Fury

A week later and it still felt surreal.

A week out from the day he had barely walked into the Fort Wayne clubhouse and heard his name called from the office area. Four men had waited for him there, faces he knew, men he trusted.

Fury stood and stared, the atmosphere in the room heavy with anger. He moved towards the couch along one wall and Bear broke the silence, “Don’t get comfortable.” The door hadn’t shut behind him, and Fury turned to see a scowling Rebel member standing there, arms crossed, taking up the opening with his bulk.

Fury nodded. “Brute.” He looked back to Bear, giving him a chin lift and stilling when he received nothing in return. “PBJ, Pinto.” None of them said anything, no one spoke, and the hair on the back of Fury’s neck stood on end. “Wanna give me a fuckin’ clue as to what’s going on here?”

“We”—Bear indicated the men in the room with the stir of one finger—“are going to escort you downstairs.” Downstairs meant the basement, where the wet rooms were. Standard issue blood drains in the floor, caged lights on the walls, no outside doors or windows. “Then we”—Bear stirred his finger again—“are going to have a talk.”

“Talk about what?” Fury took a step back and to the side, clearing the arm of the couch and putting his back to the wall. “What exactly do we have to discuss that requires the use of a room in the basement?”

Pinto shook his head. “Don’t make this harder, Fury.”

“Harder than what, Pinto?” He glared at the man. “Harder than what, exactly? From where I stand, you all got me backed right into a fuckin’ corner. But—” He dropped one shoulder, angling his body slightly, telegraphing to anyone looking that he was prepared for a fight. “—do not expect me to go easy.”

Brute started his direction with the intent to pin him away from the door and Fury grabbed the top of the couch, turning it over on the man’s legs. He jumped over the side and ran across the upholstered back, balancing himself with one hand on the wall. Shouts and curses rang out, the noise bouncing off the walls of the small room. Two strides from the door he saw a shadow approaching him from behind, and he put on a burst of speed. Then his boot went through the fabric, tangling with the springs and wooden frame for a moment. Not long, but enough for Bear to grip the back of his vest.

Fury ducked and twisted, putting his head and shoulders underneath Bear’s arm. He stood and twisted again, completing his turn and yanking his cut out of the man’s hand. It would have been easier to skin out and leave the man to deal with a handful of empty leather, but Fury’d worked hard to earn the right to wear this patch and he’d be damned if he’d give it up without a fight. Through the door and to the left, he ran, furiously trying to recall the details of the clubhouse’s layout. Another left turn put him in the kitchen and he ran into someone’s back, bouncing sideways, trying to regain the lost momentum. Hurley turned, eyes wide, holding his hands out to try and keep Fury from falling.

Then a hand clamped on his arm, another on the back of his neck, a third man swept his feet and Fury went down with a shout of anger. So fucking close. Pinto groaned when Fury’s elbow found his ribs, then the man landed a crippling blow across Fury’s kidneys as he gritted out, “For the record? This is you making it harder.”

They’d taken him to the basement and started with questions first. Well, he shook his head, they started with tying my ass up, and the questions came second.

Nothing had made sense. Memphis wasn’t on his radar, ever. He’d been fresh from Lexington, tucking his men into their new places up in Fort Wayne when that went down, trying to manage Shooter’s varying moods and instructions. He’d heard about it, yeah. Wasn’t a man in the life who didn’t hear about the Rebel Wayfarers sweeping in and cleaning house, then staying to have meetings with a dozen clubs who wanted reassurance that the activity wouldn’t be bringing federal attention their way. Most of his notice about the whole thing went to Hoss being out of town and out of contact, because it was a critical delay in the negotiations getting them to where they were today.

Bear and PBJ had led the questioning, Brute and Pinto providing the muscle needed to keep Fury in one place. Fury hadn’t worried about what the outcome would be, not really, because he knew he didn’t have any connection to whatever they were looking for. Not in Memphis. Not ever. Nashville, yeah. Lexington and Louisville, hell yeah. Little Rock, yeah. Raleigh and Charlotte? Yes, and yes. He’d run cons or clubs in all those towns. Not Memphis. So he hadn’t worried. They hadn’t used more force than necessary to get him downstairs, hadn’t retaliated for his struggling, probably because they all knew they’d be the same. Then Captain came downstairs.

Every man in the club had heard the story of how Captain had dealt with trouble sent the Rebels way from out west. A cancer set free from Shooter, a member named Birdy had pulled some bullshit, beating up a stripper. Bad, but not a death knell. No, that had been rung by repeated threats against Captain’s old lady, and family. A bruiser on the ice in his previous life, Captain had systematically taken the man apart, leaving him to drown in his own blood on the floor of the same room Fury had been sitting in. So when Captain came in, things got serious.

They stayed serious for about three hours. Fury hadn’t blacked out, and while there was no real damage, that didn’t mean they hadn’t hurt him. He’d known from experience it would take a while to heal, and had slept for most of this week. Which was good because every time he pissed and Bethy saw the blood, she got angry all over again.

