Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (26 page)

Looking over at Mica, she was chewing on the side of her thumb. He thought it was a terrible nervous habit, and she’d probably pull back a stub one day if she didn’t quit it. She was so clearly upset he decided to lighten the tone. “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 saw her smile, and knowing her sense of humor and jokes, he thought he should nip this in the bud right now. “You fucking tell the brothers about that shit, and I’ll send Tucker over in my place.”

She startled him by reacting physically to that in a negative way, recoiling backwards and flinching.
Whoa
, there was some history clearly, and while he knew Tuck wasn’t her favorite person, he didn’t know why. Slate decided now was probably the best time to ask her about what had happened between them. He needed her to sort this shit out, because it made it difficult to schedule her sitters, since she didn’t want Tuck to be the most senior guy on duty, and thus in charge.

She blew him off, or tried, and he pushed her fiercely, not backing down this time when she got upset at his questions. She was reacting emotionally, as well as physically, shaking her head and frowning hard at Slate. “Princess, there’s gotta be a real reason behind that face you are making.” He stalked across the kitchen towards her, starting to get into her space. “Give it up; tell Uncle Slate all about it. I can straighten shit out if needed.”

She turned her back, shaking her head again, hair flying out in a halo. She was stalling and filling time by fucking with the teapot in the sink. “I simply do not like him...here,” she said. “He was here the night Ray was, Slate.”

What the fuck
?
He thought he might get it now, oh...but this had larger consequences if she blamed them all. “Do you blame him for what happened, Mica?”

“No, never,” she yelled at him, eyes beginning to well with tears, “he did...you
all
did everything asked of you, and more.”

“Then what exactly,” he moved quickly towards her, pushing within inches of her back and trapping her into the corner by the sink, an arm on either side of her torso, “is the fucking deal?” He was trying hard to get her off-balance so she could simply react and answer without thinking.

She spun back to face him, shoving her face up into his. She was close enough that he could feel every gasped breath on his lips. “He saw me naked, okay? He saw me naked, and I don’t like it.” She whipped back towards the sink, hiding her face in the curtains of her hair.

Slate took a slow step backwards, releasing her from the frame of his arms. “Mica, Tug and I were here that night too. Mason was here. Tucker wasn’t the only one. We all saw you. 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 looked at her, cocking his head to one side quizzically. “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.”

She started crying; he could see her shoulders moving jerkily, and he reached out to lay a calming hand on her back, anchoring her to him physically. He knew what he needed to say next, but he hated doing this, reminding her he was one of the guys she didn’t like.

He’d known for a couple of years he was just about her least favorite Rebel, but his position in the club meant he had to take over for Mason when needed. He had a real fear she’d close off and turn away from him, but he needed to know what was in her head, and Slate was closer to cracking this than any of them had been in weeks. Taking a leap, he started, “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 was seriously pissed off when she turned back to him, tear tracks visible on her cheeks. He’d been right; she was crying. She shouted at him, “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 spat the words at him, tears welling out of her eyes and streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to keep talking. “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
.”

Oh, good goddamn, this was fourteen kinds of fucked up. Slate snagged her arm and jerked her into a tight hug; he wrapped her up tightly in his arms, and held her carefully against the hard planes of his chest to comfort her as he’d seen Mason do so many times. Slate hoped he hadn’t read her reaction wrong, and that she’d come to trust him, if not like him, because he wanted to be supportive and helpful, instead of a threatening asshole. He shushed her, stroking her long hair slowly. “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.”

He was physically still, but his brain was working a hundred miles an hour thinking of all the things they needed to do to keep Tucker away.
Oh fuck
, Slate realized Digger would be coming over soon. He calmly and softly asked Mica if she was okay with Dig or wanted him called off, and Slate reassured her whichever she wanted was fine.

Dig seemed to be safe, because she quieted down, shaking her head. He told 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?”

It wasn’t even a minute later before he regretted offering up that reality show, because she reminded him there was a dancing show she liked on TV that night. She also told him—with no visible joking—that he was a good guy, and thanked him for holding her while she cried. Slate grumbled, “Fuck me...dancing?” then pulled out his phone and dialed Digger, telling him to bring the beer. He stopped for a minute, and decided to keep things cool for now, just leaving a message for Tucker that he wasn’t needed tonight.

Now came the call he was dreading, because Mason had to know what was going on with Mica and Tucker. This shit simply wouldn’t fly; no fucking way would that little piss-ant get to put his hands on their princess. Tapping his chest with his closed fist and mouthing
fucking treasure
, Slate hit Mason’s number on his phone. “Prez, we needa call a meeting. We got a fucking serious problem in the club, man. Gonna cut a rocker I ‘spect.”

Mason snarled in his ear, “What the fuck do you mean, Slate? Because I gotta tell ya, I don’t fucking have time for this right now. I just heard that Bones is ready for a sit down.
While Bones is a no-brainer, and we’re just solidifying some of the shit you’ve been setting up for us, it still requires fucking focus. Then after I get done with Bones, I’m headed over to Fort Wayne. I need to talk to Bingo tonight, because he’s got trouble with the gangs crowding him. I’ll be back in town tomorrow, and we can meet at the clubhouse or Jackson’s.” Mason sounded exhausted.

Slate scrunched up his face. He’d wanted to be at that sit down, but he knew he couldn’t be in two places. Making a decision, he decided he needed to be here with Mica for now. “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.” His final call was for a replacement for Tucker, and he called Roach, knowing Mica was fond of him.

