Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (32 page)

Mica leaned her head back against the seat. “Your brothers don’t play anymore? Just you?”

He nodded, rubbing his fingers through his dark hair, saying shortly, “Yeah, just me from the Ruperts. But, I’m lucky to have picked Jason up several years ago as a player, and now a friend. He’s a rock for the team, and I was really glad when Gary came back and they gelled as team leaders.”

“Okay, so where are we headed, Mr. Rupert? This is quite a drive for dinner,” she joked with him, tilting her head so her hair draped across her shoulder and down to her breast. Daniel’s breath caught, and he felt a twitch from his groin she was so beautiful.

Looking outside again as the car slowed and turned, he replied, “We’re here; give me a minute to run in and pick up the food.”

Mica peered out the window, seeing a tall statue of a round-cheeked boy in a checkered apron in front of what looked like a diner. “Is this a Big Boy? We’re eating at a Big Boy?” she asked skeptically.

He nodded seriously. “Best burgers in the world. Don’t diss.” He grinned. “I’ll be right back!”

After a few minutes, he returned to the car with an armful of bags. Settling them into the seat and floorboard, he sniffed appreciatively as the car filled with the aroma of fresh-made burgers and seasoned French fries. “Onward, Samuel,” he shouted, laughing, and the car pulled out of the parking lot.

“Okay, Daniel, now where are we going?” She pulled a bag over and looked inside, laughing as he jealously pulled it back, crinkling the top closed. “Nuh-uh, Mica, no snacking. We’ll be there soon.”

“But where is ‘there’?”

Holding a finger up to his lips, he made a shushing sound. “Secret,” he whispered, and turned to look out the window with a big grin on his face.

Sitting quietly, smelling the food, Mica grinned at him, mocking his action with her own, “Shhh.” Within a few minutes, the car turned onto a narrow drive that had several cars already parked along the sides. They pulled to a stop in front of a house that was well lit from within, even at this late hour. Daniel turned to her with a huge, open, and relaxed smile and said, “We’re here.” He was opening the door to get out when he heard her mutter, “Yeah, but where is ‘here’?” and grinned even wider.

Samuel collected the food bags, and Daniel rushed Mica up the walkway and onto the front porch just as the door opened. A pretty woman stood in the doorway, dressed in a pullover shirt and slacks with bare feet. She had a wide smile on her face, and said, “Danny, I’m so glad you made it.” She stepped out to wrap him into a tight hug, laying her head against his shoulder and patting the back of his head with her hand. “Oh, you feel so good; Danny,” she stepped back and held her hand out, “and you must be Mica.”

Mystified, Mica shook her hand. “Yes, Mica Scott.” She looked at Daniel for help, because she had no idea who this woman was, and she wasn’t sure what to do next. Putting an arm around each of the women on the porch, looking very pleased with himself, Daniel said, “Mica, this is my mom, Darlene Rupert.”

Daniel’s mom pulled her into the house, yelling, “Boys, come say hello to your brother’s girlfriend.” Daniel groaned behind her, “Mom,” but didn’t get any further before there was loud scuffling coming from a room opening off the hallway. Grunts and low curses carried to them as they stood near the outside door.

“Boys, knock it off now,” his mother ordered, as a wiry, but muscular man in a t-shirt with tattoos on his right arm barreled through the doorway, seconds ahead of an older version of Daniel in a wheelchair. “Ha! Beat you, J.J. Eat my dust, big brother,” teased the younger man, as the wheelchair-bound J.J. slid sideways to a stop just in front of Darlene.

J.J. grinned at his baby brother. “Picking on a crip now, Dickie? Nice choice of impression techniques there, bro.” As he smiled up at Mica, she noted the pain around his eyes, but his joy was genuine as he teased Dickie. He had what looked like a two-day scruff on his wide jaw, and wore a tightly knit skullcap over his short hair.

J.J. held out his hand. “Jon Junior, but everybody calls me J.J.. Pleased to meet you, Mica. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her suggestively. Mica laughed nervously; she pulled her hand from Darlene’s grasp to reach out and shake his hand, noting the callouses across his palms and fingers from the wheelchair.

