Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) (16 page)

Brenda snorted and laughed, feeling like she sounded, brittle. “Hate to burst your bubble, Doc, but I came out with you because you’re the event vet and new to town, and I’m the boss of the stock company putting on the rodeo.” Her back heated as his hand slowly moved up from her waist to a more respectable position just underneath her shoulder blade.

He stiffened and an odd energy radiated from him. Leaning close again, he put his mouth near her ear and in a voice that was only half-joking, warned, “Brace yourself, pretty lady.”

A hard hand closed around her bicep. Not painfully tight, but not tentative. There was no demanding tug, no pull to wrench her away, just a soft, gentle, immovable hold she could feel in every part of her body, the sensation racing through her. Welcome, possessive, claiming.
Reuben
, she thought and dropped her hands from where they were touching Doc. Winters’ hands fell away, releasing her and she turned towards the man holding her arm. Looking up into Reuben’s face, absorbed in him, all sounds in the room receded. Gone. Unimportant. She didn’t realize when Winters stepped away, courteously conceding any claim on her. He had ceased to exist for her.

Reuben’s face was dark and scowling, his eyes flicking over her features and coming back to drill into hers with a smoldering stare. Brenda’s breath quickened as Reuben tugged on her arm, pulling her in close as Winters had tried to do. Closer, even. An intimate hold. One speaking to a familiarity with her body Winters would never have.

With Reuben, she didn’t step back or avoid contact. Instead, she leaned into him, feeling strong arms wrap around her, as hers lifted to wind around his neck. His eyes drifted closed at her touch, and she watched the anger fall away from his features in response. He liked her touching him, liked her hands on him, lips lifting at the corners into a quiet smile. Private. Intimate. Hers.

One hand glided up her back and then his fingers were in her hair, turning her head and pushing her cheek towards his shoulder. She rested against the hard wall of his chest, nuzzling into his shirt and relaxing. Pressed tight together from knee to chest, they danced in a single, small circle for the duration of that song, and then the next. Not speaking, just feeling the rightness of their connection.

“Bee,” he murmured and she heard his voice break on the lone syllable of her nickname. “So fucking sorry. I can’t even tell you. Got no words.” She tightened her arms around him and shook her head slightly, her cheek scraping across his shirt and leather vest. “Some days my stupid gets in my way, trips me up so I can’t see how to right things. I said things…I can’t even believe the shit that spewed from my mouth. So fucking sorry.” He drew in a hard, deep breath. “I want to right this. Work with me to fix us?”

She nodded in response to his question and heard him blow out a slow whoosh of relief. “One argument doesn’t change my feelings,” she told him and he tensed again. “Can’t change my heart with words. You can break it”—he shuddered under her hands—“but not change it.” Rocking her head back and forth, she allowed it to come to rest, forehead pressed against his chest. “I love you, Reuben.”

“Duck,” he responded and she jerked, looking up at the ceiling as he laughed aloud. “Not like that.” A grin sounded in his voice and she twisted so she could see him. “My name,” he said, and sure enough, his lips had curved up at the corners into a smile. “Duck.”

Tilting her head, she raised an eyebrow in question. He glanced down at the front of his vest and she followed his gaze to a fabric patch with the word
Duck
embroidered on it. “No one calls me Reuben. My name is Duck.”

“Like a duck? Quack, quack?” They had stopped moving, standing on the dance floor while the other couples flowed around them, a steadfast island in a sea swimming with bright colors and twirling bodies. “Who calls you that?”

“My brothers. The men in my club.” He shrugged. “My friends. The men you saw yesterday. Almost everyone who matters in my life calls me by my club name.” Leaning down, he rested his forehead against hers. “It’s who I am now, Bee. I haven’t been Reuben for a long time. I think you’re the only one still holding onto that man. The man on the parking lot today, the one you walked towards looking afraid of your own shadow? That’s who I am. This is who I am.” Raising his head, he looked around the room. “Let’s get out of here. There are things I need to tell you, things you need to know before we take another step down this road.”

