Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (42 page)

Her sister had met Ray, who approached her much like he had Mica so many years ago. Molly thought he had drugged her, because she hadn’t been drinking, but was really out of it and didn’t remember much about the night. When she woke up the next day, she was afraid she’d had sex, because there were deep bite marks on her thighs, and her genital area was sore and bruised. That had been five weeks ago, and now a test showed she was pregnant.

When she finally finished talking, it was long past dinnertime, and Mica’s voice was as raw and hoarse as her emotions. Her aunt and uncle seemed almost numb and shocked. As hard as it had been to talk about, Mica knew it had to be as hard to hear, listening to the pain and knowing it was too late to make a difference or help with most of it.

Molly was all cried out; she’d gone to sleep on the couch with her head in Mica’s lap. Mason had come in at some point and had wedged himself into the couch behind Mica. She was thankful for his presence; she relaxed as she nestled between his legs and leaned back on his chest.

Tomorrow was soon enough to get a plan together; tonight was for sleep—hopefully deep, dreamless sleep. She woke Molly up gently, and asked Essa to walk her up to bed. The two girls were so close as friends, and they hugged as they helped each other up the hallway.

Mica knew that Tug and Slate were bunking with the ranch hands, and she knew Mason had intended to do the same, but she didn’t want to be alone. Turning to look at him, she asked, “Would I be the most selfish person on earth if I wanted to just cuddle and fall asleep with you tonight?”

“Nope,” he said, smiling down at her, “that would be me, wanting to sleep next to you all night tonight. Come on, babe, let me wrap you up. I’m tired.”

50 -
            
Rodeos

A few days later, Mica and her friends accompanied her cousin and sister to the rodeo they’d qualified for in Houston. Strolling across the fairgrounds, Mica closed her eyes and deeply breathed in the smell that was rodeo and state or county fairs. There was the mixed, musty, and rank smell of animals, of course, including the scent of the hide, fur, and hair, and their combined poop.

Beyond that, there was a myriad of scents that were individually and collectively recognizable as rodeo: The pungent scent of fresh strewn pine chips in the show arenas and stalls. The rich, clover smell of alfalfa being fed to horses. The hot and dry smell of roasted peanuts. The overly sweet smell of cotton candy, telling you with its high overtones that wasps and bees would be nearby. The smell of leather and neat’s-foot oil as someone cleaned tack. The faint chemical aromas of diesel trucks and generators idling in the parking lots.

She loved rodeo, everything about it. Always had. It was one of the things Ray had taken from her, because she knew he would find her if she continued competing.

She had stopped in the middle of a walkway to tip her head back and inhale the scents from the air with quick, small sniffs. Knowing she wasn’t alone, she said without opening her eyes, “Tug, do you think I’m crazy if I love this smell?” Hearing a deep laugh, she grinned widely. She loved that he laughed at her. He was convinced it wouldn’t do to take things too seriously, even oneself. After the laugh, Tug told her he did not understand what she meant, because all he smelled was stink. Grabbing his hand, she opened her eyes and tried to find an analogy that would make sense.

“Tug, you’ve ridden motorcycles for a long time, right?” She already knew what his answer would be; he’d been riding for decades. When he responded in the affirmative, she continued, “If there is a line of bikes coming down the street, would you hear the entire roar, or would you hear each engine at some point as they passed you? That singular noise of one bike making itself heard clear, could you tell the difference between the makes and models by the sound? I bet you can for at least some of them.”

She stretched her hand out to the fairground, spinning slowly to have her gesture encompass the entire event. “That’s what I smell here. I smell the individual layers of scent, and each brings a memory back to life for me. It makes me feel alive again.”

Tug cleared his throat. “Princess, there are few sure things in life, but being content at the memories you have, which are triggered by a single scent—that is a true gift. Plus barbeque…barbeque is a gift, too.”

