Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (38 page)

“Daniel never told me he’d been married.” She was chewing pensively on the side of her thumb, and Slate knew that meant she was struggling with her thoughts. She continued, “In all the time we were together, he never thought to mention he had an ex-wife? What does that mean?”

“Princess, maybe he didn’t want to talk about his old lady with his new lady.” He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, it is the simplest shit that tears us up inside. Did your Googling tell you why they split?” Slate chuckled at the look on her face; she was seriously pissed.

With her still chewing on her thumb, he thought at this rate, her nail would be gnawed down to a nub by the time she went to bed. Mica said, “One article intimated she had an affair, but nothing was spelled out.” Nodding his head sagely, he stood up and unknotted his tie, pulling the hated thing from his neck.
Fucking noose
. Shrugging off the suit jacket, he slung it over the stool and started unbuttoning the shirt.

“If she was strolling around on him, that can hurt deep,” he tried to find the words, “and maybe he didn’t want to bring that shit down on you. Shit like that can brand you, so maybe he didn’t want the pain to leak on what you had with him.”

She was looking at him, and had one of those funny looks on her face she got when she didn’t understand him. It looked like she was either going to be sick or had gas…or maybe both. That look always made him laugh.

“Wish you could have been there when just ‘Slate’ wasn’t enough for her; she had to turn me into
Mister
Slate, like I’m some big shit or something.” He grinned at Mica and then growled, “You fucking tell the brothers about that shit, and I’ll send Tucker over in my place.”

She groaned. Tuck, even as a full-patch brother now, wasn’t one of her favorite people, so Slate didn’t think she’d say anything now. “I been meaning to ask why you don’t like Tucker, princess.” He liked using the title, knowing she didn’t really understand what it meant to the brothers in the club. “What did he do to get on your shit list?” He opened the fridge and snagged a beer, arching one brow in question at her.

She shook her head, frowning hard, her long hair flying around her shoulders like she was standing in a fucking windstorm. “I don’t dislike Tucker, but if Mason wants me to have babysitters, then I prefer others be here instead of him.”

Opening his beer, he said, “Princess, there’s gotta be a real reason behind that face you are making.” Slate padded towards her. “Give it up; tell Uncle Slate all about it. I can straighten shit out if needed.”

Shaking her head again, she stepped to one side, pulling out her teapot and filling it with hot water. “I simply do not like him…here.” She took in a rough breath. “He was here the night Ray was, Slate.”

What the hell?
he thought. “Do you blame him for what happened, Mica?”

“No, never,” she snapped back, her eyes flashing, “he did…you
all
did everything asked of you, and more.”

“Then what, exactly,” he crowded her a little in the kitchen; sometimes you had to get her off-balance before she’d be honest—he knew her like she was one of his cousins by now, “is the fucking deal?”

She spun towards him, getting all up in his face. “He saw me naked, okay? He saw me naked, and I don’t like it.” Turning back towards the sink, she was hiding her face in her hair, tipping her head down so the loose curls fell to either side of her face like a curtain.

Slate stepped away slowly, giving her back her space. “Mica, Tug and I were here that night, too. Mason was here. Tucker wasn’t the only one. We all saw you.” He rubbed his hands over the back of his neck. “Hell, you were practically rubbing your titties all over me when you were putting Band-Aids on half my face. You can’t be upset at just Tucker for that.” He shook his head. “You didn’t even realize you didn’t have panties on until the next day. What the fuck? We were not focused on your pussy, or your titties, or your ass. We were
all
focused on minimizing the damage, and keeping you safe.”

Her shoulders were jerking up and down, and he thought she was crying, but couldn’t be sure. Slate reached out, laid a hand on her back, flat, and still between her shoulder blades, trying to let her know she wasn’t alone. “Fuck, if you wanted someone gone for seeing you all naked, why not me? I’m a fucking asshole more often than not, and I know it. Shit, Tucker is a boy, hardly fearsome.”

