Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) (30 page)

A moment later, the door opened, and the big biker stood in the opening, one arm braced on the top of the frame. “Yeah, Prez?”

“Enemies,” Mason said softly. “Name ‘em.”

Taking hardly a moment to think, Gunny started reciting, “Individuals, we got the normal lineup in Deacon, Morgan, Shooter, Lalo, Chismoso…there’s only a couple of clubs that qualify. Sins of the Brother, Outriders, Diamante. Anyone still hanging around from the Fiends, which is unlikely, might be old River Riders if they have a hard-on for your brother, and Devil’s Sins holdouts who didn’t fall for Rogue’s bullshit. Any of the bad outs we’ve had over the past years.” Gunny stepped inside the office, swinging the door shut and leaning against the wooden surface. “What’s up?”

“We have credible intel Lalo has someone we want.”

Slate lifted his gaze to Gunny’s face and then dropped it back to Mason.

“How credible?” Gunny’s voice held a low hum of anger, and the door creaked as he shifted against it restlessly.

Mason’s lip curled as he growled out, “From his lips to my ears.”

“Fuck. Let me think a minute. Make some calls.” Gunny turned without waiting for a response and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

“You agree with his list?”

“Yeah. And, I’m with you. I think enemies are a good place to look. Fuck knows we’d pay a hell of a lot to get our hands on Deacon or anyone from the Sins.” Slate shrugged. “Ear to the wind on the other side of things, too. I’ll wait for the rest of the chapters to check-in, let you know what we find out.” He paused a moment, then said, “I don’t know him, but Lalo doesn’t strike me as someone who makes impulsive decisions. Him going on Duck’s land, takin’ potshots at him and his old lady with kids there…Mason, that sounds about half crazy. Which don’t sound like Lalo to me.”

“Agreed,” Mason said, clenching his teeth shut on the word. “Now, you wanna give me a fucking clue why Fury would be in my fucking sister’s hotel room when I called?”

Mason wrapped his arms tightly around his brother, holding a sitting Hoss upright as he sagged against him. Raw, painful sounding sobs racked the man, grief almost tearing him in two. The doc had just walked out of the room after delivering news that stripped Hoss of nearly everything he loved. Mason had been one of the first men to reach the couple when Hope crumpled to the floor, taking Hoss down with her. The man’s hands latched onto his wife so desperately, they had to unravel his hold finger by finger until the medical staff could lift Hope to a gurney.

Mason had stood behind his brother, hand to his shoulder to grip the leather of his cut and hold Hoss upright. They remained like that, Mason standing and Hoss kneeling as the nurses and doctors worked on her. Mason’s eyes continuously flicking between the huddle of frantic activity around the too-pale woman and the clock on the wall, watching the seconds and minutes tick past. He knew it was bad; recognized expressions of agony and hurt in the despairing faces of the professionals as they glanced over their shoulders. Futility glazed darkness in their eyes when they looked towards the grieving man kneeling on the floor, knees wide to hold his weight, chin tipped to the ceiling, raw and hopeless howls of pain pouring from his mouth.

A Rebel appeared beside Mason, and the two of them had manhandled Hoss up, off the floor, taking him through a doorway to an empty room nearby. Falling silent as he gained his feet, Hoss hadn’t looked at the gurney surrounded by circles of useless medical equipment and helpless attendants. Hadn’t acknowledged anything. Simply shuffled between his friends, blank stare fixed on the floor. Once they got him inside and sitting, he hadn’t even picked up his head until Mason touched him a moment ago.

Now Hoss was holding on with despairing strength, Mason trying everything in his power to keep the man anchored in the now.

Mason knew in addition to the newborn girlchild in the hospital’s nursery, there was a young boy whose spirit had bonded with Hoss. He also knew both of those precious lives needed the man, their dad, to keep it together. To be the strong one, even if he couldn’t see his way there right now. Mason and the club would help him, be there every step of the way. Ready to lend their shoulders, strength, their deep belief in the family and connections they’d created within the club. Their brothers.

