Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4 Page 7

  But he knew, and it burned in his stomach, that he had put the club at risk for Ester. It burned even more to know he would do it again, without hesitation.

  ***

  “Why would he do such a thing?” The woman sitting at the table across from Bones wept into her hands. He waited, and her sobs slowed, hands falling to press against the surface of the tabletop. They sat at her kitchen table, in her kitchen, in her house, in a western suburb, and Bones had just given her proof her husband was a pedophile. In the backyard, her two daughters played with a neighbor, the singing bounce of the trampoline springs testifying to their activity. Aged seven and eight, they were innocently beautiful, sweetly obedient when ordered outside by their mother.

  “That I do not know, nor will I ever understand. But—” He leaned forwards, seeing her inch away, maintaining the safety of space between their faces. “—a leopard cannot change their spots. If he was driven to do this once, if he were so compelled, then he still is. This is not something that simply goes away. You have seen, or sensed things.” Bones watched uncertainty combat with fear on her features, and set himself to ensure fear won not only the battle, but the war. He would accept no less. “You have daughters of an age his foster sister was.” Digging a deep hole by using the familial words, he hammered the doubt home so it seated well enough to last. “He was nearly thirteen. She was a child.”

  Shaking his head, Bones wove truth for her, nothing but truth as he had discovered it. “She was injured already. His friends had jumped her the week before. Of a surety, he knew what had happened, because he used their abuse of her, used their actions as a way to shame her.” When she averted her gaze quickly, glancing down and away, he knew she had felt the edge of the same blade from her husband, Ester’s former foster brother, and rapist.

  Once Bones cobbled the story together from the bits and pieces Ester let drop, he set Myron to find her in the system. The attack at the baseball field more than enough to warrant long memories, Myron had found everything. Bones now knew more about Ester than he suspected she did. Mother running off with Ester’s uncle, estranging the brothers. Mother and new husband dead years ago, victims of an ice-covered road. Bones thought it was that death that pushed Ester’s father over the edge; his first recorded suicide attempt was only a week after. Following Ester’s path through foster care was more difficult, but Myron had attacked the task like a dog with a bone, worrying at the edges and ends of the puzzle until he had enough data to build a model.

  Foster care when she was six, when her father was finally successful in his quest for oblivion, leaving behind a daughter who was too tender for the mercies of the ones she wound up with. Shuffled from household to household, she’d finally settled in the foster care of a family. Seemingly the perfect situation for a then eight-year-old, until she was attacked and left for dead on a baseball field.

  The faceless, nameless target of reform, her case hit the news in a national way, held up as the product of a flawed system. She was labeled as quiet and compliant by hospital staff, whose testimony seemed to speak of a different child than her foster carers. They had branded her a troublemaker, a manipulator of the highest order. Of course, that was only after their son raped her in her own bed, and she dared tell her case worker her stitches were bleeding. Carried out of the house with her head covered by a blanket, news reporters shouting questions and snapping pictures. Bones had seen those images, thin legs dangling below the arm of the case worker, head curtained by a blanket covered in pink and purple roses, taken from the bed in which she had been defiled.

  The son proclaimed her a liar, which brought the earlier accusations into question until a judge saner than most shut it down, reminding the court attendees of the brutal nature of the attack. She had been beaten, raped so viciously her bladder had been ruptured, and her assailants had left the broken handle of a wooden baseball bat wedged inside her rectum.

  Charges dropped, the boy skated, leaving the media focus back on the ones from the ballfield. And as they were caught out in lies, one by one, justice saw them sucked into the maw of the juvenile system. After being released, most of the guilty had moved out of state, their families mortified, unable to bear the scrutiny of neighbors and friends who now knew what kind of monster lurked behind their child’s face. Myron was working to track them down, two were dead, but there were seven men who would not be expecting a visitation at this late date, and Bones was determined.