Bethy stirred beside him, scooting backwards in her sleep until her ass pressed against his hip. He smiled and reached across, sweeping a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. He’d heard her story several times. Grinning, he tweaked the tip of her nose, smirking as she jerked away to press her face into the pillow. Several, several times. She’d recounted it often, each rendition providing a new reason to rage. She might never forgive Mason at this rate.

For his part, Fury didn’t hold any grudges. He’d bought the five officers and members a beer the next time he’d seen them in Marie’s, letting them know he understood. As president, if he’d been handed the same intel from a chapter president, he would have acted quickly to investigate, too. Rank and file were just doing their jobs, and that’s what the club needed them to do. Not question, just accept and move forwards. Mason had been harder to convince, but the man had been dealing mostly with Bethy, and she was still angry.

He dragged the pad of his thumb across her temple, continuing down to her cheekbone, caressing her softly. She’d been on her way to him. Through some miracle, she’d pieced things together, and instead of picking up the phone and calling for his head, something her brother would have been all too happy to hand over, she wanted to talk to him. She’d said she needed to see his face. For his part, he was stunned.

Thank God for Mason.

Mason had learned of their involvement in Lamesa and hadn’t been pleased with the knowledge that a member had fucked his sister. Add to that the lies spewed by whoever—Mason remained tightlipped on the who, just voiced a loud what, and since everything went down, that whoever had backpedaled like a motherfucker, claiming all innocence—and it’s a wonder Fury lived to walk out of that basement. By the time she’d driven to Fort Wayne and broadcast she was looking for him, Mason already had him locked down.

The look on her face when he stepped to where she could see him had made his knees weak. In an instant, he’d flashed back to Nashville, all the years in between swept away like cobwebs by a freshening breeze, her face shining, smiling down at him as she laid it out, “I like you.”

He’d fucked her over in Nashville, then ditched her attempt to reach out with a cut that went deep. He’d seen how deep he’d hurt her in the seconds before he’d turned and walked away. They hadn’t spoken since west Texas. He’d sent her a shitty text and hadn’t called. Had known she wasn’t for him. And she’d persisted, coming to him. She was coming to me.

She’d spent two weeks putting the puzzle together and talking to people who knew him along the way. Tyrell’s advocate had served with Dion and knew Fury by extension. Told her he knew Fury was in over his head but wasn’t in a place to step in and help. She found and spoken to Gator, who hadn’t known to keep his mouth shut. After all, she was the big boss’ sister, and apparently in the know. According to Bethy, Gator had painted a prettier picture than she’d expected but hadn’t glossed over the fact that Fury might have fucked up, but he was a man who wasn’t afraid to take responsibility for his actions. She’d apparently dug up a dozen people who sang the same song, and that, along with her gut feeling about them, decided her, putting her in a car alone driving from Nashville to Fort Wayne, and determined to find him. By the time she’d made it to Indiana, her mind was made up, and she was already on the path of forgiveness.

That didn’t mean they hadn’t worked their way through a ton of shit. For days now, every time he opened his mouth he had waited for her to say, “Know what? Enough. I didn’t sign up for this.” But she didn’t. She’d held his hand as he talked through his journey, and he’d held her while she cried because of the days and months they’d lost. Between Nashville and Lamesa, he hadn’t been the only one in her bed, but nothing had gelled—thank fuck—and she’d always walked away, looking for what they’d had together.

Jesus. Everything he’d ever dreamed of, right here lying next to him. If I’m asleep, I’ll gladly stay here ‘til I fuckin’ die.

His fingers played with a curl of her dark hair, smoothing it across the bare skin of her shoulder, teasing the tiny strap out of the way. The baby doll nightie she wore was sexy as fuck, and she knew it, giving him a smirking half smile as she sauntered to bed last night. They’d had a failed attempt to fuck on day three, her riding him, but even the slight sway of the mattress had started his injuries singing, and once she saw the pain in his face, she’d climbed off and refused to let him even get close to getting her off.

Today would be a very different story. He’d woken feeling considerably better, and strung out with his need for her. Lemme drink at your fountain, baby.

“Beth,” he murmured, lips following the trail of his fingers on her skin, deliberately dragging his beard across. Soft curves pressed against him, he wanted to devour her. “Wakie, wakie.” He slipped his hand under the covers, finding the hem of her nightgown with his fingertips, trailing along the heat of her thigh. Mouth to her neck, he pressed kiss after kiss to every inch of flesh he could reach. Sketching slow circles on her shoulder with the tip of his nose, he dipped his fingers under the satin fabric, dragging it up the few inches until he could cup her mound with his palm. Hot, so heated when he gently wedged his hand between her legs, he sucked in a breath of anticipation.

Bethy mumbled something and moved in the bed, arching back and lifting her leg slightly. He shifted his hand slowly back and forth, then changed position to find the top edge of her panties, slipping underneath to trace the lips of her sex with his fingers. “Fucking wet, baby. You dreaming of me?”

“Always, Gabe.” Her voice was whisper-soft, a barely there exhalation of sound that reverberated inside him. He’d wanted to hear his name from her lips for so long, wanted and imagined how it would feel. So much better than anything I could have dreamed.

