Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (44 page)

The color faded from Benny’s face as Slate spoke, and his head fell back against the thin hospital pillow. “How the hell did you fix this, Andy? That was a lot of money. Are you sure it’s okay? Are you in danger now?” Benny asked cautiously.

“Nah, I got this. It’s what I do, man.” Slate shrugged. “So that’s one problem handled, well...two...MC and cartel, but who’s counting. That leaves us with your addicted ass. Listen, I need you to get me on this, because here’s what’s about to happen. In a few minutes, a couple of men are going to come in here and we are going to take you to the airport. You’re getting on a plane and heading to Phoenix, and you’ll be checked into a rehab facility there for a minimum of ninety days. You fuck up, and that ninety day timer starts over.

“You stay the course, you get out in ninety days, and you can come back to the band with a sober companion. If after an additional six months of sobriety things are still good, we can dispense with the companion. If not, then we reevaluate. I’m on your ass every step of the way, Ben. This is not a cake walk. I guaran-damn-tee you this is gonna be a lot of fucking work, but this is your life, Benny. It’s your
fucking life
, and I will not let you go the way of Mom.” Slate reached out and grabbed Ben’s hand tightly.

They sat in silence for a minute, Ben’s eyes downcast at the blanket covering his lap. “What did you tell GeeMa?” Benny asked quietly.

“Truth. I told her the truth, that you won’t be coming back to Enoch ever, and you’re going to fucking pay back every penny you stole from her. I told her you needed this...you need to get sober, because you are killing yourself as things stand now.” Slate shrugged again. “She gets it; she understands the score.”

Cutting his eyes up at Slate’s face, Ben asked, “Can you come with me? I just found you, and then I fucked it all up like this.” Ben shook his head, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Naw, shrimp, this is a you kinda thing. Time to pony up and clear the catchpen. But, you know what?” he paused, shaking their joined hands and looking into Benny’s face. “I got confidence in you. You got this. It’s what we Jones’ men do.”

***

After riding to the airport with his brother and seeing him through security, Slate had gone back to the bar to deal with Manzino. He and Hoss had decided to let the fucker go, but make a statement that he needed to move on from town. The little man took the beat-down in stride, arrogantly flinging blood off his face with a swipe of his fingers.

“I understand the Rebels’ expectations, man,” he said through swollen and split lips. Slate nodded without saying anything and stepped back, letting Tequila muscle the man into the trunk of a car. They’d drop him right outside the house in which his children lived, driving home the fact that they knew a lot about him, probably more than made him comfortable.

21 -
            
Ruby

A month later

Backing his bike into his parking space in the clubhouse lot, Slate toed the kickstand out, but remained straddling the bike for a few minutes. With his hands balled loosely on his thighs, he was still, except for the quiet rise and fall of his breathing. Eyes sweeping the compound, he noted the bikes already parked there, and listened to the thump of music coming from the building behind him. The prospect manning the compound gate closed it softly and moved back to his stool in the shadows.

The sound of the door behind him startled him from his thoughts, and he turned his head to see Ruby walking quickly towards him. He groaned silently,
Why the hell did she come to him tonight
? He wished he could wrap his arms around her, holding her as he mourned the change in his brother. He needed that closeness tonight more than ever, but couldn’t allow it.

“Ruby, now’s not a good time, babe,” he began, interrupted when with a little leap, she hitched her ass sideways across his tank, draping her legs across one of his and sliding her arms around his chest underneath his cut. Her scent enveloped him, vanilla and a floral she’d said was Lily of the Valley. To him, it was her signature as sure as anything; he fucking loved that smell.

She snuggled into his chest, her arms tightening around him as he lifted one hand from a thigh to try and push her backward. “Ruby,” he said quietly, “what’s wrong, baby? Talk to me.”

The only response was her hips shifting closer to him, plastering their torsos together firmly and bringing her in contact with his hard cock straining at his jeans. She’d done this a few times in the past few weeks, reaching out to him for reassurance or comfort.

