Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (25 page)

The door burst open, and Mason suddenly filled the room with his rage. Slate was uncomfortably and totally aware that a nearly naked Mica was draped over him, finishing up with his face. Mason swept her into his arms, wrapping her up gently as he buried his face into her shoulder and neck for a second. The relief on his face was in stark contrast to the furious tone in his voice as he said, “Living room,” as he picked Mica up and carried her out of the kitchen.

Slate climbed slowly to his feet again, following them into the other room. He took a beer from Tucker, and told Mason, “He was in the house, Mason. We cleared it, but then he was in the house. He unscrewed the lights in the bedroom, and ambushed her on her way to bed.”

Tug added his insights, but Slate was thinking; he’d been trying to figure out how that fucker had gotten into the house after they did a sweep. He was certain the house had been clear, but then Nelms had gotten inside...unless...“Go check the windows in the guest bedroom,” he told Tucker.

It was the only explanation; it was the only room near Mica’s bedroom that was vulnerable, and Slate wasn’t surprised when Tucker came back with the message that the windows were unlocked. Jerking his head back towards her bedroom, he told Tucker to bring the hat out. Turning to Mason, he said, “At least we know how he got in after we cleared it. I’ll get our guy out tomorrow to work on all the entrances. We need alarms on shit.”

He watched as Mason checked Mica out, cataloging all the bruises and marks where that bastard had put his hands and feet on the woman they were supposed to have been keeping safe.
Fuck
, he thought,
we didn’t do a fucking thing right tonight
. Carefully covering her back up, Mason cut his eyes over to him and Tug. Mason asked Tucker to bring in her clothes, and Slate had a sudden thought. “Thinkin’ trophy, Prez? Her shirt was torn to shit, but she still had it on. She took it off to use it on my face.”

Tucker came back in, and it was clear her underwear was missing. Mason nodded. “Trophy.”

Tug and Slate glanced at each other, recognizing the guilt each felt. Mason caught it. “I’ll kick your asses later. Right now, focus on the reason, brothers.” They nodded, tapping fists against hard chests, mouthing the now-familiar
fucking treasure,
which was what the Rebels all said about Mica, echoing their president’s sentiments.

***

Months later, Slate was still tasked with organizing and scheduling the protection detail assigned to Mica. In the past few months, she’d hooked up with a hockey player, Daniel Rupert, and had all but moved in with him following the attack in her home. It had looked pretty serious, but then she’d bailed on the dude one day, abruptly moving back home. All along the way, Mason had focused on Mica, on keeping her safe, healthy, and happy, but never making a move on her. Slate had been confused by how fast Mason gave up on a relationship with her. It was like he had checked out of the race, but more than that, it was as if he had intentionally pulled over and let this Rupert guy sweep in and take what was his.

One night at the clubhouse, Slate had been drunk enough to ask about it. “Mason, where do you see this thing with Mica going, man? Do you see her in your bed, in your home?” Here, he looked around the room, taking in a nearly naked blonde’s head bobbing up and down in a brother’s lap. “You see her in this clubhouse? I know you’ve had a thing for her for years now, but is it a realistic thing? I don’t want you hurt, brother, and she seems to have the power to really do you some harm.”

Mason had laughed, then responded, “Slate, I haven’t been able to see anything except her since she moved in next door to me. I see her.” He took a drink from his beer. “I see her with me, every part of me. I see myself in her bed, and her in my home. She rides on the back of my bike, wraps those sweet legs around me, and that’s all I can think of for hours, or shit, man,
days
. I hear her laugh, and I want to bottle that shit up and keep it around forever. I see her smile, and it breaks my chest wide open, it fills my heart with too much.”

He took a breath. “But I know…fucking
know
she needs something I can’t give her. I can love her, I can hold her, but I can’t be her everything. I can’t give her stability. I can’t offer her anything but what you see, and she doesn’t need this shit.

His face grew somber. “Daniel loves her more than life itself. He sees nothing but good in that woman, and she’s growing to love him. He’ll be there for her no matter what. He won’t wind up in jail, or dead from a fucking war he didn’t start. It’s not about money, or stature; it’s about more, fucking longevity and reasonable expectations. You and I know this life, the MC life. This is what we need, the life we want. The club and brotherhood fulfill something in us that citizens don’t understand; Mica can’t understand. Our needs are honest and real.