He moved, stripping her panties down her legs, gripping her thigh in one hand and lifting it so her calf draped over his hip. He might not be able to fuck her properly yet, but he’d be damned if he waited another instant to be inside her. It was the work of moments to position himself at her entrance. “Bethany?” She responded with a slow pump of her hips, still half asleep but aroused by his play. “Baby, you with me?” A soft hum was his answer. “Beth,” he dragged the head of his cock through the wetness she’d given him, “are you with me?”

“Yes, Gabe. I’m right here.” Now she sounded peeved, and he grinned at that because a peeved Bethany was an awake one.

“Bethany?” She turned her head finally, a tiny frown drawing her brows together as she glared at him. When he didn’t say anything else and didn’t move, she shifted slightly, angling the top of her body away so she could see him better. Her brows lifted, arching up towards her hairline and he grinned at her. He moved then, thrusting into her, feeling her pussy part and give way, accepting his invasion of her body. Her lids drooped, those gorgeous eyes heated and her lips parted as she pulled in a breath. Midstroke, he gave her everything. “I love you.” Her eyes focused on his face. “I’ve loved you for so long, baby.” He saw wet gathering in her eyes. “I’m never giving you up. You’re—” Bottoming out inside her, he ground deeper, finding comfort in every inch of skin that touched along their bodies. He pushed her nightgown up, palm sliding over her breast, fingers wrapping around to caress and plump as he pumped into her again. “Mine, forever. You get that, right?”

“I know, honey.” She lifted a palm to his face, thumb sliding along his bottom lip, fingers threading through his beard. “Forever.” Catching her lip between her teeth, she hissed as he thrust hard, pussy pulsing around him. “Gabe.”

He rolled her nipple between finger and thumb, tugging and playing just how she liked it best. He remembered every moment spent in her bed and used those memories now. Shoving his other arm under her, he wrapped his hand around her hip, stroking down until his fingertips were pressing on her clit. Timing his thrusts, he alternated between tweaking her nipple and flicking her clit, watching as her eyes closed, then opened, finding his. “Bethany, you know I love you?”

“Uh, huh.” She nodded, hair wisping across his face as she moved, hips pumping back against him. “Love you, too, honey.”

“My name,” he growled, bending his neck to graze the side of her throat with his teeth. “Say my fucking name.”

“Gabe.” Whispers filled with urgency, she called, “Gabe, honey.”

Sweat slicked her skin, and he stopped torturing her nipple, wrapping his arm around her waist to drive her down onto his cock. Her pussy pulsed and rippled, every change in tension and pressure pulling him closer to the edge. He worked her clit, first slow, then fast until she gasped for air, mouth opening as she threw her head back, turning to bury her face against his neck. On a rising wail, she cried out and her body tensed in his arms, her hands gripping his wrist, holding his hand still as he pressed hard, hips moving fast. Driving deep, he clamped his teeth into the muscles of her shoulder, brutal in his chase towards climax. She cried out again, and he heard what he’d been waiting for. “Gabriel.”

Deep inside her he held still, balls tight to his body as his orgasm poured from him, the heat around the head of his cock intensifying until he had to move again. Another thrust, then another, slower, feeling her relax into him, turning into an exhausted ragdoll in his arms. Still he glided in and out, slowly, filled with the indescribably beautiful sensation of being inside the woman he loved more than life.

“Baby?” He kissed the indents left from his teeth, wincing to see how deep they ran, knowing she’d bear bruises tomorrow. “You okay?”

“If by okay, you mean bonelessly satisfied and exhausted? Then, yes. I’m that.” She sighed and then froze. “Gabe, your spooge is leaking out of me.”

He grinned, pressing his forehead tight to her back, hoping he was out of elbow range. “Yup.”

“You spooged in me?” He tried to bury his laughter, unsuccessfully, and when he chuckled, she twisted in his arms, turning to see his face. “You spooged in me?”

“Yup.”

She reached up and touched one corner of his mouth. “Stop smiling.” He shook his head. “I’m serious, Gabe. Stop smiling.” She lifted both hands and tugged on the corners of his mustache, trying to pull his lips into a somber line. “Stop smiling. I can’t be mad at you if you’re smiling like that.”

“Like what?” He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, watching her nose crinkle as his softening cock slipped out of her. “What am I smiling like?”

“Like you’re six years old and someone told you that Santa and the Easter Bunny were real things.”

He kissed her again, trailing his lips up her jaw to press a final caress in front of her ear. Whispering, he told her, “Better. I got told that you’re mine, forever. I’m just working to seal the deal.”

She pulled back, studying his face, her expression one he hadn’t seen before, equal parts terror and hope. “I’m not on birth control.”

When her fingers touched the corner of his mouth again, he knew he was smiling. “I know.”

***

He stared at Mason, not certain he’d heard correctly. “Come again?”