She spun back around towards him, and he saw the tear tracks down her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked fiercely pissed off. “Because he touches me, okay? He keeps touching me every time he’s here—on the arm, pulling my hair off my neck, on my back,” she hissed the words out. “Every time he is around me, he finds a way to touch me, and I hate it. It’s like, because he saw me naked, he thinks he has a right, and I hate it. It’s nothing blatantly sexual, not really harassing…but he puts his hands on me every time, and
I hate it
.”

By the time she finished spitting the words out, he had grabbed her arm and pulled her into a tight hug, like he’d seen Mason do many times. He knew at these times she needed a physical closeness with someone she trusted. Since she hadn’t reacted as if his touch a second ago had threatened her, Slate hoped he could be that trusted person for her right now.

Stroking her hair soothingly, he shushed her. He let her know she’d been heard, and that it was going to be okay. “He won’t be back here ever, Mica. I got this; I promise you. Shhhh, princess, it won’t happen. I got you. You are a fucking treasure, and I won’t let it happen. I got this for you.”

Slate felt her relaxing into him, even though her shoulders still moved with quiet sobs. He thought for a minute, and then spoke, “Digger is due here soon. Want me to call him off for a little while?” She shook her head. Still speaking softly, he assured her, “That’s okay; he’s a good guy. Do you want to go wash your face, princess? I’ll order pizza and call Dig real quick to pick up some more beer. We’ll watch some fucking reality show and laugh our asses off, yeah?” He leaned his upper body in an arch backwards, holding her around the waist and looking down at her face.

She laughed and took a step back, putting distance between them. Her face scrunched and she reached out to trail a finger down his bare chest, tracing the tears she had left there. Taking a shaky breath, she whispered, “You are a great guy, Slate. A wonderful friend. Thank you.” Walking away towards her bedroom, she shouted over her shoulder, “Oh, yeah, I think one of the dancing shows is on tonight, so good call.”

Grumbling, “Fuck me…dancing,” he pulled out his phone and dialed, stepping over and looking to make sure she was all the way down the hallway. “Dig, bring beer.” He waited for an acknowledgement, and then hung up. Dialing again, he left a message. “Tucker, relieved of duty tonight, talk tomorrow.”

Hanging up, he took a deep breath and called another number. “Prez, we needa call a meeting. We got a fucking serious problem in the club, man. Gonna cut a rocker I ‘spect.” After listening to the growling tones on the other end of the line, he replied, “I’m at Mica’s place. I can come over after Dig gets here, but I need to stay here for now, Prez.” He heard his response and answered, “Yeah, okay, tomorrow is soon enough. I’ll take care of what I need to tonight, and you can let me know the time and place. I got this, Mason.”

Hanging up on that call, he stepped back over to see if Mica was on her way back up the hallway, and then dialed a final time. “Roach, brother, need you to take a shift tonight, soon as you can. Replacing Tucker, I have other plans for him. Duck’s on a run; he won’t be back for a couple weeks. Need you, brother.”

47 -
            
Dancing shows

Several hours later, Mica seemed centered and comfortable again. She had been back in the kitchen by the time Digger got there with the beer, chatting with Slate. She took it from him and put it in the refrigerator, taking out four cans and leaving them sitting on the cabinet.

Roach had gotten there not long after, pulling up on the cement pad Mason had poured as soon as the ground had thawed, so they had a stable place to park their bikes. The pizza arrived at the same time, so Roach paid for it standing in the yard, and then carried it inside.

Mica had squealed and hugged his neck, burying her face into the side of his thick, bushy beard and tugging the leather skullcap off his head. “I never get to see you anymore, Roach. I’m so glad you’re here.”

He peeled her off him and patted his belly, saying simply, “I heard there was pizza.” She laughed, and petted his beard for another minute, drawing a big, white grin from him.

Mica then turned to Digger and laid a hand over his bulging bicep. He was one of the few guys in the club who really worked out, and he showed it all over. Slate wasn’t jealous; he knew that while Digger was defined and sculpted in ways that women found irresistible, he had a glaring flaw. Slate thought it was hilarious that ripped and chiseled Dig was painfully shy around women.

