Resurrection (Wesson Rebel MC Series Book 3) (9 page)

She arches her back and grunts. There’s something sensual in the movement.

My eyes take in her lithe form.

She’s undone and touchable now. Tendrils of hair frame her face. Her lips are slightly parted and her jacket is back at the car, leaving her arms bare and the ample curves revealed by her neckline are on display.

Averting my eyes I focus on getting us inside.

She presses her body into mine, leaning on me heavily for support as we move inside.

Her hard nipples brush against me and I bite the inside of my cheek.

It’s going to be a long ass night.

We move to the couch and settle in to wait.

Her head begins to perform the sleep bob.

“No, you don’t. Open those eyes. You need to stay awake, at least until the doc gets here.”

“So tired.”

“I know, it’s the concussion. Talk to me,” I sign, desperate not to lose her on my watch and prove I could do something other than bring about another person’s destruction/demise.

“’Bout what?”

“Anything. Hell, let’s play twenty-questions.”

“Too…tired.” She’s stumbling over her words.

“Okay, so…ask then, don’t tell me, ask and listen. Can you do that?”

She sits up a little straighter.

Now, I know I’ve gained her interest.

“How do you know sign language?”

“I was the only hearing child in my family. My parents and my three sisters were deaf. We have a genetic disposition to deafness. So it was a shock to everyone when I could hear. Well, along with the shock of my birth. I was a surprise.”

Her lips flicker up into the ghost of a smile.

My body is protesting the crash, so I know she has to feel twice as bad.

“Was it strange growing up that way?”

“I always felt odd man out because of it, but that was nothing they did. Just a matter of numbers. Kids know when they’re alone in something. For me, going to school was a culture shock. No one signed and the noise was stifling. All the voices talking.” I shuddered. “It was an adjustment, to say the very least.”

“What’s your family like?” she asks.

“Not as interesting as yours, I assure you.”

She rolls her eyes.

I snicker and continue, “Eleanor was the oldest and she never let me or Emily forget it for a second. Bossy, know-it-all and ended up becoming an English teacher.” I shake my head. “It didn’t shock me. It gave her a room full of children to order around, and they were forced to listen to her ramble on. She taught high school AP English. Emily was…different,” I continue to sign to her, “an artistic free spirit who lived in a different world, much to my parents’ dismay. They never really knew what to do with her, but they loved her. It was impossible not to. She was ethereal, like a fairy floating in moonbeams.” I can still see my sister with her long light brown hair, elfin angular face, and wide gray eyes. She always had paint-splattered shirts and smelled like the media she’d worked with. It’d made me associate her with the soil just after the rain.

“Sounds like you have a bit of writer’s prose in you.”

“Nah.” I meet her eyes.

She actually cares about what I’m saying. Her body is leaned into mine and she’s struggling to stay awake to listen to me.

Which was the goal. I can’t get too caught up in this. It’s a onetime thing.

Her questions don’t bother me the way I thought they would. After all this time, it’s good to talk about them. It helps me remember the good times.

“And your parents?”

“They were good people, taught us right from wrong and instilled good values. We never wanted for anything. I respected and loved them.” I clear my throat.

“Were?”

“They died, a long time ago,” I whisper.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She frowns. “How do you go from there to Wesson Rebels?”

“I needed a new family and a new life. There’s no better way to leave the past behind, than to move forward in a different direction.”

“What does your family think about that?”

My throat constricts. “They don’t. They’re dead.”

She gasps.

Suddenly a knock sounds on the door and I move from the couch.

Saved by the bell.

I open the door.

Standing there is a man dressed in a black polo shirt and black slacks. His salt and pepper hair is cropped close to his head and he has a black duffle bag. “I got a call for a doc?”

“Yes, sir, we were both in a car accident. I’m pretty sure Vita has a concussion. She’s been dizzy, has a hard time focusing. I’ve been doing everything I can to keep her awake.”

“You did the right thing, umm…?”

