decision. A fork in the road, and…
fuck,
man, I think everything depends on how you answer. Your answer is gonna drive our relationship from here out. What kind of man do you believe I am? Do
you
believe strong? Are you strong in what stands between us? Do you believe me? You’re my brother, my
true
brother, and you know it’s how I feel.

“But, if you believe for one second, one mother
fucking
,
god
damned breath, if you really believed I was running one of my own down into your house without making it right, then it is crystal we have a burned bridge somewhere between us instead of what I thought we had. So what’ll it be, brother? Tell me what you believe.”

“Mason,” Watcher said instantly, “respect, brother. We’ve had us a misunderstanding. You called, that’s truth. I didn’t put two and two together. That shit’s on me. Saw Duck’s face, pleased me down to my bones. Felt it. Then when I felt that naked back? Fucked me up, brother. Felt that, too. Diamante keeps creeping along the edges, man, got me twisted inside out these days. I don’t know what Lalo’s got planned, but I know from chatter he’s got something churning. He’s playin’ and layin’ low, hiding his face. Laying along the edges of the wind, sure as I’m a bastard. Just can’t get a handle on what it is, but I know…know in my goddamned belly it is going to fuck. With. Me.”

Mason let the silence sit for a minute, but not as long as before, then he said, “Respect, brother. Belief, too. Know you didn’t track that shit, so it’s not on you. We’ll set this aside. Never happened.”

Watcher asked, his confident voice sounding certain of the answer, and Mason appreciated him asking just to make sure. “We good, brother?”

“Fuck, yeah. We’re good. I’ll pull Duck back up here, figure out what’s up about his old lady, make sure he’s not falling into a Diamante trap over pussy. That would be a shame. Never seen the brother with anyone more than once. He’s never struck me as the long-term type. Will be fun to ring his bell over this shit, seeing as he hasn’t come clean to me about it. So, thanks for that. I’ll let you know how the entertainment plays out, yeah?”

“Yeah, you do that, fucker,” Watcher said with a chuckle. “Shiny side, brother.”

“Shiny side, man.”

“Brenda, you got a minute?” He called the question up the stairs to where she was getting dressed. Tonight was the final visit with the rodeo sponsors, reviewing the placement of banners and promotional material in and around the set-up at the fairgrounds. “Need to talk to you, honey.”

When he had come back into the house from working in the barn office and checked his phone, there had been a message from Mason asking him to phone in. The man himself wasn’t available when he made the call, but Red told him Mason wanted him back in Chicago for a day and Digger had already gotten him a ticket, leaving tonight. He had called and left a message for Digger, making sure the man knew the ticket needed to be round trip because he would not be staying in Chicago. It was sudden, but if the club needed him, he would go, no questions. He just wouldn’t stay.

Bee called, “Coming,” a moment before he heard her feet on the stairs. He shook his head. The woman managed to hit every squeaky board every single time she traversed the staircase. He watched as she used her grip on the post to swing around and head to the kitchen where he stood, grinning at the expression on her face. Equal parts pleasure and amusement, her smile stretched her lips, curving them up at the corners.

Opening his arms wide, there was a rush of satisfaction when she walked into them without pause, no questions in her eyes. Not yesterday. Not today. And, he prayed, not tomorrow.
A gift
, he thought,
having her trust me like this
. Wrapping himself around her, he held still for a moment just soaking in the feel of her, and then said, “There isn’t any way I can say this that won’t make you wonder for at least a minute, so let me say up front, the tickets are round trip and I’m back here tomorrow night.” She jerked, making a noise and trying to pull back, but he tightened his arms, holding her close. “I got a call a couple of minutes ago. My boss in Chicago needs me back there tonight. I fly out of Midland in about four hours. I’ll be right back here tomorrow night. Back in our bed tomorrow night. Home.” He kissed the side of her head. “Home, with you, my Bee.”

Slowly, she relaxed and her chest expanded with a long, soundless breath. Then, without argument or hesitation, simply giving him what he needed, she quietly said, “Okay.” With that single word, he knew he held her trust, fully and without question. She believed what he said, that he wasn’t leaving, that he would be back here with her just as soon as he could make it happen and he found himself again thinking,
a gift
. Softly, he pressed his mouth to the side of her head, kissing her temple. When she tipped her chin up, wordlessly asking for more, he dipped and captured her mouth with his. Duck worked hard to give her what she needed, kissing her deeply, tenderly stroking against her tongue with his.

***

Chicago, Illinois

Duck had worked his way into a very foul mood by the time he stalked into Jackson’s that evening. The flight into O’Hare on his one-fucking-way ticket had been unpleasant, his neighbors on the plane loud and obnoxious. That was followed by a trip from the airport to the bar that was less than pleasing.

