Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) (33 page)

She wanted more kids, and he was no longer afraid of the idea. Knew in his heart the Nelms blood wasn’t a curse. There were no buried monsters inside him waiting to dig free. Seeing Eli, getting to know the boy—his son—had split something wide open inside him, and now he couldn’t wait to build on that with Brenda, with Eli, with any children God saw fit to bless them with.

The rest of their lives.

“Love you, Bee,” he murmured, stroking her face with a fingertip. Down over her forehead and along the edge of her nose, tracing the ridges of her lips, then across her chin. He cupped her throat, then pressed his hand against her chest, feeling the gentle, regular thudding of her heart underneath his palm. “Mine,” he whispered, leaning in to press his lips to hers. “Mine.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

The question from Elias surprised Duck. Surprised him so much, the horse he rode nearly broke into a canter, responding to the sudden tightening of his legs. He controlled his mount easily, but he knew Eli had caught the reaction. He had learned the boy didn’t miss much. Should he give him the answer Duck wanted, needed? Tell him the title would be an honor to bear? Or, turn the question back around on the boy, find out where he was headed?

Duck decided to do a bit of both, providing Eli with an unasked-for give-and-take that would, hopefully, give him courage to ask whatever he was building up to. It was unlikely he would have led with the most important question, so Duck would have to be ready for anything after this.

“I’d like it if you wanted to call me your dad. Father, not so much, but that’s my hangup, not yours. You could call me Duck, like you’ve been doing, but I think it matters more what you want to do, Eli. What do you want to call me?” Turning his head, he saw the muscles in Eli’s shoulders relax slightly. This was the answer he’d wanted, which meant he really wouldn’t be making any changes.
Hmmm. I’m right, this was not the main show, then.

“So Dad would be okay?” If Duck had been standing, he would have rocked back on his heels. That wasn’t what he expected, which meant he wasn’t reading something right. “I…you wouldn’t mind?”

“Nope,” he said, tipping his chin down, using pressure from the reins and his outside leg to sidle his horse closer to General, who Eli was riding. “But, I’d like to know what you want.” General lifted his head, pranced slightly and snorted, giving away Eli’s involuntary tightening of the reins. “That part of it matters to me.” General tossed his head, bit pulling at the corners of his mouth. “A lot.” Eli’s eyes moved to him, then away.

“Tommy told me…” His voice trailed off and Duck was filled with fury, knowing exactly what Tommy had said. The bastard had not only told the boy he wasn’t his, he had also pulled back the parts of him Eli had always known, the things the boy never expected to have to give up.

“Got it.” He spoke the words softly, but even that soft was harsh with overflowing anger. “Eli, you call me whatever you want, whenever you want. Not something you have to clear with me, and if you pick a word now, that don’t mean you gotta stay with it forever. Words are just that, sounds to put a name to something we need to talk about, a concept that can change over time, so different words might be needed. A man bears many names or titles in a lifetime, beginning with son, or brother, friend. Then husband, and father, grandfather. All the same blood and bone, but changing with life.” He paused and took a breath, pushing down his frustration about how Tommy had fucked with his boy’s head.

“What we don’t gotta talk about is how I feel about you, because that is not gonna change. Loved you nearly since I met you, standing in your momma’s kitchen hat in hand, asking to ride that old gelding you’re sittin’ on now. Smart, respectful, funny—boy, you’re awful easy to love. Loved you more when I got to know you, because everything you do builds the respect you’re gonna get from those around you. Loved you even more when your mom told me I was the luckiest man in the world, when I found out about you. You’re a good kid, a strong young man, and one I’d be proud to have call me Dad.”

“He was gonna go to the courthouse.” These words came out strained and thick and Duck looked to see Eli staring forward, his focus far beyond the attentive points of General’s ears. “Take his name off the paper.”

“What the fuck?” The question slipped out without his permission and Eli’s face got tight, chin tucking tight to his chest. “Man.”
Jesus
, the bastard was going to take it as far as possible, strip Elias of the name he had been born with.
Shit
. “Not meanin’ to speak ill of the dead, but Tommy was one stupid motherfucker.”

That brought Eli’s sweet face towards him, relieved shock written on his features. “I mean…Jesus. He was going to voluntarily do that shit? Stupid to not want to hold onto whatever thread or connection he could. Stupid to give you any space, because a man would be proud to be connected with you, Eli. Any man, any good man would see that and be pleased.” He snorted a laugh, startling his gelding when he slapped the reins against his thigh. “Damn, Tommy,” he muttered, “you were one
stupid
motherfucker.”