Grinning, Mason lifted his beer and tilted his chair back in the same movement, leaning backwards on two legs. “Fort Wayne.” Slate snorted a laugh and matched Mason’s posture, his balance wavering for a moment. Then he collected himself and took a long pull from the bottle in his hands.

Fury looked around the room, narrowing his eyes as he realized the men had been handpicked to be there. In addition to Mason and Slate, there were national and chapter officers, a couple of members, and one prospect, Hurley. He ran through the names again, and any humor or goodwill fled when he realized every man who had witnessed Mason’s distrust of him was here, Bear, Brute, PBJ, and Pinto. Turning back to Mason, he stared at the man for a moment, then asked, “Why are you fucking with me?”

Mouth flattening, Mason shook his head. “Not fucking with you. And, gotta say,” he let the legs of the chair thump to the floor, “most men got told they were having a promotion like this, they don’t much argue.”

“Most men aren’t me.” Fury was intensely aware that he’d deposited his phone and weapons into the lock box before coming into this room, the lightness of his vest pockets making him uneasy and that uneasiness pissed him off. I shouldn’t be like this here. These are my brothers. “Wanna start from the top, and maybe begin with why this isn’t going to be a voted change?”

Mason shrugged. “Hand-picked successor.” He pointed a thick finger at Slate who grinned around the mouth of his bottle. “Slate suggested, and I agreed.”

“Why are you suddenly willing to step down?” This was directed at Slate, and he saw true amusement in the man’s eyes as he thudded the legs of his chair down in turn.

“Nope. Not sudden. I took over from Bingo, you know that. He and Mason lassoed me into it, kinda like he and I are doing to you right now. Bingo had too much going on, kids and everything, he couldn’t spend the time to deal with all the bullshit that comes to the president’s plate.” Slate twisted his head side to side, looking at each man in turn. “Not that I wouldn’t trust any of y’all, but Fury’s got a vested interest now.” He turned his crooked grin to Fury. “Bangin’ the boss’ little sister and all.” Mason’s face hardened, and Fury glared at Slate, who broke out in laughter. “Seriously, Fury. It’s not sudden. I’ve been talking about it for a while, and with Ruby blessing me with another pair of twins, I cannot be both the man she needs, and the president the club demands. Not now, and not for a while. Turns out being a parent isn’t a transient event.” He shrugged. “Who knew?”

“Me?” Fury locked eyes with Mason, holding their gazes until Mason nodded slowly. “I accept, of course, with the understanding that the office is not dependent on anything outside of the club.”

“More in spite of, than because of,” Mason assured him. “Lotta men gonna be hatin’ on you for this.”

Fury let the idea settle in his mind. President of the Fort Wayne chapter was a large step up from a no-voice member just over a year ago. Mason was right, of course, there would be dissent. I'd worry more if there wasn't. He glanced around the room, letting his gaze rest on each man, much as Slate had done moments ago. Support and excitement on every face except one, and Hurley looked more confused than anything. Probably about why he got invited to this little powwow. Fury shook his head. “Thing about haters? They’re a lot like noisy bugs. Chirp, flap, and crap all fuckin’ day but when you walk past ‘em, they shut the fuck up.” He shook his head. “Tell me what I need to know.”

They spent the next twelve hours going over many plans and projects already underway, and Mason unveiled a few that he’d been holding close to the vest. Timing was a bitch on this change, because of how many irons were already in the fire.

Fury yawned, and Mason laughed, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead. “My fuckin’ brain is mush.” Mason leaned back and hammered on the door, telling the prospect who opened it to bring in the lockbox. Phones and weapons were passed out and Fury checked his phone, groaning to see five missed calls from Bethy. “Can we pick back up tomorrow, brother?” He waggled his phone. “Got some explaining to do to the old lady.”

Mason stared at him for a minute, face expressionless. Slowly he shook his head, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Never for a minute thought I’d hear that applied to my sister.” Without looking up, he said, “She’s about used up her vacation. What are y’all going to do when she goes back to Nashville?”

Fury knew better than to let his amusement show, so he kept it clamped down as he said, “Business is between her and her partner. I’m no part of that.” Mason grunted and flattened his palms on the table, pushing to his feet. “As her old man, though, I’m strongly recommending she have a conversation about hiring a local manager for the Nashville part, and sticking to what she does so well, the tour management.”

Nodding, Mason looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “She’ll still spend a lot of time away. She gonna be okay with that?”

“I doubt it, which is why the second argument I have is for her to stay home and be barefoot and pregnant with my babies.” Mason’s chin lifted, and he stared at Fury. “She won’t go for that either. Seriously, she’s got to sort it out. I can listen and tell her what I think, but it’s on her in the end.”

“Real mature attitude.” The words should have been a compliment, but they came out sounding like an insult instead. Fury knew where Mason was coming from though and didn’t take offense.

“I’m just”—he thumbed over his shoulder—“gonna go give my old lady a call.”

“You do that. I’ll do the same. We’ll circle back around tomorrow, brother. Set some timelines on things here in the Fort.”

Fury nodded, his attention already on the phone in his hand. Two rings and Bethany answered, voice breathless. “Hey, honey.”

