Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 1 Read online

  Rebel Wayfarers MC

  Vol. 1-3

  Mica, #1

  Slate, #2

  Bear, #3

  MariaLisa deMora

  Cover photography: Frank Bott

  Copyright © 2015 MariaLisa deMora

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  First Published 2015

  ISBN 13: 978-0-9863562-5-4

  Contents

  Rebel Wayfarers MC Vol. 1-3 Mica, #1; Slate, #2; Bear, #3.

  Mica

  1 - Beginning

  2 - Grilled cheese

  3 - By firelight

  4 - Better to know

  5 - Reality strikes

  6 - Working relationships

  7 - Driving duties

  8 - In an instant

  9 - Whatcha need?

  10 - Recovery

  11 - Hat Trick

  12 - Jackson’s

  13 - Sleeping

  14 - Apron strings

  15 - Old friends…not really

  16 - Stitchless day

  17 - The kiss

  18 - Routine things

  19 - Mica and Mason

  20 - Aftermath

  21 - Something doesn’t fit

  22 – Freak-out

  23 - Projections

  24 - Confessional

  25 - Milwaukee

  26 - Indisposed

  27 - Who you know

  28 - Hockey

  29 - Told you I’d find you

  30 - Movie night

  31 - Love hurts

  32 - Cut a rocker

  33 - On the road

  34 - Fighting with Daddy

  35 - Rodeos

  36 - Isolation

  37 - Keep tracking

  38 - Your sometimes

  39 - It’s a party

  40 - Disclosures

  41 - Championship

  42 - Brothers

  43 - Duck’s show

  44 - Without fear

  45 - Jackson’s

  Slate

  1. Wyoming

  2. Susan’s journey

  3. Where I work

  4. Motorcycle

  5. Good news

  6. Goodbyes

  7. Riding south

  8. Scars

  9. My life’s story

  10. Lessons everywhere

  11. Clarity

  12. Neutral territory

  13. Becoming

  14. Mica

  15. Essa

  16. Out of mind

  17. Alone

  18. Women

  19. Brothers

  20. Benny

  21. Ruby

  22. Unprepared

  23. Home

  Bear

  Prologue

  1. Beginnings

  2. Made for me

  3. In the Navy

  4. Staying power

  5. Coming home

  6. For always

  7. Serendipity

  8. Up tempo

  9. New era

  10. Partnerships

  11. FWO East

  12. Chicago

  13. Forced changes

  14. Moving on

  15. Troubleshooter

  16. Patching in

  17. I’ll get right on that

  18. Judge & jury

  19. Don’t be mad

  20. Heading home

  21. Too far, too fast

  22. Riptide

  23. Shoulda had boys

  24. The Fort

  25. Rafe

  26. Mica

  27. It’s a party

  28. Fort Wayne bound

  29. Surprise

  30. Trouble

  31. Falling for her

  32. Nice jacket

  33. Take the ride

  34. Quiet changes

  35. New beginnings

  36. Exes and ohs

  37. Lemongrass

  38. Drowning sorrow

  39. Coming home

  40. Back to love

  41. Moving forward

  42. From here

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  Mica

  Rebel Wayfarers MC

  Book #1

  MariaLisa deMora

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Original cover design: Melissa Gill @ MGBookcovers and Designs

  Copyright © 2014 MariaLisa deMora

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  First Published 2014

  DEDICATION

  To my family. Thank you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  What a great experience this has been. I want to thank my friends and family for supporting me, and putting up with me as I sent them revision after revision to review and comment upon. Stephanie, Hollie and Brenda – you guys are the best, and you’ve tolerated much abuse! Tequila (or drinks of your choice) all around! Also, thanks to Jackie for always wanting more.

  A big thank you to Kayla the Bibliophile for her assistance in stripping out the extraneous in order to focus on the necessary. You and the folks at Hot Tree Editing rock hard!

  Woofully yours,

  ~ML

  1 - Beginning

  Mica

  Sitting on the window seat with her knees bent, heels tucked tight against her bottom, and arms wrapped around her legs, Michaela Scott stared out the window, but could not see anything. In her mind, green leaves arched over the side yard, and the sun dappled down from the impossibly blue sky onto a grassy area where chairs were pulled into a small circle. She barely glimpsed the very edge of the picnic blanket. Blink.

  A flash of movement caught her attention. Barren limbs swayed, reaching up to scratch at the gray sky overhead, the snow-covered expanse radiating cold. Blink.

  Memories again, these of a green-grassed lawn boasting laughter in the background, and lanterns stretched between the trees to illuminate a grill and the area around it. Silhouettes and shadows of friends gathered to share food and stories of their day wheeled like a flock of black birds. Blink.

  She shivered, watching as the wind whipped the deepening snow into drifts with dips and valleys, carving around the trees to form a wind bow.