“J.J., it’s good to meet you. I learned about you tonight,” she responded, and she waggled her eyebrows back at him.

Hooting with laughter, J.J. smacked Daniel on the thigh. “Danny, she’s a keeper; that was awesome.”

Mica turned to the other man, seeing a close semblance with his brothers. They all had that dark reddish-brown hair and deep blue eyes, but Dickie was much thinner than the other two. His was more of a swimmer’s build, and he was the only one with visible ink. His shirt wasn’t new; it was well worn, but looked comfortable. He seemed quicker to frown than Daniel, but for now, he held his hand out with a grin. “Richard, but no one here calls me anything but Dick or Dickie, so whichever of those you pick will be fine.”

Mica shook his hand too, but noticed when Daniel snaked an arm around her waist. He pulled her back into him, and she let Dickie’s hand go a little more quickly than she had J.J.’s. “Which would you prefer, Mr. Rupert?” she asked in a smart-aleck tone.

“I’m not Mr. Rupert; he’s the one standing behind you. Dickie is fine, sweetness. Glad you guys made it.” Turning to Daniel, he staggered playfully across the hallway clutching his stomach. “My brotha…food…foooood…foooood! I’m starving,” he joked.

Samuel had passed through a few minutes ago with the food, turning into a doorway opposite where the two men had raced out of. Darlene shoved her boys that way, telling them, “Kitchen, wash up first. Welcome, Mica, come on in.”

41 -
            
Told you I’d find you

Mica decided their return home to Chicago from Milwaukee was anticlimactic, because nothing happened. They uprooted their lives for days, and nothing happened. Daniel and Mica had made it back to the hotel on Sunday in time for Daniel to catch the bus with the team.

Mica rode home with Jess and Brandy. She had decided it was too cold to ride that far on Mason’s bike; he was disappointed, and she was sorry, but she had stayed nice and warm in the car. Steve reported that Ray had returned home to Texas late Saturday night, so at least he was gone from the area.

Monday morning came, and everyone went to work, and nothing happened. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and then Friday had all been much the same, followed by another two weeks of absolutely nothing. Full days filled with nothing happening...but Mason didn’t care.

That’s how Mica came to be sitting on her window seat at home on a Friday night. She was hugging her legs tightly, looking across her living room at the three bikers seated at her kitchen table, wondering to herself why they were still here, because—again—nothing had happened. It was all a big mistake, clearly. Chewing her thumb, she wondered how she’d be able to convince Mason that everything was okay. It was a couple weeks before Christmas, and she wanted her life back.

The Rebel guys seemed to be playing a guy game of ‘stupid-stuff-I-survived' one-upmanship, as they talked through situations in which they had found themselves in the past.

Tug was there; he was one of her favorites. She liked his casual confidence and how he wasn’t afraid to show the wisdom of his fifty-eight years. He kept his white hair long, and it contrasted with his still-brown mustache. He was the only one of the three without a lot of ink, but he had a cool saying tattooed on the inside of his forearm. It was a quote from Oscar Wilde,
Know how to be alone and not be defined by another person
.

She’d also seen a tattoo on his back one day last summer; it was of a soldier carrying one of his comrades in a fireman’s hold, and the block-lettered words
Some gave all
underneath it. She was sure there was a story there, and hoped one day Tug would feel comfortable enough with her to tell her.

Tug had volunteered for what they called ‘Mica Duty’ a lot since they started this. He was a huge fan of her cooking, especially her homemade tomato soup. Once, when he wasn’t feeling well, she’d taken him some to Jackson’s, and he always asked for it now.

He sat way back in a chair, relaxed and loose, his feet stretched out in front of him and his forearms crossed behind his head. There was no denying he was powerfully built, but he wore his strength with more style and self-assurance than the rest of the other Rebels. He had even offered to teach her how to drive a motorcycle when spring rolled around, and she was tickled that he’d do that for her.