“Baby.”

“I’m going to make myself some dinner. If you can let me know when you’ll be home”—he caught his breath, liking how the word sounded in her mouth—“I can have a plate ready for you.”

“Baby, did I tell you yet today?”

When she answered him, her voice had softened, growing warm in a way that made him smile. “Yeah, but I’d love to hear it again.”

“I love you, baby.” He heard her sigh through the phone’s speaker, knowing she liked hearing the words. “I’ll be home in twenty, so wait for me and we can eat together. Whatcha makin’?”

“Just some fried squash and skirt steak. Nothing fancy.”

“Sounds good, I’ll be there soon.”

“Can’t wait.”

It’s a little strange, he thought as he straddled his bike, waiting a moment after starting it to allow the engine to warm up, how quickly we’ve settled into this. As he pulled out of the lot, lifting a hand to the prospect who was manning the gate, he tried to shake off the feeling that it had been too easy in the end.

***

“Brother? What’s happened?” Fury wordlessly waved Pinto away, needing a minute to try and make sense of the info he’d been force fed. Mason’s voice echoed in his head, the words chasing each other around and around.

“Watcher wrecked out, brother. He’s gone.”

Followed by a guilt-ridden explanation of the scene that lay before Mason, those words, choked to life in a tear-thick voice, wouldn’t lay down and be still. They kept clawing at his chest, working their way underneath his skin until he twitched in place. He’s gone. It didn’t seem real, and he could only hope this was a nightmare, a restless night followed by a startled waking filled with relief.

“Brother? Fury?”

Squeezing his eyes closed, he ground out the order, “Call the officers in.” Mason had asked for face-to-face and phone calls, such a loss was not something to be disseminated in a text message, or, God forbid, first seen on social media. Pinto’s presence receded, and Fury knew he was going to do as asked. With the sirens in the background, it was unlikely Mason had finished calling chapter presidents before he would have to conduct a different kind of interview, so once he’d told the officers here in the Fort the few, sparse details he had, he would call Myron, then Bones.

Shuffling footsteps behind him, then a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Gunny standing there. “I just got off the phone with Road Runner. We got news, brother.” Fury gestured towards the seat across from him. “I found records,” Gunny started, pulling the chair out and turning it around, seating himself on it backwards, arms crossed on the wooden back of the chair. “Records going back a few decades, about wrecks in those mountains. You told me to dig deep. Well, brother, I dug fuckin’ deep. You remember how you said Duck’s Brenda was left in a hospital with a note pinned to her coat, transported up a ravine from a burning car and across two county lines to land in that ER?” Fury nodded, finally realizing what Gunny was going on about. He’d asked the man to look into the wreck that killed Brenda’s parents, and to look at what Fury had put together about Tabby’s wreck, trying to find a connection. It seemed he had. “I found another one just like it. This one was Watcher’s little sister, Tabitha.”

“Tabby,” Fury interrupted. Her name was a punch to the stomach, the memories of her loss piling in on top of what Mason had told him. “Call her Tabby.”

“Tabby,” Gunny acknowledged, eyeing Fury curiously. “Her wreck wasn’t no accident. You’re right about that. She was dead before her truck went off the road. What you didn’t find was the boy.”

“What boy?” Fury’s memory of the conversation between old man Mason and his father swam up to taunt him. “Which boy are you talking about?”

“Night of her wreck, two counties away a little boy was laid on a gurney in an ER hallway, note pinned to his coat. Said his parents were dead, family that had been raising him were overwhelmed, couldn’t do it anymore. Got made a ward of the state.” Gunny stared at him intently. “Handwriting on the notes is identical. Same person wrote both, years apart.”

Fury waited a beat for him to continue, and when he didn’t, made an irritated gesture. “Get on with it.” So much to do, and this was likely the least important part of anything.

“Five-year-old kid, not hurt but drugged unconscious. His name is Christopher Camp.” Gunny paused again and when Fury just stared at him, shook his head. “Camp. Deacon’s name is Camp, Ryan Camp.”

“You sayin’ Tabby had Deacon’s son with her that night?” The words didn’t make any sense even as he spoke them. “That doesn’t compute, brother. I don’t understand it, but need to tell you now, we gotta put this aside. We’re about to go to the back room and I got news to lay on you.”

“Age ain’t right for a son. Not unless he was masterful at hiding things. Best I can tell, he had just one boy, James. Lived in California with his mother.” Gunny shook his head, pushing up from the chair as the room began filling with men walking towards the meeting room behind the bar. “I think it’s his grandson. That fits what you heard, right?”