Without waiting for her to agree or argue, he quickly moved them towards the door. They passed close to the table Winters had reclaimed, and her steps slowed for a moment as she acknowledged him with a nod. Winters gave her a sideways smile in response and made a shooing motion with his hand, flicking his fingers at them. Arm around her waist, Reuben’s body pressed into her and she felt rather than heard him huff a laugh before pulling her outside.

He guided them towards one of the farm trucks, leading her to the driver’s door. It happened in an instant—one second she was walking beside him and then the next, she was forced against the door, his body pressed against her. Her head immobilized by his hands, Brenda stared up into his eyes as he asked with an emotion-roughened voice, “Bee, can I kiss you?” Without conscious thought, her head tilted up and down the slightest amount and even before the motion completed, his mouth crashed down on hers, covering her.

This was not the kiss of someone unsure of his welcome. Reuben took control of her in a way that branded her his, made his intentions clear with the movement of his lips against hers, the thrust of his tongue stroking alongside her own, the taste flooding her mouth. With this kiss, he vowed to never leave her alone, never let her forget her love for him. He gave her assurances and truth with the way he moved against her, the soft gasps of his moans rushing across her lips when he pulled back for a breath. This was love embodied in a kiss, a lifetime promise of faithfulness and dedication.

He played her body ruthlessly, his mouth on hers bringing her to the edge of release and holding her there with ease, suspended over the abyss of desire as he claimed her. Fingers clenching in her hair, he used the hold to angle her head, slanting his mouth over hers, owning her. A car door slamming followed by ringing laughter broke the moment and he pulled back, mouth open and desperately panting for breath, her responses mirroring his. They stood there, his eyes tracking slowly across her face, searching for something. He must have liked what he saw because a small, secret smile slipped on and off his lips, much as the kiss had moments earlier. “Come on,” he said softly, reaching past her to open the door. “Hop in, Bee.”

Using the steering wheel, she pulled herself into the cab of the truck, her slide to the passenger side stopped by his palm on her thigh, the heat through the fabric of her jeans startling her into stillness. “Sit beside me, baby.” She nodded and dug out the seatbelt, keeping her gaze on him as he got in beside her and started the engine. He pulled out and turned towards downtown instead of the country roads that would take them home and she looked up at him, brow lifted questioningly. “Need to talk to you. Thought the park might be a good place.”

“Okay,” she said, glancing at the clock on the dash. “I think they’re open until eleven, but with the rodeo in town, cops won’t be worried about running stragglers out anyway.” He nodded, keeping his face forwards so she could only see him in profile and that by the dim dashboard lighting. He looked serious and she experienced a twinge of fear, wondering what topic he might want to cover tonight.
So many things we need to say to each other
, she thought, leaning into him, resting her temple against his shoulder.

His hand dropped from the wheel to rest on her thigh, midway between her knee and hip. His fingers curved around and down between her legs, his possessive hold communicating the emotions thrumming just beneath the surface and her core clenched and tightened in anticipation.

***

Duck turned the wheel, steering the truck into a corner of the lot, tucking them back where the shadows were dark and thick, making them nearly invisible from the street. No reason to give the cops cause to drive in if it wasn’t part of their regular patrol. He shut off the engine, and in the sudden stillness following, sat quietly for a moment, eyes closed, running conversational openings through his head. His hand slowly stroked up and down Bee’s thigh, finding comfort in the heat of her leg underneath the caress of his palm.
Start with the hardest first
, he thought and drew a breath.

“How old were you when Ray tried to dick around with you the first time?” His question dropped into the quiet, causing a ripple as Brenda responded with a quick breath. “I don’t doubt you put him in his place. But he pulled some kind of fuckery, of that I’m sure.”

He released his seatbelt and twisted in the seat, elbow to the wheel, his other arm draped across the seat back. Looking down into her face, softly illuminated by the silvery moonlight, he waited. The light left swaths of shadows across her features, making her expression hard to read.