“Slate, her needs are just as honest and real, and just as inexplicable to me. For Mica, I could almost see myself trying to be what she needs…but almost isn’t enough,” he barked out a harsh laugh, “because,
fuck me,
if she doesn’t also need
me
, just me—raw and motherfucking mean as I am—sometimes. That means I have to preserve what I am and what I can do for her. So I push her towards her need that isn’t me, and I keep myself in reserve for the hard shit that seems to follow her around.”

Slate stared at him. That had to be the most heartbreaking thing he’d heard in a long time, maybe ever. Loving someone like that, and recognizing that not only weren’t you what they needed, but wanting to make it right, help them make the right choices, even if that meant they’d travel a different path…that was
real
love. He reached out and softly punched Mason’s shoulder. “That’s heavy shit, brother. She might be able to settle with the club business. Have you thought about giving it a chance, letting her in, allowing her to find out what you’ve been protecting her from?”

Mason took off his toque, rubbing a hand over his head. “Are you seriously asking that question? I’ve only thought about it every single, fucking, squandered day, brother, but it’s not the answer, and you know that right alongside me. She would hate knowing what we’ve done, the lengths we have gone to in order to keep her safe. Mica would be furious if she thought we knew her secrets, and more furious if she saw the skeletons in our fucking closets.
”

Holding his empty bottle up to a passing prospect, Mason continued, “Slate, I had one night with her, and it flat ruined me for anyone else. I held perfection in my hands, in my arms. I rocked her to sleep, and held her when she cried out in fear of her dreams. Every single day, I think about how I can save that, how I can keep that. She’s a fucking treasure, and she’s
mine,
but she’s also ours; she’s Rebel. Now, she’s Daniel’s, and that’s a fit for both of them. She’s mine, but never going to be mine. People don’t always end up with what they want.” Both men were quiet for a long time after that.

***

“Fuck me,” Slate muttered, yanking at the collar of his shirt. He was on office duty today, and Mica had an important customer presentation. So, he’d had to dress up like a fucking monkey, jacket and everything. Now, he had to suffer Mica’s wrath, because she didn’t want him to go with her, but he was under orders. Beyond orders, he’d failed her once, and she’d paid for his mistakes with her flesh and blood. He wouldn’t fail her again. Looking into her face as she tried again to talk him into letting her go alone, he calmly told her, “You go, I go.”

She argued again, but he knew he was wearing her down, because she was less vehement about it now. He shrugged. “Mason’s decree, princess, so I can’t let you go without me, especially not now. You go, I go—simple as that.”

She rejoined, “I hate this sometimes, Slate. Don’t ya get tired of babysitting me?” She stalked to the elevator in front of him, her fury evident in every line of her body.

He imitated her accent, drawling out his response, because he knew it made her crazy, and he’d decided today was Pick on Mica Day. “More than ya fuckin’ know, princess, more than y’all will ever fuckin’ know.” He pulled on his collar again, thinking,
Fuck a damn tie
.

At her client’s office, he sat near the elevator, making sure he could keep her in sight while she was in the conference room. He leaned back against the wall, knowing his presence in that room would have only made things difficult; by leaving him out here, she wouldn’t have to explain him to anyone. Keeping to himself, he sat quietly waiting. It was more than an hour later when a teeny little brunette swayed her way out of the elevator, walking to the receptionist on stilted heels in a too-tight-for-imagination skirt.

“Is Thomas available?” she curtly asked the receptionist.

“Mrs. Rupert, he’s in a meeting, but it should be finished soon; it has already gone over schedule.”

Tapping her crimson nails on the desktop, the brunette glared around the waiting room, and her eyes stopped on Slate as he sat quietly on a couch. “Oh my, well aren’t you pretty,” he heard her say as she sauntered over towards him and settled down on the cushion next to him. She tucked one shapely leg underneath herself, letting the hem of her skirt ride high up her thighs. “Hello there, I’m Amy,” she purred at him. “And you are?”

