Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) (29 page)

Things had taken longer than she expected in town and she had only been back for a short time so this was the first time she and Peaches had any kind of real chance to talk. Duck had holed up with Blackie in the barn, and Eli had taken the two oldest out, Randi and Tater, intending to show them the calves and chickens. The other two kids were busily amusing themselves with toys on the living room floor, and the baby was doing what babies did best, eating and sleeping in turns.

Brenda watched as, without being asked, Peaches got up and began gathering the things needed to set the table, opening and closing cabinets until she found everything. Then she set about pulling plates from one cabinet, cups for the kids from another. Tomatoes done, Brenda moved on to the next prep item, turning the chickens out of the slow cookers they had been in all day.

Peaches cleared her throat and then asked, “You’ve known Duck for a while?”

“My whole life,” she responded easily. “We grew up together here in Lamesa.”

“What he did for Watcher’s girl…” Peaches shook her head. “That was something else, what I heard.”

Brenda drew an unsteady breath, closing her eyes to try and block out the memories of Duck’s skin, his fingers. Him following her with his eyes for days, tightly controlled dread on his features. After a moment, she nodded and said, “Yeah. I’m glad he found her. Glad things went the way they did and she’s okay.”

“Watch will be laying the world at that man’s feet. Saved his little girl. Duck talked about that?” Peaches kept her head down, avoiding eye contact as she straightened already neatly aligned plates.

Brenda shook her head. “No, but he got a bunch of calls right after. Each one ended with a variation from him of ‘you’d do the same,’ and he met some of the New Mexico people at the bar in town, too. I figured those were all gratitude calls.”

“What do you think about his club?”
What an interesting question. How do you meet an entity
, she wondered and shook her head.

“I don’t know. I haven’t really given it any thought. He talked about some things the other night, but I didn’t understand a lot of it.” Pulling out a knife, she began cutting up the chickens, placing the serving sized portions into a dish she had set out for that purpose. “I think I’ve only met one other person who belongs to the same group.”

“Club, not group,” Peaches corrected her absently, and Brenda noted there must be a difference. “So you don’t know any of the women?”

“No. There were a couple of women who came down from Chicago, but the way Duck talked, neither of them were involved with the club, really. Just on the outskirts because of things that happened a long time ago.” She shrugged, glancing up at Peaches. “Is Blackie in a club?”

“Yeah, he’s not wearing his colors because we’re in the truck, but he’s president of the Freed Riders in Longview.” This was said with pride, and Brenda paused a minute to look at her.

“President. Does that mean he has control over the club?”

“Kinda. It’s a responsibility, more than anything. Most of the offices are voted in. Back when I was carrying Randi, he was the SAA, not the prez. A couple of years later the old president needed to step down, and the members all voted him in.” Looking around the kitchen, Peaches settled her gaze on Brenda. “Forks?”

“Middle drawer in the hutch.” She gestured with her chin, eyes on the last pieces of chicken in the pot. “SAA?”

“Sargent at Arms, the person who enforces protocol within the club, keeps things under control during meetings, that kind of thing. The first line of defense against outside threats, so when they went to war with another club, he was the first one into the mix.” She filed away the word ‘war’ as Peaches looked around. “I think that’s everything. You want rolls or bread on the table?”

“There’s a loaf of bread in the pantry.” She pointed with her chin again, grinning this time. “Duck said he didn’t have a title, but the national president moved him around a lot.”

“Go-to guy.” Peaches nodded knowledgeably, closing the pantry door, bread in hand. “Every club needs
that
guy who can drop into any situation and sort things out. I saw his rocker says Nomad, but Blackie thought he was based out of the Mother chapter in Chicago. Is he okay with the change?”

“Rocker?”

“Yeah, the top and bottom patches on the back of his cut—his vest. The top one is the name of the club, the bottom one can be one of several things, but is usually a region or territory where the member lives. Nomad means he’s on his own, no set territory or charter, but welcome into any of the club’s businesses or houses.” She came towards Brenda, cocking a hip to lean against the countertop. “Earned badges go on the front of the vest, the back is typically reserved for club.”

“Nomad is new,” Brenda said softly, remembering the crisp colors of the thread-covered fabric when he came home from his visit to Chicago. “It did say Mother before.” She looked up, frowning. “What does that mean? He went home for a visit but then rode his motorcycle down instead of flying back as he’d originally planned. His friend Fury made the trip, too, came back with him.”

“His brother, riding at his back, no doubt.”

“He said something similar.” Brenda shook her head. “I don’t understand a lot of it. He talked about the club as if it were a living thing, and the men in it closer than family.”