He looked over to catch Eli relaxing, which made him smile.

They rode in silence for a time, gazes sweeping up and down the fencerow, verifying everything was in place before they turned the freshly-calved heifers into this pasture with their bright-faced babies.

“We’re here at home, folks might wonder if I started calling you Dad.” Eli’s voice was soft, but he heard the regret in it, deep and profound. The boy wanted it, but was astute enough to know there would be repercussions to that kind of a change. “If it’s okay, I’ll stick with Duck here.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He tried not to give away his disappointment, but wasn’t sure he hid it entirely, because Eli’s next words left them both open and raw.

“People here can be closed-minded. They wouldn’t understand how none of us knew until now.” Eli paused, hesitating, cutting his eyes to Duck, then away, something like fear flashing across his face before he firmed his jaw, pushing through to say, “Some of the folks still talk about Mister Nelms. I don’t want to give them reason to remember him at our expense.”

Duck sucked in a breath at that. Not what the boy had said, because it was true. Undeniably so. But because of the courage it took to say what Eli was thinking. That was something, and spoke to the way Brenda had raised her son, giving him enough strength so when he saw the tough coming, he could find it in himself to power through anyway, flinching but steadfast. Without thinking about it, Duck pressed into the horse again, stepping him sideways until he jostled against General. Reaching out, he wrapped a hand around Eli’s waist and tugged him, catching him off guard so the boy’s toes slipped out of the stirrups and he pulled him out of the saddle and into his lap, drawing back on the reins, stopping the horses.

“Proud of you, Eli. So fuckin’ proud. You are your mama’s boy, through and through. She just shines from you in a way I hope someday I will shine from you.” He laid his cheek on top of Eli’s head, resting there, eyes closed, feeling the boy slump into him, muscles finally losing the tension the boy had carried into this conversation. “Every good thing inside you is only going to become more, and I want to be the one to help you grow that, make it bigger, better. I hope, when you’re older, you look back and recognize the gift you’re offering me right here, right now. And I hope in that moment, when you see what you gave me, you can see how proud I am to take it. You want my name? You got it. Anything you need. You call me whatever you want, Elias. I’ll always call you son.”

***

“He’s pretty amazing.” Duck whispered these words to Brenda, mouth to her ear as they stood in the bedroom doorway watching Eli sleep. She leaned into him and he smelled the fragrance of her light perfume, still lingering and even more
her
after a day working in the barns. Her hands squeezed where they gripped his wrists, holding tight. He stood, his arms across her middle, his front pressed to her back. He had shared the conversation Eli had initiated, letting her feel the same amazing pride at how their son—
their son
—wanted to protect Duck against the wagging tongues of long-memoried townsfolk.

He released one hand from its hold on her side and reached out, tugging the door to Eli’s bedroom shut. Turning her in his arms, he looked down at her face, lifting one hand to sweep the hair from her forehead, bending slightly to press a kiss there. “You raised an amazing young man. Doesn’t matter his age, he’s definitely not a child. A child wouldn’t think the way he does, measuring and weighing his words. You have an amazing son, Bee. You should be proud.”

“I hate he had to learn that.” Spoken quietly, this showed she understood the cost to Eli to gather that kind of knowledge, because it was something Tommy had forced on him. “But you’re right, I’m proud of him. He loves you, even if he hasn’t said it, and he showed it today with the caution he had. Love like a rock, solid and firm. “ She paused, and he didn’t understand when she folded herself into him tighter, holding on with both hands, like she was about to lose him. She wasn’t losing him. She was giving him something, and he got it when she said, “
Our
son is amazing.”

He froze at her words, locked in place for a moment. Then he nodded jerkily before leaning down to capture her mouth in a hard, hot kiss that deepened the instant her lips parted, giving him the chance to slip his tongue in to stroke alongside hers.

She gave that to him, too.

***

Gill reached a hand out but Duck slapped it away, leaning a shoulder to the wall of the barn office, knees weak at the news just delivered. Gill, his expression twisted with anguish and fear got out, “Duck, man, come on. We need to—“

He interrupted whatever Gill thought it was they needed to do when he roared, “Tell me she’s okay.”

Face blanching white, Gill stood there in front of him, between him and the door, shaking his head. “I told you all I know. Every word the dispatcher said, you got.” He sucked in a breath, then shook his head again. “They’re enroute now, and if we leave now, we’ll get to the ER about the same time. That’s the only way we’ll know anything, Duck.”