Struggling to keep his composure, Fury nodded. It didn’t quite fit, because all this time he’d been assuming old man Mason and his father had been talking about Morgan. Then he put that information aside and turned to see every face pointed his direction. There were a dozen members in the room, too, and suddenly he couldn’t stomach the idea of telling the story twice. “Let’s do this out here, brothers. I’ll just—” He walked towards the bar and pushed as he jumped, twisting to sit his ass on the bar, putting him head and shoulders over nearly all the men. “I got news, and it ain’t good. Y’all know about the run to New Mexico, right?” Nods around the room, features sharpening as men went on alert, knowing that whatever was coming, it warranted attention. “About eight hours out from Las Cruces, they encountered a group of Diamante.” Involuntary movements placed hands near weapons, just the mention of their enemies’ name enough to bring the level of tension in the room up about a dozen notches “There was a wreck. Watcher went down.” Chins lifted and shoulders squared, bearing the weight of the knowledge he was laying on them. “Mason said he’s the only one on our side lost.”

“Watcher’s dead?” The question echoed from a half a dozen throats, in varying degrees of disbelief. Fury nodded and waited.

Slate’s voice asked, “You’re sure?” Fury couldn’t see them, not a single face, not now, because the staggering pain in Slate’s words plunged a knife into the wall of his grief. Mikey’s gone. How can that be true? He nodded.

“I don’t know much more than that, but Mason asked we do a call and tell, no texting. Watcher was important enough to a lot of us.” His throat tightened, and he felt a hand settle in the middle of his back, fingers pushing deep to help hold him together. “All respect, yeah?”

Gunny was behind him, his growling question asking what a number of men were probably wondering. “He wrecked out, wasn’t taken out by Diamante?”

Fury lowered his head, feeling hot tears tracking next to his nose. He shook his head. “Wrecked out. Mason said he got his target, took out Lalo. Went down in the process.” Murmurs now, and those fingers on his back flexed. “Gonna miss that motherfucker.” Dragging in a deep breath, he steadied himself and blew it out slowly. “Cops were showing while we talked. Mason was sticking tight. Said he’d see Watcher into the bus, then he’ll head on to the compound in Las Cruces. Juanita”—Jesus, Bethy has to know this. She’s going to want to go to Juanita—“deserves to hear it from him.”

Bear asked something Fury hadn’t even considered. “Merger still going to happen? We still gonna fold the Soldiers in as a westerly chapter?”

“Far as I know. I’d be surprised if they didn’t, because, with Watch gone, Soldiers will need help to stay together. So—” He lifted his head, taking a moment to blink until his vision cleared, looking out at the ring of men who appeared as devastated as he felt. “—make your calls. Slate and I will touch base with the chapter presidents, in case Mason didn’t get a chance to call ‘em all. But you can call who you need. Respect, because he’d been a friend of the club for years, and in all but one detail was already a Rebel.” He took another breath, then began the phrase, knowing the men wouldn’t leave him hanging, “Rebels forever—” Every man’s mouth opened, and the words rang out loud, filling the room, “—forever Rebels.”

***

“Baby,” he crooned, cradling the back of Bethy’s head, his other arm curved tightly around her waist, holding her in his lap. When he’d walked into the house, she’d taken one look at him and come straight over, wrapping herself around him.

When he’d pulled her close, she’d demanded, “Tell me,” sounding so much like her brother it was almost funny. He’d told her, starting with what he knew, and then answering her broken questions as best he could. The tears had flowed in earnest, and she’d held on like her life depended on it, Fury welcoming the tight grip she’d maintained.

“Baby, you gotta get a hold of it.” She hiccupped and then sobbed, shoulders jerking with the force of the emotion driving her. “Oh, baby.”

“All gone, every one of them. They’re all gone.” Twisting, she buried her face against his throat, and he felt the wet heat of her tears on his skin. “All of them.”

“Baby, you aren’t making any sense. Who’s gone?”

“First my Tabby. Little Tabby who would have never hurt a fly. Gone before she even lived.” She shifted, cupping the back of his neck with her palm. “Then Darrie, and that was so sad. He never got his feet back underneath him after he came home.” She sobbed again, and he tightened his arms. “And now Mikey. Oh, Gabe. Why? What could have…I’m so pissed at him. Why?”

“Why won’t ever be answered, baby.” He shifted, scooping an arm underneath her legs. “We should go to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” Standing, he lifted her with him, keeping his grip tight.

“Juanita. God, I can’t imagine.” She shook her head, arms twined around his neck. “He was her whole world, has been since he found her. What will she do?”

“She’s got two girls to look after. That’ll keep her somewhat occupied.” He angled them through the doorway and stepped into the bedroom, placing Bethy on the mattress. “We’ll sort it all out, tomorrow.” He slipped off her shoes, then unfastened all the buttons on her jeans. She lifted and wiggled as he pulled them down her legs. “Tonight, we’re going to sleep.” He wadded the jeans up and tossed them to the side, near the wall.

“Bella, does she know?” He nodded, leaning in to brush a strand of hair back from her face. She looked as exhausted as he felt, and all he wanted to do right now was get her to rest for a few hours.

“Tater, the brother she’s hooked up with, he got a call so he could break it to her gentle like.” Pressing his lips to hers, he pulled back. “Diamond is with Mela. He got a call too. They should be at the compound by now.”

She sat up, nearly bumping his nose with her head. “Ty! Oh my God, Ty. He and Mikey were tight. I need to call him.”