“Prophet.”

“You did the right thing, Prophet.”

I guide him over to the couch and sit on the chair beside them. “She damaged her vocal chords years ago, So, I’ll be translating for her.”

He arches an eyebrow, but nods. “Hi Vita, You can call me Doc. I’ll be looking you over.”

His voice is pleasant to listen to. I’m shocked he has a decent bedside manner, given who he deals with on a regular basis.

He pulls out a pin light. “Can I get you to follow this? Oh yeah, I can see you took a good knock to the noggin’.” He moves forward, then begins to poke and prod her.

She hisses and turns away.

My shoulders tense and my hackles rise.

Cupping her head in his hand, he rotates it from one side to the other. “I’d guess you both have a mild case of whiplash. I’ll leave pills to manage the pain. Unfortunately, Vita can’t have any of that for at least the next twenty-four hours. You’re young and responsive to my preliminary tests, so I’d say you dodged a bullet and this concussion is mild. Does your head hurt now?”

“Yes.”

“How bad?”

“Tolerable,” I answer for her.

“Okay, if it gets worse, you start vomiting, or becoming incredibly dizzy, I want you to call me. For now, we’ll go with twenty-four hours of supervision and from there, I feel safe saying you can slow and easy your way back into regular activities. But if anything strange pops back up...” He turns to look at me. “Wake her every hour, check her lucidity and pupils.”

“I got it. We’ll call you if anything else changes,” I say.

“Does anything else hurt, Vita?”

“Just normal aches and pains I’d associate with an accident.”

“Hmmm.” He coasts his hands over her once more. “Okay, you don’t seem overly tender. But with accidents, some things take a few days to show up. Don’t hesitate to call.” He moves away from her.

I suddenly find it easier to breathe. She’s my responsibility. I can’t let anything happen to her.

He turns to me. “You’re up next.”

I knew this was going to be a long night.

Chapter Six

Vita/Elisa

I never knew how much I loved sleep, until I wasn’t allowed to get any for a period of twenty-four hours. It seemed as soon as I closed my eyes, Prophet was back with a flashlight, asking me questions.

I misjudged him.

His care and concern didn’t fit the image I’d built up of him in my mind.

The past day felt like a dream because I would drift in and out of consciousness. Now I’m well rested, but sore as hell. I sit up in bed, grunting as my muscles protest. Slowly I stretch my arms over my head and yawn.

Sunlight is pouring into the window to my right, but the house sounds silent. I toss back my covers and scoot out of bed. The best thing I can do is start moving around, and go in search of those meds the good doctor left. I glance down and freeze. I’m wearing a soft T-shirt that hovers at mid-thigh. I can’t even remember putting it on. I wrap my arms around my waist, feeling bashful.

Did Prophet do this?

I want to be mad, but I can’t hold onto the anger. Not when I’m wounded and adrift in a sea of enemies that wear the face of family. I pad out of the room to look to the left and the right. The layout returns to me. I take a left and walk into the living room. Prophet is nowhere to be seen. A slight panic begins.

Did he leave me?

Right now, he’s the one thing I have in this world— my one certainty. I rush back down the hall and discover that his room is empty. The bed has been made or never slept in. The bathroom door is wide open. My stomach gurgles with nerves and hunger. I spin and walk to the door, flinging it open.

He’s lounging in a rocker with a beer in his hand. He looks up and gives me a slightly loopy smile. “Well, look who’s up.”

“Look who’s intoxicated.”

“Nah, just buzzing from meds with beer.”

I snicker and shake my head, insanely relieved.

“You feeling okay?” He furrows his brow. “I thought about waking you, but the doc said let you get as much rest as possible.”

“Sore, but okay. No more dizziness.” I inhale and look out over the railing. It’s a beautiful view of trees, green thick grass, and flowers, I’m sure must grow on their own.
No way were the boys coming out and up keeping them
. The bright pops of yellow and white are charming. I could almost pretend I’m on vacation.