“They are,” Peaches told her, smiling. “You have family here?”

“No. My parents died when I was little. I moved here to live with my aunt and uncle, but they passed years ago. There was Tommy, my husband, but really it’s just been Eli and me for a long time.” Peaches’ smile faded with Brenda’s words, sympathy plain on her face.

“So sorry, hon. You have friends here then, a good support system?”

“Not really.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been busy running things. Not a lot of time to socialize, you know?”

“So when you need something, you just manage, right?”

“Pretty much.” She picked up the two pans of chicken, carrying them to the table.

“So here’s old lady class one-oh-one. You ready to listen and learn?”

Twisting, Brenda turned to look at Peaches. “He said that. That an old lady was a title of respect.”

“Title, yeah, but the position is more important. Check it.” Peaches put her hands on the countertop, and gave a little jump. Scooting back to sit on the surface, she swung her legs as she looked over at Brenda. “Old lady is like being married, but more, because it’s a relationship recognized by the entire club. You marry into a family, taking a husband, and out of that you sometimes get a new mother or father, siblings. You marry into a club by being a member’s old lady and you gain every member. Every single member becomes part of your life. You don’t even have to meet them. They can be from a chapter three states away and they’ll still be something to you.

“Our old men are members, and we can’t ever be that, but you let someone try to jack with us and the whole entire club will land on ‘em, crawling up their asses. Any member will defend us with their lives if needed, same with our kids. Think hyper-protective big brothers, always on the lookout for things that might bring us to harm.” She grinned. “It gets even better, swear.

“Other old ladies will also have your back. You got troubles—family, community, random assholes, party dolls—anyone gives you grief and it doesn’t fall under the member’s role, then with the old ladies you have a built-in group of women to support you. Shit starts getting to you? They will circle the wagons and make sure whatever is eating at you doesn’t get its hooks in deep. Someone comes up sick? They’ll run a fundraiser for medical bills. Holidays? They’ll organize a poker run to raise money for charities. All kinds of shit, but the most important thing is they always have your back. Family to the max.”

“I’ve never had that.” Brenda wasn’t aware she was going to say that aloud, but when her whisper hit the air, she saw a determination bloom in Peaches’ eyes.

“You have it now. Right here and right now we start your circle with me, because my old man and your old man might not wear the same club colors, but they are brothers. Makes you my sister, woman.” She pulled up her sleeve, showing Brenda a tattoo high on her shoulder, elegant script spelling out the phrase, ‘My sister’s keeper.’

“Got this after Randi was born. Slate, I know you haven’t met him yet, but he’s a good man. He showed me caring for someone wasn’t just doing what they wanted, but sometimes what they needed instead. Keeping the faith, the friendship, sometimes means making hard choices and then enforcing unpopular decisions.” She grinned. “Don’t tell him, but he’s like a brother to me now.”

Brenda twisted to look at the door when Blackie’s laughter filled the room, watching as his face lit up with humor from what was clearly an inside joke. Through the rolling sound of his joy, he was able to say, “Oh, I’ll make sure to tell him, baby. Damn good thing the man caught a clue and moved the fuck on. Caught you, made sure you were good, and then he cut you loose and moved on. Now, we both know his Ruby is as precious to him as my Peaches is sweet to me.” He held out his arms, demanding, “Come here, baby. Give your man a big ole liplock. Smoochies to me, woman.” He grinned, shaking his head dramatically and sticking out his tongue as he lisped, “Kith me.”

Duck stood in the center of the round pen, rope held behind him low on his hips, one hand loose on the line where it stood straight out from his body, the horse on the end of it moving smoothly today. Every time he worked a horse in this fashion it reminded him of a night long ago, watching as little Brenda McCoy climbed the side of a wooden pen to keep an eye on him with her uncle’s horse. That was the first time he’d noticed how cute she was, hair tousled, sweatshirt bagging on her frame, but that beautiful face peering over the top rail of the corral, lit by moonlight and filled with wonder.

I loved her even then
, he realized with a smile.

He heard the slap of the screen door in the frame, so when the voice came a few minutes later it wasn’t a surprise.

Blackie said, “She’s pretty. Nice confirmation.”

He grunted in response, his focus still on the filly, watching her ears twitch forwards and backwards as she tried to decide if she could get away with being afraid of this stranger. He urged her on, slapping the end of the rope against his thigh, tongue clucking, encouraging her, taking away the option of refusing. “Yeap, she’s a nice one. A keeper.”

“Brenda’s nice, too.”

