Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) (25 page)

Duck pulled up beside the ranch house, hands reaching automatically to shut off the engine. He winced as the pain hit him.
Even normal, easy things are difficult with broken fingers, burns, and blisters
, he thought. The porch light was on, and before he could step out of the truck, the front door had slammed open and Brenda was running towards him, arms pumping, head up to look at him. He stood up quickly, seeing fear on her face just before she hit his chest, driving him back against the bed of the truck.

“Jesus.” He gave a pained grunt, arms coming up to wrap around her. “Bee, baby. Little Bee, what’s wrong?”

“The man on the phone said you found her.” She was gasping, sounding near tears and he cradled her to him, wrapping her up, reassuring her with the strength of his hold that he was here, with her. “He said your phone wasn’t working, so he called. Said you were okay.”

“Yeah, I am. Baby, hush now. I’m here.” Nuzzling the side of her head, he breathed her scent, filling his lungs with the freshness that was Brenda, soothed in ways he didn’t even understand just by holding her. “I’m okay. Myron called you, he told you the truth, baby. My phone got fried, so I had to get someone to ask him. I didn’t want to take the time and stop to replace it on the way because I wanted to be here, not listening to you on the phone. I wanted to be here, with you.”

“You’re okay?” The question was a whisper, her lips moving against his neck, her arms tightening around him, holding him close.

“Couple broke fingers, some surface damage, but nothing big. Nothing bad.” When she would have pulled back, he tightened his grip, keeping her in place, molded against him. “Be still, baby. Let me just…I wanted this. Let me have this for a minute.”

At his words, she subsided, melting back into him, her head resting on his shoulder. “You’re okay.” Said now with more confidence, he still reassured her.

“Yeah, baby. I’m okay. Gal’s okay, too. She’s on her way to my friends in Chicago. They’ll keep her safe.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Brenda walked beside him into the kitchen and when she saw him underneath the bright light, it felt like the room tilted, her stomach pitching in dismay. He had what looked like burns across his chin, cheeks, and forehead, blisters in the shape of fingerprints on his throat. And his hands…she sucked in a shocked breath.

His poor hands
. Three fingers of one hand were taped together, probably the broken ones he had referred to. Scabs crisscrossed the knuckles on both hands, black lines of stitches drawn across the hills and valleys in between. The burns, though, they were the worst, the skin of his palms looking like it had been peeled back. Raw and seeping flesh showed through the cracked and broken surface.

It looked like he had put them through a meat grinder, and she winced at the thought of him driving himself home, not wanting to take time for proper treatment so he could return to her. The man on the phone was clearly upset by his insistence on leaving right away and made her promise to take him to the clinic if she thought it was needed.

She pointed to a chair beside the table and said, “Sit.” With a grunt, he started to drag the chair out with the toe of his boot and she helped, adjusting it to give him room to seat himself. Frowning, she realized he wasn’t wearing his own pants. These were too big, held up by a belt, but bagging around his hips and thighs. “Where are your pants, Reu—Duck?” Barely catching herself, she changed her words at the last moment.

“Trashed,” he said, sitting with a huffed sigh. “Fuck me, I’m tired.” He paused, the corners of his mouth curling the slightest amount. “Home, though. Home feels good.” Tipping his head backwards, he rolled his neck with a groan, blowing out a heavy breath. “Feels like I could sleep a week.”

“Let me get your hands cleaned up,” she said and frowned when he shook his head.

“Doc got me before I left. Shot me up with antibiotics. Had to guess, but he smeared all kinds of shit on me to neutralize the compounds. Covered all the burns. I’m good, baby.” Eyes closed, he didn’t see her shock at his confirmation of what his wounds looked like. Chemical burns. He continued, “I’m just fucking tired, Bee. Made it home, my goal. Hadn’t thought past that, just wanted you. Wanted to be with you.” He lifted his head with a weary effort, eyelids opening halfway, gaze locked on her face. A crooked half-smile preceded his next words. “Wanted you.”