“Tomorrow,” he soothed, taking advantage of her position to grip the hem of her shirt and lift, forcing her to raise her arms. “We’ll call him tomorrow.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s going on midnight, baby. Let him have his rest. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

“Will you go to Kentucky with me?” She looked up at him as he crumpled the blouse, tossing it on top of the jeans. “His family plot is there, so that’s what he’d want.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, baby.” She smiled, the expression so sad and wan it made his chest clench. “Climb under the covers. Let’s go to bed.” Staring down at her, he was struck again by how lucky he was. Never would have called this one, not in a million years. The idea that she could be here, with him, in his bed? Impossible. That she could have forgiven him so easily, put aside the lies and betrayal, because she loved him? Even more impossible.

In his bed, dressed in the sexiest set of lingerie he’d ever seen, the woman of his dreams. Pinch me. She moved, pushing up near the pillows to shove the blanket and sheet down, slipping underneath. “I’m gonna go lock up. Be right back.”

She smiled and smoothed the pillow next to her head in clear invitation, then gave him a gift he never would get accustomed to receiving. “Love you, Gabe.”

“Love you, too, Bethany.” He bent, pressing his mouth to hers then stood. “I’ll be right back.”

***

Bethany

She was still, curled small as she could manage while Gabe lay wrapped around her. He’d come back to bed as promised, then succeeded in distracting her wonderfully for a length of time. Sweaty and out of breath, he’d gathered her close to his side, caressing her with fingertips and lips until slumber claimed him. With heavy limbs, he’d turned in his sleep, his movement forcing hers. Then he crowded close like he did every night since she’d come to find him. Even in sleep he kept her close.

The third day in Fort Wayne, the first she’d surfaced from being with Gabe, Willa had sought her out. Mason’s wife had become a friend and confidant, reaching out often just to keep in touch, doing a much better job than Mason or Bethy had ever done, lending them both her innate resilience and strength in different ways. Willa’s son, Garrett, was the spitting image of Mason, something Bethy had been very glad to see given the timing of the pregnancy. She’d never asked and Willa hadn’t offered, but the relief had been clear on her face when Bethy had come to visit and could answer that yes, Garrett looked a lot like Mason’s baby pictures as she remembered them. Willa doted on the boy, taking him everywhere with her, even to work once she started back.

So when Willa showed up at Fury’s without Garrett, Bethy knew it was an orchestrated visit. She smiled at the memory of how Willa paled when asked her reason for visiting. One thing about Willa was you knew exactly where you stood with her, and Bethy knew Willa liked her, but at that moment, she hadn’t liked Fury at all.

“Why don’t you come with me? We can go get some coffee or something.” Willa leaned her shoulders against the door, seemingly unwilling to move away from the opening. “I brought the car and everything.”

Bethy eyed her sister-in-law for a moment, taking in the level of discomfort showing on her features and then slowly nodded. “Let me just change clothes and tell Gabe where I’m going.” Willa’s face scrunched up, a movement Bethy would bet money the woman didn’t know she was doing, but it coincided with Gabe’s name, and surely telegraphed her feelings louder than a shout. This was an intervention.

Not that she hadn’t expected one. To the outsider, this would seem intensely fast, because most people only knew about Lamesa. To the uninformed observer, her tracking him to Indiana then Ohio and facing down her brother, and then turning around and calling Gabe “her man” would seem the highest of folly. Those people, Willa and Mason included, had no clue about what had happened sixteen years ago. They didn’t know she and Gabe had a history, good and bad, and to Bethy, the good outweighed the bad by a large measure.

So, sitting in a café across from the woman her brother loved more than breath, his words, she laid it out for Willa. Not all the bad, there was no reason for anyone to know that part. It would forever be between her and Gabe. But talking about the holler and how he’d been the sweet boy who was her best friend’s sorta brother figure, and then how he’d happened on her in Nashville so many years ago. How they’d fallen into a sexual relationship that was just getting deeper when business tore them apart. She spoke about how she’d dated since, finding herself measuring every man against Gabe. Him always coming out ahead, even though he wasn’t there.

Willa had nodded at that and smiled, shyly sharing her first encounter with Mason and how, even if she’d put herself out there to give him her number, that hadn’t gone anywhere for months. How, when they started seeing each other, there was always something getting in the way, something pulling them apart. Bethy knew in that moment that Willa got it, she understood, and she’d do her best to make Mason understand, too.

So with that handled, they spent the next hour talking about Willa’s pregnancy, how that was advancing. Willa was excited about the chance to build their family, but her stories about Mason’s nervous concerns were hilarious. Bethy grinned, knowing she’d be leaving this little sit-down with a dozen new jabs in her arsenal.

“Do you have siblings?” Bethy watched as Willa’s eyes warmed, her face softening as she shook her head.

“Always wanted a brother or a sister.” She twisted the handle on the mug holding her decaf. “Gar has Chase, of course, and I couldn’t ask our sons to be better brothers.” Bethy smiled to hear her say it like that, liking how Willa took ownership of Chase. “But there’s a huge age gap.”

“Mason and I have eight years between us, and we seem to get along.”