His feet were already moving, taking him to the door and he watched as Gill swung it open, stepping out of the way just in time to prevent being knocked down by Duck’s mass as he ran towards one of the trucks. Gill shoved him so he diverted to the passenger side, then the men slammed their doors shut at the same time, Gill’s shaking hands shoving the keys into the ignition and firing up the engine.

Twenty minutes later, they passed the accident site, twisted metal crumpled into the ditch. One tarp-covered mound nearby. Doc Winters’ rig parked just beyond it, him and his assistant working to load a horse into the trailer. The chestnut stood with its head down, obviously in pain, bloody slashes in the horse’s hide visible even at the speed Gill was driving.
Breezy
. Everything flew past so quickly Duck could only see flashes of the wrecked vehicles and he twisted in the seat, craning his head to try and see more.

There was a broad swath of disturbed dirt leading up to where the rig lay on its side. Metal guardrail crumpled around the passenger’s side of the truck where it was wedged into the ground, wrapped up and around the hood. Windows broken out and use of the fire department’s metal saw apparent in the gaping hole on the battered driver’s side, dark, empty space aimed up at the cloudless sky. More darkness staining the dirt under the vehicle. Huge ribbons of darkness Duck prayed were from the engine, or the transmission, or even,
fuck him
, from the horses that had been traveling inside the trailer.
Not from her, please God, not from her
.

Highway patrol and city cop cars parked on either side of the road, interspersed with other random cars and farm trucks. People, so many people, standing around in clots and groups, heads down, toeing small pieces of debris scattered along the length of the wound in the earth. Larger pieces were scattered, too, the back axle from the truck stood on end, one set of flattened and twisted tires pointed to the heavens.

All of this rapidly receding into the distance as Gill drove them, as they sped past and beyond. Single vehicle accident, only the one truck and trailer. Anything could have caused the crash, but it wasn’t lost on him that he was
club
. It also wasn’t hard to pull up the memories of the tapouts the club had seen recently, trucks and cars coming up alongside a lone or pair of bikes and gently, so gently there would be no scratches or dents to either vehicle, pushing bikes off the road and riders to their deaths. All this, while the truck or car drove on, leaving destruction in their wake. Club business. Bloody.

Breath clogged in his chest, he twisted back around to face front. Fists clenched, bloodless fingers lying helplessly on top of his thighs, he waited silently for Gill to get them to the hospital. The hospital where the ambulance was headed. The ambulance that picked up Brenda and Essa at the accident. The accident he feared was because of him.

“Tell me again,
güey
.”

Lalo found himself immune to the pleas dripping off the
pinche estúpido gringo’s
lips. Words falling into the air that had zero information needed, just sounds to distract and capture his attention, taking it away from where it needed to be.
Retribution was to have been mine
, he thought.

Without conscious direction, his leg moved backwards and forwards again, the toe of the black motorcycle boot connecting with the hip of the man on the floor, dragging a screaming howl from his throat as the bullet wounds in his shoulder tore apart again. It had been like this for hours. Him asking and getting nowhere. He clamped his teeth against the pain. “No fucking answers I wanna hear gonna come outta the cave your lying tongue inhabits, are they?”

The man on the floor groaned, sucked in breath through the blood in his mouth, and said in a voice thick with red, “I saw the chance.” He sucked in breath. “Saw the chance.” Groaning, he rolled slightly, “Took it.”

He wheezed, the sound coming from deep inside his lungs and a bubble worked its way out of his mouth, dark red film stretching and thinning, going from opaque to transparent. Bursting finally, it covered his bottom lip and one side of his jaw in a new layer of gore. The split skin of his cheek sagging sideways where gravity tugged on it as he laid his head down. Matted hair resting in a dark puddle, his eyes slipped closed as his chest rattled again. “Bitch needed to pay.”

Head tilted, Lalo froze in place, leaning sideways, one hand pressed against the wall, teasing at a memory in his head. Not his memory, but one shared with him over booze and blow. “Manzino had so much blow. A snowstorm.” A dealer who sought to heal a breach with the Rebels, Manzino had been confined to a room in their bar and treated to an experience much like he was giving to the man on the floor.

“Laid there on the floor, spitting my blood on the toes of his boots as he drilled into me. His brother screwed the pooch and Slate beat
me
.”
Even years later, when telling Lalo the story there had been incredulity in the man’s voice, because he still didn’t understand. Didn’t know that was honor’s way, to strip all options from the person threatening you, threatening family. Honor’s way to make abso-fucking-lutely certain there were no lasting misunderstandings. Honor, something all clubs understood. Not all men, not even all members, but clubs grasped the need.