“Then let's get you to bed,” she said, reaching out to tug at his elbow. When he winced, she frowned. “Where are you hurt, Duck?”

“All over, baby,” he muttered, struggling to stand, swaying on his feet once he made it there. “Fucking everything hurts. My whole fucking body feels like one crispy, strained muscle. But, it’s worth everything to get Isabella back for her daddy, her family. Worth everything to get that girl out of the hole she was in. Worth anything.”

Her arm around his waist, they walked up the stairs. Once in the bedroom, he toed off his boots while she worked the buckle of his belt. She unfastened the unfamiliar pants, letting them sag to the floor, gasping again as it revealed even more damage to his body. He had what looked like the worst case of road rash she had ever seen. Skin raw and oozing from mid-thigh to mid-shin, front and sides. His flanks hadn’t avoided damage, with scrapes and burns on his hips and ass. “Jesus,” she whispered, squatting to pull his socks off, thankful his feet appeared to have escaped unscathed.

Grunting, he tried to unbutton his shirt, and she scowled up at him, silently rebuking until he dropped his arms to his sides, lifting his chin to give her easy access once she stood. Draping his leather vest on top of her dresser, she peeled the shirt off where it had plastered to his shoulders only to find more burns on his arms, elbows and forearms, and shoulders. Across his back burned down in places to what looked like the second layer of skin. “Duck,” she whispered, finally seeing the full breadth of the damage. “Baby.
Jesus
. What in the world happened to you?”

“Let me get into bed. Just…” He sighed, rolling his shoulders with a pained twist of his mouth. “I’ll tell you anything, baby. Answer any question. Just let me…” He turned and kicked his pants, uttering a groan and wincing at the jolt when he connected. “Got some pain pills in there. Can you get me a couple out? I was supposed to take ‘em hours ago, but couldn’t open the bottle.”

She rushed to get the pills, then back downstairs for water. He was seated on the edge of the bed when she returned, head bent far forward, exhaustion written in every line of his body. Shaking two of the purple tablets from the unmarked bottle, she put them in his mouth and then held the bottle of water for him so he didn’t have to try to grip it with his hands. “Jesus,” she whispered again.

“Looks worse than it is,” he tried to reassure her, but then groaned when the burns on his back stuck to the sheet as he tried to slide into bed.

“No, it’s bad, Duck. This is really bad, baby. I’m so sorry.” She laid down next to him, carefully not touching him, propped up on her bent elbow, gaze roaming his face.

“I’m not,” he said, staring at her. “No hesitation. Knowing the cost, I’d still do it again. No question.”

“I know you would, hero man.” She tried for levity and felt it fall flat, Duck’s eyes staring at her. “No, really. I know you would, Duck.” She swallowed, thinking of the voice of the man on the phone tonight, telling her Duck was coming home to her. That he was okay; he had saved the girl.

She thought of the care in Myron’s tone, his words claiming this man next to her in a way she barely understood. Calling him brother with a meaning running deep and rock-solid; the truth an anchor against the currents of the world that could unmoor a lesser bond and she said again, “I know you would.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers as he raised a hand to her cheek, stroking her skin with the backs of his fingers. Then he began to talk, telling her what happened, and she listened, taking it in. In the end, she did understand the man on the phone, because this one in front of her—her man—Duck was worth everything. Worthy of the care and affection she felt for him, worth everything she had heard in Myron’s voice on the phone.

With what he had been taught as a child, the examples laid for him by his family, the fact he had turned into this strong, caring man was a miracle. That this man, after everything he had seen, all he had endured, that he had come out the other side with this kind of empathy and love for people… For her. That was amazing.
He
was amazing.
My Duck
, she thought, watching as his eyes gradually sagged closed, the pain medication finally dragging him down into sleep.

***

“Why you runnin’, bro?”

The voice echoed down the hallway, empty walls stretching off into the distance, space narrowing down small, sound growing large.

“Rue?”

Fresh echoes, red pain painting the walls this time, the voice uneasy.

“Reuben?”

Frightened.

“I never wanted this, bubba.”

Heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, leather soles hissing, sibilant noise in their wake as they slid on the bare wood. Boots meant to be durable, delivering lessons lasting far longer. Deep grunts mixed with meaty thuds. Reuben’s body jerked sideways, slamming into the wall, the back of his head connecting with the bedroom doorframe.

“Goddamned kids.” Words bursting from his father’s lips as he breathed through his exertions. “Nose where it don’t belong. What’d you see?” Something gripped his shirt, lifting his torso from the floor as it twisted him, slamming him into the wall once, twice, three times, his head flopping loosely on his neck, warmth flowing down his back. “Shed is off limits, boy. You mind your beeswax.”

“Rue, I never meant to be his kind.”

I won’t be
, he thought, finally recognizing his baby brother’s voice.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you. Not anymore.”

Crusted eyes opening, he squinted down the long hallway, fifty times its normal length, seeing a glow coming through the window at the end. Flickering lights, red and yellow, sound of sirens in the distance.

“I did it for you, bubba.”

You didn’t do anything for me. You were his, through and through.

“Not always.” Boots thundering down the stairs, shouting in the distance. “Not always, Rue.”

“Boy, you think that’ll stop me?” Dark muttering in the shadows, his father’s door opening and closing on a scream. “Burned down my play shed, think it’ll stop me?”

Not me
, Reuben thought.

“Not him,” Ray said.

“Make you sorry, boy. Break everything that matters to you.” Shrill shouts from the bedroom, voice one he knew. The pretty math teacher who tutored him, told him he was smart, made him promise to make something of himself. Get out of Lamesa, see the world. “Break it all.”

Everything fuzzed out for a minute, then the lines of the hallway snapped back into place and he saw Ray standing there. “He hurt Lessa, bubba. Hurt her so bad she was gonna leave. Leave me. I didn’t know what to do. I lost Mica, lost you. She stayed, but he was there, always there. Forever in my head.”

You killed your wife, Ray. Killed Lessa dead, her carrying your baby.

“I didn’t know. Never knew. Only good thing came of it, killing the bloodline.” Ray’s laughter spiraled high, twisting in a wind suddenly rushing down the funnel created by the hallway, spilling out through the window, chilling and insane. Broken.

You killed our father.

“Had to. He was out of control. He’d go to El Paso, come home exhausted and covered in blood, bubba. Had to. I’d stuffed it into a box, closed the lid. The crazy. Boxed up tight. Put the box in a hole, covered it up. Tried to fake normal. Faked it hard. Kept the monster in the box. Taped, tied, chained…didn’t matter. He wanted me to go. Wanted to dig up that box.” Ray leaned close, lips barely moving as he told the secrets staining his soul. “Dug it up. Made me, bubba. Made. Me. Had to.”

You tried to kill Mica.

“She was the key. My key. My beacon. Started it all for me in earnest. If she was gone, I could put it back in the box. Stop. Stop being what I was. She was the start, and would be the end. She could be the new box.” Head tipped to the wall, Ray stared at the ceiling and Reuben stared at him, mesmerized by what was playing out in front of him.

“Tried to stop. Couldn’t. Every time I said it was the last. Promised myself. Then it would start to build again. It built and built. Swelling in me like a sick infection, you think I didn’t know it was sick? I did, Rue. It was sick, seeds planted by our old man. I couldn’t cut it out. That shit was too deep. Rooted inside me, all I knew. So fucking deep. Infested.

“So I’d lance it, let the pus leak out. Find relief. Things would be better so I’d let that hole heal up, seal over. But it didn’t work. I needed a box because the stinking shit would start to build again, festering inside me. She was the first who made it better. In between times, I mean. She made it better, made it not so hard.” He brought his chin down, staring at Reuben seated on the hallway floor. “That’s how it lasted so long with her. Because in between, she made it better. She was the strongest I found, the strongest box. I wanted that back. She wouldn’t give it back to me, Rue. I couldn’t find it again, and I looked. God, how I looked. Went through a hundred boxes, none of them her. So she would have been the end.”