He lifted his chin at her. “Slate.”

“Just ‘Slate’? No given name?” She scooted a little closer on the cushion.

He nodded. “Just Slate.” He realized this was Daniel’s ex-wife—Mica’s Daniel, even if they weren’t exactly together right now, and that was only because Nelms had threatened Daniel’s family. Mica was trying to balance keeping everyone safe, while not telling anyone a damn thing—the club had only found out about the threats when Tug made an unannounced visit to her workplace and heard Mica and Jess discussing it. That’s when work duty had become a real part of the security schedule.

Amy saw some of his ink that stretched down his arm past his cuffs, and she squealed, “Oh my God, look at those tattoos. How pretty. Do you have more surprises hidden under all that fabric, Mister Just Slate?” She reached out to trace the ink and he pulled back. He didn’t want her hands on him; she felt slimy, and there was probably a good reason why Daniel had tossed her ass to the curb. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know what it was, but he was going to try to avoid her without being his usual jackass self.

Pressing her thigh against his, she leaned in, whispering, “You are hot, Mister Just Slate. I’m not impressed by much, but you are something else. I want to lick those tattoos, and I’d love to see what else you have underneath your clothes. I’ll be at the Drake at seven; meet me in the bar.” She reached out one finger, touching the back of his hand and skimming the black lines with her fingernail. The inner door opened just in time, because that unwelcome touch made his skin crawl. Mica came out, shaking hands with the guy she’d come here to meet.

She saw the brunette sitting close to him, and must have read in his face how unhappy he was with the woman being in his space. Mica was scarcely bothering to hide her amusement as she looked at him and inclined her head towards the elevator. He got up and walked over, listening to the two women chat, and he heard Amy call him ‘Mr. Slate’, which he found amusing.

Taking Mica’s computer bag, he turned to see her client pull Amy back into him tightly, grinding his crotch into her ass. That was more than he wanted to see, and he thought it was a good cue to go; this guy was a sleaze too. The client and Amy were still talking, and Slate heard the name of Daniel’s hockey team...and that Amy was his ex-wife. If he could hear it, then he was certain Mica could.

He knew this was not going to go well, and sure enough, as they were entering the elevator, Mica finally put two and two together. She stiffened and stopped in her tracks, suddenly realizing from what they overheard that Amy Rupert was Daniel Rupert’s ex-wife. Slate leveraged his mass to push her gently into the elevator so the doors could close behind them. It didn’t seem like she’d known about Daniel having an ex, and he had a suspicion she’d have a hard time dealing with this shit.

***

Back at Mica’s house, Slate was frustrated, because she just kept talking about that fucking brunette. Daniel loved Mica, and to Slate, it kinda looked like she’d fucked him over. She’d left him without a real explanation, and then stood back while he nearly drank himself and his hockey team out of playoff contention. Instead of obsessing about Daniel’s past relationships, he would much rather she focus on her own fucking problems.

Today, all she could do was pick the encounter apart, trying to find justification for her anger, and she was quickly settling in to stoke and feed that emotion. He’d pulled up a stool in the kitchen, waiting for her to finish yelling from her bedroom while she changed clothes, so they could decide what to eat for dinner. He was on babysitting duty tonight, along with two other patches, and it looked like it was gonna be a long night.

He’d offered his insight about Daniel and Amy, but she brushed it away, discounting it as dude-talk, pissing him off even more. He was so tired of minding this woman, but because of what had happened in this house, at the same time, he felt accountable for any injury she might receive, whether it was on his watch or not. She came out of her bedroom, admitting that she’d looked Daniel up online, and learned all about his ex-wife in the process.

“Princess, maybe he didn’t want to talk about his old lady with his new lady?” He rolled his eyes at her, taking a deep, frustrated breath. “Sometimes, it’s the simplest shit that tears us up inside. Did your Googling tell you why they split?” She recounted the rumors of affairs she had found online, and they chatted for another minute about Daniel and Amy, not making any headway against her anger and sense of betrayal. Slate began shucking out of the dress clothes, and once he removed the tie, he started feeling better.