Standing straighter, Mica batted her eyelashes at Tug exaggeratedly, nodding. “Tug, do you remember where the rig is parked? This Houston fairground is so big I could easily get turned around, and I bet the same goes for you. Do you remember where to go? I think there’s a pit vendor next to the parking spot.”

Tug shook his head sorrowfully. “I thought you were the one dropping breadcrumbs, princess. How are we gonna get back now?”

Mica laughed at him, throwing her head back. More than one head raised and turned their way, both male and female, looking for the owner of that joyful and confident laughter. She glanced around the crowds, seeing all the couples, young and old, holding hands, sharing two-foot-long corndogs, leaning together and sneaking quick kisses while they stood in line for rides, and her heart broke a little, wishing a certain someone was here to enjoy this with her.

“Tug,” she shook her head at her thoughts and quietly asked, “Do you think Daniel will come down with the Mallets for the game? It’s not a playoff game, just an exhibition. I got Mason to get tickets for me, but couldn’t convince him to let me call and find out for sure.”

“Princess, I don’t know,” he said sadly, looking around them at the crowds. “If Daniel doesn’t even know you are here, why would he come if he’s busy with his other businesses?”

“I know it was my decision, but I am so frustrated at not being able to let him know everything. What if he can’t see these weeks were necessary in order to make sure everyone was safe? Will he ever understand I was hurting right along with him? I talked to J.J. again last week, and he said Daniel is drinking too much and still playing recklessly.” Mica pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and fingers. “I miss him, Tug.” She looked at him. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Tug lunged towards her, grabbing her shoulders in his hands and shaking her. He rattled her head back and forth until she made an angry noise and moved away from him, slapping his hands away. “What are you doing, Tug? Knock it off already.”

He looked into her face, curling his lip under his mustache. “Are you pissed off yet, Princess? You need me to shake you up a little more? If you want the hockey guy, then fight for the hockey guy, but shut the fuck up and stop  whining about it. You are the only one who can effect a change in your life; you know this. Own it. Don’t make me learn you again.”

Mica looked at him, scowling when his words hit home. “I haven’t been simply passively accepting everything that comes my way, you know. I can’t control Ray; I can want to…but I can’t. I get sick when I think of the things he threatened to do to my friends, to Daniel’s family. What if he had hurt Darlene like he threatened in those letters? Should I have simply waited for Daniel’s mother to be mugged and then have said, ‘Oh, by the way, Ray said he would and he did.’? Or what about J.J.? He’d be so vulnerable if he were in a car wreck. Ray was real specific with that one, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him isolated and stranded without a way to get help or move around.” Her voice broke. “Look at what he did to Molly, and he never even gave me an inkling of what he intended. Imagine how much more thorough he can be when he’s taunting me with what damage he could cause. Look at what he already did, Tug.”

Frowning at her, Tug reached out and grabbed her shoulders again. She tensed up, thinking he was going to shake her head off once more, but he pulled her into a hard hug, letting her rest her forehead against his chest.

After a minute, she reached up and tugged at his long, white hair, stepping back and smiling up at him. “Do you have to go shirtless, Tug? You’re all sweaty.”

He laughed and stepped back, flapping the edges of his leather vest against his bare stomach. Grinning at her, he teased, “What do you mean, princess? I look good. The ladies here love a man who’s not afraid to be all open and out there.” He rubbed a hand over his belly, looking around.

They walked back to where the truck and trailer were parked. It was further from the arena than they liked, but they’d needed a large trailer since they had brought horses for both of them. It had a huge living quarters in the front, and room for five horses. Walking through the fairgrounds, they continued chatting about the rodeo attendees, making up stories and histories for them as they wandered past.

Mica also started mentally keeping a running count of the number of female glances that did indeed linger on Tug, and there were lots more than she had thought there would be. He was a nice looking man, if a little intimidating with his biker vest and bandana on.