“More than nice, brother,” he responded, concentrating on the horse, the respectful title coming out naturally because he trusted Blackie as much as he would a patched brother and knew it showed.

“Nice and sweet. Woman makes a mean meal, too. Keeper, brother.” Even without looking, he heard the smile in Blackie’s voice.

“Plan on it, man.” He eased the mare in, took a minute to run his hands over her neck and shoulders, then turned her to travel the other direction. Once he had her pelting along again, a glance around caught Eli standing by the barn, watching.
Time to reassure him, make him believe
. “She’s everything, Blackie.” He pitched his voice to carry, not wanting any missteps with the boy.
My son
. “Gonna keep her, that’s for sure. Love her, love that boy, too. Proud of the man he’s becoming.”

“He’s a good’un, too,” Blackie agreed. “Randi likes him, and she doesn't take to most people. Said she felt safe with him today, felt like he could take care of her, Tater, and Possum, no matter what. She asked if she could stay here while we head on out to Cali.” Blackie barked a laugh. “I teased her with thoughts of princesses and parades, but she’s set on hanging here. You got something she likes, the family you’ve built here, man.”

“She’s welcome,” Duck said shortly, clucking gently to the filly again to increase her speed until she was moving at a fast and easy lope around the circle. She responded well to careful handling, reacted to the positive encouragement she received from him. “Welcome to stay as long as she needs. You and yours will always have a place set at our table. No questions.”

“Good to know,” Blackie said, and Duck heard him moving. “Gonna go find my old lady, see what she says.” There was a pause, and then he said, “You found your spot, brother.”

“Yeah, I did,” Duck agreed readily. Speaking softly to the horse, he eased her down to a trot, watching her attentively as he repeated, “I sure did.”

Standing in the mudroom, Duck called, “Brenda, have you seen Eli and Randi this morning?” It was nearly noon and Gill had just told Duck that Eli hadn’t shown for his mid-morning chores. He suspected the kids had hooked out early, something not unheard of for Eli, but certainly more frequent during Randi’s visit these past two weeks. It was unlike him to bail on his responsibilities, though.

From upstairs he heard her response, “No, they were gone right after breakfast. Horses missing from the barn?” Randi had proven herself a natural rider and General quickly became her favorite, Eli gladly giving up the patient horse to his friend, opting to ride Brenda’s mount instead.

“Nope, first thing Gill checked.”

“Then they can’t have gone far,” she called, and he heard her footsteps clattering down the stairs. Looking up, he saw her appear, jeans shorts hugging her hips, the tails of one of his button-down shirts tied at her waist. He grinned at the sound of her sock feet still managing to clump and thump on the steps. “Swimming hole, probably.”

“Wanna come in the truck with me? Won’t take long to go and remind Eli his chores are still waiting for him.” He reached out, wrapping his palm around her waist, pulling her towards him. “We could stop on the way and neck a little.”

She grinned, laughing up at him and he smiled back as she rolled up on her toes, pressing her lips to his. “I’ll slip on some shoes. Ride with you.” She reached up, lifting the hair off the back of her neck. “Stir some air around. This Indian summer is killing me."

They climbed into the truck, hands immediately going to the window controls, rolling them down to release the heated air from the cab. Laughing, he looked over at Brenda where she had leaned against the passenger door, feet in the seat to keep the backs of her bare legs off the scorching upholstery. “It’s a hot one, for sure,” he said and she nodded as he pulled out, headed up the dirt track leading to the upper pasture where the creek ran.

Ten minutes later, he pulled up alongside the bank of the creek. Gaze sweeping the sandbar at the bottom of the bank, he said, “They’re not here.”

“Towels and what looks like their lunch is there.” He glanced over to see her pointing and followed her finger, seeing the pile of belongings near the foot of a sycamore tree rooted near the bend of the creek where the erosion had scooped out a large, shallow area, taming the water flowing through so it swirled in lazy, slow circles, perfect for swimming.

An unexpected thrill of fear flooded through him when he stepped out of the truck, his skin prickling in apprehension. “Brenda, baby, wait in the truck.” Her door slammed before the words cleared his mouth and he knew she hadn’t heard him. Turning to face her, he opened his mouth to repeat himself when the flat
crack
of a rifle shattered the air, the muted thud of a bullet striking the tree nearly lost in the ringing echoes. “Brenda, get down,” he shouted, turning in place even as he crouched behind the fender of the truck, reaching to the small of his back to pull his pistol, thanking God he hadn’t left it behind today. The words ripped from him again, fear thick in his throat. “Get down.”

