Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (39 page)

She swallowed distinctly, raising her panic-filled, green eyes to his for the first time, her voice nearly inaudible. “About half of them help out, the other half wait for old ladies to go home so they can be with established members. That’s the hang-arounds. There’s a group of party dolls who show up for events like hog roasts. They don’t do anything but drink and sleep with members.”

Speaking in a softer tone, he said, “Thank you. Now, was that so fucking hard?” Slate slumped back into his chair, watching her face slowly relax a little as he sat and finished drinking his coffee. Thinking hard, he stood, motioning her to walk with him, telling her, “You’re in charge of housekeeping, kitchen, and provisions. Who do you want to help you with the housekeeping?”

“What?” she yelped, startled.

“Did I pick wrong? Did you not hear me, or are you fucking blonde under all that red hair? Can you, or can you not run housekeeping, kitchen, and provisions?” he asked, striding quickly back towards the kitchen.

“I can, uh...but I’m not an old lady. I can’t be in charge of anything,” she said frantically, trying to keep up with his long legs.

“What the fuck? Goddammit, if I say you are, then you are. So suck it up, buttercup. Help me out, baby,” he told her as they turned into the kitchen. “Pour me some coffee, Ruby?” He handed her his cup.

He raised his voice and said to the room, “I asked a question in here a few minutes ago, and nobody fucking answered me. That’s fucking disrespectful.” He pointed at the two groups of women who had no stake in the game where the club was concerned. The hang-arounds were there for the party, booze, drugs, and sex, nothing more. “You bitches are gonna get off the pot, because your opportunity to shit has been fucking revoked,” he said. He turned, calling out to the main clubhouse room, “Worm, Tank, Hurley—get your asses into the kitchen.”

Taking the filled cup from Ruby, he stood there, his posture relaxed, sipping at his coffee. The prospects came into the kitchen, looking between Slate and the redhead standing just behind him. He pointed to the two groups of women, and told the prospects, “Get this shit out of here. Make sure they get a ride off the property, but in a cage, not on the back of a member’s scoot.”

He swung his gaze around the room again. “Anyone else want to cut out now? If you are staying, you are working. Ruby here will be assigning jobs, and if you give her shit, she will fucking tell me. Don’t fuck with her. This is the only warning anyone gets.” He looked at the prospects. “That goes for prospects and members, too.
Do not fuck with Ruby
. Make it known.”

He turned to leave, pausing to smooth a hand down her hair. “Don’t go anywhere, Ruby. Get this shit straightened out for me, baby. I’ll see you in a bit.” He was amused to see a flash of rebellion in her eyes, and then disconcerted when she quickly lowered her eyes again, staring at the floor between her feet. He knew there was a story here, he just needed to find the people who knew what it was.

***

Myron was sitting in a quiet room they’d set up for him and his babies, where his electronic toys were given pride of place. “Hey, need you to set up access to one of the accounts for Ruby, the little redhead. She’s going to be in charge of provisions, and she’ll need a card or cash.” Slate paused in the doorway, leaning against the opening.

“’K, I’ll take care of it,” the man said without looking up. “Hey, I should have totals for you on the skim by tonight, Prez, but it’s not bad.” He spun around, grabbing a folder off the table behind him. “Got a lead on a bar today for you to look at—Marie’s on Main. It’s been in the family for generations, but they’re struggling. It’s pretty perfect, and I think we can get it for half-market, if we promise to keep existing staff. The family is loyal, and that’s something we can all get behind.”

Slate took the folder thrust at him, thumbing through the paperwork. “This looks good, man. Nice job,” he said. “Should we approach personally, or go through legal? What do you think?”

“I think they’d take a direct approach best; you should take Tug. I hear he’s coming in and should be here in an hour or so.” Myron laughed. “Oh, before I forget, I dropped another five thousand into your grandmother’s account last night. Your brother called and explained the situation, so I didn’t want to wait and hold her up.”

Slate froze, keeping his voice even and calm as his hands clenched into fists. “Ben called about a situation? What situation?”

Myron turned to look at him, whispering quietly, “Oh, fuck.” He waited a beat, and then continued, “Prez, man...he said she needed meds, and to pay for a hospital stay.”