Even as grief for what Hoss was feeling tore through Mason, his imagination was running wild with the knowledge his Willa had been in Hope’s position not long ago, smiling up at him in exhausted pride after pushing new life into the world. Now Hope was gone, and he prayed to God his Willa would never fall.

Fort Wayne, Indiana

For a bitch who hadn’t been associated with the club for long, there are a fucking lot of Rebels who came to pay respects to Hoss’ old lady
, he thought, watching the steady stream of bikes and black leather heading towards the funeral home. The crowd was big, likely more than anticipated, if the waves of men and women moving into and out of the building were to be believed.

And not a fucking one is a face I recognize
, he thought bitterly. There was a time when anything to do with the Rebel club had to be conducted under his stamp of approval, or it didn’t happen. A time when every fucking face that held a center patch would be one he knew. Now there were so many fucking chapters and charters, he couldn’t keep track of who was what. Old clubs, respected clubs, closing their doors and burning their papers, joining ranks with his traitorous son.

“Mason,” he hissed, unable to kill his reaction at seeing the grey-eyed bastard walk out the door, gaze sweeping the crowd. Those eyes passed over him, and he wasn’t surprised. He had put some thought into his appearance today, wanting to get close without being recognized. In this gathering, he was just one of a couple hundred men with bandanas on their heads, beards or mustaches on their faces, and sunglasses in place against the glaring of an Indiana evening sun. It worked in his favor that enough rival and friendly clubs had sent representatives, too, so his Utah patch wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

Even as he took a breath, thinking Mason’s attention had been safely avoided, he registered the snap of the man’s head and knew those eyes were staring back at him. Turning to the side, he presented his old prodigy with a view of his back, tracking the responses of the men and women around him to gauge the weight of Mason’s continued interest.

“Fucking beauty,” a man nearby muttered, his arms wrapped around a petite brunette, one arm banded above her tits, one across her softly rounded belly. “Hope was just gorgeous. Never seen Hoss as happy.”

“I know,” a woman’s voice answered from beside Deacon, and he slowly turned to look at her. Shocked. Shocked, and thrilled.

He knew that voice. Had heard it in his dreams after listening to a recording of it for hours. “Sweet and generous. She was fierce, too. I only met her a couple of times, but she impressed me a lot.” Her voice was softer in person, less shrill, and he watched as she tipped her chin down to press soft lips to her infant son’s head. “Mason was there in the hospital. He said Hoss lost it. He loved her so much.”

“Yeah,” the man said, and Deacon watched his arms tighten around the brunette who had begun to sob, twisting her face to press against his chest, planting her cheek next to his nametag. “We had Sammy, were supposed to be there, but I ran late from the shop.” He turned the woman so she faced him, pulling her close, hand sliding up her back and into her hair as he whispered, “Shhhhhh, baby. I got you.” He lifted his eyes, gaze cutting across Deacon and to Willa standing there with what the math indicated must surely be the product of one of the longest plays he had ever engineered, silently asking the woman for help.

With a smile he hoped reached his eyes, masking his glee, because this was absolutely fucking perfect, Deacon held out his arms to Willa, telling her, “Let me hold your boy, Mason’s boy. You help Deke here with his woman.” She nodded and was reaching out, lifting the child to him when Mason’s voice lashed across the crowd.

“Deke, bring Mercy on inside. They’re ready to start.” At those words, the brunette sobbed again, her hands curling into the shirt under Deke’s cut, pulling herself tighter against him. At the same time, Willa’s arms withdrew, taking his prize with them, her son cradled to her chest once more. “Thanks,”—she looked at the nametag on his vest, a stolen mockery of Mason’s past—“…Ripper. Sounds like we need to head inside.” Looping one arm through Mercy’s, she wedged the woman between her and Deke and the three of them began the slow procession into the building.

He looked up and sucked in a hard breath when he saw Mason still looking at him. Stares locked across the heads between them, he waited for Mason to call him out. Waited for Mason to roar his name, for the masses of men to fall upon him and beat him to death with boots and bare fists. The moment passed when the trio’s path crossed between the men and their gaze was broken. Deacon took that chance to duck his head, turning and moving against the flow of men, headed to his bike parked on the fringes of the lot. He had seen what he came to see, found more than he expected. Mason’s little family was vulnerable.