  All of this meant her foster brother had gone free, until now. Bones sat across from his wife, talking about the possibility of him molesting his own daughters, and saw the doubt he had seeded already growing into a living thing. Something the man had done or said made her believe him capable of perpetuating such a thing on his own flesh and blood. This is done, Bones thought, standing with a fluid movement, marking that she flinched less than before. People can become accustomed to nearly anything. “You are those children’s mother, their only advocate. What you choose to do with your own life is one thing. Their lives are a different matter. I pray you choose well.”

  Out the door, on the bike, and away, Bones breathed a tiny bit easier. Vengeance was a tasty bitch when she played along with his game.

  ***

  “Gotta say, I’m enjoying the hospitality.” That was Watcher, president of the New Mexico club, Southern Soldiers. Bones had met him years ago in Kentucky, when Mason dragged Bones to the funeral of the Soldiers’ previous president and Watcher’s brother, Danger.

  That had been the trip when Bones found his calling. Before that time, he had often turned a blind eye towards activities he did not find personal interest in, allowing his members to partake as they willed, as long as it didn’t reflect badly on the Skeptics. Things like prostitution and weapon running, not sanctioned, but not forbidden. The Skeptics had a healthy drug trade, thanks in part to Bones’ connections from his youth, and as long as they were the middleman, he was fine with the lucrative results.

  After that trip, however, he wrote a manifesto, read it in an open meeting, and had it voted into club law, forbidding flesh trade. Meeting Juanita, Watcher’s woman, had opened his eyes to an entire world he had known about in a nearly academic way, but she brought it to life. Seeing her cowering at a man’s laughter, watching as she turned herself inside out to please Watcher, feeling her pain as she struggled to cover the brand her owners had left on her, gave him a focus he had lacked before.

  He had forged a close friendship with Watcher in those few days spent in his company, and maintained his bond with Juanita. Had rejoiced with the couple when their daughter Isabella was born, laughed at her antics as a child. Supported Watcher’s decision to fight human trafficking, keeping an open conduit between their clubs at not only an officer level, but so every Soldiers’ member knew they could call on his members in any way.

  “I am glad, my friend,” Bones told him truthfully. They sat in the back courtyard of the Skeptics’ clubhouse, an area decked out today with picnic tables and a blow-up pool for the children, grills on two sides of the area giving off an array of aromas that made the mouth water. “You should get up this way more often.”

  “I’m up here enough as it is for Mason. Don’t tell me I gotta start makin’ special trips for you.” Watcher’s humor was cutting, and Bones knew it for what it was, a question.

  “I have encountered issues of my own, and you are aware of this. I cannot take on more for Mason at this time.” Bald honestly was preferred between friends, and Bones knew him well enough to share more if asked.

  Watcher lifted his beer, tipping the can to his mouth and drank deeply. Bones waited, knowing this for the thinking pause his friend typically utilized, quietly pleased with his discernment when Watcher next spoke. “We both know what’s coming. The writing’s on the wall for us, brother. The question is, who’s gonna take the first step off that ledge, trusting Mason to have a net waiting at the bottom.”

  “I will,” Bones said quietly, having decided it was nearly time. “I
always enjoy being out ahead of you. This is one more example when you will follow my lead, eventually.”

  Watcher snorted a laugh and took another drink. Then without looking at Bones, quietly agreed. “I usually do, brother. I usually do.”

  “How is your Bella doing?” Cautiously, Bones worked the question into the conversation, not wanting to expose the anger he carried. Watcher’s only daughter had been abducted a month ago, buried alive, found by one of Mason’s men in New Mexico. Bones had heard about the event through club gossip, calling Mason to verify, only finding out then that Mason’s woman had birthed his child. Out of the loop, and left in the dust, it had made his quip to Watcher sting a little more than it would normally have.

  Watcher was silent a moment, then bowed his head, eyes to the beer dangling from his fingertips. “You know I’d a killed her?”

  Startled, Bones barked a laughing, “Qué?”

  Leaning over, Watcher set the beer on the ground next to his chair, then righted himself again. He spat to the side, and sucked at his teeth, then bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Bones saw all of this for what it was, another stalling tactic while he regained some measure of control. In a rough voice, Watcher told him, “I went to Mexico. So fuckin’ convinced I knew what I was about. So convinced I knew who my enemies were. I went to Mexico and was three hours away when Duck found her.”

