Resurrection (Wesson Rebel MC Series Book 3)

Wesson Rebels MC Series

Resurrection

By

Shyla Colt

Published by Hot Ink Press

This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

©Text Copyright 2015 Shyla Colt

Cover by Rebecca Poole

Edited by
Leanore Elliot

There For you Edits

Edited for Hot Ink by Elizabeth A. Lance

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Ready Aim Fire: Imagine Dragons

Black Widow: Iggy Azalea

Who we are: Imagine Dragons

Warriors: Imagine Dragons

Holy Diver: Dio

Into the Ocean: Blue October

Hurt: Johnny Cash

All Along the Watchtower: Jimi Hendrix

It’s going down for real: Flo Rida

Porca troia -Fucking Hell

Bellisima
- beautiful

Cut—vest worn by Motorcycle Club members

MC—Motorcycle Club

Old Lady—Like a wife/ long term girlfriend

Sweetheart/Sweetie—Girlfriend or someone a biker is dating

Sweetbutt—Name of a girl who hangs around the club and is always available for sex. Can be the “Property of one of the members”

House Mouse—Depending on their temperament, they can be given as gifts to an old lady. They are used to clean up and do chores.

President—Leader of the Chapter

Vice President—Second in charge. Fills in when President isn’t around.

Sergeant at Arms—Basically the club’s police man. He enforces club policy and procedures in meetings.

Enforcers—There to help the Sergeant at Arms do his job. They often stand guard at meetings

Secretary—Responsible for the club’s paperwork, including club records.

Treasurer—The chapter’s money man. He collects club fees, pays bills, etc.

The Wise One—He often looks after the club’s spiritual needs. He’s often referred to as the “Chaplain”.

Road Captain—He’s usually in charge of the logistics of the club. IE: Planning routes, fuel stops, etc.

Asst. Road Captain—Assists the Road Captain.

Patch Members (Riders)—Members who’ve earned the right to wear the club’s color after paying their dues as a Prospect. They’re also known as Patches or members.

Nomad—A club member who doesn’t belong to any particular chapter.

Prospect—Man in training to become a member of a Motorcycle Club after a probationary period

Chapter One

Vita

I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. Time crawls along like fog over the ground. I don’t usually drive, and where I’m headed gives me no comfort. Shifting in the driver’s seat of the pickup I curse my isolation.

This is for Ira, so buck the fuck up.

The self-flagellation does nothing to calm my nerves, or lend courage. I’m not brave. It’s not a matter of opinion, it’s a fucking fact, long established. It’s the reason I’ve been holed up in my family’s farmhouse like a hermit, instead of out living life. My body shakes as my mind goes over the message from Cora that my brother is missing.

Missing? How does a man go off the grid while on club business?

The thought of losing my last connection to anything on this planet, shoves me closer to the insanity I narrowly escaped. Maybe this is like
Final Destination
. I dodged a bullet, and now it’s come back around to force me to my true fate. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My heart races. I battle the anxiety. I hate this. I loathe the woman I’ve become. There are two halves to me now. A fractured mirror put back together, but never quite fixed. You can’t repair what’s shattered, not fully. I know that better than most. There’s Vita before the incident and Vita after.

The weakness turns my stomach. For once, my brother needs something from me. He deserves better than what I’m giving him right now. I don’t even know the full situation, and I’m a few seconds shy of flipping my lid. I owe him better. He provided the cushion that let me heal and just be, after the culling of my family.

I can do this.

The light turns green and I press the gas, driving as fast as I dare to. When the country recedes and I enter the city limits, the streets press in on me as cars surround my vehicle. It was always Ira driving.
Houdini.
I remind myself to use his road name. I’m slipping back into a lifestyle I wanted nothing more than to forget. Blood splattered walls flash in my mind. I inhale deeply to combat the nausea. We were so stupid to think this had ended all those years ago. All the hiding in the world couldn’t erase our tracks. Not for men like him.

My mouth goes dry, and the beginning of a monster headache starts at my temples. The steady pulse spurs me on, causing me to push my luck with the speed limits. When I pull up in front of the gated building, chill bumps cover my body and I break into a cold sweat.