He heard the high-pitched, thin cry of Randi’s scream and his gut clenched hard, lurching sickeningly because she sounded terrified, which scared the shit out of him. And, he knew Brenda wouldn’t stay where she was if the kids were in trouble. Sure enough, her feet pelted around the front of the truck and she launched herself off the edge of the bank just as another shot came, this one punching through the metal only inches from his head. “
Fuck
,” he growled, throwing himself onto his back, twisting and rolling across the sand to reach the creek as Brenda had done.

A metallic ping sounded, signaling another shot ricocheting off the truck. Randi and Eli were shouting now, yelling at Brenda from where they were crouched between two beached logs. “The man,” he heard Eli scream and Duck’s gaze jerked up to see his son pointing over his head. He turned and what he saw pulled the breath from his lungs, but caused him to slide to a stop in the sand and stand straight, making himself the largest target in the riverbed as he stared down the barrel of the rifle pointed at him to focus on the face of the shooter.

“Get the kids out of here, now,” Duck shouted. “Fast as you can, baby.” Lifting his arm, with a steady hand, he aimed his own pistol, and knew the look on the man’s face mirrored the determination on his own. “Go, baby. Go.” Short and thick, the Mexican man was muscled in a way that spoke to genetics, not workouts. There was an old bruise showing through the bronze skin on his cheek and temple, and his lip lifted in what looked like an unconscious snarl.
Coyote
, Duck thought, the word frightening in his own head.

“
No mames
,” the man spat, his thick accent revealing his linguistic roots, “gonna need you to carry a message,
estás pero si bien pendejo
. Don’t be stupid, Duck.”

“Don’t think so, fucker,” Duck ground out, calculations flying through his mind as he noted the distance to the shooter. Factoring in the angle, also marking the gusts of wind lifting dust swirls at the surface level where the man stood.

“Tell Mason I got something he wants. He’s got one of mine, and I want the
puto
back.”
Fuck.
He realized this wasn’t a flesh trafficker. It was someone who knew him, knew his associations, which meant it could only be…
Club. Who the fuck is this? Knows my name, knows Mason’s. Fuck me. Brenda and Eli. He targeted Eli and Randi, the kids.

Duck’s finger tensed, beginning a smooth pull on the trigger. Licking his lips, the man shook his head. “
Mira que carbón
, don’t do it. I read you like a book. Don’t take the shot,
güey
. If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. I need for you to carry the message.”

“That’s the message? That you wanna be a titty baby about club business? Planning on going even-steven next? Gonna whine about life’s not fair? Grow a fuckin’ pair, man.” He gestured with the hand not holding the pistol, hearing Brenda’s voice as she moved away, down the creek bed. Her words urging the kids to a faster pace, getting them to safety. He opened his mouth again, not trying to provoke but he wanted to keep the focus on him, so he pushed. “Damn, man, you’re more stupid than I thought. Fuck, sounds like you’d struggle to pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel.”

“Fuck you. He’s got one of mine. I want him. I want my man back, gotta get my own from his skin.” The barrel of the rifle dipped slightly as the man took a step backwards. “I left you enough with the girl. Made you the hero. You got to be the man of the hour.
Tu gilipollas estúpido
, Duck, the big fucking deal.”

“Lalo,” Duck said softly, finally putting things together and realizing who this was. He watched the man’s chin dip in acknowledgment. “Heard you were DEA’ed in Florida. Locked up, wrapped up, sealed and delivered. Government’s problem now. RICO, chico, man.”

“You heard wrong,
ya valió verga
. You gonna call Mason? Gonna tell him I got something he’s going to want to know about?”

“Phone’s in the truck,” Duck said, his breathing evening out when he realized he could no longer hear Brenda. She had gotten the kids away. They were safe. Not that he was looking to die today, but he would gladly take it on if it meant she stayed upright and safe.
Love you, Little Bee
.

He sucked in another deep breath and took a steady stride towards the bank. Climbing up and out of the creek bed he snarled when his head hit the level of the ground and he saw the fluid leaking out from underneath the truck. Fucker had somehow hit the radiator, which meant the truck was out of commission. It wasn’t far to the house and on any normal day, the walk would be easy, but it was scorching hot and he knew the kids probably were in their swimsuits, which meant they would be at the mercy of the sun.

Reaching through the open window he plucked the phone from the seat, hissing as the metal of the door touched the underside of his arm. He unlocked the screen and tapped a button, then another, placing the dialed call on speaker. They listened to the ringing for a moment, and then Mason answered, humor ringing rich through his voice. “Brother, save me. Hope like hell you need me. My boy’s been cryin’ for three days straight, I’m about outta my—“

He cut Mason off hard, saying, “On speaker, Prez. I got
Lalo
here. Diamante.”