15 -
            
Essa

Beer and pizza helped make the bad dancing show bearable, and so did seeing Mica relax. Her improved mood had a lot to do with Digger and Roach; she was comfortable with them both, friendly and interested in what they had to say, all hugging and tickling, and generally having a good time. Slate was sitting on the floor in the living room in front of the TV, leaning back against the couch. Mica was sitting directly behind him, and every time she moved, she jostled him and his precariously balanced plate of pizza.

Snarling, he brought his head up to complain again and saw something...someone...walking past the big window. It looked like they were going towards the backdoor that opened into the kitchen. He reacted quickly, shifting to his feet smoothly, and issuing orders to Roach to secure Mica as he turned off all the lights.

Slate made it to the kitchen in a few long strides, and sidled towards the kitchen door, keeping his back to the wall without windows, waiting for movement or noise from outside. There was a sudden, hard pounding at the door, and he jerked it wide open. This had the advantage of getting the person outside off-balance, and he leveraged that by grabbing an arm and yanking them hard into the house, slamming the door closed behind them.

He manhandled them into the wall face-first, slamming them against hard surface and using his body to immobilize them.
Fuck
, this guy felt tiny, like it was a little kid, but he wouldn’t take any chances with Mica right now, so he stayed mashed up against him.
Goddamn
, there were some deliciously soft curves back here, so it was probably not a him. He was pressed up against them, and
holy fuck
it all felt good. He snarled at Digger to turn on the lights, and was not surprised at all when the body was revealed to be a young woman.
Fuck
.

He released her, stepping back quickly, and was nearly taken by surprise when she attacked him without pause. She tried to sweep his feet, and was smacking at him hard, so he captured her hands again. “What the hell?”

He stared down into dark brown eyes, with a golden ring circling the iris. Those eyes were centered in a beautiful face, tanned and full of angles he would love to trail his fingers along, and it was framed with dark hair he could surely sink his hands into.

Fuck me
, he thought as the gal yelled for Mica, using her full name. He released her again, but he stepped carefully between the two women as Mica ran towards the room. Digger did his part, stopping Mica from entering just as Roach ran in behind her.

Mica apparently knew the girl, talking a mile a minute, even as Rebel hands kept them apart. She didn’t have any fear of the girl, and Slate motioned to his men to let things go, allowing the two women to meet in a fierce hug in the middle of the room. The gal’s name was evidently Essa, and while she was a little taller than Mica, she was a lot younger. In the full light of the kitchen, she looked about seventeen, but was lean and athletic, so he thought that might be somewhat misleading. God, she was pretty, dressed all casual in jeans and boots.

“Mica?” he asked carefully, wanting clarity for what was going on. He wasn’t sure yet that everything outside was okay, so he sent the men out with a gesture, watching as they split up outside to check the yard and house. Mica moved slightly, but kept her hands on the girl, introducing her, “Slate, this is my little cousin, Essa.” She pointed at Slate, grinning. “Essa, this is Slate, but don’t worry—he’s not as tough as he tries to look.”

The woman—
Essa
, he tested out in his head—looked up at Slate with a pleasant, but cautious stare, and then totally ruined the moment. “Mr. Slate, pleased to meet you.” Fuck him, that was twice in one day he’d been called ‘mister’, and he knew Mica would capitalize on it. Sure enough, confirming she’d picked up on it, Mica grinned hard at him while clarifying for her cousin, “Just Slate, Essa, he’s...just Slate. What are you doing here? Have you had supper?”

Slate watched Roach and Digger come back in from outside, Roach indicating everything was in order. “Just a truck and horse trailer, no one in either, unless you count the pissed off nag.”

Slate saw Essa stiffen at that; the horse must be hers, but she didn’t say anything back. Slate thought a little arrogantly that maybe she was intimidated by all the bare skin that surrounded her; he and Digger had a lot of ink, and they were shirtless. Plus, Digger worked out at the gym every day, and Slate had his own version of strong and lean going on.

Mica organized a quick plate of food for Essa, pulling her into the living room for a chat while the guys got things ready in the kitchen. Slate followed them, and listened as Mica asked a few quick questions of Essa. He noted in one of the answers that the gal said the horse had been in the trailer for too long already, so he thought he should probably unload it and make sure everything was okay. Essa was obviously attached to the horse, and for some unknown reason, he would hate for anything to happen that would upset her.

His head snapped up as Essa burst into tears, surprising him. She was crying so hard that he couldn’t understand anything she was saying, and he hadn’t been paying attention to what Mica had asked. She wrapped the girl up in her arms, and asked him to take care of parking the rig and get the horse out, explaining things carefully, but like he was an idiot. He nodded, disarmed, because he thought it was funny she’d asked him to do something that was so familiar to him, but she was worried he would fuck it up.

He nodded, turning to walk outside, telling Mica over his shoulder, “I’ll move the rig and unload the horse, and I’ll make sure he has water, a little feed, and see if there’s a blanket for him.”
Fuck
, this little girl had him on edge. He couldn’t think straight when he was unsettled like this, and that was probably more of his history in one sentence than Mica ever knew about him before. He could feel Mica’s eyes boring into his back questioningly as he grabbed his leather jacket to go outside. He laughed.
I’m a fucking enigma
.