“Good. And nausea?”

“Gone. Have you heard anything?” I’m thrust back into my living hell when he shakes his head. I want to believe I’d feel it in my heart if my brother was dead, but perhaps that’s denial.

“Hey. No news is good news, right?” he asks.

I fake a smile. We both know that’s not the case. It’s disappointment and devastation waiting to happen.

“Why don’t you go get dressed and we’ll have lunch. There were some clean clothes in the dresser in your room.

“Sounds good.” I shuffle back into the house.

What am I going to do if Ira is gone? Where will I stay? I’ve let the genie out of the box. Whoever wants me dead won’t stop.

Stress weighs down on me like an anvil. Pressure builds behind my forehead. I have to stop or I’m going to come down with a mother of all migraines. I feel better today, but I’m still shaky from the accident. I want to believe it wasn’t ordered by my aunt, but benefit of the doubt is a luxury I can’t afford. I return to the room and dig in the dresser, wondering who left the clothes behind. Everything is tiny. I hold up a pair of cutoff jeans and a T-shirt that has the words Wesson Rebels written across it. Not bad alone, but it’d been hacked to hell and back.
I must be getting old cause I’m very out of touch with the trends.
Despite my disdain, the clothes smell fresh and are a hell of a lot better than the shirt I have on. I don’t have the nerve to ask Prophet how I came to be dressed in it. The less we say about the other day, the better. It’s put me in a position of uncertainty I don’t like.

I can’t depend on him. Once this is over, he’ll go his way and I’ll go mine.

I’m trying to wrap my head around the concept of being alone and hunted. It scares me spitless. My mouth dries out and a lump forms in my throat. Images of Uncle Lorenzo blossom in my head. I can feel his dry lips on my forehead once more. I rush to the bathroom, eager to wash away the negativity clinging to my psyche.

After stripping down, I wash out my underwear in the sink, then step in the shower, grateful for the decent water pressure and heat. I close my eyes as the water beats down over my head. In a matter of days, life as I knew it was over. When I go home, will there be anything left? Images of a burned out shell where the farmhouse once stood haunts me. Everything we had been…all that was left of our family. If that goes? The tears rush forward and I let them come. Here, away from prying eyes, I can break down. My shoulders heave, aggravating the sensitized muscles. The pain is nothing in comparison to that of my heart.

I tried to do right by you, Ira. I promise you. If nothing else, you will be avenged.

The thought gives me a goal to focus on, and I cling to it. Right now, it’s kill or be killed, me or them, and it’s not going to be me. I didn’t survive an attempted assassination, only to lay down and offer my head up for the guillotine.

Gritting my teeth, I grab the body wash hanging on the rack and lather myself with an ocean scent meant for men. As I always have, I will survive this and make do with the things available to me.

I emerge from my room, feeling half-dressed and famished. The smell of spices fill the air. I enter the kitchen and watch as he whips up a simple sauce. I’m impressed. He’s a man of hidden talents. He hides behind that laid back, easygoing vibe Cora told me so much about. She must’ve spotted the interest in my eyes that day he spoke to me, because she’d talked him up ever since.

As if sensing my presence, he turns around. “Hey. It’s not much, just pasta with white sauce.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Let’s hope it tastes that way, too. Have a seat. I’ll serve this time. I figure, depending on how long we’re here, we can take turns.” He looks at me for my response.

“Sounds fair.” It’s impossible to hide from his eyes like this. Eye contact is a natural part of communication for me and all other deaf people; it conveys so much. I take a seat at the bar and he finishes off the meal. We eat in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. After everything, I think quiet is what we need most. Full, I push away my bowl and sigh.

“Good?”

“Very.” I pause. “Thank you…for everything.”

His eyes widen. “You’re welcome.”

What once felt like an intense dislike begins to shift. All we have now is each other. There’s no room for discord or petty bickering. I’m not even sure why we were fighting so much before. It all seems so stupid and unimportant. Because when it came down to it, this man was there for me. I’ll never forget that. He has my loyalty for life, whether he wanted it or not. “You cooked, I’ll clean,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

I nod my head.

