Resurrection (Wesson Rebel MC Series Book 3) (8 page)

I’m starting to get why they call him Prophet.

“You know this isn’t done, right?” He looks at me.

The coldness coming from him is practically arctic. My head feels like a watermelon fit to burst. But I ignore the pain, as I pull up my skirt and reveal my thigh holster. He drives over to the wreck and we both step from the car cautiously. I have my gun aimed at the ground, finger straight and off the trigger, just like my father taught me. Ira always insisted on continued practice with firearms. I love him for that right now. We approach the car from behind. The door is kicked open. I take a deep breath, lift the muzzle, and line up the sights, like my father taught me to and— squeeze.

A
thwack
sounds as the bullet rips through the back of his skull. The body drops to the ground, motionless.

Head shot. Effective and bullet conserving.

A sick sense of satisfaction winds its way through my body. They’re dead and I’m not. This is the second attempt on my life. It’s starting to get old. I hear Prophet fire off a round beside me. I look over in time to see a muscular body enthralled in a death dance as bullets rip through his midsection and chest. I walk over to the body and roll it over. It gives me all the answers I need. These are my aunt’s men.

Son of a bitch.

“You know them?” Prophet asks.

I nod my head, peering at him through my tears. I can hear the sirens wailing in the distance, and return the gun to my holster. The one thing I love about a Springfield 9MM is the passive safety. They won’t go off unless you’re holding them and squeezing the trigger. “These are my aunt’s men, which means we are royally fucked.”

“Shit. Do you think she’s a traitor?”

“I don’t know. I doubt Ginocarlo has ever really trusted her after Lorenzo came to power. He could’ve been shadowing her the whole time. But I know them. They belong to her family.” I frown. “Though, they aren’t her trusted personal staff.”

“Either way, we need to get the fuck out of here.” He holds out his hand.

I take it, grateful for the small amount of human contact. Right now, he’s looking more friend than foe.

Prophet/Charles

I’m running high on adrenaline as I finish driving to the club. I know she’s worried about Houdini right now— I am, too— but I can’t let it distract me. If we don’t get underground and with the brothers soon, we might be next on the list of missing persons. “Do you think they put a tracker on the car, or followed us?” I look over. Her bug-eyed expression was everything I needed to know. I toss her my phone. “Find the closest gas station.”

She does as I ask without resistance.

What do you know? It only took a near death experience.

I hear the phone telling me there’s one five miles up the road. I memorize the address and place a call to the president of the chapter, Marbles.

“Hey, man, you on your way in?”

“I ran into a little trouble. I need someone to come and pick us up at Bob’s Gas and Go on the corner of Main and Fourth street. I need a cage to take as much as we can carry. We need to ditch the car.”

“Consider it done. My boys will be there in five.”

“Marbles?”

“Yeah?”

“Make it three.”

“The heat’s on you?”

“Something like that.”

“We’re out the door now, brother.”

“Appreciate it.” I hang up and turn to Vita. “I need you to get our things together. They’re going to meet us there. Anything you think could be tagged, leave it behind. They’re going to dispose of the car. So, that should give us more time.”

She continues to stare straight ahead.

“Hey.” I snap a finger “Hey!”

She remains cationic. Her slender body sways with the car as I continue to turn on the streets.

Is she going into shock?

I want to spend more time trying to snap her out of it, but I don’t know the roads here and I don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. My body is aching and my neck smarts. I’m sure at the least, we have a mild case of whiplash. As I crack my neck and wince, I recall her hitting her head.

Damn, she might have a concussion.

I pull into the gas station, park on the side of the building furthest from the street, grab our things, and focus my attention on her. I cup her chin carefully. “Vita, can you hear me?” I ask gently. Her skin is petal soft and she smells delicious. I curse myself for choosing now to notice. “I know we’ve just been through hell and back, but I need you to fight, or they’re going to win.”

She gives a slow blink and I see the light come back inside her. She manages to focus. “Prophet,” she mouths.

“That’s right, babe, I’m going to get you out of here, okay? I have all our things.” I can’t help but treat her the same way I would one of my sisters if they were hurt.

She’s weak, confused, and frightened. “Okay,” she mouths.

Her unfailing trust in me goes a long way toward melting the ice that encircles my heart. This is the woman I saw that day with Ira.
She’s been hiding behind family names, clothes, and dread. I can smell it on her, oozing out of every pore and filling her hazel eyes. The roar of bikes sets me back into motion. I scramble out of the car with our things over my arm and come around to help her out. She clings to my arm and I marvel at the one sixty she’s done. She sways on her feet. Snaking my arm around her waist, I pull her to my side to keep her upright. The bikes surround us and I rejoice at the sight of the Wesson Rebels patch.

Marbles dismounts and walks over to me. “Got the prospects to take the car off your hands. She all right?”

“I think she might have a concussion,” I say.

“All right, we’ll call our doc and have ’em meet you.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s a matter, sweetness, cat got your tongue?” Marbles asks her.

“She can’t talk, man. Altercation a while back ended up with her throat.” I make the universal symbol of a knife across my throat.

