Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8)
Read Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) Online
Authors: MariaLisa deMora
Duck
Rebel Wayfarers MC
Book #8
MariaLisa deMora
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
Cover image by Michael Meadows Studios
Cover model: James Xavier
Cover design: Debera Kuntz
Copyright © 2016 MariaLisa deMora
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
First Release 2016
ISBN 13: 978-0-9863562-8-5
DEDICATION
Everyone has three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life.
~
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Public or private…or secret, sometimes the right decisions are the hardest ones to make. This book is for all the extraordinary people I know who keep carrying on with those honorable and true decisions, and then building on that, regardless of popular opinion. You’re righteous. Rock on.
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Can I be honest with you? I still don’t know exactly how Duck came to be in my head. There’s no one person or moment that defined the character, but rather this was a story that revealed itself to me in bits and pieces, fits and starts. It’s a tale plundered from dream observations, misheard and overheard conversations, and the brilliance of human imperfections.
From the beginning, back when Mica began coming to me as I slept, I liked the idea that she brought along her friends. It was cool to see the people she surrounded herself with. I noticed along the way that there was this one guy who worked in the background to keep her safe. Who tried to steer bad things away from her. An undefined man who often accompanied her, but edged through the shadows.
For a chick who hadn’t much good in her life, it made me happy to know this mysterious character cared enough to give her that and, over time, I found something there I could work with. An echoing kaleidoscope of beauty that helped cement the man, taking him from the shadows and into the light, bringing Reuben Nelms out where we all can benefit from knowing him.
The story spinner in me wanted to know: What would it take to become that person? What could drive a man or woman to devote their life to keeping another being safe when there is no benefit, and in fact, a significant sacrifice required in order to do so? What would have to happen in order for them to become that person doing right, holding on to that charter? And once there…what would motivate them to stay the course?
Life would be good for the person under that kind of protection. What a boon it would be to have someone to count on like that. Someone who we’d know would do right for right’s sake. A guardian who dealt in justice from a position of strength; who would shield and keep us safe at any cost.
This book is about finding that within yourself. Digging deep and discovering the bones to build yourself into that person. That hero. About learning how to heal from what might have seemed a crippling blow. An injury, not on the outside, where people can see the struggle, but on the inside, where things fester. That hollow inside us where bad things have the darkness and isolation needed to grow and take root. Infestations of fear and guilt brought about by betrayal, beaten back when we find a way to shine light on them. Take away their power to hurt, and scar. Becoming righteous. Heros.
Becoming…a man like our
Duck
.
As always, the book you’re reading is a product of much love and hours of hard work. Here’s where I get to express appreciation to the folks who’ve helped along the way!
I want to say thank you to Hot Tree Editing for a phenomenal job. As ever, your editorial and beta-reading efforts are much appreciated!
The cover photo of James Xavier by Michael Meadows Studios is one of my all-time favorites. To me, James makes a perfect Reuben Nelms, and his secret smile in this image holds so much mystery. Makes me want to get in there and see what I can learn about his story. Get in his head, find out about the character…the man. Love the shot, love the man, love the fotog who made it all possible. Thank you both!
Debera Kuntz, thank you for being willing to tackle this project with me, I adore the cover! You rock, chickie!
My alpha readers: Individually, you each deserve more thanks than I can fit in a single book. Collectively, you’ve helped me distill the story down to a place that allows the characters to shine through, and I love you for it! Kristen, MirandaPanda, and LeeAnn – your feedback helped me find the ways and means to give Duck his voice. Thank you for your efforts to keep me, and Duck, on track.
My friends and family: You are all my heros. Muuwah. Love alla y’all. <3
~ML
Lamesa, Texas
Reuben stood stock-still in the mouth of the short upstairs hallway leading to the bedrooms. He had his eyes closed tight to shut out the sight greeting him, but couldn’t deafen his ears to the sounds coming from the room to his left—his father’s bedroom.
The sound of his father’s playtime surrounded him. Door standing wide open so anyone walking past could see, but the woman standing at the foot of the bed would never know,
thank God
, with her eyes bound by tape as they were. The air was thick with effort-filled grunts, sounds of leather slapping bare flesh, and openmouthed vocalizations accompanying intentionally inflicted pain, all working to twist a knot in his stomach. The brief glimpse was enough to stay with him for a long time. He reached out to find the wall, using touch and his knowledge of the house’s layout to ease past the nightmare room towards his own.