“Daddy got what he wanted with one son, the other was a raw disappointment. I’m sure you know which was which, probably heard all about it over the years. I’d never try to excuse a single fucking thing Ray did, but Daddy drove him that direction from the time he could walk. Drove both of us. Hard.” He snorted and shook his head. She still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even tried to say anything. “I was the weaker one, the son who got the headshakes of frustration. I”—he drew a hard breath and faced front again, cutting his eyes to the side to watch her—“I stopped a lot of shit over the years, but not everything. I couldn’t be everywhere and it fucking kills, man. Fucking kills me. Essa ever say anything about Ray?”

A confused expression landed on her face, and she shook her head at what must seem like an abrupt change of direction. He wasn’t surprised, not really expecting the girl to have shared her family’s history. “She’s got two cousins, gals who competed back in the day. Mica and Molly turned into an obsession for Ray. He found the one when she was just a teen, barely out of high school. Stripped her of everything that mattered. Made it so she had to leave home and start over. Left everything behind, just to get away from him. Mica,”—at the name Brenda nodded and he went on—“yeah, she was a competitive spirit he broke so thoroughly I didn’t know if she’d ever recover. She got away from him but was so fucking damaged. Tore up, inside and out. Ray did that to her.”

He swallowed hard, shame over the night of his cowardice flooding him. “I didn’t save her, didn’t have the chance. She fucking saved herself. Well, I did have the chance, but didn’t take it. I failed her. Fucking failure all around. Ray got her and I bailed. I was outta there. Came home and worked for a couple of months, told Daddy some fucking lie. So wrong. I should have stopped him.” Echoes of the ripping cries from the trailer sounded in his ears, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head in an effort to dislodge the memories. “Fucking coward.”

“No, you aren’t,” Brenda said, her hand landing on his forearm, stroking across his skin. “You are not.” Opening his eyes, he looked to find he was clenching the steering wheel tightly with his fist. Her hand slipped up his arm to cover the back of his hand, fingers tucking between his. “Never met a man more courageous, Reu”—her correction was nearly seamless, but told him that she understood the importance—“Duck.” With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her, dragging her into his lap as he moved to sit in the center of the seat.

“You’re wrong. I am. I was. She got hurt so bad, Bee. I can’t even tell you. It took a while, but I finally tracked her down. Chicago. That’s why I settled there, in Chicago, because it’s where she was. I wanted to make sure she was okay, but she wasn’t. How could she be after Ray got to her? So, I made it my mission to make sure nothing bad would happen to her again. I vowed I’d at least try this time instead of walking away, leaving her in that hellhole of a hopeless situation like I had. I’d try to keep her safe.” A harsh laugh ripped from him. “Best thing I could have done was leave home like I did. The best thing for me because I met a man who showed me the right way to live.” He knew she wouldn’t understand, not yet. But he had to get it out; had to tell her.

“Mason. Davis Mason. He’s my friend…my brother. Day after day he showed me how a real man dealt with things like frustration and anger. Not by lashing out at weaker folks, which was all I’d ever seen from Daddy, but by finding the problem and helping put a solution in place. Mason made me better, took me from the brink of falling into the monster role Daddy had tried so hard to force down my throat, and he fucking made me a better man. Helped me fucking heal wounds I didn’t even know I had. My name came from him.” He snorted a laugh.

“I was drunk one night and going on about what a useless piece of shit I was, how I hadn’t saved Mica from my brother in the first place. Hadn’t saved her at all. She was still in college, doing well, and I was just a prospect in the club. But, I kept watch on her, wanted to make damn sure Ray never got another sniff of her.” He ran a hand up Brenda’s back, palming the back of her head and tipping it against his shoulder, liking the feel of her pressed against him.

“So I’m drunk and fucked-up in the head, raving mad at myself. Mason listened to it for about a minute, then laughed at me. Stood there, arms folded across his chest and roared with laughter. Told me I had everything wrong. He said, ‘You’re a good man under it all, Reuben. Can’t fake the kind of man you are, which is honorable and loyal to a fucking fault.’

“He told me if it looked like a duck and quacked like a duck, chances were it was a fucking duck. Next day when I finally rolled my hungover ass out of bed, there was a name patch sewn to my vest.” He reached down and touched it with one finger, reverently tracing the letters making up his name.