Digger tucked his chin into his chest, saying a quiet, “Hey,” to Mica. Then, he folded in on himself, seeming to make his six-and-a-half-foot tall frame much smaller as she ran a hand up under his shirt to rub across his six-pack abs, making him giggle like a fucking girl. She knew he was ticklish, and tortured him like this frequently.

Sitting on the living room floor a little while later, leaning back against the couch right in front of where Mica sat cross-legged, Slate was balancing his second plate of pizza on his chest. He growled when Mica shifted around, jostling him. Then, as he looked up, he saw movement outside, a form walking past the bay window towards the back of the house.

He quickly set the plate on the floor, saying softly, “Roach, take her,” as he rolled to his feet and hit the remote for the lights, turning them all out at once. He heard Roach grab Mica and head to the hallway, waiting with her there to see what would happen.

Hustling to the kitchen door, Slate was standing beside it when a hand started hammering against the doorframe. Jerking the door open, he reached out and grabbed the arm that went with the hand, and yanked it hard into the house, slamming the door closed behind the person. Using hands, knees, and his hips, he immobilized the body against the wall, tensely telling Digger, “Lights.” He blinked into the brightness, and stepped back quickly as he realized it was a girl he had pinned in front of him.

The minute he relaxed, she exploded into motion, turning quickly and trying to sweep his feet out from under him. He knocked away two fast hits, grabbing her arm again on the third one, not wanting to hurt her by mistake if she happened to connect. “What the hell?” he muttered, snatching and immobilizing her other hand too.

Dark brown eyes glared at him from a tanned and beautiful face. For a moment, he could see the thoughts running through her brain furiously, and then her mouth opened, yelling loudly, “Michaela Trenton Scott, are you here? It’s Essa!” Slate abruptly released her hands, moving quickly, but attentively to block the girl as Mica tried to run into the room.

Digger also stepped between her and the girl, saying in his deep voice, “Princess, hold,” and putting his hands out to catch Mica before she made it past him. The girl had turned her dirty look on Digger, and then her eyes widened as Roach barreled into the room too.

Mica was pushing Digger’s hands away absently, a wide, welcoming smile on her face for the girl. “Essa, oh, my gawd. What are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you get here?”

Slate made a hand motion, and Digger and Roach both backed up a step, letting Mica have a clear path to the girl. She couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, and was a little taller than Mica, but lean in a way that spoke of constant physical activity, something Slate hadn’t seen in a long while. She was dressed in blue jeans, a black tank top, a jean jacket, and cowboy boots. Her dark hair brushed the top of her shoulders, and her eyes were sparkling now as she hugged Mica’s neck as hard as she could.

Slate shook himself. “Mica?” He needed to know what this meant, and as he waited for her response, he made another hand motion, twirling a finger at the guys. They went out the door, heading in opposite directions to take predetermined routes around the house, checking for things out of order.

Mica stepped back from the girl, keeping one arm slung around her neck and grinning. “Slate, this is my little cousin, Essa.” Pointing to Slate, she said to the girl, “Essa, this is Slate. Don’t worry; he’s not as tough as he tries to look,” and she grinned at him.

Standing tucked in next to Mica, the girl leaned back and looked up at Slate’s face with a little wave. “Mr. Slate, pleased to meet you.” He groaned because that was twice in one day that a pretty girl had called him ‘mister’, and he knew Mica wouldn’t miss it.

She grinned. “Just Slate, Essa; he’s…just, Slate. So tell me, what are you doing here? Have you had supper?”

Roach and Digger came back in from outside, Roach making an ‘okay’ sign with his fingers and thumb. “Just a truck and horse trailer, no one in either, unless you count the pissed off nag.” Slate watched the girl bristle at that; she clearly wanted to defend something, but it seemed she might be intimidated, at least a little bit, and didn’t say anything. Slate flexed, thinking maybe it was by all the bare skin that surrounded her; he and Digger were both shirtless, their ink on full display.

“I could eat,” she said slowly, looking from Mica to each of the men in turn.