“Rue.” He heard his younger brother call out loudly and Reuben knew his full-body flinch had to be visible. His reaction extreme because he also knew the single word would capture his father’s attention. Two quick strides carried him past the doorway and he opened his eyes to find Raymond blocking the hall.
“You runnin, bro? Why you runnin’ blind, Rue? Why you runnin’?” The questions came in a singsong because Ray knew why he didn’t want to stay in the hallway, why he didn’t want to see…or stay around and watch. It looked as if Ray had just come from the shower and was naked except for his jeans. Reuben flicked a glance down to see the buttons on his fly only halfway done up, a clear indication Ray intended to join their father in his evening’s entertainment.
A pause in the sounds emanating from his father’s room, then he heard, “Reuben…
boy
.” A long pause, followed by the sound of an open palm against flesh, then, “You better get your ass back over here.” That order came from David Nelms, patriarch of their family, and not someone he could safely ignore.
“Damn it,” Reuben muttered, glaring down at Ray. At fourteen, his brother was barely five feet tall, while Reuben had topped six already, only a year older. It didn’t matter. Over the past two years, they had learned size had nothing to do with having the stomach for their father’s playtimes, because Ray could—and would—match their old man moment-by-moment for cruelty, cultivating a capacity to deal out pain exceeding anything Reuben could ever imagine.
Ray was rigid hardness, having no give in him anywhere, while Reuben, according to Ray and his father, was the soft one. He felt every pain, lived his life flooded with guilt and shame. Pathetic and weak in his father’s eyes, he was the son who helped their women clean up at the end of the night. Gently tending their bruises and wounds, he would urge them to get medical attention if, as often happened in the Nelms’ house, things had gotten intense. With the summons from the open door behind him, he had to return to the entryway at least, would have to witness again the extreme demands being placed on the too-willing woman.
His brother nimbly dodged around him and sauntered up the hallway, turning and entering a room ringing with stifled sobs. Reuben took a breath and then followed him, stopping short at the doorframe. She was tied to the footboard of the four-poster bed, white knuckles on desperate hands clenching around the ropes binding her wrists, legs spread wide with already-bruising ankles secured to the foot of the bed, her own feet suspended off the floor. Since his initial glance inside as he’d passed by, his father had stuffed the woman’s panties into her mouth, creating a makeshift gag to muffle her cries.
There were ropes wound around her upper body, tightly binding her breasts into protruding, discolored lumps of flesh. From the bright red striping on her titties, it looked as if his father had been whipping her, probably with the leather straps resting on the floor at her feet. Broken and discarded reins put to a use never imagined by their maker.
Clothespins were fastened to intimate parts of the woman’s body, lines of them jutting out from her skin like alien wooden appendages. Reuben knew each would leave their own tiny bruise, and from the interlocking nature of the lines, he wondered what his father had spelled out on her body this time. Whore was one of his favorites, but slut and fuckhole were also go-to phrases in Nelms’ arsenal.
She jerked against her bonds, giving a muted squeal. Ray’s arm stretched out, his fingers brutally clenching around one of her painfully swollen and purple breasts. “You eat supper, boy?” The question surprised him, and he swayed in place, pulling his attention back so he could focus on his father, hearing him impatiently ask again, “Well? Did you eat?”
“Yes, sir,” Reuben responded, desperately trying to keep his eyes averted when the woman wailed again, higher pitched this time, pain bleeding through her tone in spite of the fabric in her mouth.
“All right.” David Nelms shook his head in what appeared to be disgust, and Reuben knew the look on his own face must be sickened. Horrified. Weak. His father’s next words underscored that knowledge, reinforcing the belief that in this area, as in most, Ray held their father’s approval while Reuben did not. “Close the door, boy. Go on to your room now. This is men’s work.”
Reuben did as he was told, pulling the door shut, muting the sounds of hard thuds made by hands slapping flesh, those sharp noises punctuated by broken sobs. He stood in the hallway for a moment, sucked in a harsh breath, turned, and went to his own room at the end of the hall. He couldn’t wait until he was old enough—to be on his own, to leave. For good. Just walk off the ranch and never look back. That wasn’t now, though, so he would just have to get as far away as he could. It was never far enough to escape the sounds coming from that room. He knew from experience there was no place in the house where he could go to find peace. No sanctuary to be found.