Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (54 page)

Mason’s heart ached, but less every day since she was moving forward. It helped to know she was in a great relationship with a guy he couldn’t hate, even though God knew he’d tried…hard. He’d been blown away with how much she’d blossomed over the past weeks, just knowing that asshat wasn’t breathing her air anymore. The weight of fear had been holding her back for a long time, so much, that the scope of it hadn’t been clear until it just didn’t fucking exist anymore.

Riding the bike back from Texas had been a huge step towards establishing that her fucking courage was immense, larger by far than the fear ever had been. It was the first of many steps, with the expansion of her business being another huge move.

He remembered how a few weeks ago, Mica called him to come to her. She was freaking out on the phone, so no questions asked, he threw on his leather jacket and jetted to where she was sitting on her bike at the curb in front of Ink Me, a tattoo joint. It was a couple blocks up the street from one of the bars he owned in town, Tupelo’s.

Stumbling off her bike, she’d thrown herself into his arms before he even got the bike turned off. “Mason, I didn’t want to do this without you,” she said against his chest, his arms tight around her. “I wanted you to be here. I…this is for me, but it’s about what you showed me, about me. I need you here.”

He’d soothed her, stroking her hair and reassuring her that he was there, and would stay…wanted to stay. He was honored she had called him, and reminded her how much he loved her and wanted to be there for her. In the end, she settled and picked her head up, just saying his name and nodding her head. Duck stepped out of the doorway, lifting his chin to Mason as he straddled his bike to leave. “Silly’s ready for her,” he called, naming the gal who did most of the Rebel’s tattoos, and Mason nodded.

She’d gripped his hand hard as the artist started up the machine, jerking a little at the first sharp pains. She gritted her teeth as the flowing script was tattooed across her ribcage, just below her breast on her right side. He thought the sentiment was perfect, and he told her so several times.
Without fear, there is no courage
summed up the path she’d taken through the darkness and into the light.

Tipping his head back against the wall, he let his mind wander over the past few years. He sat thinking about all the things that had happened to them, everything they’d gone through…and he knew he’d do it all over again if she needed.

All the pain and heartache, he’d still go find her. He was better for having her in his life. She was worth everything, and he muttered to himself with closed eyes, thumping his chest with a tight fist, “A fucking treasure.”

“Are you talkin’ to yourself, Davis,” he heard an amused feminine voice with a white trash drawl ask, “or just to anyone in the general vicinity?”

Looking up, Mason saw a face he had not expected to see ever again, holding himself still with effort. “Carrie Sosa, as I live and fucking breathe.”

Stepping down off the chair, he stood close to the woman who’d walked up beside him. She was dressed in
classic biker tramp, with a V-neck shirt that left little cleavage to the imagination, and pants so tight he knew she had gone commando.

Right behind her w
ere Slate and Tug, asking with their eyes if they needed to vacate his volatile ex-wife from the premises. She didn’t come to Chicago often, but when she did, the times had been full of unpleasant hostility and fireworks. That woman could do bitch faster and harder than any other woman he’d ever met.

“What the fuck are you doing here, woman? If I want to lay eyes on you, I can fucking come to Kentucky,” he growled out, putting a hand up to stop Slate from grabbing her arm. That would only make things escalate more quickly than he wanted them to, especially at Mica’s party like this. “I got an offer, Davis, and I need Chase to hang with you for a while,” she spat at him.

“Chase is welcome anytime. I’ve told him, and I tell you that every time I talk to you,” he said in a low tone. “Boy doesn’t need a fucking invitation.”

“Good,” she said tartly, reaching behind her to drag forward a sullen-looking dark-haired boy of about sixteen, “here he is. I’ll call.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door.

Mason shook his head as he reached out his hands for Chase’s arms, telling Tug, “See if he’s got bags to bring in before she books, brother.”

Looking down into the face of the young man in front of him, he smiled. “Boy, I am some kinda glad to see your face,” he breathed, holding onto Chase and keeping him at arm’s length for a minute
, slowly rubbing his thumbs against the boy’s biceps. Reaching up to ruffle the dark hair that matched his own, he saw welcome in the expression and pulled his son into an embrace. He smiled widely, closing his eyes and holding his boy; it seemed like life wasn’t going to stay easy for long.

THANK YOU FOR READING
MICA
!

This is Book #1 in a series. I hope you enjoyed and fell in love with the characters as much as I did
while writing Mica’s story. You can learn more about Mason and Slate’s story in Book #2 of the Rebel Wayfarers MC book series,
Slate
, available July 2014.

If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

www.Goodreads.com/book/show/22399518-mica

If you didn’t enjoy it, let me know! How, you ask? Here’s contact information for website and social:

www.MLdeMora.com

www.Facebook.com/mldemora

www.Twitter.com/MariaLisadeMora

REBEL WAYFARERS MC BOOK SERIES

While these books are intended to be readable as standalone stories, there is a sequence if you are reading the series:

Mica – Book #1

Slate – Book #2

Bear – Book #3

Jase – Book #4

Mason – Book #5

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Raised in the south, MariaLisa deMora learned about the magic of books at an early age. Every summer, she would spend hours in the local library, devouring stacks of books in every genre. On music, she says, “I love music of nearly any kind — jazz, country, rock, alt rock, metal, classical, bluegrass, rap, hip hop…you name it, I listen to it. Like Mica, I’m a hand gal, so drummers are my thing. I can often be seen dancing through the house in the early mornings. But I really, REALLY love live music. My favorite thing with music is seeing bands in small, dive bars [read: small, intimate venues]. If said bar [venue] has a good selection of premium tequila, then that’s a plus!”