The difference in his tone distinctive, edges now hard and rigid as Mason ground out his words. “The fuck you say?”

“Got Lalo standing ten feet away, Prez. Rifle aimed my way.” Mason made a noise and he cut him off again. “My piece is leveled, too, boss.” He snorted, and then laughed aloud, surprising himself. “A real Mexican standoff.”

“The fuck you want, Lalo. You got balls, man, walking into my man’s place like that. Watcher wants you in the worst way and he ain’t a bit particular about the condition your carcass might be in when it arrives.” Mason’s voice hadn’t softened at Duck’s words. If anything, danger rang through even more pronounced. “Gutted. Flayed. Upright and wheezin’? All the same to him.”

“You got one of mine. I got one you want. Give me mine, and I’ll do the same.” Lalo called the words across the space separating them. Duck noted his language changed as he spoke to Mason. He was no longer using the North Mexico patois of casual insults, not angling for any comradery. “Trade, straight up.”

“I got one of yours?” Duck could almost see Mason looking side to side, face as puzzled as the words sounded. “I ain’t got nobody. Who the fuck you think I got?”

“
Fury
.” Drawn out, the single word rang with hatred and Duck’s grip on his pistol tightened. That level of anger and frustration didn’t leave a lot of room for sane, and he knew from Lalo’s previous work that while the man could be scary smart, he tripped up trying to walk that line on a good day.

“Fury’s mine now,” Mason clipped the words, but there was movement and sound in the background from his side of the call now. Duck squinted, thinking about the layout of Mason’s house. He was in the office, probably, and there would be Rebels on the premises, no doubt. “You got nothing of mine, fucker. I haven’t lost anyone.”

“Yeah, you have. You just don’t know it yet.” Duck’s attention split between the phone and Lalo, listening attentively as he tried to interpret the man’s body language.

“Who you got? Who the fuck do you think—“

There was another flat crack of a rifle and Lalo spun in place, staggering as blood sprayed from his shoulder. Duck jumped backwards, rushing to put the bed of the truck between him and Lalo as another shot came. He heard a grunt from behind him, then running footsteps receding. A moment later, he heard a bike start nearby, engine barely audible over fast approaching hoofbeats. Gill rode into sight, rifle balanced across the horn of the saddle in front of him.

“You okay, boss?” Gaze scanning the area, Gill turned the horse in a circle. “He get away?”

He nodded as noise from his hand registered and he looked down to see the call to Mason was still connected. Lifting the phone, he took it off the speaker and put it to his ear in time to hear Mason ordering, voice low and threatening, rising to a roar on the last four words, “—takes, you get someone out there
right the fuck now
.”

“Prez,” he called, and Mason must have put the call on speaker when things went down because a dozen voices answered him, shouted questions loud in his ear. “Lalo’s gone, man. He’s in the wind.” Shaking his head, he watched Gill slowly riding a circuit around the clearing, rifle at the ready. “Winged, but in the wind.”

“Need you to tell me what the fuck just happened, Duck.” Mason sucked in breath, then asked, “You okay, brother?”

“Foreman rode up, clipped him twice. He got to his bike and scooted, boss.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mason said in disbelief. “Did the fucker tell you who he had?”

“Nope, he wanted to talk to you. Just told me he had one of ours.” He paused, then said, “Actually he said he had someone you’d want, one of yours, boss. Not ours.” He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as the dust beneath his boots. “Mason, brother. Your family. They all accounted for?”

***

“You sure?” Mason reached up, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. When the voice on the phone gave an affirmative answer, he disconnected the call, lifting his head and looking at Slate, seated across the room on a couch. With a headshake, he said, “Nothing. No one is missing. Even Willa’s folks are safe. I don’t know what Lalo was talking about, brother.”

“Okay, so not family. Back it the fuck up. Let’s see what we can find.” Slate leaned back, stretching his arms out and hooking his elbows over the top of the couch. “Not family, that leaves the club. I’ve asked for check-ins from all fucking chapters. They’ve been rolling in for the last hour. But, my take? From what we have so far, it looks like everyone’s covered, Mason.”

“Lalo doesn’t bluff.” Mason rested his elbows on the desk as he told Slate something they both knew. “If he said he had someone he wanted to trade, then it’s someone I want…” His voice trailed off and he lifted his chin, looking up where the corner of the room met the ceiling. “Someone I want,” he repeated. Without shifting position, he raised his voice, roaring, “Gunny, office.”