Red-headed Tucker was a lot less settled, but he was just a prospect. Mica knew that meant he was on probation, and had to watch himself all the time around club members. Like a college frat house on rush week, he could be directed by any full member at any time, and couldn’t argue with them no matter what they ordered. He seemed much younger than most of the guys; she’d place him somewhere south of twenty-three. He was arrogant around her, and he pretentiously wore wraparound sunglasses in the house, even at night.

Tucker had visible ink in the form of a brilliantly-colored skull with flames, and a tarantula between its jaws on his left shoulder, seemingly intended to intimidate. He always wore sleeveless shirts under his vest with the prospect patches—she suspected to show off the tattoo. He had a nice leather jacket, but only wore it to ride, so every time she looked at him, she saw that yawning, flaming skull.

Slate was here too, and Mica shook her head, extraordinarily anxious about him being in her house. He gave off a perilous vibe. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but he always carried himself so rigidly he nearly vibrated, like an over-tightened piano string just struck by a mallet. She thought he had to be mid-thirties, and he was fit, well-built, and his muscles were very defined.

Slate was also Mason’s lieutenant, and tolerated zero insubordination from any member at any level. Once, at Jackson’s, she’d seen him explode from a barstool and barrel a much larger member back into a wall. He had lifted the huge man off his feet, and held him for a few seconds against the wall with a forearm choke. His Harley Fat Boy was his pride and joy, but of all the Rebels she knew well, he was the only one who had never offered her a ride.

He was around a lot, both here and at Jackson’s. He was shirtless in her kitchen tonight, and kept looking at her sitting on her window seat in a way that made her face heat. He’d been running his fingers through his hair, and it stuck up every which way, the short brown hair as unruly as he was. His pants and leather chaps were hanging off his hips, exposing a great deal of his cut lower belly and the tip of his dragon tattoo’s tail.

She’d wondered often about his tattoos, which covered his back, chest, both shoulders and arms, down to his hands and fingers, because they were all individually beautiful, but some of them were very faded, as if they’d been there for a long time. She’d seen a new tattoo on his ribs earlier, when she went in for a bottle of water. His new ink read,
Three can keep a secret, if two are dead
, and seemed such a cryptic saying that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it stood for. She’d had a scary thought it probably meant exactly what it said.

She shifted and turned, lying her head on the tops of her knees. She looked out the window into the dark, but was seeing her reflection in the glass more clearly than anything outside. Studying her own face, she saw how tired and drawn she looked. Closing her eyes, she didn’t want to look at herself anymore.

Instead, she thought about Mason and Daniel; she missed them very much. They’d both been too busy to stop by very often over the past few weeks. For Christmas, she was planning on going to Milwaukee with Daniel to spend a couple of days with his family there.

She smiled. She’d really liked Darlene, and she was amazed at how comfortable and relaxed Daniel—or Danny, as they called him—was when he was with his family. He was open, warm, and caring.

She was startled by a touch on her head, and opened her eyes to find Slate standing beside her. His reflection’s eyes met hers, and he reached out to grasp a lock of her hair, sliding it between his finger and thumb. He bent, putting his face near her head, and lifted the hair to take in a deep breath. He was smelling her hair.

Frozen for a second, Mica then jerked back, sitting straight and reaching up to pull her hair out of his hand. He sneered a grin at her, but there was no humor in his face as he turned to stalk back to the kitchen, and sat down again, turning his chair so he looked full-on at her this time.

Tug sat straight and laid a hand on the table near Slate’s elbow, speaking low to him. She watched as Slate made a motion with his hand, like sweeping away a distraction, continuing to stare her way intently.

She scrubbed at her face with both hands, then got to her feet and said, “Blankets for the couch and chair are in the box by the coffee table,” she paused, wondering how blunt to be. “My bedroom is off limits, but the spare bed is up for grabs. Good night.” Turning to walk to her bedroom, she saw a leer on Slate’s face, and thought for about the hundredth time this week that she wished her bedroom door locked.

Walking into her bedroom, she rolled her eyes when the switch failed to turn on the light. She turned towards the bathroom, since that light would illuminate enough to see by, when hands swiftly grabbed her out of the dark. They snatched her up by the throat, and the palm slapped over her face, effectively stifling any cry she could have made.