His toe connected again, muscles in his leg and back ensuring power drove it in deep. A howl testified to the success of the action. “My choice.”
Rebels took from me. Las Cruces was mine.
“Fury tipped the scales.”
Defecting. Closing the chapter.
“Burned his papers. Motherfucker burned his
papers
.”
Mason waiting at the end of the tunnel with open arms, every person watching understanding he had just birthed his successor. When a man like Mason took in a man like Fury, you had to know it was to the benefit of both.

“Mason gained a second. Fury gets an entire
fucking club
.”
Could have been mine. Should have been.
“Mine.”

“Yeah, naw. We have all the support clubs we need right now, Lalo.”
Bear’s voice boomed in his head, words once whispered at a sit-down between their clubs, now shouting loud, memories muffling the noises around him.
“Diamante needs to get some age on them, man. Grasp tight to protocol, learn the history. Figure out where you want to take the club, then take it there. But, take your time and grow it right. We’ll talk then, yeah?”
And the look on the man’s face.
Puto
. Chin up, eyes angled down his fucking Anglo nose.

“Looked down his nose at me.” Lalo bent at the waist, throat burning as he screamed, “
ME!
”

Legs moving, first one then the other, hands braced on the wall, he didn’t notice when his kicks began landing on the wall instead of the slackly rolling body.

***

Chismoso waited across the room, head up, watching Lalo like a hawk. Still bent double, he gripped the leather of Scorch’s vest, ready to drag him out of the way again if needed. As soon as the asshole sauntered through the door all puffed up about what the boy saw as a coup, he knew this was going to go badly. It didn’t take much to wind his cousin up on a good day, and they hadn’t seen a good day in so long, he didn’t know if Lalo would recognize one at this point.

Oscar Ibarra released his hold on the unconscious man, letting the body slide down the front of his shins to rest on the floor. He then reached up to swipe his long, black hair back from his face. Lalo had finally stopped attacking the wall and stood still, red seeping through his shirt. Hands pressed flat against the surface, his shoulders heaved with breaths that whistled in and out of his open, slack mouth.

All his life, Edwardo had been subject to outbursts of anger like this. Insanely intelligent, his cousin had plotted their course since either of them could remember. But, Edwardo would occasionally go down a wrong path, losing himself in his own rage. Oscar’s mama called them an attack of a crazy kind of rabies, likening Edwardo’s behavior to a dog struck with the fits that came with the deadly disease. Sometimes they burned themselves out fast, sweeping in and out within a few minutes, leaving his cousin drained and weak, but ready to listen to reason, mind clear of the whispers that tormented him. Oscar’s mama said in these moments her nephew was destroyed by his mind,
El hombre estaba destrozado por la locura.

“Chismoso.” He heard the rasping whisper and knew his cousin had reached that quiet place in his head, a few brief moments of rational thought between the crazy. He might hate the name Edwardo had saddled him with back when they were dirty bastards running the streets of their village, accusing him of being a tattletale, not realizing it was his own behavior that most often told the tale, but he loved his cousin. Closer than brothers, they were. “Can we hold?”

Oscar’s brain slipped into high gear, running through the limited information Scorch gave them before Lalo ignited. Glancing down, he took in the broken, unrecognizable face, ripping splits in the skin swollen so the edges nearly turned inside out. On his way to Midland to catch a ride with a Diamante caging it across country, Scorch recognized a truck and trailer traveling the same direction and took advantage of what he saw as a boon. An opportunity.

He admitted both women survived the wreck on the isolated country road. He also admitted only one woman got loaded into a bus by EMTs alive. Boasting of looking into the bitch’s eyes when he pulled the trigger, watched the light leak out of them alongside the blood leaking from her body. Oscar glanced across the room, to the handgun resting next to the wall, kicked there by Lalo when Scorch pulled it from the back waistband of his pants.

The other woman was out, never saw him. Wouldn’t recognize him if she did see him, if she survived, so that wasn’t a path the Rebels could tread, trying to pin down the shooter. In Las Cruces, they kept Scorch restricted to the motel, never letting him be near the warehouse or storage unit. No eyes on him anywhere, no one to know him. Even Duck, smart as the man was, wouldn’t have a scent to follow. Which meant it was a fifty-fifty chance any trail could lead them to Lalo, or take them so far astray they’d never see their way back.

Chismoso tipped his head and met Lalo’s gaze, telling him, “We can hold.”