A broad-shouldered man with olive skin, a crew cut, and narrowed eyes, strolls over to the entrance. He signals for me to roll down my window.

I press the black button and hold my breath. I know his type. Young, eager to prove he’s worthy of a patch and maybe, just a bit of a loose cannon. It’s times like this when I resent my lack of voice. I tap my throat and shake my head.

“Ahh, you the mute?”

Anger runs through me. I grit my teeth and nod.

“Can’t go on your word.” He snickers. “Or lack of. It’s an easy thing to fake.”

Digging into my purse, I pull out my wallet, open it up, and let him see my driver’s license.

He leans in making a big show of checking the name and looking at my face. “You’re good to go in.” He pulls his massive frame out of the car window and walks to the gate.

I want to run his punk ass over. I long for the days when I could cut him down to size with my sharp tongue. Now, I’m reduced to a notepad and pen. The smart assery sort of loses its effect when not delivered out loud. Not that I’ve felt this sort of fire since— before. I focus on the fence rattling as the gate is opened and I drive in without looking back. None fucking factor. I’m not normally the vindictive type, but I want his balls on a platter. Right now, he’s my scapegoat, and the only thing I can focus on that keeps me away from obsessing over my brother. I throw the gear into park, cut the engine, grab my purse, and step out onto the black top. My sneakers are silent as I stride over to the door.

No hesitation. No fear.

If I walk in here looking like a scared mouse, someone opportunistic is going to pounce and I’ll never be heard or taken seriously. Holding my head high, I take a deep breath and walk in like I own the place. I adopt the attitude of the women I grew up with; the ones I admired and tried to be like. I place my hand on my hip and scan the room.

All eyes focus on me, and my throat instantly tightens.

I spot Cora and her hulking mate, Dallas. Never knew I could be so happy to see the asshole. Like a missile seeking a target, I head for them with a single-minded determination.

Cora opens her arms, and I step into them willingly. I draw strength and pull back to stand on my own. Careful to sign slowly, I ask her what happened.

“We don’t know. He should’ve been back a few days ago, but that sort of change in timeline happens on the road. When he didn’t check in or answer anyone’s calls, we knew something was wrong. When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

I hold up seven fingers.

“Seven days?”

I nod. This isn’t like him.

“This isn’t good,” Dallas interjects. “Say, Houdini did blow me off for some reason, and opted to not answer my calls. He’d never make his sister worry.”

“What’s going on? How did this happen?” Vita signed.

“I’m sorry I don’t know those words,” Cora says.

Frustrated, I grunt.

“Hey,” Dallas barks, “get me Prophet.”

Prophet.
The picture of the man with traffic stopping light-blue eyes and a salt and pepper beard pops into my mind. He’d taken me by surprise, signing with a proficient manner that hinted at long term use. It unsettled me. A man like him understanding me in a way only Ira could. I shift my weight. I should be jumping for joy. I have a translator
.

When did I get so selfish? When Ira locked me away in a tower like Rapunzel and I thrived on the seclusion, letting him bust his ass to install the expensive security systems and pay all my bills.

Embarrassment turns my cheeks hot. This is the first time I’ve been out on my own in years. All this time, I’ve been telling myself I’m playing it smart and safe, while they’ve been winning because my life ended that day. I never picked myself up off the floor. I stopped living altogether to just…exist. Shame was an invisible slap across my face.

“He’s shitfaced, Pres. I don’t know how helpful he’s going to be,” the curly haired blonde with a baby face says.

“Fucking great,” Dallas mumbles. “Thanks, Strider. Proph? Come on, man, we need you to pull your shit together.”

“I’m good.” Prophet shrugs off the prospect’s hold, sways, and shakes his head. His eyes are red-rimmed while his dark brown hair falls over his forehead and across his right eye. He looks like hell and smells like a brewery.

My liver aches for him.

“Someone get him some damn coffee!” Dallas barks.

I jump.

Cora tosses me an apologetic look.