“Chase and Gar have twice that. Once this little one comes along, I’ll have to figure out how to keep Chase from feeling like he’s part of a different family.” Willa frowned, then set her shoulders back, lifting her chin. “I’ll do it, though. He’s too good a boy to need to wonder where he fits into the whole family.”

“If…” Bethy paused and took a breath. “If I tell you a secret, can you keep it from Mason, just for a little while? I want to tell him myself.” Willa frowned again, this time more exaggerated, not hiding how that request made her feel. “Just for a couple of days until I can figure out how to tell him.”

“Are you pregnant? Because that would be kind of a miracle if you already knew, unless it’s from Texas?”

Bethy laughed, shaking her head. “No, I’m not pregnant. Can you keep my secret, Willa?”

“Just for a couple of days?” Bethy nodded. “Promise?” She nodded again. “Okay.” Willa held up her hand, palm first. “Unless it means you’re putting yourself in danger. I can’t stand thinking of something happening to you.” She reached across and cupped Bethy’s hand, wrapping her fingers around and holding on tightly. “We’ve been through too much together. I can’t stand it, Bethy.”

“Promise you it’s nothing bad. It’s something from years ago, but I need to sort things first, then tell Mason.”

“Okay,” Still holding Bethy’s hand, Willa lifted her other one and sketched an X across her chest. “Cross my heart.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t say the rest. I’m way over any kind of wanting to die.”

“Agreed.” Bethy took in a deep breath. “I have a son.”

Head tipping to the side, Willa repeated her words. “You have a son?” Bethy nodded. “A son.” She nodded again. “As in a flesh-and-blood boy, not a wooden Pinocchio thingie?” With a laugh, she nodded a final time. “Jesus. How old is he? What’s his name?”

“Michael, his name is Michael. He’s sixteen this year. His birthday was just a few weeks ago.” Willa squeezed her fingers. “Michael Tyrell Marshall.”

Willa’s head tipped the other direction. “Marshall? Not Mason?” Frowning, she shook her head. “Wasn’t your husband’s name Taylor?”

Bethy dropped her eyes to the tabletop, not wanting to see Willa’s face. “Yes. But that marriage was annulled, and a farce. You don’t know how bad it was, Wills. Michael…I was sixteen. Same age he is now. I didn’t know much, coming from the holler like I did.” She darted a glance up, then back down. “I never even graduated high school. I was in a town I didn’t know, living with a man I didn’t know, and about the only thing I did know was I was in no way equipped to raise a child. So, I found a couple who wanted a baby and were willing to do an open adoption. That way I could stay in his life, even a little bit.” She swallowed hard, then rushed to defend the Marshalls. “They’ve been great, better than I could have ever expected or asked. They invite me to everything, and I’ve seen how much Martha and Rodney love him. But he found out about Mason a couple of weeks ago, and now Michael wants to meet my family. He’d been thinking I was alone, and now that he knows differently, he wants to meet everyone.”

She’d finally run out of steam and words, and the silence collected between them, the gap bridged only by Willa’s unwavering clasp on Bethy’s hand.

“You and your brother are so much alike. More than you’ll probably ever know.” Bethy looked up, seeing tears on Willa’s face and realizing her cheeks were wet, too. “Holding your secrets close to the vest, not wanting to give anyone any ammunition to hurt you. I hate how you were raised.” Willa’s voice quivered with anger, red rising to flush her cheeks. “I hate your daddy. I’m glad he’s dead. Never thought I’d say that about anyone, except…you know.” She drew in a noisy breath through her nose. “I hate him. He hurt the two of you so much, and in ways that still seep poison. Wounds running deep and keeping you from helping each other heal, because what if that pain is contagious. God.”

“We just do what’s needful,” Bethy told her, surprised when Willa flinched.

“I hate that word, too. It’s a cover for things that hurt, for pain.” Willa shook her hand, thumping Bethy’s knuckles on the tabletop. “He loved Mica, you know that? Mason. He loved her but wouldn’t let himself go there, and I’m thankful every day, even as I know he loves me more. I know he loves me more, because though he loved her, he never told her about you. He didn’t tell her about Chase, either. He held close the people he loved the most, not letting even Mica have an ounce of knowledge about you two. But—” She leaned forwards, shaking their hands again. “—he told me. You’re right. You have to be the one to tell him. If I said anything, it would be a breach between you that would take years to heal. I love you both too much to see that happen. But you have to tell him.”

“I will.” Willa narrowed her eyes, wrinkling up her nose in exaggerated disbelief. Bethy smiled, feeling it waver for a moment before settling into place. She told Willa, “I promise.”

She hadn’t though. One thing led to another and then he was caught up in business that didn’t have a place for her. Tears clogged her throat and she forced down a sob, holding herself to a rigid silence as she wept. Mikey never knew. Never knew she’d loved him so much she’d given his name to her child.

Tomorrow, she would force herself on Mason, even if it was a phone call, and tell him. Things that matter shouldn’t wait. Then once she told Mason, she’d find a way to tell Gabe.