  Not looking up, Watcher sighed, still speaking to his hands as they hung lax between his knees. “She nearly died. My Bella. Nearly died, and I wasn’t even in the fuckin’ country. Damned Lalo, took her and buried her.” Tipping his head to one side, Bones felt the weight of his stare. “You know Mela was nearly taken just weeks before? I had that tip in my pocket, and I still let Bella out there.”

  Carmela was a young girl who had lived with Watcher and Juanita for so long, she might as well be their adopted daughter. Slate had played a part in her rescue from an unbelievable situation years ago, a girl whose father was now the leader of one of the most powerful Mexican clubs, the Machos. Watcher had long ago tied his strings to the Machos, much as he had the Rebels, and Bones could not fault him for it. Always smart to play corner against corner, coming out the winner in the middle.

  “I did not know. How did Estavez take it?” Raul Estavez had stripped power from his own brother, Carlos, the former Machos’ president. It was Raul who was Mela’s birth father, something which undoubtedly tied those strings even tighter.

  “Not well, I can tell you that. Especially since he was incommunicado when it happened, so he only learned about it after Bella was taken. You know I didn’t call him, right? Estavez got a tip, called me. Me not callin’ you, it wasn’t personal. I just didn’t think. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t fuckin’ breathe, man. Didn’t call anyone except Mason, All I could think of was Myron and his network and know-how. Got the call, made a call, and barreled out the door without a single fuckin’ plan in my head.” Chin down, Watcher heaved a sigh that spoke of his guilt. “Mason even told me he didn’t think it was the right play, and all I could see was fuckin’ Lalo. Fuckin’ Lalo had my baby girl.”

  “Did he…?” Bones trailed off, not certain how to word his question delicately, but Watcher took his meaning.

  “No, thanks be to God Almighty. He put his hands on her, beat her, tormented her in ways that are gonna mark her for life, but he spared her that, at least.”

  “Small blessings,” Bones murmured, not sure Watcher heard him.

  “She’s doin’ okay. Not great. I didn’t see her this trip because she gets so…upset. Wants to go home, but Lalo’s back in the wind, and I—” Heaving another sigh, Watcher paused and swallowed hard, then continued his confession, “I couldn’t keep my baby safe. Trust Mason with her more than I trust myself at this point.”

  “Lalo is in the wind? I thought he was held by the DEA in Florida?” Bones was surprised and glanced across the yard to where Shades stood, calling the man to him with a tip of his head. “My last intel had him shuffled from safe house to safe house, and none of them were safe enough to protect him from the anger of those he had betrayed.”

  Shades stood in front of him, and Bones asked, “Were you aware Lalo was no longer in custody?” Lalo had been president of the Diamante chapter Watcher had shut down in New Mexico, so the man’s ire at the Southern Soldiers was at least understandable. The Skeptics had treated with the man’s cousin, Chismoso, a name Bones had difficulty saying with a straight face. So Chismoso was equally displaced and angry, and the Skeptics kept close tabs on his travels. “Chismoso still resides in Kentucky, correct?”

  Fury, a Rebel now, a Diamante then, had moved his chapter from Kentucky to Fort Wayne, disbanding after only four months in that city. His men had moved en masse to the Rebels, something Bones knew for a fact had been a calculated and strategic move on Mason’s part. Chismoso had been granted leave from Diamante to begin a new chapter in Kentucky, to fill the void left behind there. Power grew to fill the boundaries of the territory available, and even the minds behind the Diamante club understood this fact. Divide the territory by chartering new chapters, and you restrict the reach of all chapters in the area.

  “Yeah, Bones. Chismoso is in Kentucky. I’ll verify, though,” Shades admitted his lack of knowledge with some ire, finishing with, “Since I didn’t know fuckin’ Lalo wasn’t still wearin’ a fuckin’ bracelet.” He looked at Watcher, who stared up at him. “When did you hear this, brother?” That designation made Bones smile, glad to see the fostering he and Watcher had done bearing fruit still.