I shove my hands in my jeans to keep from crossing them under my chest.

“I’m good. What do you need?” Prophet asks. His words are slurry.

“Translation skills.”

The color washes from his face. He blinks. Prophet’s carefree expression turns somber and his gaze latches onto my face. “What are you doing here?” he whispers.

“That’s why we wanted to talk to you. Houdini is missing,” Dallas explains. “No one has heard from him. She’s his only family. She has a right to know, and she’s privy to information we don’t have about him. He’s a Nomad. He could have his fingers in who knows how many pies.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong, but I can’t. I don’t know what he gets up to these days. It’s an unspoken agreement between us. The less I know, the more behind the scenes I stay…the better off we both were.
Except, now I’m fucking useless.

“Do you know anything?” Prophet signs.

“No.”

“Did he say anything to you about his trip?” Prophet continues.

“You know women don’t get club business information,” I reply.

“Did he seem odd or anxious?” Prophet’s face grows pensive.

I shake my head. “No more than usual.”

“What’s she saying?” Dallas asks.

“She said nothing unusual happened,” Prophet answers.

“Ask her if she knows of any enemies,” Dallas insists.

“She’s unable to talk, not deaf,” Prophet scoffs.

I hesitate. This isn’t my secret alone to tell. If this is anything other than the past coming back to haunt us, I’m exposing us. I shake my head.

Prophet narrows his eyes. “You sure about that?” He somehow sees the words I’m not saying.

“Yes,” I sign.

“What’s this?” Dallas booms. “I don’t get left out of anything being said!”

“I asked her if she was sure,” Prophet replies.

“You got one of those feelings, Proph?” Dallas asks. He angles his body toward me and narrows his eyes.

I’m trapped in a malevolent gaze. For a moment, I can’t breathe.

“What the fuck? She just found out her brother is missing, and you want to interrogate her? She rarely leaves the house. Just driving here was a huge ordeal. Back off!” Cora comes out of the corner like a Mama Grizzly.

Thank you, Jesus.
I mentally cross myself and send a prayer up to Mary. The blood is racing through my veins, my nerves are fried, and it’s a miracle I’m still standing.

“You look dead on your feet. Come on, let’s get you a drink. You can stay with me and Dallas. I’m taking her home, so if you need anything let me know. I know you’ll want to do your thing, and you don’t need us here cloistered in the office.”

Dallas grunts. “Don’t think you’re snowing me, Cora. But I do want you home.” His gaze moves down to the swell of her belly, nudging at her tank top. She has to be pushing eight months now. “Go home, relieve your dad and send him this way. Then I want you to relax.”

“I will,” Cora says.

“I mean it. Don’t get all worked up over this. I got boys on it. The minute we hear something, we’ll send out word. You feel me?” He reaches down and lifts her chin.

I glance away, feeling like an interloper. What they have is real. They might have hit a rocky spot in their relationship when she and her son came to stay at my house, but it’s clear to see their love was real and deep. Unlike many other alpha males, he has no problem showing her affection. Part of me envies them. I’d given up hope of any sort of relationship years ago. To fall in love, you have to find someone interested in you and be able to communicate, literally. Just as the monsters had stolen my voice, they robbed me of my future. I’d never expose someone else to the truth I held inside. I couldn’t live knowing I’d caused someone else’s death. It’s my fault Ira is a widow. I will never forget that.

“I’m holding you responsible for her tonight, little Houdini.” Dallas points his finger at me. “I’ll do my best to find your brother, and you make sure my wife sits down and puts her feet up. When she’s nervous, she paces, cleans, and bakes. Right now, she needs to focus on baking our baby girl.”

Cora gasps. “Oh my God! Why don’t you bang on your chest and throw me over your shoulder? It’ll complete the caveman vibe you’re throwing.”

He leans down and silences her with his lips. The heat rolling off them is almost tangible.

Desperate to escape the display of what I’ll never experience, I make the mistake of glancing over at Prophet.

The man is staring at me like he’s seen a ghost.

We all have our secrets.