Slate raised a hand to her hair, smoothing it down her back. He tucked one arm around her waist, holding onto her hip with that hand. Fingers splayed halfway across her belly, he tightened his arm, holding her close. “Shhhhhh, baby, I got you. Talk when you are ready, Ruby. I got you.” Slate laid his cheek against the top of her head, still caressing her hair soothingly.

He felt her frame hitch, and realized she was trying hard not to cry. Rocking back on his ass, he lifted his left leg over the bike’s tank, keeping her securely in his lap. Slipping one arm underneath her legs, he lifted her and walked towards the clubhouse, feeling as she turned her face to bury it deeper underneath his cut and against his chest. The prospect jumped up and opened the door for him, and as their eyes met over the top of her head, the pros was shaking his head with wide eyes; he didn’t know what was wrong.

Slate took the stairs two at a time, heading towards the suite Ruby shared with DeeDee until he felt her go rigid in his arms. “Okay. Not your rooms then, baby. Okay. It’s okay, I got you,” he whispered, and he turned down the hallway towards his room. The door was ajar, and he softly bumped it with his hip to open it wider. Stepping into the room, he kicked it closed behind him. Toeing off his boots, with her still in his arms, he crawled up the bed to lean back against the headboard, carefully arranging her on his lap.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wood, taking in a deep breath and releasing it in a hard sigh. His fingers wrapped around her hair, sweeping it out of her face so he could use his knuckles in a gentle and slow stroke across her cheek. They sat there for a long time not speaking as Slate’s eyes grew heavy. He scooted down in the bed a little, thrusting a pillow behind his head and draping her across his body so he could keep his arms tightly around her.

He lifted his eyes as he felt her move, but she was merely raising her head to look as she kicked off her boots. She put her head back down on his chest, but one small hand now curled in the shirt underneath his cut, flexing against the material slowly. He wished for the hundredth time he knew what had happened to her. The stories the older members told about the younger, wild Melanie really didn’t match up against this woman who seemed afraid of everything, even her own voice.

“Gonna tell me what’s wrong, beautiful?” he asked without opening his eyes. Waiting her out had become second nature to him over the time he’d known her, and he knew if he gave her an opening without pressure, she’d eventually talk to him. They lay like that for long minutes, deep breaths synchronizing as she slowly calmed down.

“DeeDee has someone over. It made me sad,” she said simply, that hand beginning its twist and curl into the fabric of his shirt again. Her voice was somewhat muffled; it sounded like she had her other hand over her mouth, trying to hold back the emotions she was feeling. “You missing Winger and Lockee?” he asked, and felt her head move in agreement.

He thought that was the end of it; she was sad, because her ‘Mom’ had a boyfriend, and Ruby was still missing the people who had left their lives too soon, so he was surprised when she continued. “I miss them, but...I want...I can’t have...I can’t have what DeeDee has,” she finished in a rush.

Slate stilled, waiting. He was laying on the bed, suddenly very aware of her hip pressing into his lower belly and her breasts wedged in tight against his chest. Her breath hitched as she finally said, “I want that.”

Slate asked softly, “What do you want, Ruby?”

Before she could respond, there was a commotion from downstairs in the main room, and Slate jackknifed up off the bed, setting her aside quickly but carefully. “Stay here, Ruby. I need to make sure that’s not blowback from today’s shit.” He stepped into his boots, forcing them onto his heels hard. He turned and looked at her again. “Wait for me. I want you in my bed so we can finish this conversation, baby.”

He made sure his gun was tucked into the holster in the back waistband of his jeans, and strode quickly down the hallway and stairs, looking over the group arrayed across the main room. He took a deep breath when he saw it was Estavez and two Machos, and then the tight band around his chest eased when he saw a wide smile on the man’s face. “Estavez,” he greeted him, receiving a small nod in response.

“May we speak in private, Slate? I have a personal matter to discuss with you.” Estavez waited quietly, his face impassive. Slate pointed to his office door, behind the bar. “In there. Want something to drink?”