Lamesa, Texas

Duck stood next to Fury, listening as Watcher gave instructions to his men. There had been unfamiliar cuts rolling through town for the past two days, and the Soldiers wanted to get shit locked down. He agreed it was a good idea, best done before some randoms decided to try and stake a claim, mistakenly thinking the club was weakened by what had gone down with Isabella. As often happened, the risk to one of their own had drawn various factions within the Soldiers together, solidifying the club.

“I want a three-a-day check on Bella,” Watcher told Pops, who nodded gravely in response, accepting the responsibility of ensuring the lines of communication stayed open between Chicago and Lamesa.

“Buy me some peace of mind, brother,” Watcher then told Spider, who also nodded in response. But that man did it while a crazy-ass grin split his face, hand already going to his phone before he had even turned away.

“Bammers.” His greeting was audible, but Duck didn’t comprehend the one-sided conversation he heard following. “
Háblame. Necesito que traigas un cuerno de chivo para el que desea a la venta
.”

Turning to Fury, Duck lifted one eyebrow in question. With a fierce smile that showed all teeth, more a snarl than anything, Fury sucked in air through his nose and quietly said, “Goat horn. Crazy man is buying AKs over the fucking phone. Banana clips, brother, he’s buying us some weight, in case we need to run ourselves out there for Watcher.”

“Fucking shit,” Duck muttered, eyes on the tattooed man who was now nodding and grinning, if anything, even wider. Since Lalo showed in town, the sense of danger had ratcheted to levels so high it was possible to taste the emotion. They still didn’t know who Lalo believed he had. All the chapters had checked in and there weren’t any leads at all, nothing any of them could put their hands to, nothing to wrap minds around. Knowing it was Fury that Lalo wanted, they were not fucking around making a show of force. Even if Lalo hadn’t known Fury was in town, that ignorance evidenced by his extreme play to get word to Mason, nobody was taking any chances. Fury being kin to Watcher was now common knowledge. Clubs who had watched as Fury worked hard to foster a trust with Mason knew it meant he would be protected by both clubs.

For Duck, if he had a chance to get his hands on the fucking Diamante member again, he would explain to the man, at painful length, how fucking wrong what he did was. He hadn’t shot at the kids,
thank fuck
, but they had been scared out of their mind when a rifle-toting stranger wanted to talk to them. Eli’d gotten Randi down the bank, hustling her between the two logs, covering and protecting her with his own body while he looked for a way to get them clear and safe.

Scared as fuck himself, he had still watched out for the girl, earning him hero status in her eyes. Randi had stuck to Eli like glue in the days since that visit went down, but not because she was still afraid. She wasn’t. That girlchild seemed fearless. Even Eli had worry written on his face every time he walked to the door, but not Randi. She was so unafraid she had told her dad and mom to not be in any particular hurry to come pick her up.

Once assured his girl was okay, Blackie spoke to Peaches and the two of them decided to do what Randi asked, so they were taking their time driving cross-country. When he told Brenda, she shook her head, and then, wrapping her arms around his waist, softly said, “Blackie is your brother. He and Peaches trust you. They trust you to do everything you can to keep her safe.”

“Us,” he had told her, just as softly, “they trust us.”

Now, standing in the large back room of the Soldiers’ bar in town, he felt the same trust coming at him from every man in the room. He was still considering what this meant when his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he saw Fury jerk, pulling out his phone, too.
Fuck
. Thumbing the screen open, he saw the message and glanced over at Fury, knowing he had the same set of instructions.

“What. The.
Fuck?
” Fury’s clipped question held a considerable measure of anger and Duck froze in place because it seemed way out of proportion to the request. They were always being moved around, pulled here by one club need, pushed there for a different one. Fuck, Fury had been back up to Chicago once already this trip, being called to the Fort wasn’t out of the norm. Pulling him solo with an active threat against him was interesting, but Fury, like Duck, could handle himself.