“Shit. Any broad tough enough to take that and keep ticking must be good people. Especially, one that looks this fine.” His eyes rove over her.

I narrow my eyes. “She’s preoccupied, and Houdini’s little sister.”

“Shit. The ghost has family?” Marbles laughs. A silver SUV pulls up and he nods. “That’s your ride. They’ll take you to a place out of the way. It’s off the grid, fully stocked and ready to be defended if trouble somehow finds you. We’ll send someone your way in a few days with some clothes and whatnot, once everything dies down a bit.”

“I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

“Damn straight.” I lead her to the car, worried about her submissive demeanor.

How hard did she hit her head?

I open the door.

She climbs in, scoots over, and places her hands on her lap. She wrinkles her nose.

I buckle her in. “You okay?” I ask, feeling concern.

“Sick to my stomach.”

“You definitely have a concussion.”

“Of course.”

They pull out of the parking lot and I lay my head on the seat, grateful to be among people I can trust. As the tires roll over the road, I feel the crushing pressure lift from my shoulders, little by little. We head away from the city and onto dark country roads. My head bobs with fatigue and I realize— she can’t go sleep! I turn to her. “Vita, Vita, you with me?” I cup her face gently.

She nuzzles my palm.

I freeze. Clearly, she’s not all there if she’s responding this way to me. “I need you to stay up for me. You can’t sleep right now, not until we have the doc look at you.”

She hums. The sound is jangly, like a cat with a broken purr.

It endears her to me. “Open those eyes and glare at me. All this niceness is giving me a rash.”

She grunts.

“That’s better.” I dig into my pocket, find my cell phone, and fiddle with the buttons until I find the flashlight app. I hold it up and she grits her teeth. “Rise and shine, bright eyes.”

She tries to shove my hand away.

“That’s more like it.” I shake the light back and forth.

Her eyelids peel back to reveal weary pools of greenish brown.

I can see it’s taking a toll to swim to the surface. “You have to stay awake, unless you have a desire to be sleeping beauty for real.”

She sneers at me.

“No? You could’ve fooled me with your shopping binge earlier. I was dizzy just watching you.”

She rolls her eyes and lifts her hand.

Mentally, I cheer.

“Not my style?”

“You sure about that? You seemed pretty comfortable.”

“Needed…to.” Her signing becomes sluggish.

“Or maybe you missed it. All the glitz, glamour, and privilege. Did the farm house in the middle of nowhere get too boring for you?”

She blinks. Her eyes blaze. “No.”

I know I have her. “I don’t know that I buy it. I mean, what could you possibly have done out there all day, every day by yourself? It must’ve been pretty lonely.”

“I kept busy.”

“Milking cows?”

She pursed her lips. “Sewing, reading, cooking.”

“Reading, huh? Laying on the bed, pouring over Poe and lamenting over his tragedies.”

“What did you ever do besides get drunk and fuck?”

The words sound ugly coming from her lips. I pause. She’s not wrong. “I enjoyed myself.”

“No. You hid, same as I did. I don’t know from what, but I know a runner when I see one.”

“I call it surviving and allowing myself to have some fun while I’m at it. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

She blinks her eyes. “I doubt my fun would be the same as yours.” Her face is so expressive. Maybe because it has to be, in order for her to convey the tone she wants. Her delicate lip is upturned and her nose is wrinkled just so.

I’d laugh at her, if she wasn’t feeling so poorly. “You might be surprised.”

“Doubt it.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. You want to know more about me? All you had to do was ask.”

Her mouth drops open.

“I like to ride, stay up too late, drink, and as you so delicately put it…fuck until I’m satiated, and she’s hoarse from screaming out my name.”

Her mouth opens and closes.

I chuckle.

Her cheeks turn pink and she looks away.

“Unh-uh… I need you to keep those eyes on me. No sleeping until we know you’re out of the woods.”

“Who could sleep after that crude comment?”

“Someone who was interested in learning more about it.”

She crosses her arms under her chest.

Good, be angry as long as you stay awake for me.

We continue the banter as we wind our way over hills and around curvy roads. My phone is beeping when we come to a stop beside a small cabin.
We’re here.
It’s almost cozy in the moonlight. The cedar wood building, with its massive porch complete with rocking chairs and a wind chime, is completely out of character for an M.C.

There’s a story behind this.

“End of the line.” The prospect who’s been driving turns around in his seat. “Keys under the mat on the front porch. Fridge and cabinets are stocked with a few weeks’ worth of food, and there should be a few things to change in. We have a washer and dryer up here, along with running water, so pretty much, you’re good to go. We run everything off a generator. Just behind the cabin, you’ll find a shed with everything you need and a backup generator if you get a good thunderstorm in and anything gets knocked offline. You think you can take it from here?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the ride. Do we have an ETA on the doc?”

“He shouldn’t be too far behind us. We got basic first aid things in the bathroom.”

“All right, thanks fellas.” I help her out of the vehicle, watching as she stumbles. I don’t think she’s getting worse, but I don’t see much improvement. I keep my arm around her waist as we walk the short distance to the front door. “Here.” I prop her body against the side of the building.