  “I didn’t know who else to call, Mason. I saw your car outside your house and…I just didn’t know what to do!” Mica thought she recognized that voice, cracking high, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to place it. Blink.

  In the summers of her youth, flowers bloomed near tree trunks, where they pushed through the ground—bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes. Always first to show their nodding heads in the spring, they reached towards the sunshine and brittle heat in the brilliant, blue sky. Blink.

  “I’ve never seen her like this. I’ve been here for hours and she won’t talk to me at all…won’t even acknowledge I’m here.” Who could that be? I know that voice, she thought again.

  Outside, ice reached down with sharpened fingers from tree branches, where the few stubborn leaves refused to fall.

/>   “You did good, Jess. Give me just a few minutes with Mica, but don’t go far.” That was a different voice—soothing, deep, and sonorous—one to hear across a breakfast table, or from the darkness of a bedroom. Mica wondered a little at her imagination going places she didn’t usually go.

  Warm, she thought as something soft, but also hard wrapped around her back and then over her shoulders. That’s warm. That’s nice...

  She’d been cold for a long time now.

  “Mica,” the deep voice said beside her ear, “where are you, babe?”

  I’m right here, she thought, see me?

  “Mica, babe, what happened?”

  Oh no, my world is ending. She remembered the words pouring from the phone, despairing sounds drilling grief into her mind, and voiced the overwhelming fear, anger, sadness, and frustration echoing through her head.

  The blanketing warmth jerked and pulled away, leaving a frisson of chill down her back. Her arms were still wrapped tensely around her legs, pulling and holding her knees tightly to her chest. Holding herself together the only way she knew how, through grit and determination. But I liked the warmth.

  Running steps slapped down the hallway towards them, and then into the room, stumbling to a stop near the window seat. “What the hell was that, Mason?” asked the first voice.

  “I don’t know, Jess. She just screamed. From the way her voice sounds, it’s not the first time either.” That was the sexy voice again, the one that made her think of dark places, forbidden emotions, and wanted things.

  “Did you touch her? Did you freak her out? Why are you sitting so close?”

  Mica thought hard a minute, focusing. That voice…I know that voice. Jessica Nalan. She’s an employee, a friend. She’s…safe.

  “Jess?” Mica rasped, turning her head to look into the room and away from the scene outside. Her best friend since college, Jess was standing there in a UI sweatshirt and baggy jeans, feet clad in her favorite red Converse. She’d topped off her look with a crazy patchwork toque tugged so far down on her head it only showed the very ends of her short, blonde hair. Her face was scrunched in worry, looking at Mica and chewing on her bottom lip, but that facial expression was pretty normal for Jess.

  “Oh, thank God, Mica. You scared the fucking crap out of me with your shit. I hate you so hard right now.” Jess scrambled to her knees on the floor next to the window seat. “What the hell is going on, girly? And you better not tell me ‘nothing.’ I’ve been here for nearly six hours, and this is the first thing you have said or done. Well, other than scream like a goddamn banshee a second ago, but I think Mason was the cause. Maybe he tried to cop a feel. I dunno. He’s a badass, after all. What the fuck…I should let you talk…sorry…shutting up now.” Jess finally wound down and wrapped her arms around her torso. She laid her head on the window seat, her neck craning around to look up at Mica. “You’re my best friend, bitch. Don’t go scaring me like that again.”

  Warmth settled against Mica’s back again halfway through Jess’ rant. She felt hard, wide, sculpted arms wrap around her, layering over the top of her arms and legs, warming her all around. Those strong arms were covered in ink, with both beautiful and brutal tribal, and intricate, colorful, artistic tattoos. The designs laid alongside each other on the skin covering those muscles holding her tightly.

  She recognized the tattoos; she was very familiar with those colors. She looked down to study the beautiful phoenix rising from flames that covered all the way up one arm starting at the back of the hand. With that recognition, she jerked and looked over her shoulder, knowing exactly who she would see: Davis Mason, her next-door neighbor for the past several years—her very ripped and tattooed, very tough and powerful, very much without-boundaries biker neighbor. A man who had somehow become an unlikely friend.

  She watched his dark, iron-colored eyes crinkle at the corners as he appeared to try not to laugh at Jess’ monologue. Mica knew the lengthy flow of words covered the depths of her true worry, a trait Jess never tried to change, one of the many constants Mica loved about her.

  There was no ink on Mason’s handsome face, nothing to pull attention away from his strong cheekbones and full lips. Most of his tattoos began somewhere in the area covered by the soft T-shirt that stretched over his well-developed shoulders and biceps, but since moving in she’d seen the tats often enough as they chatted while he worked on his bike and cars in the uncovered driveway next door, she didn’t need to see them to know they were there.