  “Couple days ago is all,” Watcher reassured Shades. “That’s all, man.”

  “Still,” Shades said, turning on his heel and stalking towards the clubhouse.

  “Unhappy man,” Watcher observed, shaking his head.

  “You have no idea.” Bones smiled when Watcher laughed, as he’d intended. “Tell me what I can do to help, brother.”

  “Not a thing, brother. She’s gotta shake it on her own, sort it out and settle in. They’ll move her to Mason’s house now, since he’s officially in Fort Wayne.” The corner of Watcher’s mouth quirked, and he asked, “You see Garrett yet?”

  “Not yet,” Bones admitted, “I shall be making a trip in a week. I wanted to give them time to settle into the routine at home before I dropped in with my men. I will definitely be going down to see the new prince, though.” This gave him pause, and curious, he asked, “How old is Bella?”

  “Eighteen, God help me.” Watcher shook his head. “Seems only yesterday she was gap-toothed and grinning. Time flies, Bones. Time flies.”

  “How is it possible you and I have been allies so long, my friend? Surely you are mistaken. It’s been only a handful of years since I met you and the beautiful Juanita. Do not think to pile your years on my shoulders.” Bones laughed with Watcher, but the idea had stuck with him. All around him were men with families they had fought for and won, things they were honored to protect and keep. Precious lives held in their hands, cradled in their arms, lessons taught and learned. Family.

  He looked around the yard, seeing the same here, as his men played with the children of their brothers, and as their wives and women gathered along the edges of the group. Support and love for anyone under his patch were a given for Bones. My bed, however, remains cold.

  Shaking off that thought, he asked Watcher another question about the Southern Soldiers, and together the friends passed another pleasant evening. But the question of Lalo and Chismoso continued to circle through his thoughts.

  ***

  Swinging his leg over and off his bike, Bones glanced around the lot, seeing his five men already off and stretching. Things had been busy, and this was the first chance he had to come to Fort Wayne. With a tip of his head, he indicated the clubhouse, and they walked that direction as a unit. Opening the door, Bones was startled to see Chase waiting. Mason’s oldest boy looked polished, wearing a button-down shirt, and stood with shoulders slouched against the clubhouse hallway, face and fingers
focused on his phone. He only looked up when Bones greeted him.

  As with so many things of import in Mason’s life, Bones had been present the night the boy’s mother shuffled him off on a father he scarcely knew. Chase, at the time a scrawny sixteen-year-old who’d been frightened out of his mind, had stood alone in the back of a biker’s party in a loud and rowdy bar.

  “Look who is waiting for us.” Bones knew his voice was warm as he walked towards Chase with a hand extended, wanting to offer a silent acceptance of Chase’s growing adulthood. He was surprised but pleased when the boy circled his shoulders in a hug, and gladly returned it, allowing Chase to gauge when he was ready to release. “Is everything well with Willa and the babe?”

  “Uh, yeah, s‘all good. Dad said you were coming in, so I was waiting on you.” Chase stepped back, grinning down at Bones. It took him a moment to realize their height advantages had changed position.

  “You have grown.” Bones observed, reaching out to grip the boy’s bicep. He squeezed, and Chase made a muscle, flexing proudly. “Quite the man, Chase. I would suspect you are beating off women with a stick.” Chase looked down and to the side, and Bones wondered if he had hit a sore spot. He decided to ease past it if he could. “Is your dad here at the clubhouse? I thought he was at home.”

  “He is, but he said to tell you that you can come over anytime. Just limit your guys to fifty or so.” Chase laughed at the look Bones gave him. “Kidding, kidding. Geez. Bring whoever you need. Here—” Digging in his back pocket, Chase brought out a slip of paper. “Wrote the address down. It’s easy to find, just watch for the line of bikes on the street and the sea of bikers in the yard. Willa’s about crazy being locked down like this.”