“All right. I need to check in with Dallas anyway.” He hesitates.

I wave him off and gather the dishes. He steps out onto the porch and I lose myself in the rhythm of performing a familiar task. My mind goes blessedly blank. I tidy up our area. The phone rings and I jump as the tone slices through the silence that’s fallen in the cabin.

The front door bursts open, and Prophet jogs across the room to snatch up the phone. “Hello?” He pauses and listens. “Holy shit! You son of a bitch, you actually made it!”

I close my eyes and grab the counter. My legs are limp and shaky like wet noodles.

It is Ira.

“Yeah, she’s here, she’s safe. No, they came after us. Your aunt’s men. He knows then? Okay, yeah. Here, I’m sure she’d like to hear your voice.” Prophet walks over and hands me the phone.

I take it gingerly.

“Hey, Sis, miss me?”

I snort. He sounds so weary—but he’s alive.

“Giancarlo’s men got me out. We’re covering our tracks and coming your way.” His voice wavers. “I want you to stay where you are until I call you and tell you differently.”

I frown and shake my head.

“Listen, don’t fight me on this. I can’t focus if I know you’re at risk. Right now, you’re hidden and you’re protected. You have a man there I know and trust. I’m asking you to please do this for me?”

I swallow my pride. I can do this much for him.

Prophet leans in and answers for me, “She says yes.”

His sigh of relief reassures me I’ve done the right thing.

“Thank you. Let me talk to Prophet.” His tone turns all business.

I hand the phone over and walk out onto the front porch, still reeling. The sun is shining brighter and the sky is the bluest I’ve ever seen. We have a long road ahead of us, but we’re both here, still standing despite everything thrown our way. Giancarlo has put his hat in the ring with us. It’s the best we could’ve hoped for. Despite how long it may take him to win, he has more power than Lorenzo could ever dream of having. It’s only a matter of time. The real concern is how much blood would be shed before the white flag of surrender was waved. Lorenzo would have to be taken out, but his lackeys…that was up for debate.

I lean against the railing and allow myself to truly relax for the first time since I learned Ira was missing. He was cognate enough to speak with me and among friends. It’s more than I dared hope. Perhaps we will make it out of this alive and better off without the danger of discovery looming over us, like a shadow waiting to engulf us the minute we get comfortable.

And then what? If I do survive this, how will I change things?

Going back to that cloistered life of a nun locked away in a farmhouse is no longer possible. That women is gone. She died the minute I slipped behind the wheel and drove to the Wesson clubhouse. I tilt my head up to the sun. This is a new beginning, a chance to figure out who I want to be, and I should take it with both hands and run. I dangle my arms over the railing and allow myself to simply breathe. The answers would come. The most important gift I’d been given now was time.

Prophet/Charles

“Level with me, man. How bad off are you?”

“Halfway to dead, but hellbent on making these bastards pay. They’re not going to get away with what they’ve done to me or tried to do to Vita. Payback has been a long time coming. I’m the repo man, ready to collect with interest.”

The dead calm in his voice sends chills up my spine. Houdini is scary like that. Given what I know about him now, I understand why. “You talk to Dallas?”

“He’s backing my play. He wants me to handle this my way. The club keeps their hands clean and I make sure there’s nothing left to haunt me.” He sounds weak, but determined. “You take care of my sister for me.”

“Of course, man.”

“I mean even if I don’t come back. Will you,” his voice cracks, “make sure she’s okay?”

I freeze. “Look, I don’t know if she’d appreciate this conversation right now.”

“I don’t give a shit what she wants. I know what she needs. She can’t be out there on her own. I sheltered her too much. It’d be setting her up for failure. You’ve proven you can take care of her in the direst of situations. It has to be you. I’m asking you as your brother. Will you do this for me?”