“A beer would be good, my friend,” came the response, and Slate relaxed a little more, nodding at the prospect behind the bar. They took their beers into the office and closed the door. “Slate...Andrew Jones...I have a debt to you, again. Two of the men in Denver were ones I had been looking very hard for; they were responsible for a number of things, including the kidnapping of my daughter. I appreciate the chance to clear the past, and for that I owe you.

“Also, the value of the product was significantly more than I estimated,” Estavez said, reaching into an inside pocket of his cut and pulling out an envelope. “In this envelope, there is a locker key and an address. Inside that locker is a bag with a great deal of money. I will not return to the locker, so you must retrieve it, or you can allow it to go to some anonymous person if it is discovered.”

Slate slowly took the envelope from the outstretched hand. He nodded, not saying anything, and folded the envelope to fit into his pants pocket. Estavez smiled at him, and then the look on his face sobered. “If I could ask but one thing of you, Slate?”

Raising an eyebrow questioningly, Slate responded, “What’s that, brother?”

Estavez stood. “Please, do not call it the ‘Carmela marker’ again. Your name is sufficient in any form.”

Slate stood and clasped forearms with the man. “Never again, brother. My word.”

An hour later, Slate stood looking into his room at the empty bed. Sighing deeply, he shook his head as he moved into the room, removing his boots again. Ruby had run from him again, and he was reasonably sure they had been about to have a fine-tuning of their relationship before the interruption.

“Fuck me,” he muttered tiredly, sitting on the edge of the bed and roughly rubbing his face before lying back. He was asleep in minutes, and his dreams were filled with silent smiles, unruly red hair, and soft curves.

***

Slate walked into the clubhouse kitchen, rubbing his neck with one hand and rolling the early morning kinks out of his shoulders. A warming lid on the stove covered a pan of scrambled eggs, with sausage and bacon nearby. He stood and stretched for a minute, then went over to the cabinet. He felt fingers tug at his belt loops, and turned around to see Ruby standing behind him a little closer than necessary, his cock immediately starting to thicken.

He took a step back, reaching down with one hand to clasp it loosely around her slender wrist, pulling her hand off him. “Ruby,” he greeted her cautiously, turning back to the cabinet and grabbing a plate. He scooped eggs and breakfast meat onto his plate, grabbing a fork as he walked out of the room and away from her. She’d been the one to run from his bed last night, and damnit if he was going to forget it so easily.

He didn’t turn and look behind him, but he could feel the weight of her gaze on his back all the way down the hall. Sitting on a stool at the bar in the main room, he motioned to the prospect for a cup of coffee, and thanked him when the mug was set in front of him. Slate felt his skin prickle, and knew Ruby had followed him. Without moving his head, he used the mirror to find her in the room, and saw she was steadily looking at him.

“Ruby,” he called out, watching her stiffen and catch his eyes in the mirror, “get your leathers; let’s take a run.” A brilliant smile spread across her face, and his heart stuttered in his chest.
Fuck me
, he thought,
she’s so goddamn beautiful
.

PBJ had heard him, and yelled from the next room, “Who’s on escort, motherfuckers?”

Slate shook his head, calling, “I got this one, brother.” Looking in the mirror again, he saw Ruby had disappeared, probably to get her cut and gloves. He finished his breakfast and coffee, sliding the dirty dishes across the bar for the prospect to deal with as Hoss walked up.

“Hey, Prez, Highwaymen reported some issues with non-patched assholes up north. You sure you don’t want a couple brothers on your six?”

“Nah, we won’t go far; I just want to get the cobwebs out of my head with some wind. There’s been a lot of shit rolling around for days; things are finally starting to settle down. Want to get it out of my head for a while, and I thought Ruby could use a break too,” Slate said.

Hoss nodded, and then asked, “You heard Manzino vacated?” Slate gave him a chin lift. Hoss rubbed a hand down his belly. “I don’t trust it. It was too easy after all the shit we went through.”