They were both in a good mood when they got back, and she opened the door of the living space to grab a couple of buckets to sit on. They stood there stunned for a second, looking at the mess in the trailer. The entire space had been upended, all of Essa and Molly’s tack and clothes mixing with feed and liquid on the floor.

With sudden fear, Mica spun towards the back of the trailer and ran around to check the horses. She drew in a shaky breath of relief when they seemed to be okay, but she got started unloading them. She wanted to run her hands over each of them to make sure nothing was wrong. “Tug,” she yelled, “call Slate and Mason, would ya?”

Moving the first horse to the side of the trailer, she was shocked to see Tug sitting on the ground, leaning up against the trailer with his back towards her. There was something red in his hair, just below his bandana. “Tug?” She quickly tied the horse to the side of the trailer and ran over to him; he hadn’t moved. She called again, “Tug?” and a hand grabbed her upper arm, twisting it behind her and shoving her face-first into the hot metal side of the trailer.

“Don’t say anything,” hissed a voice next to her ear. “Don’t yell, don’t struggle, and don’t scream.” Her stomach dropped sickeningly; she knew that voice. “He’s okay; he’ll have a headache when he wakes up, but right now, he
will
wake up,” the voice continued, “so what you don’t want to do is piss me off, Michaela. I would strongly advise against pissing me off if you want to have this piece of shit still among the living at the end of the day.”

She felt him press up against her, grinding his erection into her ass and shoving her
painfully into the side of the trailer. “What you want to do is make sure I’m the happiest motherfucker around, so you will walk with me now, and we will walk slowly.”

She was quickly unpinned from the trailer, and her arm was brought down from between her shoulder blades and yanked backwards, pulling her away and into him. Mica turned around and faced her fears, because the worst thing she could have ever thought of was happening. Ray had a hand on her arm, pulling her away from the trailer and away from Tug, who was still lying on the ground.

Standing there in a black hat, vest, and shirt, he had sponsor patches all over his vest and shirt, but her focus was on his face. He was smiling at her, but the smile never went further than his mouth. The dimple in his chin and the upturned corners of his mouth were in direct contrast to the rage and anger in his eyes.

She felt his hand shaking where it gripped her arm, which told her he was about to lose control. “Ray, you can’t do this.” She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of his face. “Tug is hurt; I can’t leave him like that.”

Her eyes opened, and he dropped the grotesque smile as his lips thinned dangerously and his jaw clenched tightly. “Michaela, I can and I am. Now, walk with me.” He tightened his hold on her arm and pulled her away from the trailer, walking her towards the arena at an even and unremarkable pace.

“Ray, no.” She stopped walking, trying to pull her arm out of his grip.

“Michaela, walk,” he gritted out between his teeth, pulling hard on her arm. “I told you in Chicago that you are still mine, and I intend to make sure you
clearly
understand everything that entails.” His voice rose as he spoke. “I told you I’d find you. I told you you’re mine. You are
mine
, Michaela.
Mine!
” She cringed back from him as he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth as his face turned red, and his clasp on her arm tightened even more painfully.

Walking forward, he kept her arm in his hand, but seemed to care less about appearances, now willing to drag her behind him if needed. Mica stumbled, her feet twisting underneath her as her legs threatened to give way.

She thought to herself that she couldn’t let him take her, and yelled, “Help! Let me go! Ray Nelms, you let me go! Help me!” and saw people starting to look their way. Encouraged, she let her legs go limp, dropping to the ground and letting him drag her on her back as she continued to scream for help. Ray turned around to backhand her across the face, whipping her head to the side and knocking blood across the dirt as her nose bled from the blow.

“Get up, Michaela. Right now, get up before I hurt you.” He leaned in close and whispered in her face, “Don’t say another thing; just get up right now and walk, or I will fucking kill you.”

Her face numb, she twisted hard in his hand, seeing his other arm pull back for another blow. Her heels scrambled for panicked purchase in the loose dirt of the parking area; she thought he really might kill her this time.