Slate fumbled his phone out of his front pocket, hitting a speed dial number. Holding it to the side of his head, he waited for the ringing to be answered. “GeeMa, everything okay there? Are you okay?” He paused to listen to her reply. “Okay, so no hospital?” His eyes narrowed and he sighed. “Did he take it all?” Another pause, then, “I know, GeeMa. I love you too. I’m gonna see if I can get someone to find him. Let’s close that account and get a brand new one set up.”

He raised an eyebrow at Myron. “I have someone who can get everything done fast.” Myron nodded at him. “We’ll have you sorted out by…”
Tonight
, Myron mouthed, “…tonight, GeeMa. Myron will give you a call later, and he’ll have all the details.”

He listened for a moment, then told her, “Yes, he is a nice young man. I don’t think he’s got a girlfriend, but if you know of anyone…” He waited, listening and laughing. “Talk to you soon, okay? Bye.” He disconnected the call, pushing the phone back into the front pocket of his jeans.

“Myron, don’t sweat it. I appreciate you taking an interest and making sure my family is taken care of. She’s wanting to set you up with a girl; she said you’re too nice a young man to be alone.” He thumped the man on the back with a grin. “You need anything else from me? We’ll want to seed that new account, so transfer another five thousand. He cleaned out the entire fucking thing, not just the money transferred yesterday, so she’s got nothing right now.”

Myron’s forehead was wrinkled as he shook his head. “I should have known better, Prez. I’m sorry. What did he want the money for, really?”

“Recording time for his band,” Slate laughed, “what a joke.” He turned to walk out of the room, then looked over his shoulder. “Don’t forget the card or cash for Ruby. She’ll need to go shopping soon; we’ve got a lot of families here to feed.”

Myron nodded, fingers flying over his keyboard. “Gotcha, Prez. I’m on it.”

Walking back to his office, he saw Deke and called him over. “Tell me about the little redhead. She a house mamma, or family? She got a name?”

Deke looked at him oddly, asking, “Cute, short, red curls, green eyes?” Slate nodded. “She’s...unique, man. Not pussy, not a house mamma, and she’s not fucking tradable. Melanie is...fuck, let me get us a beer.” Deke turned, walking out.

Slate sat down, surprised at the response; he hadn’t expected anything other than a name, really.
Melanie
, he mouthed to himself, then shook his head, smiling and saying softly, “Ruby.”

Deke came back with two bottles, setting a beer in front of Slate and closing the door. He took a drink of his, looking at Slate over the bottle. “You know how that chick in Chicago has special status, first because of her shit, and then because of her relationships with members and Mason?” he asked.

“Mica, yeah, we branded her Princess; it was a first for the Rebels. It gave her untouchable status both within, and outside of the club. Put her off limits for any blowback shit from other clubs, too.” He said evenly, “Most of us watched her grow up, and she is special to all of us.” He thumped his chest with a closed fist, saying, “A fucking treasure.”

Deke nodded. “Melanie was best friends with Lockee, Winger’s daughter. Her home life was shit, and she practically lived with Winger and DeeDee from the time she was ten years old. When Winger came to be a brother, his family came with. So, she grew up around the club, like Lockee did. She was wild and fun, always in our shit and pushing to be part of things. She and Lockee were like crazy twins, sneaking out to party, using fake IDs to get into clubs, going to college parties...shit like that. When Winger and Lockee were killed in that wreck, DeeDee held onto that relationship with Melanie. She became a...what do you call it...a substitute?”

“A surrogate,” Slate clarified.

“Yeah, she became a surrogate daughter for DeeDee. She moved into the clubhouse suite we let DeeDee keep, and she’s been here nearly the whole time since, even when DeeDee was up visiting Chicago. Her status is...complicated. It’s more like a little sister than anything, and she’s never hooked up with a brother that I know of. To us, here in the Fort Wayne chapter, she’s as much our princess as Mica is yours, but without the official approval.” He drained his beer.