“Looks like you’re in the wind, brother,” Duck said, frowning.

Lips thinning, Fury turned to look at him. “Yeah,” was all he said, then he whistled and Watcher’s head came up. “Recalled,” was the only word Fury said and Duck knew the puzzlement on Watcher’s face was mirrored on his own. Thumb moving over his screen, Fury typed a response, and Duck’s phone buzzed again, then again, the two near-soundless vibrations coming so close together it nearly seemed like a single notification.

He looked down to see two messages, one from Fury, and one from Mason.
In the wind
, was what Fury had sent, and just below it in the window,
Make sure he leaves alone
, was from Mason.

***

Duck heard the shouting through the big, double doors of the barn and he sprinted from the office, pelting across the open space to the porch, only slowing when he recognized the voices as Brenda and Elias. He paused for a moment beside the door, listening closely.

“I’m not a baby, Mom,” Eli screamed and there was a metallic crash. “I can do things without you crawling up my butt all the time. I do my chores,” his voice went from a scream to a screech and Duck winced, “every single day.”

“I know you do, Eli.” In contrast, Brenda’s voice was even and as normal as she could make it, given her anger rang through loud and clear. “And, I know you aren’t a baby.”

“Then stop calling me one.” Voice cracking, Eli gave a wordless shout and there was another crash, this time sounding like breaking glass.

Brenda barked, “Stop it.”

“You don’t care. You don’t care.” Duck squeezed his eyes closed tightly at the sorrow Eli shared in his tone. “I can’t be your little boy forever, Mom.” He was whispering now, but even lower, his voice was just as intense. “I’m not a baby, and I can take care of things without you hovering. You don’t have to remind me a dozen times to feed the chickens, because I do it. Every. Single. Day. I do things. I make sure what I can do, I do. It’s what you taught me, Mom. Make other people’s lives easier by carrying your own weight. So, that’s what I do. Every. Single. Day.”

“Elly-belly.” Essa spoke from further in the house. “Let’s you and me go for a walk, yeah?” Footsteps sounded, moving into the kitchen. “I find myself in desperate need of a walk. Wanna give me one?”

“Yeah.” Tears were thick in Eli’s voice when he responded and Duck moved quickly. He stepped off the porch and walked around to the side entrance of the kitchen, not wanting the boy to know he had overheard this most recent blowup. When the backdoor slammed shut, he moved inside, already knowing what he would find, what he had found the last half a dozen times Eli had gone at his mother.

“Bee,” he called, pulling her tear-filled eyes to him and then he waited as she ran across the room to bury her face in his neck. “He’s just going through a lot, baby.”

“He hates me,” she sobbed, voice breaking between every word. “Hates me so much.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Arms tight around her, he reminded her of what she already knew. “He’s been through a lot in a short time. Tommy dying, and the shit he pulled on Eli before he passed. Then trying hard to keep things together for you. I bet you never knew how much you leaned on him in the weeks leading up to the rodeo. Now that’s behind you, and the pressure’s off, and he might feel like you don’t need him as much now. Only now, you’ve added me in the mix. His father, who’s never been around, suddenly holed up every night in the bedroom with his mother. Then throw in the shit by the creek with Lalo? Jesus, baby, it’s a wonder he’s not drooling in the corner.”

“That is a lot,” she admitted, trying to pull away but his arms tightened, holding her close.

“Yeah. Consider it an understatement, Bee. He made a friend, too, got to hang with her for a couple of weeks, and they got tight. They went through that shit together, got
real
tight. Now Randi’s gone, which means one more loss for him.” Her head moved, hair brushing his cheek and neck as she nodded. “Let’s cut him some slack, give him time to sort through his head. Essa’s good for him. They’re tight, too. Why don’t you see how he is when they get back, and then adjust your approach as needed, yeah?”

She nodded again, and he smiled, tipping his chin down so he could kiss the side of her head, lips pressing into her hair. “Now, baby. Kith me.” Smiling, he waited for her reaction and she didn’t disappoint.

When she tried to pull back this time, he gave her a few inches, looking down as she looked up at him, eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline as she said, “Seriously?”