  His chin came to rest softly on her shoulder, the rough scruff on his cheek rubbing against the soft skin of her neck. The move felt somewhat encroaching and territorial, and it made her more than a little uncomfortable, but she didn’t move away. He’d never touched her like this, had never been in her home, but seeing him here now felt oddly right. She was beginning to grasp that something had happened today, to her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking between Jess and Mason. “How did y’all get in? Mason, why are you here?” She glanced around the room, seeing it was just their small group of three gathered on the window seat. “Jess, if you’re here, then where’s Brandy? Is she coming over? Better question—why are you here? I’m a little confused.”

  Looking around again, Mica didn’t see anything overtly out of place. Her furniture—all purchased for comfort, not style—was where it should be. There were no holes in the walls, no sign of a struggle or break-in—nothing at all to indicate a need for the level of alarm she sensed in Jess.

  Certainly nothing to warrant having Mason in her home. They were friendly, but at times she wasn’t all that comfortable around him. He could be a tad overwhelming, and she’d had a lot of that from the men in her life up to now. If anything, the biker scared her, really frightened her. It felt like he always held himself in check, and seemed capable of dangerous violence. As a biker, he was plain scary—even though he’d never threatened to hurt her or even really given her grief—but it wasn’t until she found out he owned her favorite bar that she realized he had an uncanny ability to blend into the business world. The fact he could effortlessly bridge the two worlds—only one of which she was comfortable in—made him seem even more dangerous to her.

  Jess lifted her head, eyes searching Mica’s face in concern. “You called and left a message at MishMash not making much sense, talking about how everything was wrong. Soon as I got it, I came right over and let myself in like I always do. Don’t act like this.”

  MishMash was Mica’s business, and Jess was her sole employee. They were a dynamic duo, working in the world of web and application development. The company had grown quickly over the past few months, and there was always more work than hours in the day. In a weird twist of fate, the business Mason owned also held the lease for her office space—another place where he encroached into her life regularly.

  Brandy Still was Jess’ girlfriend, a fabulous baker who owned a brilliant little shop downtown called I Ache, You Ache Cupcakes. They’d all been friends since college, and regularly hung out together at one of Mason’s bars, Jackson’s. All of these facts made sense to Mica; they rattled around in her head and she let them settle for a minute.

  Untangling herself from the hold Mason had on her, she shifted slowly to the other end of the window seat. Carefully stretching as her muscles, long locked into one position, complained about moving so quickly, she looked outside at the side yard again.

  Blink. Snow blanketed a yard, swirling around an imagined mound of dirt and remorseless marble that threatened to break her heart. Blink. Snow blanketed the yard, blowing smoothly across the unblemished yard and drifting into the shoveled sidewalk. Blink.

  “Mica, come back, please, you’re scaring us,” Mason called across the space between them.

  Mica shook her head, shifting her gaze from the window to him. From the look on his face, she’d drifted off again. He moved, twisting on the seat, the leather vest with his club patches creaking. Mason stared at her, really stared and she became uncomfo
rtable with the level of scrutiny he was giving her. Leaning towards her, he used one finger to tuck a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear, every look and movement silently drawing her attention to her appearance.

  Mica realized she was tired, exhausted to the point of feeling drained. Her hands shook when she lifted them to shove the rest of her hair back, and she made a face when she realized how greasy the hanks felt. How long have I been sitting here? Swallowing was painful, her mouth dry and when she tried to wet her lips, the tip of her tongue dragged drily across the bottom one.

  Mason cocked his head and asked, “When did you last eat, babe?”

  She swiveled to look at Jess, then back to Mason. “I don’t know, I…I can’t remember.” Mica pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to massage away a sudden pounding pain. “I don’t think you answered me yet. Why are you here?” She thought to herself that he must not be riding today since he didn’t have his full leathers on, just a vest. But if it’s snowing, then of course he isn’t riding. She glanced back outside, verifying the snow blowing across the side yard, then met his look again.

  He watched her face with such focus, she felt like she was drowning in his steely eyes. Mica broke their shared gaze, her mind wandering farther afield, observing that his jeans were nicely tight in all the right places, cinching around his narrow waist, and then flaring down his muscular thighs and legs to his boots. “Why would I think about his clothes?” she asked quietly to herself.

  “Whose clothes are you thinking about?” Jess’ voice was quiet, soft with concern. “You scared me, girly. You wouldn’t talk to me after I got here and I didn’t know what to do. I saw his car across the drive and…here he is.”

  Taking a deep breath, Mica unfolded her legs, shivering as she set her bare feet on the chilly floor and looked down at herself. She closed her eyes when she realized her state of undress. Her pajamas, which were simply a sheer, loose-fitting camisole that hid nothing, not even the rosy areolas of her nipples, and her dangerously short running shorts that barely covered her more private areas. I will not be embarrassed in my own home, in my own pajamas, she thought, struggling with herself to not wrap her arms around her chest in protection and modesty.