“A couple years ago, not long after the accident, she made herself scarce, and
fuck
we missed her. I think she’d found a boyfriend, but shit must have turned out hard, because Bingo had to go snag her, but we were simply glad she came back. But, Slate, she came back different, like she’d been beat down—not physically, or I think we’d have found and killed the fucker—but she’s quiet now, never causing trouble, and she’s fucking cautious with her words, as I bet you’ve noticed.” Deke looked over at Slate.

Slate tapped the tip of the beer bottle against his bottom lip. “Is she in the clubhouse because she wants to be, or because she doesn’t have anywhere else to go? What will happen to her when DeeDee moves out?” He took a long drink. “Do ya know how old she is?”

Deke pursed his lips. “I’d like to think she’s here because she wants to stay close to DeeDee, but who the fuck knows what goes through a woman’s mind. Now DeeDee, she knows her time here is limited, but managing Slinky’s is giving her a way to make good money, so she’s sticking for now. Melanie would no longer be as off-limits if she weren’t staying with DeeDee, but I don’t know if she realizes that. She’s twenty-eight or so, I think. Lockee was only twenty-five when the accident happened, and they were the same age.”

“All right, man, thanks for the background,” Slate said casually, dismissing Deke.

He paused in the doorway; it looked like he was deciding whether to speak. Shaking his head, Deke finally said, “Prez, Melanie is...well, fuck...she’s
ours
. You get that?” Slate nodded at him; he understood that possessive streak when it came to people the club wanted to protect. Deke gave him a chin lift, and then walked back out into the main room.

Slate took another swig from his beer, draining it and setting it on the corner of the desk. He was thinking about Ruby...Melanie. She’d awoken something in him he thought had faded. He found himself wanting to protect her, but he knew she might need protection from
him
more than anything. Or maybe he was too late to protect her, if what Deke said was right.

He licked his bottom lip, tipping his head back and remembering her mouth, her lips parted and full. His cock stirred as he thought about taking her mouth, owning her, possessing her. He imagined how her kisses would taste, wanting to sink his fingers into her hair as he held her mouth to his.

God, he was hard now, and he hadn’t even gotten to the rest of her. He wanted her, but he wanted her safe more than anything. He’d talk to her, see how things shook out. Looking up, he saw Tug and Chase walking through the main room. He adjusted himself in his jeans. Fuck him, he’d greet them later. They’d be back here in a minute; he still hadn’t eaten and now he had a fucking hard-on.

He walked into the kitchen area, looking around for Ruby, and saw her squatting inside one of the coolers. It looked like she was inventorying food and supplies on the bottom shelf. “Ruby, did Myron get you set up for funds yet?” he asked her, making her jump. His eyes snagged on how her pants were molded to her ass and thighs. “I told him you needed to get provisions, and he’s going to get you a card, but if he can’t get that in the next hour, he’ll give you cash.”

She was looking anywhere but at him, and that was pissing him off again. “Ruby,” he said, his voice low. He stopped there, simply holding her name in his mouth.

She turned her head, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and responded quietly, “No, I haven’t talked to him yet.”

“You got a list together, baby?” he asked, taking a step closer to her and squatting down behind her. She took in a quick breath as his thighs came down on either side of her ass, the insides of his legs touching her. Moving to go down on one knee, she edged away from him, and he caught a hint of vanilla and something flowery.

Slate’s smile lifted one corner of his mouth as he took in a deep breath, scenting her again. He raised a hand, trailing fingertips down her back to just above the waistband of her jeans. “Well, do you?” he asked, gliding his fingers back up to her shoulder blades.

“Do I what?” she asked breathily, moving forward again, out of reach.

“Do you have a list together yet, Ruby? Are you ready to head out shopping?” he asked, giving her the gist of his question.

“Oh, no, not yet...not a full list. I don’t want to spend money we don’t have to, so I’m trying to get an inventory done. I’ve got a menu ready, so I know what we need.” She spoke fast, moving sideways and further away from him, still looking down.

“Buy what you need for the menu, and we’ll sort the rest out later,” he laughed, “unless you are making gourmet shit that costs a truckload. If it’s basic stuff, then it won’t hurt to have extras.” He shifted to one knee, mimicking her pose and turning to face her, and asked, “Have you ever been to the Chicago clubhouse?”