Letting the door swing shut behind him, he looked around, seeing the typical group of patrons and members in the bar, with the exception of a clearly missing Mason.
Dammit
, he thought. Lifting his chin to his brothers, he acknowledged the welcoming chorus of greetings as he turned to where Merry stood behind the cash register. Catching sight of the look on his face, she laughed aloud and he frowned more deeply. “The fuck you laughin’ at, woman?”

“You look like somebody stole your last piece of candy, shit on it, and put it back in the box,” she responded, eyes on him but her hands in constant movement, making change for a customer. “Lookin’ for Mason?”

“Yeah, he called me up here for something, but now he isn’t answering his phone. Didn’t have a brother meet me, and he isn’t at the clubhouse. Took the train in because I was told he was here, but now I don’t fucking see him. You know where he is?” A woman’s laugh floated through the room and with a lightening of his mood, he recognized Mica. He watched as Merry’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, then back to his face. “Fucker’s right behind me, ain’t he?” She nodded with a grin.

A hand fell on his shoulder, pulling and swinging him around before Mason’s hand clasped his wrist, his grip in return an automatic response. “Duck,” Mason said warmly, tugging him forwards for a thumping one-shoulder clench. Not giving him a chance to respond, Mason said, “Come sit with us.” Motioning with his other hand, he indicated a crowded booth along the wall.

“Boss.” Duck shook his head and pulled back on the grip, feet firmly planted. “I didn’t come all the way back to Chicago in order to socialize with citizens.” Since he found her, since he took on the privilege of protecting her, spending time around Mica had always twisted a knife in his heart, and he waited for the pain to grip him. Waited for a pain that did not materialize. For the first time. He pushed back at what he was feeling, trying to decide the difference, realizing that for once, seeing her wasn’t tied to his shame and guilt, but circled around with pure pleasure at her happiness.

Mica was listening to Molly talk, broad smile in place, her head leaned against Daniel’s shoulder, her ever-classic look as out of place as her comfort in this rough biker’s bar should be. J.J.’s wheelchair positioned at the end of the table, Molly perched on the end of the bench, near his knees.

The other occupant of the booth surprised him, and he frowned slightly when he recognized Fury, a former Diamante officer who had folded his chapter into the Rebels in Fort Wayne.

Turning to face Mason, he said, “You called me back for business. I’m only here for a few hours, brother, and I’m exhausted. Been up way too fucking long at this point. We need to talk now, before I pass out.”

“This is the business,” Mason said cryptically, laying a hand on his shoulder, and steering him towards the booth.

He held up a hand in greeting as they approached the group and wasn’t surprised when Mica climbed to her feet to hug him. They had known each other for decades, and from her perspective, he was ever a welcome sight, reminding her of the best parts of home and growing up on the circuit. With a grin at Molly, he reached out and shook first J.J. and then Daniel’s hands before he rocked back on his heels, dipping his thumbs into the corners of his back pockets, giving Fury a nod.

Mason stood beside him through that, then snorted, telling an again-seated Mica, “Scoot yer ass over, woman.” He slid in next to her and Duck waited for Molly to stand before he slid in on her side, moving down to give her ample room. This put him side-by-side with Fury and he grumbled, “Coulda moved to a fuckin’ table, boss.”

“Ten minutes,” Mason said and Duck nodded. He could give him ten minutes. The conversation turned from hockey to trucking, to Mica’s business, back to trucking, then over to a start-up catering business Molly was working in conjunction with Road Runner, another Rebel member, this one a highly trained chef.

Duck had wondered about Mason’s ‘ten minutes’ comment, but sure enough, within that timeframe, Red walked in with two boys in tow. It looked as if the older Rebel had been on babysitting duty this afternoon. The success of that duty was clear, as both Molly’s son, Tomas, and Mica’s son, Jon, were covered head-to-toe with dirt, smiles shining out of their filthy faces, sweat-stained circles around their eyes showing where goggles had been.

“What in the world, Red?” Mica called. “Did you boys leave any dirt outside?” She scooted Mason out of the booth and stood, inspecting her son a little closer, swiping at the grime with a dampened thumb.

“We wode a dirt bwike,” Jon reported happily, submitting to his mother’s attempts to clean him up without complaint. “Unka Wed said we was bwadwassas.” He grinned broadly, tipping his head to look around his mom to his dad. “Unka Wed said we was Webels. I fwell down. A wot.”

Duck laughed as Mica’s head angled up, her unsmiling features focused on Red who stood with his hands palm-up in front of him, his grin as wide and bright as Jon’s. “Now, Princess. You know the boys were safe with me.”

“Not fussin’ about the dirt bike, Red,” she said. “Fussin’ about the language, and you know it.” He laughed again, reaching out with one hand to ruffle Jon’s hair, earning himself a tipped-back boy head and an upside-down grin.

Molly laughed, swinging her son into J.J.’s lap, ignoring the dirt that smeared onto their clothing. “Tomas, did you ride a motorcycle?”

“Nawp, was a itty dirt bike, Mom.” A year older than Jon, he tried to sound bored with the activity, but looking at his face, it had obviously been exciting, even at the advanced age of four years old.

Daniel stood, reaching back into the booth to gather Mica’s purse. “Time to take these baby Rebels home, I suspect.” Turning, he glanced at Duck and Fury, gave them a nod and then his gaze landed on Mason. With a grin he said, “Bikes.” He chuckled. “Boys and their toys. See ya around, old man.”

With a snort, Mason nodded. “Chase wants a bike in the worst way. I’ve staved it off so far with the truck, but it’s comin’, I think.” Chase was his son, just turned seventeen and nearly ready to leave home for college…or a musical career, depending on the boy’s mood of the day.

Goodbyes done, Mica, Molly, and J.J. all headed for the exit, but Daniel hovered at the end of the table, gaze fixed on Mason. “How’s Hoss doing?” Duck tipped his chin down, not wanting to look at Mason’s face, but as he shifted, he realized Fury had gone absolutely still next to him, frozen in place. From the corner of his eye, Duck saw a profound pain wash over the man’s features, heard him take in a shallow, unsteady breath as Mason said, “Doin’ about as well as you’d expect, glad as fuck he got his boy back like he did, whole and safe. But he’s still holdin’ onto fear it happened that easy.”

Hoss, veep of the Fort Wayne chapter, was living with a woman who had brought her son into his life. Hope and Sammy. Two months earlier, the boy’s daddy had kidnapped him, and it had been a hard and frightening two days before Hoss and Hope got him back.

“Give him my best,” Daniel said and waited for Mason’s nod. “See ya around.” With a hand lifted in farewell, he turned and walked to his wife, wrapping his arm around her and their son, escorting his family out the door.

Twisting his neck, Fury reached up a hand, smoothing the long strands of his trademark red hair back from his face. He looked up at Mason, then over at Duck and said, “Business here, or private room?”

***

Mason watched Duck’s face as Fury spoke. Smooth and still, his features were expressionless, hiding everything. This was one of the smartest men he knew, able to look at a problem and suss it out without any fucking clues other than what was in front of him. Duck was important to him in many ways, only one of which was a key member of the club. According to Watcher, the man had a woman in Lamesa, a serious someone he hadn’t shared knowledge about with Mason, even when he asked for permission to head out of town for a few days. Those few days had turned into weeks, still with no end in sight if his comment earlier about heading right back out was true.

He needed to get a read on Duck about the girl and how things sat with Watcher’s boys. Not something to be talked about over the phone, or even via video chat, he had wanted the man in his house and in front of his face when he asked the questions, determined to talk it through until things were answered to his satisfaction. Not that he would ever worry about Duck’s loyalty, but there were a lot of clubs out west who were not friendly to the Rebels and every nuance of his insight would be valuable.

“Here is good,” he said smoothly and Fury nodded.

Turning back to Duck, Mason decided to get the hardest questions out there on the table. “Watcher called,” he said, and then paused. With a sigh, he said, “Told me you weren’t covered, brother. Said it chilled his bones to see you without your colors, man. Wanna talk me through the situation he found you inside? Tell me how he handled himself? Man called, pissed as hell, until I talked it through with him. I need your take on it, brother.”

Fury, having heard only the parts about the woman, jerked back in the seat next to Duck, physically reacting to the words, twisting his torso to look at Duck, eyebrows raised.

Duck snorted a laugh and Mason tensed, knowing the tension in his stance would be a clear response to what some would count a deadly insult. “Prez. Brother. Watcher was cool. He got we didn’t know he had a charter in town. His boys were cool, too.”

Mason frowned and shook his head. “No, he fucking was not.”

“Yeah, he was, Prez. I told you I’d be wearing on the plane, but once I hit the ground, I’d pack them away. Respect, man. We vetted my visit with him and he didn’t raise any questions. We did not vet my visit with other local clubs. I saw him, stopped and paid my respects. Met some of his men, put faces to names with some we’ve dealt with long distance. There is no shit that’s going to come back to roost on my brothers, my club. He was cool, totally.”

Duck shook his head, reading into the silence this was serious and Mason watched the muscles in his forearms and hands bulge, fisted balls at the end of his arms. “I would not fucking disrespect him that way, Mason. Soldiers are allies, a club we depend on when in need. To fuck with them is to fuck with our club, which is not something I would do.” He thumped his chest with one of those balled fists, grinding out the words, “Rebel Wayfarers forever,” and Mason and Fury both repeated the answering phrase, the words ringing out as if they sat in church with a half-hundred brothers, “Rebels forever.”